#HAMILTON it is on repeat I fear

[therealmichelleobama]

I AM NOT THROWING AWAY MY SHOT! I AM NOT THROWING AWAY MY SHOT!

OKAY Let’s rewind a bit because who doesn't love those? 😉

I first met Lin at an arts event during Barack’s first term. Back then, he was this bright, ambitious composer who had this wild idea of mixing hip-hop and history. Fast forward a few years, and Hamilton had BLOWN UP into a full-on cultural phenomenon, reshaping how we think about America’s past. When Lin came back to the White House, he didn’t just bring the music, he brought the WHOLE vibe. His cast was an INSANELY talented, multiracial group of performers who spent the afternoon hanging out with local high school students 🤍. These kids were dancers, playwrights, and rappers, and they got to jam with their heroes, writing lyrics and dropping beats right in the White House. Can you imagine???? The day ended with a performance in the East Room. Barack and I sat front row, surrounded by these incredible young people from every background you can think of. And then Lin and Christopher Jackson sang “One Last Time.” I’ll never forget that moment. Two artists, one Black, one Puerto Rican, stood beneath a 200-year-old chandelier, framed by portraits of George and Martha Washington, singing about belonging in the nation they helped shape. It was a powerful reminder of how far we’ve come, and how much further we can go.

Hamilton hit me so deeply because it’s about telling history differently. And, honestly, that’s something I think about a lot. So many of us grow up hiding parts of ourselves because we’re told we don’t “fit.” Maybe it’s the color of our skin, the language we speak, or the shape of our bodies. Maybe it’s how we love or where we come from. We’re taught there’s only one way to belong, and if we don’t check all the boxes, we feel like we don’t matter.

But when someone dares to tell a story differently, it changes everything.

That day in the White House wasn’t just about Hamilton. It was about what happens when we own our stories, when we make space for others to own theirs, too. It was about imagining a world where everyone belongs, and realizing that world isn’t as far away as it seems.

This is our story. Let’s keep telling it. 💫

Anyways, click on my bio to buy tickets to see Hamilton. Trust me, it’s worth every minute.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Not now, not ever - Lewis Hamilton

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

summary: Having her pressed to him brought back how important she's been to keep him grounded.

warnings: Angst, Mercedes 2024, Monza 21'.

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Hello everyone, I felt like angsty was in order. Sorry to bring that accident 😶, but yeah, hope you guys enjoy it!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Defeated and exhausted, that was Lewis scotched in his airplane seat with you tangled in his arms, asleep beside him. The flight back to the UK after a disastrous Japanese Grand Prix held all the weight of the race, the frustration of the poor performance, and the uncertainty of his future with Mercedes weighing heavily on him.

Gently cradling you in his arms, Lewis pressed his face into your hair, breathing in your scent, finding solace in the familiarity and warmth of your presence. His fingers lightly traced the contours of your back, feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his chest. Holding you like this; he felt a fleeting moment of peace amidst the storm of emotions and uncertainties that surrounded him. He whispered softly, barely audible above the hum of the airplane engine, " Thank you for always being there for me, even when I'm at my lowest”

He held you close, drawing comfort from your presence, knowing that whatever happened, you had been through much worse and had always stood strong together. As he looked down to your sleeping figure, the scene brought back a nagging memory on repeat, a night back in 2021, when you had comforted him after a nightmare. Now, as much as back then, you were his anchor, his safe haven amidst the chaos and uncertainty.

You were jolted awake when his entire body lurched, causing him to drop you abruptly onto the mattress. His breathing was rapid, coming out in sharp puffs as he hid his face in his hands, his shoulders tense under your arms as you held him from behind. You waited patiently, holding him until his breathing began to even out. Eventually, he turned to you, fear evident in his eyes. Without a word, you pulled him into your embrace, running your fingers through his braids and soothing the tension in his arms.

You had never seen that happen to him – that nightmarish episode that left a haunting impression. It had been two days from the crash with Verstappen in Monza. You'd traveled with him to NYC under the pretense of having an important. No one knew about the two of you yet. A few stolen moments here and there, and nights tangled in each other were all you had. He returned to his penthouse almost at dawn after the Met Gala, quietly ushering you from the bedroom you were occupying to his own bed. His friends, drunk from the after party, were oblivious to the fact that your supposed meeting was just a cover-up. The real reason you were there was that you couldn't bear to be apart from him after that crash.

Hours seemed to pass without either of you uttering a single word. The mere press of each other’s bodies was enough to ground you both. By the time Daniel knocked on the door to let him know they were headed out and assumed you hadn’t spent the night, it was well past noon. Little did he know, you had been there the whole time and would continue to be there for the rest of the day.

Lewis had witnessed similar episodes with you, most often triggered by situations related to Ayrton. Sometimes it manifested as restlessness, with you tossing and turning in bed. But on other occasions, it was far more severe. You'd wake up cold, tears streaming down your face, a scream caught in your throat, and a deafening ringing in your ears.

When these episodes occurred, Lewis knew exactly what to do. He would hold you tightly, his fingers lightly tracing your skin and scalp, while he repeated reassuring words over and over. And when you finally became aware of your surroundings, he'd listen attentively as you spoke about whatever had triggered the nightmare, comforting you until you fell back asleep in his arms.

As the sun began to set, casting a hauntingly beautiful golden hue through the penthouse windows, you went to find some food, Lewis hot on your feet, taking any opportunity to find himself wrapped in your arms. His arms securely around you, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back as you leaned into him even while you waited for the stove to warm up the takeout from the previous night. The events of the day had left both of you emotionally drained, the scars of the past resurfacing with a vengeance.

The weight of the nightmare and fear of the unknown had taken its toll on both of you. The emotional strain was palpable, the shadows of past traumas lingering in the corners of your minds, waiting to strike when least expected. "You don't have to go through this alone, you know," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine concern. "I'm always here for you, no matter what."

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude, love, and pain. "And I'm here for you" his voice softly reassuring you “Always."

Lewis smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He pulled you closer to him, cherishing the moment of fragile peace and understanding between you. The bond you shared was unique, built on trust, understanding, and unconditional love. Despite the challenges and nightmares that sometimes haunted your nights, the love and support you provided each other were unwavering.

As night fell, Lewis led you back to the bedroom, ensuring you were comfortable and safe before joining you in bed. He held you close, his presence a constant source of comfort and reassurance. You drifted off to sleep, protected and loved in the arms that secured you so tightly.

Lewis remained awake; his gaze fixed on your peaceful sleeping face. The haunting memories of the accident with Verstappen in Monza played in his mind, and a shiver ran down his spine as he thought about how close it had come to being his end.

His thoughts were consumed by the accident, the fear of losing you, and the nightmares that had been haunting both of you. The emotional strain was palpable, and tears welled up in his eyes as he continued to watch you sleep, his mind tormented by the events of the past and the shadows of the traumas you both had endured.

The room was silent except for the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing. Lewis leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, his heart aching with love and fear. He whispered words of love and reassurance, hoping that somehow, you could feel his presence and know that he would always be there for you.

He tightened his grip around you, pulling you closer as if trying to protect you from the world and the nightmares. His mind was filled with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future pressing down on him.

"We almost lost it all," he whispered to himself, his voice choked with emotion. "Gosh, I can't lose you, not now, not ever."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[sebscore]

Can I request a Gen-Z driver fic where she straight-up DROPKICKS Christian Horner in public after he makes some really sexist comments abt her?

Cuz if this man isn’t gonna get humbled IRL, might as well do it in a fic😂

A MAN’S WORLD

pairings: (indirect) christian horner x driver!reader / lewis hamilton x driver!reader

warnings: sexist comments. mentions of christian horner. mention of an orgasm.

author's note: this one's not really a funny one, cause I went the more realistic route with it, i fear. I still hope you like it, though. I might do a 'comedic' version in the future, because i agree as well that horner should get humbled by someone (although toto is doing quite a good job)

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''What's your opinion on Christian Horner stating that more girls are getting into F1, because of the good looking drivers?'' The reporter's question echoed through the room, cameras ready to capture her reaction as the words left his mouth.

Being asked about misogynistic comments that people in the sport made had become a regular thing in the press conferences ever since the young woman entered the Formula 1 world.

On one hand, it had become tiresome. Some men just wouldn't stray away from their sexist thoughts, no matter how many successful women would climb their way through the ranks. On the other hand, Y/N felt like she owed it to every single woman and young girl out there to defend them against these conservative men. Many women before her had proven that this wasn't a men's world and for as long as she'll live she will repeat that message.

''Young girls and women have always struggled to be taken seriously in the motorsport world, and for a team principal of a highly-regarded racing team to say that the only reason they watch this sport is for the handsome drivers? I find that quite insulting. There are many reasons why women are interested in the sport. Sure, there are people who got pulled into this world, because they found some of the drivers good looking, but why should they be shamed for that? They're the ones showing up to races and the ones who buy the merch. I know he has apologized for his comments, but I think we all know how much of that he meant.''

The lack of emotion on the woman's face and in her voice was a rare sight for the drivers and reporters. Perhaps it showed how fed up she was and how tired she had become of having to answer these questions. It hadn't been the first time the Red Bull Racing team principal had expressed some serious sexist comments.

Her welcome into Formula 1 had been a polarized one. The drivers had been supportive and many people were delighted that after such a long time there was finally a woman in the beloved sport, one that had talent that matched the ones of her competitors.

But where there is support, there is hatred. In her first ever press conference, Y/N was asked to comment on an interview that Christian Horner had done where he was asked about the woman and her arrival to Formula 1. ''The first time I saw the girl I thought that she was one of grid girls,'' he laughed, ''it's definitely going to be tough for her, entering a man's sport.''

The rookie knew the question was going to be brought up and she answered with the response her team had drilled into her. ''No comment.''

It was sad how after several years things hadn't changed, the comments were still the same and the people who made them still hadn't learned their lesson, simply being patted on the back for their mistakes.

''Do you find the handsome drivers distracting during your race week?'' Another journalist asked her, his pen ready in his hand to note her response.

Y/N looked to her side, finding Mick and Lewis already frowning at the man. ''Oh, yeah! It's super distracting when I look to my side and find a helmet there. It just riles me up, you know?'' The sarcastic comment earned her laughs and chuckles from several people in the room, happy she could show everyone how ridiculous the question actually was.

Not too long after the press conference was over, to all the drivers' amusement. Lewis caught up with the young woman as they walked out of the room. ''You handled that well, I really loved what you said.'' He squeezed her shoulder, a soft smile on his face.

''Thanks, it's just so- ugh, tiring.'' Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes.

''I know, darling. I was there was something I could do, but I'm afraid that the two of us are in the same boat.'' Lewis could relate to the discrimination she experienced because of who she is.

''Like, yeah, you all are handsome individuals, but it's not that I get an orgasm every time I see any of you.'' Her comment made Lewis giggle, her bluntness never failed to make him laugh.

''And out of all people, Horner should be the last one worried about his good looks bringing interest in the sport.''

[leclerc-s]

take me back to the city that i call my city, where everybody knows my name

series masterlist

oscar piastri i fear mark is mad at me.

isabella perez i could've told you he would be upset for the 'practical joke' you pulled.

yuki tsunoda ha! and now your mother wants me as her son!

charles leclerc i'm going to die at the hands of mark webber!!

daniel ricciardo-jones don't be silly daniel jones-ricciardo he's going to send someone after you. mark won't get his hands dirty like that. charles leclerc THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?!

ollie bearman does this make charles my grandpa?

lando norris that's wild 26 with a 19-year-old grandson

sebastian vettel this explains the angry 'your spawn stole my kid' text i got from mark

fernando alonso and this also explains the 'you were supposed to keep him out of trouble' text i got charles leclerc and that explains the 'give me my child back anti-christ' text i got

oscar piastri HE CALLED YOU ANTI-CHRIST?

lewis hamilton added one person

charles leclerc HE CALLED ME ANTI-CHRIST! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?!

mark webber i did no such thing

mark webber sebastian control your spawn.

charles leclerc

mark webber snitch

fernando alonso MULTI-21 SEB!! MULTI-21!!

sebastian vettel you just had to remind him didn't you?

lance stroll last time since a multi-21 inchident is down to 0 again.

lewis hamilton does this make seb satan?

sebastian vettel does this make you an instigator?

isabella perez it sure would be a shame if someone added jenson and nico to spice things up.

lewis hamilton don't you dare isabella juliana perez.

logan sargeant added two people

lewis hamilton logan hunter sargeant what did you do?

jenson button so this is the famous group chat.

charles leclerc WHAT IS AN ANTI-CHRIST??

nico rosberg lewis. lewis hamilton nico.

george russell i thought you two were on good terms?

dulce perez just because they're on 'good terms' doesn't mean they can't tease each other.

mick schumacher the family tree expands.

alex albon oh yes, because according to twitter logan is jenson and nico's son. zoya torres what the fuck do you two do on twitter? george russell i have a power point on the family tree!

nico rosberg i have so many questions

charles leclerc starting with, can daphne play long live tomorrow?

daphne jones-ricciardo can you get pole tomorrow? max jones-verstappen can ferrari not screw you over on sunday? is the better question.

jenson button yikes, you people do not hold back.

charles leclerc IF I GET POLE, will you please do a mashup of yoyok and long live?

daphne jones-ricciardo you've got a deal leclerc

mark webber you people are so weird.

nico rosberg agreed.

jenson button i've met zoya. i know how weird they can get.

zoya torres i know that's an insult but i don't care.

isabellaperez, rhysjones, freyavettel, and zoyatorres have posted new stories

my father-in-law is pole for monaco. everyone say congrats and cheer for a leclerc front-row lockout!! just know that i may be in the rb garage but i will be cheering on this silly little monegasque man. FATHER ON POLE IN MONACO!!! I REPEAT FATHER ON POLE IN MONACO!! LET'S GO!! WE'RE BREAKING CURSES THIS YEAR!!

liked by sukiwaterhouse, danieljonesricciardo, arthur_leclerc and others

nataliaruiz little jules pascale leclerc, named after two of the most important people in charlie's life.

tagged: charles_leclerc

view all comments

charles_leclerc would you look at that, you were right.

↳ nataliaruiz i'm always right charlie

↳ charles_leclerc well, there's that one time-

↳ maxjonesverstappen1 we swore to never speak of that charles!

user06 and suddenly daniel and charles both have another jules they love.

↳ user54 WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT!! NOW I'M CRYING!!

↳ user79 ALL I DO IS CRY ON THE INTERNET!!

zoyatorres the little jewel of our lives

↳ user88 IT WAS RIGHT THERE IN THE NICKNAME ARE WE STUPID?

sukiwaterhouse she gets her charms and looks from you. i don't know what she gets from the french man.

↳ charles_leclerc this is why your daughter looks more like robert than you.

↳ sukiwaterhouse i actually hate you.

↳ charles_leclerc the feeling is mutual

daphnejonesricciardo and what a beautiful little jewel she is

↳ charles_leclerc she's bejeweled one could say

↳ daphnejonesricciardo that's your worst joke yet

benruiz oh look at my beautiful little niece!

↳ nataliaruiz please tell dad to stop crying over her

↳ benruiz he said to leave him alone and let him cry over his only grandchild. she's getting so big.

danieljonesricciardo what a joy it is to be her godfather ❤️

↳ nataliaruiz and what a joy it is to have you as her godfather 🫶🏼

↳ charles_leclerc if i have to hear her cry over unca da, it's over.

↳ danieljonesricciardo i'm just that loveable charlie.

oscarpiastri i have the cutest baby sister

↳ zoyatorres see i would fight you on this but it's true

↳ freyavettel that is very much true (no on tell my siblings)

olliebearman the cutest leclerc!!

liked by charles_leclerc, benruiz, isabellaperez and others

nataliaruiz when we were little kids and anyone asked you, 'what's your biggest dream?' your answer was always the same, 'to become a formula 1 driver and win the monaco grand prix' then you became an f1 driver and your biggest dream was to win the monaco grand prix, to make your country proud, to make your papa proud. year after year, it was disappointment after disappointment, but something changed this year, this year you had hope, more than you've ever had before. this year you told me, 'i'm going to win this. i'm not taking anything less than a win." you finally did it, you broke the 'curse' that had been bestowed upon you. and i am so glad i got to witness you do it.

tagged: charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc please don't make me cry again. i just stopped.

↳ natalia_leclerc it's a miracle i was able to post this through my tears.

user12 oh great, now i'm crying again.

benruiz listen, i may hate the little shit because he's dating my baby sister, but i'm still fucking proud of him. congrats charles, you deserved this.

↳ benruiz also, please tell my dad to stop crying. he hasn't stopped since you won. ↳ charles_leclerc let him be proud of me for once! ↳ benruiz he literally cries every time you win. shut up?

maejonesverstappen i'm still disappointed i didn't get to witness my best friend win his home race, but still so proud charlie.

↳ charles_leclerc you were there in spirit!!

↳ user98 these two being best friends is everything to me

user64 track menace charles makes his appearance!

user55 this post just reminds me that she's been there for everything. childhood best friends to lovers go hard here.

↳ user07 2018 charles would not believe you if you told him that not only did he end up with the girl he loves but he also won the monaco grand prix ↳ user55 manifestation works children! comment liked by charles_leclerc

oscarpiastri making the family proud 🥲

isabellaperez YEAH!! LIGHTNING MCQUEEN FINALLY WON THE PISTON CUP!!

↳ olliebearman the piston cup is the world championship, not monaco.

↳ isabellaperez LET ME BE PROUD EITHER WAY OLLIE!

rhysjones sorry to my mom and sisters but LET'S FUCKING GO!!!

↳ alex_albon disney child gone wild.

↳ maejonesverstappen rhys, watch your language!

↳ rhysjones says the one married to max emilian jones-verstappen.

rileykeough congrats charles!

↳ charles_leclerc thank you riley!!

sukiwaterhouse congrats, i guess?

↳ charles_leclerc thanks, i guess??

user71 the hand placement makes me feral.

↳ user84 right?? i wasn't aware lechair was that bold

user05 mom and dad on a night out.

↳ user26 imagine a baby pops up nine months from now?

↳ user05 that would be the funniest shit ever. then everyone will know those two really partied

isabella perez i know that i probably know the answer to my question, but how's pato doing?

gael perez completely gutted

oscar piastri we saw the race

fernando alonso oh patito i'm sorry.

pato o'ward shit happens. it's okay.

daphne jones-ricciardo you're allowed to be sad about this.

pato o'ward oh, i'm fucking devastated. it's a miracle i stopped crying.

charles leclerc FLY OUT TO MONACO! WE CAN CELEBRATE YOU EITHER WAY BECAUSE YOU DESERVED THAT FUCKING WIN.

natalia ruiz forgive him, he's drunk. pierre gasly he's fucking shit-faced.

rowan todd i wonder how he's going to see little jewel if he's drunk

charles leclerc NAT! WE HAVE TO GO! I HAVE TO SEE MY DAUGHTER!!

lando norris now he's quite literally crying in the club.

max jones-verstappen oh he's going to regret this so much

mae jones-verstappen about as much as you regret abu dhabi 2021

lewis hamilton i too regret abu dhabi 2021 esteban ocon oh we remember, 'FUCK MIKEY! FUCK THAT IDIOT! AND FUCK NICO TOO!'

nico rosberg what the fuck?

dulce perez if you hadn't won in 2016, lewis would already have his 8th.

jenson button oh my god, please just kiss and make up

mark webber maybe once nico stops thirsting over lewis on live television they can kiss.

nico rosberg i do not thirst. isabella perez sure, and charles isn't currently shitfaced.

pato o'ward why does anyone ever take you people as serious racers?

charles leclerc WE ARE PATITO!! carlos sainz WE ARE SO SERIOUS!! penelope trevino forgive him, he is also shit faced.

arthur leclerc mexicans everywhere are crying because of checo's dnf and pato being robbed.

gael perez i am crying. that's my boyfriend and uncle.

pato o'ward that is true, he hasn't stopped crying. rossi is concerned for him.

dulce perez make sure he drinks lots of water.

pato o'ward on it

daphne jones-ricciardo you people are so much to handle.

daniel jones-ricciardo WIFEY I MISS YOU!

sebastian vettel is he also drunk?

lewis hamilton days like today make me wish when seb was on the grid sebastian vettel days like this make me grateful that i am no longer on the grid.

mick schumacher oscar is the most boring person to party with.

oscar piastri I DON'T LIKE CLUBBING! ollie bearman LIVE A LITTLE !! GET FUCKED UP!! YOU WERE ON THE PODIUM IN MONACO!!

isabella perez and he is also fucked up.

jenson button oh how i miss being a driver.

fernando alonso because you were whore.

jenson button fuck you bitch. you were a whore too.

mark webber i hate all of you with a passion.

sebastian vettel that's a lie. mark webber correction, i hate you and anti-christ with a passion. freya vettel HE DOESN'T HATE ME!! A WIN IS A WIN!!

charles leclerc i fucking love you people!

daphne jones-ricciardo aww, love you too charlie ❤️ congrats on the win once again.

mae jones-verstappen sorry we couldn't be there but congrats and sorry again pato.

pato o'ward hey, i'll bide my time just like charles! clearly it worked for him.

charles leclerc YOUR TIME IS COMING PATO!! I PROMISE!!

¡taglist!

@burningcupcakefire @arkhammaid @applopie @sunflower-golden-vol6 @lorarri @bb-swift @thewannabewriter @mypage-myfandoms @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @six-call @justtprachisblog @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @cool-ultra-nerd @kami10471633 @1nt3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @arieltwvdtohamflash @brekkers-whore @natcha888 @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @georgeparisole @dan3avocado @nikfigueiredo @bella-182 @namgification @jensonsonlybutton @weekendlusting @trouble-sistar @lesliiieeeee @leclercsluv @33-81 @theseus-jpg @sarah-thatstings-ann @minmira95 @casperlikej @formulaonebuff @hopenshaw @hwalllllllelujah @doodlehunz @prongsvault

¡leclerc-s speaks! CHARLES LECLERC WON MONACO AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO COPE!! I'M STILL CRYING OVER IT!! long live and yoyok being the surprise songs the night before charles won monaco is like the win was fate for me. also, i can't handle another sad pato edit on tiktok, the pain hurts.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[not-that-syndrigast]

Driver line ups.

Every year a new there's the traumatizing silly season and every year a new people are complaining and not understanding why certain drivers get signed with certain teams. There’s many thoughts to have over this and with the help of my autism and the horrendous lists i made to compare all the data, here’s the driver line up strategies of the teams and my guess on silly season.

Upfront, a few notes; it’s difficult to compare all the teams because certain teams like Ferrari have decades of knowledge on driver line ups, legacy and money while teams like Haas need to build all that first. Furthermore, team strategies change quite drastically and get influenced by changes in team principals and intern problems the public may not be as aware of, so you are not only allowed but also asked to question anything i say here and comment your own ideas. These are mainly my observations and guesses.

Considering influences, I would like to start with Mercedes. One thing that has been big with the winning teams forever, is their strategy to ‘build’ their drivers and teams. Every team wants to sign drivers for a long time period, because it's easier to win if the team knows each other, plus it's better to have younger drivers because they are more likely to stay with the team and that's how you get drivers like Lewis Hamilton at Mercedes for eleven seasons. Another thing about Mercedes is the fact that they do not take rookies, usually. They take young drivers that have shown to be good with another team and try to keep them for long and since they are generally considered a winning team, they don't have to fear not finding a good second driver (well, they had). This is also the reason why I doubt that they’ll sign Antonelli; pretty likely to see drivers like Tsunoda, if he shows more good results. A few months back I would have said Albon, but many people didn't want that because they feared a repeat. Whoever thought brocedes wouldn’t be brought up here underestimates their influence on the sport. I'm not even talking about all the PR-drama, but the way they almost ruined the team with their crashing into each other, aggressive fighting and miscommunication in the team. It was expensive, stupid and no team wants to deal with that drama, which is why we come to Redbull now;

Red Bull signed Perez for peace. With Webber and Vettel back in the day, they know how teammate rivalries can ruin the team and they want to avoid that, so their bet for the past few years has been; have an outstanding good driver as driver number one, let him win and make all the points and get a solid second driver. Perez is not good enough to become a serious threat to Verstappen, but he also seems to not hold a grudge at that, which works perfectly for Redbull. Sure, they could have signed Sainz, but if you look at Ferrari right now, he tends to drive too aggressively, crash, and redbull does not want to afford that drama, can’t get points if your teammates crash each other out. Another tactic of redbull is the junior team. Redbull doesn’t take rookies either, they go to torro rosso/alpha tauri/RB or whatever they call themselves now and then get upgraded to redbull.

The whole tactic of torro rosso/alpha tauri/RB is the following; get a good rookie driver, let him drive for a year and if he seems to be good, put him into redbull. If he’s bad, drop him. Many young drivers only drove a season at Torro Rosso and were instantly dropped and couldn’t find a new seat, at least that used to be the strategy until they rebranded to alpha tauri first and now Visa cash app RB (i think). Right now, they are more on track to really become their own team. With multiple seasons Ricciardo and Tsunoda, these guys are used to the team, but it poses a problem, because Tsunoda didn’t sign up to build this team; he had assumed to be bumped up to redbull, but since that seat is filled and he doesn’t seem to be able to outperform Verstappen, he’ll leave and RB will be back on their rookie-traumatizing track, probably with Liam Lawson.

A team that does NOT care and just simply decides to not think that much, is Ferrari. Also nicknamed the retirement home for world championship winners, they once again decide to ignore all redflags. Who can blame them, red is their favorite color? Just like all the other good teams, they try to build their teams, only that they are a bit too prestigious in certain cases and usually don’t take rookies, or even younger drivers. They want the best, but Ferrari has been really inconsistent in recent years, so no one who seriously contests for a WDC wants to sign with them if they are already in a good team. They don’t care though, they sign good drivers even if they risk everything by that. It's clear by signing Hamilton; Leclerc is too media trained to say anything mean about Hamilton when they unavoidably crash next year, but they will try to beat each other up behind the garages, probably. It's a difficult situation, deciding which of them gets preferred when it comes to strategy, but if you look at current Ferrari situations, that doesn't bother them. Questionably, when Vaseur needs to mention he has to hold Leclerc and Sainz back from murdering each other, but it's been like this for decades in Ferrari and maybe they hope all the angst will bring out more desperation for wins? I probably will never understand them.

Next big team on our list; McLaren. You should know about me, I love McLaren. Well, that's a lie, I love their drivers and design but I absolutely loathe their team principal and whoever had the idea for their horrendous drivers line up. One of the few things i do respect about their team is the fact that they actually take rookies; they try to build up their teams and they aren't afraid to invest in rookies, as you can see with Lewis Hamilton and Lando Norris, but one thing that i absolutely hate about them is their obvious favorite child behavior. To put it clear; if it wasn't a rule, McLaren wouldn't have a second driver. Their line up strategy is basically; ‘let's get a very bright young man as a first driver, build his whole career, get him long contracts, get him his own show whatever. Oh, we need a second driver? Yeah, let's adopt that bastard over there’. The favoritism is actually insane, which is why the second driver often gets replaced pretty fast, but with them signing Piastri, a second rookie, we could see a slight change in their behavior; sure, he wasn't as sponsored by McLaren as Hamilton or Norris were, but it seems clear to me that different than Sainz or Ricciardo he also almost gets the first driver treatment; he’s young and perfect to build the team so they will try to keep him as long as possible, thus having both drivers in their line up actually building up the team, plus they are young, very good and seem less likely to get all too dramatic; maybe one of the reasons they signed Piastri, but i'm not quite convinced it'll stay this way.

Williams is interesting, by their history they should be one of the top teams but they look more like one of the worst teams right now. Williams is sort of Mercedes junior team, they take the rookies for Mercedes which is why I was surprised Albon didn’t go to Mercedes, but as of now it seems that they will keep their rookie program up, so my guess for the future is that they will drop Sargeant and instead focus on building up another rookie like Kimi Antonelli for Mercedes.

Haas is interesting because they are so new, but from the last few years it's pretty clear they also try to build up their team with Magnussen but they struggle with that, since different than the big teams, drivers generally don't want to commit to them and so their team is rather filled with rookies or other drivers that seek to prove themselves in a bad team in hopes of getting signed by one of the actually winning teams, best example for that is Bearman where it’s already clear that if he proves himself he will have good chances for a seat at Ferrari in a few years and who would choose Haas over Ferrari? Haas also cannot afford to get a former good driver and most experienced drivers don't want to stay at Haas, as long as they have better chances elsewhere, so they’ll only sign short contracts considering the Sainz rumors. I think we will most likely see a Magnussen and Bearman line up in the next few seasons and either they manage to proof the team and become a midfield team like Aston Martin or they will slowly turn into the junior team for Ferrari

For alpine, Stake and Aston martin i'm not so sure. These teams went through loads of rebrandings, switches in the team principals and those positions in the last years that i can only guess that they try to copy the winning teams’ strategies but end with a similar fate to Haas, but personally i have to admit i do prefer it this way, since it leaves more spaces open for young drivers, these teams are usually filled with either rookies or drivers that are driving their last seasons before retirement because no other team wants to sign them, it's a good way for younger drivers to get into F1 without being under the insane pressure that teams like torro rosso used to put on their new drivers who knew they'd be kicked if they didn't perform in a season; in these teams, there's more learning from experienced drivers and i assume we could maybe see these teams work their way up in the course of a few years, but for the next season there will maybe be switches between these teams when it comes to drivers but i also have high hopes to see some rookies on here.

In the end, I also have quite a few thoughts on the drivers. We need to focus on new drivers, rookies, because these are getting quite interesting. The current F1 grid is pretty old. I know it’s been a problem for many years, having less rookies, but not a single rookies this season? Come on, and we are at fear of not getting a new rookie for ‘25 either! With F1 becoming more and more expensive it becomes almost impossible to get into F1, no matter how good you are, because signing a rookie is expensive. Let’s compare drivers here; many people are mad about Red Bull signing Checo again, but they underestimate how cheap he is if you compare him to any possible rookie. Sure, Checo gets paid a lot, but he also brings in sponsors and a bunch of merchandise sales; the people love him, you can sell merchandise with him and you don’t need to invest in interviews or whatever to make people like him, he's already popular. Furthermore, he doesn’t need to get accustomed to the car. Yes, he sometimes finishes badly, but it's still a safer call than getting in a rookie that would fail most of his first races because these guys are not accustomed to F1 cars; there's barely any training today, especially if you compare it to years ago. I’m currently reading Lewis Hamilton's biography so I can take him as an example; it's mentioned how much he was able to test the McLaren before his first race, sp obviously he was already used to the car and thus able to have a great first season, while rookies now just get thrown into the cold water. I would argue the teams are also trying to get too young drivers too. If Mercedes really signs Kimi Antonelli you’ll see him crash next year, that boy is barely used to the F2 cars! We all know they try to build their drivers for many seasons, look at Hamilton, but most of the young drivers lack so much experience! Look at Sargeant, a few more years in F2 would have done wonders for him. And i get it, they want to break Max’ and Redbulls records, get the youngest drivers and the next big story but this whole thing is just fucked up. That’s another post though.

On the other hand, F2 comes more and more into focus so I think in the following years we will see more F2 drivers getting big sponsors so the money isn’t that big of a problem anymore. But that’s also for another post!

[rory-multifandom-mess]

UZI HEADCANONS.

I WON'T BREATHE UNTIL WE GET UZI HEADCANONS.

(dies after five minutes)

the way my heart dropped because Uzi is the one character I don't think about that much. alright time to push myself into OVERDRIVE

Uzi Doorman Headcanons

Her favorite anime is Dragon Ball Z, and her favorite character is Android 18 (ty for my friend @steampunk-arc-knight for helping me bc I know nothing about DBZ)

Got into FNaF before. Listened to NateWantsToBattle and JT Music religiously (Her favorite was Bonnie because purple)

She didn't fully get over her crush on Thad until Episode 4

Everyone and their mom has this headcanon, but. She's bi

Some human bands she listens to are: Paramore, Set it Off, and Icon For Hire

Will shout "BITE ME!" at even inanimate objects, like chairs and tables, if she runs into them

Misses her railgun </3

Had absolutely no idea Doll was her cousin. Like at all. And will likely never know

I feel like she wouldn't give a damn about pronouns. She? That's fine. They? Okay. It? YES I AM A THING FEAR ME RAAAH!! Neopronouns? YES. I AM AN ENIGMA. RAAAAAH!!!!!!

Calls pill babies "things"

I think she would think babies are gross. Human and Drone

When she realized her feelings for N, she listened to "Monster" by Dev on repeat. Y'know the "Call the doctor, call the doctor, something must be wrong with me! He's a monster, why do I want cha?" song? Yeah that one

Watched ALL of Naruto. Every single thing. Her favorite was Kakashi (I know nothing about anime)

Loves horror movies n stuff. She laughs at them sometimes, though recently she's been less accustomed to the gore (because Solver's a BITCH)

Thinks she could kiss V if she wasn't so... herself. And also wasn't dead. Probably

I think she also would've listened to musicals, like Heathers and Dear Evan Hansen and maybe even Be More Chill. Possibly even Hamilton

Chronically online

Wish there was more but!! Most of these were on the fly. ALSO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG. You are most likely well and dead bc you held your breath for like. months LMFAO--

[tomwambsgans]

blink and you'll miss it scene of shiv revealing someone's closeted (but obviously not that successfully so) homosexuality to tom, followed directly by greg telling tom of homophobia he just experienced

to the first thing: tom's clear shock that doesn't involve asking further questions or saying anything, even, contrast to roman who repeats and laughs about it. tom looks like he may either be trying to distance himself from that kind of talk, even as it relates to his and shiv's base dynamic of "judging people together," and/or to be looking out determinedly for ron in the crowd. consider he just learned that a very rich and politically influential man on par with logan had an affair with a guy and even took the submissive role. and that that man is still rich and powerful.

to the second thing: i left it out of the clip but tom responds without hesitation, sounding almost relieved (but maybe that's subjective), with the famous "this is a safe space where you don't have to pretend to like hamilton" line. more or less giving greg advice on how to act and how to posture in a place like this. this is how you don't get called a soyboy, greg. aka this is how you avoid being clocked, greg.

it's notable then that tom and greg proceed to spend the rest of the episode attached at the hip, and to an abnormal enough degree, even, that roman overtly reacts. that very night tom does the most Affair thing he's done yet with greg and sneaks out of bed to go get dinner with him. and of course all of this is bc now greg also fears prison - particularly, just like tom, fixated on the notion of facing (nonconsensual) gay sex there. and tom changes the subject when greg brings it up. and he chooses to let greg stay up while he goes down.

greg also no longer needs the advice about prison but he follows the other advice. and to contrast his self-sacrifical satisfaction over protecting him from the dangers of prison, tom confronts him about this other success almost like it's a personal betrayal.

and i think that's truly how tom sees it and how we're meant to believe tom sees it, too. tom recognizes greg as like him, and he may have just been given major fuel to move past some of his internalized homophobia (or at least past the notion of it being impossible to be successful while pursuing what he wants), but he also doesn't want greg to be any more successful in the closet than he is.

[korewritingandstuff]

To cure the biggest pain

John finds out that the biggest pain of dying must be doing it alone.

Happy pride <3

***

If bullets were the seeds flowers grow from, his chest would be a garden, when Hamilton enters the room, Laurens knows every petal would have his name written on it. 

"Laurens," he says breathlessly while he flies through the room to take a place at his side. His hand raises through his waistcoat with the confidence of someone who knows its path. However, this time his fingers hold a different intention, curling around a white fabric that is pressed with desperation against his burning chest.

Of the size of a coin, a perfect red circle has broken the strong muscles to reveal the fragile inside; the little wound is as dark as night, with a small view of the universe in his chest, where the shine of the fresh blood is the stars. But Laurens feels like the wound is as big as his entire chest, as big as his body, as big as his ambition consuming him until there's nothing behind. He feels the burning wound will break his chest in half to reveal his bleeding heart to Hamilton; unwrapped as a gift, would that be enough to gain his forgiveness?

But that doesn’t happen; instead, the fabric is fastly stained by the intense red, Hamilton doesn't look him in the face, his eyes are tangled in the wild garden flourishing in his left shoulder.

John's right hand raises through the pain to caress Hamilton's cheek, but before it can reach the pale skin Alexander takes it and forces him to put it down. "Save your strength," he begs with his eyes transformed for fear and with his lips planting such a cold kiss on his palm John is afraid Hamilton might be dying too. "You'll be fine," the words are bathed in tenderness and affection but his eyes betray him, searching for McHenry in the room. "I promise," he says, but it sounds like a broken oath.

"Hamilton," John tries saying, Alexander keeps him close in his embrace with his right hand as a constant pressure against the wound. His fingers look painfully tense; but no matter how hard Alexander tries pressing the fabric, the white is slowly but constantly disappearing. "Sh, sh," he shuts him gently, "don't talk, save your strength, you'll be fine." He repeats.

Meade says "McHenry is coming." He walks around the room holding a handkerchief with such nervousness John would find it funny if not for his current position.

"Alexander," John tries saying, but the weight of the bullet is heavy on his chest and every breath is harder; so the name ends up like a whisper. The only comfort in it is the familiar shape of the name in his mouth.

"You'll be fine," repeats Alexander, whispering while his lips touch his forehead in an unfinished kiss. It sounds like he's holding a painful breath in his chest; deep and anchored to the center of his lungs, refusing to let it go. John believes ten minutes pass for McHenry to enter in the room followed by Tilghman, and finally, he can hear how Alexander let go a big and shaky sigh.

McHenry is a sensate man, and especially, a sensate doctor. When his eyes meet the blooming red chest of Laurens, he knows the tender tries Hamilton to stop the bleeding aren't enough to keep their beloved friend. At any moment the soul will escape through the wound, no matter how hard Hamilton clings to stopping it. Unluckily, Hamilton isn't a sensate man, he’s an especially insensate one when his dear Laurens is involved. So when the dear Hammy looks at him with hope holding every part of his face McHenry approaches to examine the wound closer, praying for a miracle to happen.

There's no way to know it (and it's better for them to not) but McHenry could swear the bullet is a few inches from the heart. As with everything he does, John must be breathing due to his own determination. The same determination that leads him to battle as a collector of wounds, this wound is his final piece. There’s only one thing he knows, this is his final hour.

His heart shakes violently at the realization, the bitter emotions growing inside him must be showing through his face. Laurens asks "Nothing you can do?" with a breathless tone that he didn't think could be found in brave men like him.

As a father, Tilghman approaches and with his right hand removes the dirt that stains the immaculate white hair Laurens works so meticulously into every morning. "Anything I could do would put you in greater pain, and you are too dear for me and the family to cause you some pain." He wants his voice to be strong and firm in the way every doctor should be at giving this kind of news, but his friendship with Laurens betrays him and his throat tightens without permission.

McHenry is sure of another thing, Laurens already knows it, a man like him, a man who knows about medicine, a man who knows how to get battle wounds must know this is his final one. Was it intentional? Did Laurens expose himself among canons and bullets to get this result? McHenry scolds himself for thinking in a dear friend that way. If Laurens exposed himself to danger so many times is because he is a man ready to die for his nation, for his country.

But a man like him, a man who loves his country, and its freedom; a man like Laurens must be familiar with the path to becoming a hero of the cause, the path to becoming a martyr.

McHenry just wishes he could have proposed his faith a little bit, giving the family enough time to know him and love him more. Or maybe he would have done it anyway knowing the pain that would cause them?

He waits for Laurens to react with the desperation of someone who cannot run away from his faith but is Hamilton who molders under the weight of the words. John carries the bullet, Alexander carries the wound, the colors have abandoned his face and he looks younger than ever, a small and scared child of nightmares no one else can see.  McHenry squeezes his shoulder with sympathy, but Alexander remains static in his eyes, his mind tormented by his personal ghosts.

"You are a dear friend of ours and a member of the family." Meade, who looks to be brave enough to start with the farewells; appears at his left. His hand still playing with the handkerchief, his fingers tied around the textile. "You know some of my tenderest affections are reserved for you." His twisted fingers give the handkerchief to McHenry.

While Meade promises his love and friendship, the doctor takes Alexander's hand from its firm place stopping the bleeding to add Meade's handkerchief. "How easy was it to love you, dear Laurens, and what an honor it was to be loved by you." Says Meade and Hamilton does a small nod, his hand holds Laurens with such strength his nails are digging. But Laurens, with the tender touch he always has with Hamilton just moves his venous thumb around his back in small circles. 

Harrison appears, with his face red from running and John cannot help but smile, who would have ever thought the Old Secretary still could run with such energy? "The Marquis will be here soon!" He exclaims while catching his breath. When he looks at John he looks to be possessed by terror. "Dear God!" His eyes are so open it looks like they are going to fall out of their orbits, covered in horror. "Young friend. Believe me when I say that if I could give you some of my years and memories, I'd give it to you, to grant you more time or to grant you the visions of places God didn't allow you to visit."

"Don't say that," Hamilton's cold-toned voice interrupts his words. Harrison shrives, suddenly feeling like the object of his hate. "He'll be fine," he repeats, his eyes refusing to see and Harrison feels pity for him, the death of Laurens will leave Harrison hurt, but it will also leave him sorry for Hamilton.

The room sinks into a deep silence, just the hard breathing of Laurens cutting the tension. McHenry, Meade, and Harrison exchange looks in silence, fighting for who will be the one to break the lie Hamilton has convinced himself of, the lie that John Laurens isn't already gone.

"Ham," Laurens says, taking the uncomfortable place to comfort his friend about his own departure. Hamilton tries to shut him up, insisting on saving the strength that’s already evaporating in the air; Laurens ignores him and climbs his arm around his neck to close their faces, John's mouth whispering breathless words directly into Alexander's ear. Harrison forces his eyes to stop looking, filled with the sudden feeling that he shouldn’t. But a broken “my dear” runs away grievously through the air. 

Interrupting the moment, fast steps sound in the hallway to show Lafayette entering the door. When Lafayette shows his face, it’s evident the soreness of loss already possesses him, his eyes are red and his cheeks are already wet. He flies through the room to descend into Laurens with an invasion of kisses.

“Be careful,” warns McHenry, but the warning doesn’t apply to Laurens who kisses the marquis’ cheek. Lafayette cries in French, he calls Laurens “mon ami” at the end of every sentence. 

“I wish you could have met my wife, Adrienne already loves you just with what I’ve told her,” Lafayette says, while his fingers brush Laurens’ hair.

It passes a moment of silence, the marquis looks John straight in the eye; he takes a deep, audible breath before saying, with a soft and fearful voice. “Is it too much pain?”

Despite his chest burns and every breath is getting harder, John finds out the biggest pain of dying must be doing it alone.

"Nothing I cannot bear.” He says with confidence; but McHenry cannot believe him, not when the pain spins each of his words. John isn’t the first man he sees dying, but is the first one he sees embracing death with so much familiarity. Isn't he scared? Or is he confusing the kisses of the Marquis with the beating of Azrael's wings? 

McHenry looks at them carefully, Lafayette entertains Laurens mentioning every good anecdote he can remember while he caresses one of his hands; McHenry can perceive the smallest shaking in it, but if it's caused by physical pain or by other pain in Laurens' mind, it's hard to tell. 

Even when the Marquis does extraordinary work telling every memory he has, he has to raise his voice so Laurens can hear him through his loud breathing. McHenry isn't sure how much time passes until small coughs start to filtrate through every breathing, at the start Lafayette comforts him caressing his hand, kissing his cheeks; until the coughs become such a violent sound it makes Hamilton wake up from the spell he was in. 

Laurens breathes- no, aspires air with the mouth open, his chest swells violently but it looks like he cannot get enough air. Hamilton raises over him until he's looking John straight in the eyes. Laurens' hands rise until they get entangled in Hamilton's hair, it looks like a painful gripping, but Hamilton remains quiet. Lafayette, who was sharing the details of his childhood, has fallen into a deep silence, his right hand caressing Laurens' hair. 

McHenry can see how every painful breathing breaks the careful mask of stoicism Laurens built; now he looks desperate, clinging to Hamilton as if he could make something about the vitality abandoning him. Hamilton, who’s been worryingly quiet, recovers from his invisible wounds.

"You'll be fine," Alexander promises, Laurens waits to see a hint that he's lying in his eyes, but Alexander provides him the kindest of looks and John cannot help but believe him. He continues talking, throwing promises. "You'll be in South Carolina, you'll rest between your mother and your brother." John's fingers move against his hair in an awkward gesture; even when it's aggressively clumsy, Hamilton can recognize it as a try of a caress. 

Alexander doesn't have a plan for what he will say, but when Laurens looks at him the words come out without permission; just being guided by the tender blue. "I'll talk to your siblings about you. They'll feel proud of you." And, being moved by the deep desire to provide John with as much happiness as he can; he continues talking, his mouth moving in a whisper, surprising himself. "I'll watch over your daughter, she'll be a nice lady. She will love you, I’ll teach her how." John's hands navigate until they arrive on his cheeks. Laurens touches him in the way Hamilton painfully recognizes as the touch of someone who dies, losing control of the limbs which causes an unintended aggressivity that’s unsetting to find between Laurens’ fingers. Despite his hands being filled with that strange touch, Laurens’ eyes hold the same kindness accompanied by a shine of surprise. 

Surprise, and something that looks like affection; even when his mouth moves violently in every breath, Alexander can detect the shape of a smile on Laurens’ lips. “I’ll visit you as much as I can,” he promises; while the words create painful knots inside his chest, they make John shine with happiness, with life. “You’ll live in my mind until the day I’m dead,” he confesses, almost falling apart under the fondness flooding John’s eyes. “Then, we’ll meet in kinder lands. I won’t forget you, dear J.”

And, guided with the deep desire of giving John all the pieces of peace he can provide. Alexander says, honesty seeping into every syllable:

"And I know; beloved Laurens, this nation won’t forget you."

[cozycompositions]

Hello, Lovelies! Here’s a little something something to hold you all over while I work on my longer pieces for June of Doom! This was inspired by my annoying neighborhood doing fireworks in the middle of the day today :)

Whoever decided to set off hundreds of fireworks to celebrate war heroes was an idiot. The way they light up the sky for the briefest of moments, the sounds that resemble something far too akin to bombs.

It’s what sent Alexander Hamilton to where he is now, huddled under the general’s desk like a child, shaking with tears stinging in his eyes (he wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t cry).

He is meant to be downstairs, celebrating the Americans’ long awaited victory with the rest of his troops. He knows he should be down there, but he just can’t bear to be there with the windows wide open to allow any memories to flow in with the smoke of the bombs (fireworks, only fireworks, Alexander).

He feels safer here, as if he is somehow more protected from the dangers of the outside with the thin curtains General Washington’s office provides. Once the firework show is over, he tells himself, he will make his way back to the party and be decent and allow his fellow soldiers to clap him on the back and hand him a drink and-

His thoughts are cut off by a particularly loud set of rockets. A small shriek bursts from Hamilton’s throat before he can stop himself. He jumps, because it seems the noise was enough to summon the knock that comes to the door.

“Hamilton?” the General’s voice is muffled by the wood. “Are you alright in there?”

“Fine, sir,” Alexander tries to reassure the older man. He cringes at how his voice wavers.

He nearly groans when the door swings open, and a familiar pair of boots appear in front of him.

—-

The general lowers himself to peer under his desk, and right there is young Alexander Hamilton. The boy is cowering in on himself, trembling like a leaf and blushing as red as a tomato. Hamilton was clearly embarrassed.

“What’s gotten you so worked up, my boy?” Washington prods.

Alexander opens his mouth, though Washington isn’t sure if he expects an answer or a witty remark. His aide doesn’t get the chance to say what was on his mind anyway, as another bout of fireworks cuts him off.

Alexander jumps nearly out of his skin and curls into himself further, a single tear making its way down his hot cheek.

Ah, now Washington understands.

“You don’t enjoy the fireworks,” when Washington says it, it isn’t a question.

Hamilton buries his face in his arms.

“You need not be embarrassed, Hamilton, we all have our fears. I only wish you had told me instead of slipping away,” he attempts a smile at the boy, but it’s no use. Alexander won’t look at him.

The aide’s voice is muffled when he speaks next.

“I didn’t hear you,” Washington says gently. He places a hand gently atop Hamilton’s arm, and the boy peers up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m not afraid of the fireworks,” he repeats for the general to hear.

“No?”

“No.”

“Then of what?”

Hamilton simply shakes his head. He’s tired, he doesn’t want to speak of this right now.

Washington seems to understand, but he sure as hell isn’t leaving this child to deal with whatever ails him alone.

So Washington says nothing, simply scoots so he is sitting with his back pressed against the desk. He is much larger than Hamilton, he can’t fit under the desk, but he will sit with the boy until he is ready to speak, or return downstairs.

Washington won’t rush him.

Because he knows there’s plenty of work to be done tomorrow.

[chibrary]

title: charles leclerc talks about his "red passion" author: roberto croci photographer: joseph degbadjo source: l'officiel series: f1, 2022

Formula 1 driver Charles Leclerc talks about his beginnings, his myths - including Ayrton Senna and how he prepares for his races. And what he likes to do in his free time with his lifelong friends.

L'OFFICIEL ITALIA: Who chose to call you Perceval? CHARLES LECLERC: My father, perhaps he imagined his children as the legendary Knights of the Round Table. I have two brothers, the younger Arthur - who has speed in his blood - and Lorenzo, older than me, who always accompanies him to all the races..

LOI: Maybe one day together with Ferrari? CL: It would be a dream, but for now I want him to grow independently, to discover his path, the circuit is a difficult world, so much so that he knows that if he ever needs me I will always be by his side.

LOI: When did you discover your passion for this profession? CL : I was four years old and one day I told my father Hervé that I didn't feel well and I didn't want to go to kindergarten. I don't know why, he believed it and took me with him to the go-kart track of his best friend, Philippe Bianchi. (Father of the pilot Jules Bianchi, who died in 2015 on the Suzuka track, the first pilot to die after Ayrton Senna, nda). When I saw other children running on the track, I asked my father if I could try. For my first car I chose the color red, and after three laps I fell in love with this sport, I couldn't understand the concept of braking. On those tracks I started dreaming of becoming a pilot, then growing up I realized that I could make my dream come true and turn it into a job opportunity.

LOI: Do you ever feel fear? CL: Honestly… I felt scared in 2017 when I thought I could not succeed in becoming a Formula 1 driver. (Leclerc won the GP3 series championship in 2016; FIA Formula 2 in 2017 to debut in F.1 with the Alfa Romeo Sauber the following year, in 2018). Never afraid of speed, the day I'm afraid, I'll stop running immediately, because living in fear is half living.

LOI: Do you remember the first Grand Prix you saw?

CL: I was still a child, I had a friend whose apartment had a balcony overlooking the Monte Carlo circuit. Of course, I always supported red cars, which have always been a special color for me, even though I didn't know Ferrari existed yet. I repeat, I am living my childhood dream.

LOI: Your favorite driver? CL : My idol has always been Ayrton Senna, from what I have been able to see from documentaries and talking to people who knew him, I discovered that he was a special person, not only behind the wheel, perhaps the best in history, but also as a human being. He will always be a legend, and not just for me.

LOI: Give me a list of your favorite team and circuits. CL: Senna for sure, Prost, Niki Lauda, James Hunt, Michael Schumacher and... Hamilton would be fine too. Monaco and Singapore the circuits, precisely because if you make a mistake you pay for it immediately.

LOI: There's been a lot of talk about mental health in sports lately. How do you keep your focus? CL : Even if I run at 300km per hour I'm a human being, I alternate between beautiful moments and difficult moments, I'm not a superhero. To maximize my concentration, even though I've always been good at handling tense moments, I've been doing breathing exercises since I was a boy. They help me stay calm, they're part of the job of achieving a level of focus that helps me maximize my potential. Preparing for the race is 90% of the work, you have to think about everything from strategies to teamwork.

LOI: Since you spend most of your time in a pilot suit, how do you like to dress in your spare time? CL: Even if it doesn't seem like it, I really like fashion, it's a way to express myself without speaking. I have two types of styles, one very streetwear, causal, relaxed but refined, and then the more classic one, complete with jacket and elegant trousers. I'm not very fond of ties and I use them little. I often wear garments from the new Ferrari line, they are aerodynamic and the fabrics are technical but with an air of couture. Plus they have my favorite color, you should know what it is by now.

LOI: When you're not running, what do you do? CL: I'm a normal guy, I spend time with friends. They are Ricardo, Alex, Thomas, Guillaume, Nico, Hugo, and Joris. I'm the hard core of my youth. We go to the beach, to the restaurant, we play soccer, we play sports together because we are all sportsmen, even if it is difficult for me to find free time to spend with them. I do normal things, even if my life remains different because while they study, I live my passion. I love racing, I love Ferrari, I'm lucky.

LOI: Do you play Formula 1 video games? CL: I play with my brothers, it's a lot of fun because normally we never talk about racing together, but we do when we play. During the lockdown, with other riders, we organized challenges on Twitch, because we wanted to entertain our fans who couldn't come and see us racing. It was a tough time for everyone, at the same time I had the opportunity to stop for a moment and live a more normal life with my family.

LOI: Your favorite moment before a race? CL: When I put my helmet on and everyone comes out of the pit lane, at that point I'm alone with my car and it feels good. It's like a nest, I don't feel any sensation, zero tension, I'm completely relaxed waiting for the ride.

[nordschleifes]

chapter seven — el perdedor

➝ when that fateful day in montreal is repeated in belgium, charlie is sure that the fairy tale with fernando has come to an end. she just didn't expect that she hadn't been the biggest loser that afternoon.

➝ word count: 7,3k

➝ warnings: fight, cursing, bribery, an angry cat, smut

➝ author's note: tagging @christianpulisic10, @alonsogirlie and @enaticosencantados as requested.

Sitting inside the plane, tears were streaming down Charlie's cheeks. She was trying not to cry in earnest in fear of disturbing the two other passengers beside her, a man dozing against the window and a woman in the middle seat who was immersed in the movie. But, she wanted to. She needed to. She needed to get all the frustration and anger consuming her out.

She needed to do something other than ruminate on the fact that the fairy tale of just over two months between her and Fernando was over, ending in the worst possible way.

Fernando had just come off of an incredible streak, one that not even the most optimistic of his fans could have imagined. After the unsatisfactory race in Barcelona, he was fully motivated to get back onto the podium in Montreal.

— It was like I said yesterday, that was our last race off the podium, nena — Fernando had murmured to her, the morning before the first free practice of the weekend, while they were still in bed together.

Driven by that desire to turn the tables, the two agreed to use a more aggressive setup than Lance's. However, against Max Verstappen's practically unstoppable RB19, they needed much more than a good strategy and a perfectly tuned car.

They needed luck.

— Is Max in trouble? — asked Fernando, a few laps after his first stop, during the safety car caused by George Russell. At that point they were in second place, more concerned with fending off Lewis Hamilton than chasing the championship leader through the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve.

— He hasn’t reported anything, why?

— He’s braking too early in the turns.

— Understood, I'll check — she said as her eyes scanned the telemetry charts, comparing the two drivers' lines and noticing that Max's braking line was longer and smoother than Fernando's. “Something's wrong”, Charlie kept repeating to herself, as he watched the lap times continue to fall, lap after lap.

Then, Charlie got a message from Max, in a way. The engineers at the race support room in Silverstone informed her that he had complained of overheating brakes and had been advised by the team to cool them. After a brief conversation with them about what to do and the possibility of Max retiring, she opened the radio channel with Fernando.

— Max has problems with his brakes. Difference dropping one second per lap. It's time to attack, Fer.

— Copy — he replied.

Watching him chase the RB19 around the track like a predator was fascinating to Charlie. The way he found the tenths of a second in each curve, passing within what seemed like millimeters of the Armco barriers sent a shiver through her body. It was sensual, wild, a kind of dance.

— You have DRS available — she said, as soon as she saw the three letters light up on the screen, an indication that Fernando had closed the gap enough. The closest he'd been all season.

And then, at the hairpin, when Max braked, his wheel locked. Losing the apex of the corner, he headed towards the gravel trap, opening the door for Fernando to pass and take the lead on the Casino Straight.

— Yes! C’mon! — he said into the radio, as Charlie took a deep breath, trying to contain herself as much as the garage cheered effusively. She had to concentrate on helping him build up a lead over Lewis, while Verstappen struggled with his own car before pitting and retiring.

When the dark green car crossed the finish line, she felt like she was on cloud nine. On the other side of the radio, Fernando roared in celebration, as if he was letting off the pressure of ten years without a win in Formula 1. All those years of frustration, doubts and challenges in other categories, in search of that feeling, that moment, those seconds when the work had finally come to fruition.

It was a mission accomplished. The plan had finally worked.

Meeting him after the race, drenched in sweat and champagne, was another thrill. The effort not to kiss him right there in the pit lane, in front of the world, was overwhelming, despite him not making an attempt to hide his delight at seeing her. He hastily shoved the first place trophy in the hands of his press officer to run towards her, picking Charlie up and twirling around with her in his arms.

— Thank you, thank you, thank you — Fernando repeated in her ear, while she laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks — Thank you so much.

— I have to thank you — Charlie said softly as he set her down on the ground — You're amazing, Fer.

— And you're beyond amazing, nena — he replied, before hugging her again, the champagne that was still on his overalls soaking into the front of her uniform polo, leaving a damp spot.

Two more wins followed, one in England and one in Hungary. At both races, the feeling of seeing him happy and on top of the podium was sublime for Charlie, not just because she'd done her job well and helped him achieve his goals for the weekend. It was the smile on Fernando's face, the pride in his eyes when he heard the notes of the Spanish anthem, the way he hugged her when he finally saw her in the pit lane each time.

And just when everything seemed perfect, everything fell apart.

Sunday's race at Spa, the last before the summer break, had been a replay of that catastrophic afternoon in Canada when they were both at McLaren. When Charlie heard Raúl tell her that there was a problem with the fuel consumption, a pit formed in her stomach.

This couldn't be happening again. It couldn't. She didn't deserve this, Fernando didn't deserve this, especially not when they were so close.

— The injection system is feeding the power unit erratically, consumption is above normal — the performance engineer said, pointing to the screen where the graphics foreshadowed the impending disaster.

Charlie felt her heart pounding in her chest.

— Is there anything we can do?

— At that point, all we can do is retire the car to see if we can save something from this power unit.

— Is that coming from mission control? — she asked, trying to buy herself some time to try to put into action some breathing exercise Hannah had taught her.

— Yes, and Mike already gave the okay.

Heaving a sigh, Charlie pressed the button next to Fernando's name.

— Fer, we have a problem that we can’t resolve. We're going to have to retire the car — she said, as she braced herself for a catastrophic response. An outburst of curses or worse, him fighting with her over the radio. “Please, Fernando”, she begged mentally, while he remained silent, seeming to process the information that his race was over.

— Understood — the driver muttered.

As soon as the car pulled up in front of the garage, Charlie took off her headphones and left them on top of the pit wall. She was beside herself with sadness and dread. She tried to assure herself that the team made the best decision for their championship ambitions, she couldn't help but think of how frustrated Fernando would be about it.

At that moment, it was killing her.

She watched as he climbed out of the car and handed Mikey, his mechanic, his HANS device, and walked toward the back of the garage without even taking his helmet off. Charlie ran after him, crossing the pit lane to try to catch up.

— Fernando! — she exclaimed, as he walked towards the paddock — Wait, Fernando.

However, Fernando continued to ignore her, making no effort to take his helmet off as he walked into the Aston Martin motorhome. The guest area was full, and all eyes were fixed on him, then on her. "I must look like an idiot", Charlie thought to herself, as she climbed the stairs. 

She was out of breath by the time she reached the door of Fernando’s drivers room, but the door was open. She could see that he’d finally taken off his helmet and balaclava, his hair damp with sweat and sticking up at odd angles.

— Fer...

— What? — he asked gruffly, as he unzipped his overalls, revealing his black fireproofs.

— I'm sorry — Charlie said quietly.

The driver stared at her, not seeming to believe what she was saying.

— You’re sorry? Do you think that being sorry is of any use?

She blinked, stunned.

— I…

— Your sorry does me no good, because, in the end, I'm not on the track. I'm not doing what I love to do!

— I know…

— Why didn’t you let me stay out? — Fernando exclaimed, taking a step forward — Why didn't you ask me if I could continue?

— The car wouldn't have made it to the flag — Charlie stammered, her hands feeling clammy and cold.

— I could have figured it out, I could have.

— There was an issue with the fuel injection system, there was no way to keep going without severely damaging the rest of the power unit...

— Of course, for you there's never a way to keep going. The solution for you is to always accept the circumstances and do nothing.

— I never said we shouldn't do anything — she snapped.

— But you accepted that there was no resolution instead of talking to me and analyzing the alternatives.

— Do you think there's time to debate options in the middle of a race? Especially with you going 300km/h?

— It’s better than taking whatever shit life throws at you! You've been doing that since your McLaren days, haven’t you?

— Fernando, we don't need to talk...

— Actually, we don't need to — he said, cutting her off — You know I'm right. You know you’d been content for too long with that shitty team, with that fucking engine, and now that you have a chance to fight for more, you give up, just like you’re back there.

Charlie swallowed hard. Fernando didn’t know it, but by the end of her time at McLaren, she felt like she had stayed with the team far longer than she should have. Her working environment there was chaotic, made worse by the issues with the Honda and Renault engines, and the team’s inability to be competitive. But McLaren had taken her on fresh out of university and gave her a career in Formula 1, so she felt obligated to stay out of gratitude, even as things deteriorated season after season.

— You know why I was there so long...

— You stayed for the worst reason possible — he exclaimed — Staying only because your grandfather only likes English teams, that's ridiculous!

— He has his reasons...

— Stupid reasons that had you stick with a shitty, uncompetitive team when you could’ve moved on to bigger and better things! — Fernando shouted.

— Why does it matter? — Charlie said, raising her voice to match.

— It matters because you keep acting like you still work for McLaren and that all you can do is just give up! 

The rational part of Charlie begged her to turn her back and leave Fernando talking to the walls, to leave him to take out his own frustration with the awful afternoon he'd had. However, she couldn’t help but stand there.

— What do you mean by that?

— You keep acting like a fucking loser!

His words landed like a punch to the gut.

— A loser? — she murmured, feeling her throat tighten and her lower lip quiver.

— Yes, that’s what I said. Are you deaf?

— Fernando…

— Charlotte, just get out of here and leave me in peace.

She thought of thousands of things to say at that moment. However, all Charlie could think to do was to leave the room. She walked to the engineers' office to pick up her backpack, feeling disoriented. “I have to go, I have to get out of here”, she thought, as she walked out of the motorhome, down the paddock, straight through the exit turnstiles, all without pause.

While waiting for the Uber, Charlie sent a quick message to Raúl, making up an excuse for having to leave before debriefing with Fernando. The last thing she needed was for him to say even worse things in front of everyone else.

In less than three hours, she was flying back to England without a second thought. There was no reason for it. It was all over.

— Miss? — someone said, touching her shoulder as she stared out the window. Charlie startled a bit before turning her head to see that there was a flight attendant standing in the aisle, a worried expression on her face — Do you need anything?

She hesitated for a few seconds, her mind searching for something plausible to say.

— No, I’m okay.

— Are you sure?

— Yeah, it's just something in my eye — Charlie lied, rubbing at her eyes in an effort to cover for herself.

— Well, if you need anything, we're here for you.

— Thanks — she replied, giving a sheepish smile.

After landing, Charlie drove to her grandparents' house to pick up Ron. Her grandparents always watched Charlie’s cat while she was out of town. As she put the cat’s carrier in the back seat, Amanda asked about her puffy eyes and red nose, irritated from rubbing it on the sleeve of her team sweatshirt.

— I'm fine, grandma, don't worry — Charlie said, as she sat in the driver's seat, forcing a smile.

If only she believed what she was saying.

Returning to her empty apartment was dismal. It was the start of summer break for Charlie. For the next four weeks, there would be no Formula 1, no traveling, no simulations to analyze, no videos to watch, no plans to make.

In a way, it was a good thing, as it would give Charlie the time and attention to focus on other things. She was determined to use the break wisely. She had a bookcase to assemble after buying it for her office over three months ago. There was a faucet in her kitchen that was leaking and needed to be fixed. She needed to organize her vinyl record collection after dismantling it to find one specific record to show Fernando during a video call — one of what seemed like hundreds that they’d had over the past few months.

“Forget about him”, Charlie told herself, shaking her head in order to physically push the thought away. He was part of the past, a reminder of something that no longer existed. The Fernando of the past few months was just a ruse. The real Fernando was the guy she’d known for so long. The real Fernando was the two-time world champion, demanding and uncompromising, who said and did what he wanted without regard for how his actions affected other people. The Fernando that she’d come to like was just in Charlie’s imagination, he never really existed, not even in her dreams.

 "Was it all just a lie?", she asked herself, as she laid down on the bed with Ron purring at her feet.

She fell asleep with that question on her mind.

The first week of the summer break was tedious. Charlie busied herself with household chores, trips to the factory, and visits to her grandparents, not allowing herself a moment to think. It was intentional — she wanted to distract herself and not allow herself to imagine what it would be like to spend her summer break in Switzerland, especially not at a particular villa in Lugano.

But the second week was torture. With the factory on lockdown and a mandated restriction on the work she could do, her avenues for distraction were limited. She’d accomplished all of the chores around the house she’d wanted to do, as well. With no reason to leave the house, she found herself trapped in a cycle that consisted of drinking wine, watching LOST and feeling frustrated every time her cell phone’s screen lit up and it wasn’t Fernando.

After what had happened at Spa, she hadn't received any calls or texts from him. In fact, it was as if he had disappeared entirely, as not even his Instagram had been updated after the race. Charlie didn't want to admit it, but the lack of updates made her more anxious. She couldn’t even find recent photos from fans that had him tagged. What kind of Formula 1 driver was he to not post a single photo of his summer vacation?

That was the question she asked herself on Saturday night, when the doorbell to her flat rang.

— I’m coming, calm down — Charlie yelled, as she set her glass of wine on the coffee table and extricated herself from her sofa. She’d been lying on it with Ron on her chest for the last few hours, watching something mindless on television. It was strange for someone to ring her doorbell, and her first thought as she opened the door was that it would be Rita, her elderly neighbor, asking for her help with something.

But, it wasn’t Rita. 

Standing in the doorway, wearing a black T-shirt, looking forlorn with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, was Fernando. However, it wasn't the clothes or the messy hair that caught Charlie's attention. It was the sadness present in his eyes.

— Good evening — he said softly.

— What are you doing here? — Charlie asked, her voice as dry and unimpressed as she could make it.

— I came to see you.

She snorted.

— As far as I last knew, you said you didn't want to see me anymore.

The driver let out a heavy sigh.

— Can we talk?

— We're already talking.

— Somewhere more private, I mean.

Charlie pursed her lips. Her neighbors definitely didn't need to see her arguing with Fernando Alonso in the hallway. She stepped aside and gestured for her to come in. He couldn't help but smile as he walked past her, into the living room of her flat.

Closing the door, Charlie took a deep breath before turning towards him. The driver was standing in the middle of the living room, looking around curiously. Seeing him in her flat gave her an odd feeling, until she realized something.

That was the first time he’d been to her flat.

— How did you find my address? — she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

— I spoke with HR — Fernando replied with a smile.

— And they gave you my address without saying anything?

— Of course not. They told me they couldn't hand over sensitive information about another employee, even someone who works closely with me. I tried to argue that I needed your address to send you a birthday gift, but they didn’t buy that.

She blinked.

— My birthday isn’t until October.

— I know.

Charlie hesitated, trying to puzzle out the situation.

— So, how…

— I made a personal appearance in the HR office and had a conversation with an intern. If you want an important tip for life, always have an envelope with you, you never know when you'll need it.

Charlie was shocked.

— You bribed an intern to get my address?

— Bribery is a very strong word, Charlie.

— How else would you describe it?

— I prefer “gratitude for services rendered”.

Running a hand over her face, she couldn't believe what he had done.

— And how much did my address cost?

— Less than Lewis’ mechanics cost me in 2007, that's for sure.

— How much? — Charlie repeated the question, placing a hand on her hip.

— A hundred pounds and an autograph.

She snorted, half outraged, half impressed by his audacity. Charlie couldn't fathom how troublesome that had been. Bribing someone for personal information could lead to serious problems within the company, both for him and the intern. But at the same time that she was pissed off, a part of her was in awe of all that effort on his part.

— What do you want, Fernando?

— I already told you, I wanted to see you.

— Well, if that's all, you’ve seen me, so you can go now.

— Charlie — he murmured, in a sad tone — I want to talk…

— What could we possibly have to talk about, Fernando?

— Charlie, you know what we have to talk about, and that’s what happened in Spa…

She shook her head.

— If you skipped out on your vacation to come to Northampton…

— Charlie...

— Just to complain about your fucking fuel injection system, you can leave right now, because I won't listen to any more of it…

— Fuck, Charlotte, I came to apologize! — he exclaimed, interrupting her.

Charlie felt her heart skip a beat.

— But…

— I came here to apologize to you — he repeated, in a lower tone — I came here to tell you that I was an asshole to you, and I’m sorry. I was upset about what happened at the race, but I shouldn't have any of the things I said to you.

— But you did say those things — she whispered.

— And I regret every word of it — Fernando continued — I regret saying that you act like a loser, I regret saying that your reasons for staying at McLaren were stupid. What I regret most, though, is when I asked you to leave me in peace.

— Why? — Charlie asked, feeling her throat tighten.

— Because it’s been horrible. It hasn’t been peaceful at all. Not having you by my side is the worst thing in the world, Charlotte. If living in peace means not having you with me, I would rather live in hell.

— Fer...

— I'm serious, Charlie — he said, stepping forward — I don't want you to leave me in peace. I want you to make every second of my life hell. Make my life an eternal torture if you need to. Please, make my life hell. 

Her eyes burned with tears.

— I accept everything you do to me if it means I find heaven on your lips — Fernando whispered, his eyes wet — Torture me, destroy me. But please, don't leave me, Charlotte. Don't leave me alone. Because that is the real hell. 

Charlie's lower lip quivered as her chest filled with a familiar, overwhelming warmth. Leaving Spa like she had had been horrible, almost as if she was leaving her own heart behind, and she’d found out the hard way that it was exactly what she’d done.

When she turned and left Fernando’s driver room, she’d left her heart with him.

— Come here, dickhead — she finally said, opening her arms.

Fernando stepped towards her, enveloping her in a tight embrace. With her head nestled against his neck, Charlie closed her eyes and allowed the tears that had been building to spill down her cheeks onto the fabric of his T-shirt. A few seconds later, he pulled back slightly, looking down at her. His eyes were red, and his cheeks were damp.

— Thank you — he whispered, resting his forehead on hers.

— For what? — she asked quietly.

— For not giving up on me.

She smiled as she brought a hand to his face, gently cupping his cheek.

— If I didn't give up on you even when you were the biggest asshole in the world, I wouldn't give up on you now.

Giggling, he moved closer to Charlie's face, kissing her gently. The taste of their tears mingled with the taste of the wine she had been drinking. After a few seconds, the driver pulled her face away slightly, his nose brushing her skin.

— Mi cielo. Mi paz. Mi luz — he murmured, pecking her lightly between the words.

Charlie couldn’t understand what his words meant, but hearing them in his delicious accent were enough to make her melt in his arms and kiss him even harder. As she felt Fernando's hands sliding down her back towards her ass, something inside her started to burn, her skin tingling.

She needed more than hugs or kisses.

She needed to fuck him.

Tugging on the front of his shirt, Charlie started to lead him through the corridors of her flat towards her bedroom. They stumbled on the way, unable to keep their hands off each other, divesting each other of their clothes as they walked. It would be almost funny to an outside observer, with arms getting trapped in t-shirts, a lock of Charlie’s hair ending up in Fernando’s mouth in the chaos, the stumbling and grasping and groping at the wall to find the bedroom lightswitch. However, as soon as Charlie felt the edge of her mattress behind her legs, a wave of warmth ran over her skin.

— Mi nena — Fernando purred as he placed her on the bed, his teeth grazing her neck — Te extrañé tanto, mi cielo.

— Fuck, Fer — Charlie grumbled, bringing her hands up to his shoulders, nails digging lightly into his skin.

And then, a loud hiss made Fernando yelp and stand up, looking startled at something above Charlie’s head. Following his gaze, she realized they weren't alone in the room. Standing on Charlie’s pillow with his back arched, fur standing on end, and ears back, was Ron.

— I think someone isn't happy that we interrupted his nap — the driver said to her, with a smile. Then, he stretched out his hand towards the cat — Hello…

However, if he expected the cat to sniff his hand in greeting, he was wrong. Ron gave Fernando a warning growl, even louder than before, before swiping at his hand with his front paw. Charlie pushed Fernando off of her and stood up.

— No, Ron, not like that! — she said, scolding the cat as she picked him up and set him on the floor — Be nice! We’ve already talked about this.

As she watched the orange cat bolt from her bedroom, Charlie ran a hand over her face. She had forgotten about Ron’s tendency to nap on her bed. She was embarrassed, but at the same time, she certainly didn’t blame the cat. He had been snoozing peacefully in the dark before being so rudely interrupted by the presence of a stranger, after all.

— Ron, huh? — she heard from behind her. When she turned around, she found Fernando sitting on the bed, a mischievous smile on his face — I guess I know your cat’s name now. 

— Yeah, that’s Ron — Charlie replied.

— I didn't know you were a Harry Potter fan.

She blinked.

— I’m not… Not really.

The driver raised an eyebrow.

— But Ron is one of the characters, right? With red hair? I remember watching one of the movies with my nieces.

— I think so, but his name isn't Ron after Ron from Harry Potter.

— Where is his name from, then?

— Ron Dennis — she replied.

Fernando’s face fell.

— Are you joking?

— No, he's named after Ron Dennis.

Fernando laughed, incredulous.

— Did you name your cat after the guy who hates me?

— Yeah — Charlie said, closing the bedroom door.

— Charlotte! — the driver exclaimed.

— What? — she replied, with her hand on the doorknob — Are you bothered by my cat’s name?

— Of course, you named him after someone that hates me!

— Why do you think I chose that name?

Fernando blinked, looking shocked.

— Do you hate me? — he asked softly.

Charlie snorted, before stripping off the cotton bralette and shorts she was wearing, along with her panties. Then, placing her hands on her hips, she glared at him.

— Does it seem like I hate you?

Fernando was staring at her, his mouth open for a reply that seemed to get lost on the way to his lips. His pupils dilated as he took in every detail of her body, almost like he was trying to memorize details he’d seen dozens of times, from the fair and soft skin from her belly to the tattoo in her ribs of a V10 engine.

 Charlie walked towards him, stopping in the space between his legs.

— I asked you a question — she said, her voice hard and serious.

— What was it again? — he mumbled, his eyes fixed on her breasts.

Charlie shook her head before touching her fingers to Fernando’s chin, gently tipping his head up to bring his gaze to hers. 

— Does it seem like I hate you?

— No.

— Because I don't — she said softly, her fingers stroking his cheek — On the contrary. I quite like you, Fer.

Leaning on his shoulders, Charlie straddled Fernando's lap, her knees pressed against the mattress. The closeness of his skin to hers made her shiver, a mixture of excitement and anticipation that made something tingle just below her navel.

— Nena — the driver murmured, his hands drifting down to her ass, giving it a gentle squeeze.

— I like you quite a bit, my dear — Charlie continued, as she felt his beard brush against her skin as he buried his face in her neck — And my cat's name doesn't mean anything anymore.

— Mi cielo — Fernando whispered, before bringing his hands to her cheeks and slowly lying down on the bed. Then he kissed her slowly, his tongue patiently exploring her mouth, as if their week apart had dulled his memory of what she felt like, and he wanted to remember every inch of her again.

Pulling away slightly, Charlie unbuttoned Fernando’s jeans. With a laugh, she pulled them down with his underwear. Fernando smiled as his erection was revealed.

— Do you have a condom, or do I have to go to the car and get one?

She rolled her eyes as she positioned herself on top of him.

— Only if you go downstairs like that.

— Like that?

— Naked — Charlie said, with a smirk — It would be fun to see.

— Do you think your neighbors would appreciate it? — he asked, his fingers pressing into her hips as she brought her hand to his cock and pumped it a few times.

— My neighbors include a gay couple and an elderly widow. The sight of a handsome man like you walking naked down the hall would probably be pretty exciting — she replied, bringing her face closer to his — But, I don't think we need a condom today.

— Don't you want to see me running to the car naked?

— I don't want them to see you naked — Charlie said, towering over him — That's for my eyes only. 

Pulling her hips down onto his, Fernando let out a growl as he penetrated her, while Charlie let out a long sigh, the pleasure coursing through her body like a warm wave. They had already had sex dozens of times, in many places and positions, but the first few seconds always felt like the first time they became intimate on that night in Imola, like settling into a warm bath.

— All good? — he asked through clenched teeth.

— Yeah, my dear. And you?

— Yeah, just — Fernando stopped moving for a moment, seemingly to try and catch his breath — You're going to drive me crazy, nena.

Charlie chuckled.

— We’ll see — she replied, moving her hips slowly, gasping softly as she felt his cock brush against a specific spot inside her.

It didn't take long for them to find a rhythm that they both liked, with Charlie resting one hand just above the tattoo on his abdomen to steady herself. The sound of their bodies colliding mingled with their sighs and moans, as well as her wetness, which was already forming a shiny layer on his cock.

— Fuck — Fernando groaned, his hands making their way up her stomach until he could cup her breasts. The way he was touching her, with his rough fingers massaging her sensitive nipples, made heat course through Charlie's body in ever-increasing waves.

— Yes, Fer, yes — she moaned, tightening her hold on his hip, rubbing her own clit against his pubic bone. Charlie felt as if she were in limbo between agony and ecstasy, her muscles tensing as she chased her release. It was tantalizingly close, but still too far away. 

Suddenly, Fernando decided to take matters into his own hands. He planted his feet on the mattress for maximum leverage, gripped Charlie's waist tightly and began to thrust, angling his hips so Charlie canted forward a bit, giving her more friction where she wanted it. The sudden change in pace had her letting out a loud moan, her nails digging into his arms.

— You're going to come… For me… Mi cielo ? — he asked through gritted teeth, his fingers pressing into her skin harder with each thrust. The driver seemed to be clinging to the little self-control left in his body to get her closer to her orgasm.

— I… Yes, fuck, yes!

— Then… Come — he growled, practically as an order.

And then, Charlie came undone. 

Pressing her knees against his ribs, she felt her body become seized by the tension before relaxing, the pleasure coursing through her like an overwhelming tsunami. Beneath her, Fernando gave a few definitive thrusts, his voice strained as he called Charlie by her full name as he released himself, deliciously hot, inside her. Still shaking, she collapsed on top of him, her eyes half-closed and her heart racing in her chest.

They stayed in that position for what seemed like an eternity. There was no reason to move when she felt complete, with Fernando inside her, hot and pulsing as he gradually softened. There was no reason to move, not when she was enjoying being back where she should have been all along, where she always wanted to be.

— Are you okay, nena ? — Charlie heard Fernando whisper below her. Cocking her head, she found him looking at her with a tired little smile on her face.

— I’m wonderful. And you?

— I'm great, actually.

— Good — she replied softly, smiling.

A few seconds of silence followed, the two gazing at each other as if neither of them knew what to say. For Charlie, there weren’t words that felt adequate enough to describe what she was feeling. That almost unbearable feeling of joy and desire and satisfaction that filled her chest and made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.

— I missed you — Fernando whispered, caressing Charlie’s cheek with his fingers.

— I missed you too — she said, smiling. Fernando smiled, bringing his lips to hers and kissing her gently, one hand sliding down her back, resting against the base of her spine in a gesture that felt equally affectionate and protective. It was a simple contact, but it felt so intimate that it made Charlie wish that time would stop, so that they never had to leave.

However, it was not to be.

The sound of Ron meowing and scratching at the bedroom door made her let out a long, frustrated sigh.

— I think someone isn't happy — Fernando muttered.

— He must be hungry — Charlie replied, snuggling his head on the driver's chest, trying to enjoy every last moment she could with him — This is normally when I feed him.

— Do you want to get up?

— No, but I need to get up. If I don’t, he will whine all night.

He placed a kiss on her forehead.

— Stay here, I'll get you something to clean you up — Fernando said, as he put her on the mattress and finally got out of Charlie's body. The empty feeling had her pressing her thighs together, trying to push away the discomfort.

— You can get one of the flannels from the bathroom — she instructed as watched him get out of bed.

— Where is that? — he asked, his eyes scanning the room, doubtlessly searching for his underwear.

— Second door on the left — Charlie replied, stifling a laugh when she realized he had a hand on his own cock — And you don't have to hide your dick here.

Fernando looked over his shoulder at her, a sly smile on his face.

— You're a naughty little thing, you know that? — he said, before taking his hand away and stepping out of the room. As Fernando disappeared into the hallway, Charlie saw Ron slip inside and jump onto the mattress. He sat at the edge of the bed, watching Charlie carefully.

He gave her a meow that sounded like a whine.

— Oh, my love — Charlie murmured, reaching out her hand to scratch his tufted ears. He backed away a little, before leaning his head closer and sniffing her fingers, which probably smelled like a Formula 1 driver to Ron. However, the cat soon relented, pressing his head into her hand — I'm going to feed you, okay? Just wait a little bit.

Fernando returned to the bedroom, already in his underwear and with a damp flannel in his hand. With a small smile, he sat on the edge of the bed, close to her legs. His presence made Ron hiss as the tip of his fluffy tail twitched angrily.

— No, Ron — Charlie scolded him again while scratching under his chin — No fighting with Fernando, he's my friend.

— Friend? — he asked, raising an eyebrow at her, resting a hand on one of her knees.

— Yeah, friend. My friend.

— Just your friend?

— Yes, is there a problem with that?

— No, Charlotte — Fernando replied, gently swiping the damp fabric over her labia — I just wonder if you let all your friends clean your pussy after having sex with you.

— Well, do you let all your friends ride your cock, Fernando? — Charlie asked, mimicking his sarcasm.

He chuckled, pulling his hand away from between her legs.

— Not all of them — the driver said, causing her to raise an eyebrow — Only one, actually. The prettiest one.

— Do I know her? — she asked, sitting up in bed.

— Yes, you see her every day in the mirror — Fernando replied, giving one of those smiles that made Charlie's heart melt — I'll take this to the laundry basket. Do you need anything?

— No, I’m fine. I need to get up and feed Ron.

— Want your clothes?

— I'll get something from the closet — she said, as she got up from the bed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. However, before going to the wardrobe, Charlie felt one of Fernando's hands slide around her waist, stopping her for a few seconds. When she turned her face, she found him staring at her with a goofy smile on his face.

— You're beautiful — he murmured.

— You already said that.

— I don't mind repeating myself.

— And I don’t mind hearing you repeat yourself.

— You’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world.

She gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before walking to her dresser, grabbing the first clothes she saw. Afterwards, she walked to the kitchen, Ron following after on her heels. She put a scoop of kibble in Ron’s bowl and crouched next to him, encouraging to eat, but watching his owner interact with the interloper seemed to make Ron lose his appetite. After a few minutes, though, he started picking at the food in the wide, flat dish, his head shaking as he crunched.

— Good boy. Now, it’s time to go to bed — she said, after Ron had seemingly eaten his fill. She walked back to the bedroom with Ron following after her again, jumping up to his usual spot next to Charlie’s pillow. However, upon seeing Fernando lying on the bed again, Ron hissed and left the room. "I'll sort this out tomorrow", Charlie thought to herself. Charlie laid down next to Fernando, and he threw his arm around her waist, pulling her body closer to his.

— Good night, nena — Fernando whispered, kissing her neck.

— Good night, Fer.

The sun was shyly peeking through the crack in the curtain when Charlie woke up the next day. Stretching a hand across the sheets, she found it strange that they were cold. As she opened her eyes, trying to clear the remnants of sleep from her vision, she found that she’d woken up alone. She was a little puzzled, but went to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. 

The silence inside the apartment was unsettling, especially with the knowledge that she’d fallen asleep in someone’s arms, and that someone was nowhere to be seen. However, as soon as Charlie entered the living room, she felt her heart warm.

Fernando was sitting in an armchair near the sliding door that led to her flat’s balcony. His face was illuminated by the sun’s rays that managed to break through the cloudy Northampton summer sky. His eyes were closed and his head was tipped back, and he seemed to be in his own world. As she got closer, Charlie noticed that Fernando was chewing on something.

The grumbling of an irritable cat made Fernando open his eyes and look down to his feet. Ron hissed at him again, clearly disturbed by Fernando’s presence, but too stubborn to actually move. After years of being the only male in the household, he clearly felt threatened by the arrival of another, especially one who stole his owner’s attention and affection. Fernando just smiled at the ginger-colored instigator. 

— I didn’t think cats liked peaches — he murmured, taking another bite of fruit, the juice running down his chin, some of it getting caught in his beard. He swiped at the edges of his mouth with his fingers as the remnants made them glisten in the sunlight.

Charlie watched without saying anything, and felt something tingling below her navel, and felt her heart racing a little. The shine on his lips reminded her of the times when Fernando had laid her in bed and taken her to her climax with his mouth. The memory of him between her legs, his eyes locked on hers as he pleasured her with his tongue made her melt.

It was then, seeing Fernando looking so comfortable in her flat, remembering their nights together, that made her realize just how much she had missed him.

Charlie had missed their stolen kisses and touches, the words murmured with desire in her ear. She had missed his stubble brushing the inside of her thighs, his tongue and fingers circling her clit, the satisfied sounds he made when he felt her pull at his hair.

Charlie walked quietly toward the balcony door, watching as Fernando took another bite of the peach. Then, as he chewed, he turned his face to her, giving her a small smile.

— Good morning, nena — he murmured, his mouth still full.

Without saying anything, Charlie eased herself into his lap, wrapping one of her arms around the back of his neck. Then she brought the thumb of her free hand to his chin, wiping away the juice and fruit pulp caught in his beard and bringing it to her mouth, savoring the sweet notes of fruit on her tongue.

However, nothing was sweeter than the way Fernando looked at her.

— Good morning — Charlie said, before kissing him slowly and deeply, enjoying the taste of fruit on his lips. It was sensual, almost erotic, and unlike anything she’d ever done. But she felt comfortable like this, like it was just part of their daily routine.

Pulling her face away from his, she nestled her head into the crook of his neck, eyes closed against the sunlight. "This is heaven", Charlie thought, as she felt Fernando caress her arm.

— Have you been up long?

— About 20 minutes, I think. Ron woke me up.

Charlie cocked her head toward Ron.

— He did?

— He climbed on top of me and stared at me for a while. When I tried to pet him, he started grumbling.

She sighed, looking down at the cat. Charlie felt bad for not taking their introduction more slowly, but there was nothing to be done. It wasn’t like she was expecting Fernando to drop by any time soon. 

— Yeah, I don’t think he likes you.

— What a surprise, another Ron that hates me — he muttered.

— Well, unlike the human Ron, this one can be won over.

— How? Do I need to neatly slice up my fruit before eating it in front of him?

— No, we can start with treats. This Ron doesn't care how you eat your peaches.

— The human Ron does.

— Well, that’s just one of his problems — Charlie sneered as she stood up from Fernando’s lap. — You’re familiar with how bribery works, so let’s bribe this cat.

[fountainpenguin]

Repeat

13, 9, 15, 11, 5

I hope it's not too many. Repeat is my favorite fic of yours so I might have gotten a little bit carried away.

Thanks for asking! I'm glad you enjoy that one.

[Current Ask game]

130 Prompts #70 - Repeat - Read on AO3

#ridspoilers

Also contains massive Fairly OddParents show spoilers, but it's been 12 years since "Timmy's Secret Wish" so. y'know.

---

13 - What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn't listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

I rarely listen to music while I write; I find it too distracting. If I do listen, then I listen to one song on repeat, and I usually have to already have listened to that song a few dozen times before I start writing something, so it's tuned out, which kind of defeats the purpose of having a song anyway.

However, I might put the song on while I cook or clean. Even if I don't listen to one during the writing process, when I post a chapter announcement on Tumblr, I like including lyrics from a song I associate with a piece.

One scene in "Repeat" depicts Cosmo's failed attempt to take a child under his wing. Jorgen interfered and swept the child off- a nod to Jorgen's future attempt to rip Poof himself away in the episode "Fairly Odd Baby."

"Repeat" is full of moments where Cosmo reflects on all the times things have been taken from him - including the memories he personally scrambled with his magic just so Jorgen couldn't take them from him first - and how he empathizes deeply with Timmy's fears of having his godparents ripped away.

This leads us to the final scene of this piece, where Cosmo grants Timmy's wish to freeze time, à la the episode "Timmy's Secret Wish".

The songs I associate most with "Repeat" are "Satisfied" and "Congratulations," both from Hamilton. These are not 1:1 plot matches, but I feel like the core themes are there (like memories, regret, sacrifice, and never feeling satisfied with what you have).

Specifically, I like to imagine that if Cosmo could go back in time, he'd warn his younger self that he'd never be satisfied if he tries to push too hard or "cut corners." Be patient, live for yourself, and let things happen when they will. Don't spend unnecessary centuries pining over someone at the expense of your own health and interests.

The line "I'd say 'I'm fine' (She'd be lying)" is a good fit here... Also, "Satisfied" doesn't just reflect Cosmo's fixation on memories in this piece, but it also fits Timmy's fear of letting go.

I LOVE "Timmy's Secret Wish" as an episode and how it paints Timmy as this abused, desperate kid who clings so hard to security and safety, he chooses to sacrifice the world and his chance at personal growth just to cling on a little longer. And he knows NOW that it was wrong, but back then he was just... scared. Timmy is such a character who's full of hope and desperation...

Anyway, "At least I keep his eyes in my life" is a great line for him here. Like, yeah- bro might've successfully frozen time for 50 years, but have you considered that I love him?

No matter how many times he wins Fairy World's favor, Timmy will never be satisfied with his laurels when there's always that threat that when he turns 18, he loses Cosmo and Wanda for good. Timmy is a good, good kid. But he'll never be satisfied with what little time he has left when Jorgen is forever taunting him.

[Cnt'd under the cut]

Cosmo's friendship with Blonda is one of my favorites in my work, even though "the main cast" aren't usually my focus, so it's not that obvious. In Frayed Knots, however, Blonda teeters back and forth trying to emotionally support both Cosmo and Anti-Cosmo, not to mention Wanda and herself on top of that - during high school and then an interspecies war - and I think it's funny. She has it rough.

"Congratulations" could either be Blonda and Cosmo having an argument, but it could also be Cosmo berating himself for some of his past secrets, and telling himself that no matter what, even if things get hard for him, he "owes it to Wanda" to do his best. Cosmo has a tendency to push himself, constantly trying to "make up for his past" and refusing to "burden others" by asking for help. He deflects a lot, but these two songs cut right to his core.

9 - Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

I think "Repeat" has the most alt versions of any 'fic I've ever written. I struggled a lot with deciding whether Cosmo, Poof, or Foop was the most fitting POV character in this one. There are several cut scenes (including the scene where Poof breaks his arm at the saucerbee field). In the end, I cut a lot and stuck with Cosmo as our POV character with just small Poof snippets.

I have a lot of scraps that depict Poof and Foop racing back in time to stop Cosmo from ever buying the car that Poof crashed in the first place.

I think that would have been a fun plot to follow, but every attempt I made at it just dragged things out and felt like it was getting farther from the core idea of "Cosmo's past" / "Cosmo's secrets." It also started tangling extra worldbuilding and plot points into this, and I just didn't like what was happening to my one-shot.

tl;dr - Overall, it just felt clunky, so I cut all of that out. But here's one of the scrapped scenes from this one:

“This is so illegal, this is so illegal,” Foop chanted as he and Poof raced through the timestream corridor. “Hey, you agreed,” Poof fired back at him. “If it’s so illegal, why do the Council let you keep timekeys on hand anyway?” “I stole them from my mom when she fell asleep watching the telly with me!” Foop threw his hands into the air, still clutching his keyring in one of them. “They’re silver-level keys anyway. We can only interfere with certain dates, certain places. If the Fairy Council have put anything stronger than a silver lock on the day we want, then I can’t help you. Are you sure it’s _[date]?” Poof couldn’t help but scoff at that. “Yeah, he’s only told me like a million times.”  Foop sniffed. “I just want you to realize that the only reason I’m accompanying you is to ensure you don’t do something peanut-brained in the past that will wipe us both out of existence. I have a limited supply of timekeys, so no detours. Poof? Are we clear?” “I suppose it doesn’t have to be the same date he got the car,” Poof mused, slowing his wingbeats. Up ahead, the hallway broke into eight paths in a cross like a wagon wheel. “Any of these dates will do. We could smash it or something.” “Are you listening to me?” “Huh? Oh, sure. No detours, got it.” Poof took another step down the hall, pointing to a to where it split ahead. “Foop, check it out. That one on the left there is glowing.” Foop frowned. He placed a hand to his wand. “So it is. Let’s stay far away from it.” “We should at least take a look.” Poof crept towards the crossroads, with Foop grumbling to himself behind him. The leftmost tunnel continued to glow white. As they neared it, Poof slowed. “Wait. I can sense someone down there.” “Charming,” was his counterpart’s dry comment. Poof tasted the scents in the air. “It’s a pixie.” “A pixie,” Foop repeated, wrinkling his nose. His ears went flat. His voice slipped into a whisper. “Wait. What time period is he from?” Poof whispered back, “I dunno. Does it matter?” “If he entered the timestream corridor after the Aspen Agreement between the Pixies and the Anti-Fairies was signed, then yes, that matters to me.” Foop leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “What’s he doing? Can you sense that?” “Maybe… He’s right at the edge of my range. Hang on a sec.” Poof closed his eyes and leaned a little closer. He tongued the tip of his nose. “I… can’t tell.” He could, however, tell when Foop rolled his eyes. “I thought you were majoring in long-distance essential sensories.” “I’m undeclared.” Poof cupped his hands around his ears. “Huh. Weird. I can’t get through the field. There’s some kind of ripple or something around him.” “Oh, goody. That’s not horrifying.” “Yeah, well, whatever that bubble shield thing around him is, it’s not letting me lock onto his magic any further than letting me know he’s a pixie. Should we risk peeking around the corner? He’s about halfway down the hall. I think he’s facing the other way.” “Try harder. And don’t let him sense you back” Poof shifted his weight between his wings. “I don’t think ‘trying harder’ will solve anything. I am trying. Do you see my eyes glowing yet? Listen, I just plain don’t have enough power to break through. Must be a more dominant gyne. Do you want to give me a little more juice and see if we can pierce that aura he’s got?” Foop smacked him (lightly) on the cheek with the back of his hand. “I’d be feeding you your own magic, snazzlebrain.” Poof shoved Foop away with his hand and turned to stare at the glowing hallway. “Maybe he can help us.” “You know what? He might. Or, maybe he’ll pat us up for timekeys, rob us blind, and leave us to spend the next couple of centuries wandering the time corridor until someone gets us out.” Foop tugged on his sleeve. “So let’s go.”

15 - What did you learn from writing this fic?

I think one of the most important things I learned was to make my endings and/or my dramatic moments more clear. I remember people thought Cosmo died at the end of this one. He doesn't (Just exhausted from using magic so he collapses), but I like the ending the way it is, so I didn't want to mess with it too much.

I'm proud of myself for choosing (correctly, I think) to cut all the things I did. This piece needed to be able to stand alone without all those other plot points hanging off it.

I did get feedback that this style of moving between the present and the past was confusing even with the divider lines, so I don't think I'll do such a heavy flashback piece again, but I do like how it worked out here. Cosmo is a character with a foggy mind in canon and I like the way I portrayed him drifting in and out of his memories.

There are also moments in this story that come from other one-shots I had. I wanted to do a whole 'fic about postpartum depression Cosmo, but it was really a downer and wasn't going anywhere. It starts with the line "He lied when Wanda asked if the baby had started kicking yet," which I incorporated into a flashback of this piece. I think I made the right choice in combining it here, when there would be fluffy moments to balance it out.

I do personally headcanon Cosmo with postpartum depression and I might write something for it specifically, but I'm happy with how this worked. I really like the moment where Wanda asks Cosmo why he's worried the baby won't like him and Cosmo says "Wanda, I don't even like me." It's one of my core ideas for Cosmo and I like it.

11 - What do you like best about this fic?

I think I did a good job writing Cosmo's voice. He is a very difficult character to capture, especially since this piece was one of my first times writing him (and I think my first from his POV?) but I'm happy with how I did it.

I love the subtle hints throughout this piece that time hasn't been frozen (Yet), and that Timmy is older and moving on. I like how upset Foop gets when Cosmo wants to go back and freeze time... He's my little paperwork prince.

I enjoy Dusty's characterization. He's a mini Cosmo with his "Yay, bottomless breakfast!" during the pancakes scene and I think he's great. I enjoy Cosmo charming Jorgen into leaving Foop alone to go do something else, which is a nod to how skillfully Cosmo distracts Jorgen in "Abracatastrophe" by confidently telling Jorgen he needs to "scramble the fairies."

I like the subtle inclusion of Sparky. He's not being annoying or in the way (Just resting in the garden), but he has a nice place to live and he still has his funky personality.

5 - What part was hardest to write?

I would say that the hardest thing about writing "Repeat" was trying to figure out what it was about and what needed to be cut. There were so many directions this could have gone, several different POVs, and several plot points. I really had to cut a lot.

I think the piece also struggles with not having Cosmo backstory context (because we haven't gotten there yet in Frayed Knots), but I still think it's effective for this story. Cosmo's backstory is marked with secrets. The reader isn't privy to the details because he doesn't want anyone to know exactly what happened in his younger years.

Trying to strike that balance of giving that impression without totally frustrating readers is difficult. I think I did okay, although I wish I were closer to revealing stuff in Knots.

I hope to write a lot more for Origin and Knots in 2024. I'd love to finish them both by next December, but that probably won't happen, so hopefully we'll get close, at least. Then my Cosmo backstory shall be revealed...

Thanks for your interest!

[Current Ask game]

[queenlucythevaliant]

A Liturgy of Surviving

Scarlett always wanted to be like her mother, and maybe in another world she could have been. If the war never happened, she could have grown softer instead of sharper. She could have curbed her temper, married well, and been received in respectable homes all her days. Maybe, if it hadn’t been for the war, Scarlett O’Hara could have lived out her days in genteel artifice, just like Ellen before her.

Maybe. Maybe not. If you asked her, Scarlett would say that the question was irrelevant. “God’s nightgown!” she would exclaim. “Don’t ask me what could have been. The war happened and that’s that.”

          I won’t think about that now.  

The day after Scarlett’s world ended, she swore an oath that she would never be hungry again. 

She woke in pain. Her muscles ached and her joints creaked. She was nineteen, but she felt like she had a hundred years weighing her body down. Morning light slanted through the window and her head ached with the moonshine liquor that she’d downed the night before. From another room, she heard an infant crying. 

She passed through the dining room without eating, pausing only briefly beside her grief-ravaged father. She found Pork on the porch shelling nuts. The sun was up. Scarlett O'Hara drew herself tall and began to marshal her troops. 

Melly and her sisters were still infirm, so they were useless for now. Mammy could tend them, and Pork and Prissy were to round up the livestock. Dilcey to Macintosh, herself to Twelve Oaks; perhaps they’d find food. Yes, I know. I’ll worry about that tomorrow. Now get going. 

Those days as the war staggered to its end were some of the longest of her life. In between them, Scarlett would collapse into bed and rub the welts on her feet with clumsy fingers. Sometimes she’d picture Ellen and all her gentle admonitions to kindness and refinement, and she’d say aloud to the walls, “What happened to me? What am I doing?”

She didn’t dwell on the question, but somehow, she always knew the answer. “I’m doing what I must,” she would answer herself. “I’m surviving.”

People didn’t talk back to Scarlett anymore. They were all afraid of her sharp tongue, of the new person who walked in her body. This Scarlett bullied and cajoled until everyone obeyed her, and inevitably her orders were to work. She was all edges; any softness that she’d once possessed had been sanded away splitting rails and picking cotton. Good, she thought. Let them fear me, if it keeps us all standing. 

          I’ll think about it tomorrow. 

Scarlett was sixteen when the war began: sixteen in green muslin, fearless and unencumbered. She had her mother’s slim waist and her father’s square jaw, but her clear green eyes were her own.

She was sixteen when she married Charles Hamilton and lost him, seventeen when she bore his child and draped herself in black crepe. She got Melly and Wade in the bargain, but she didn’t want either of them. She wanted Ashley. She wanted to dance! She wanted, she wanted. She wanted Scarlett O’Hara back. 

At nineteen years old, Scarlett survived the destruction of her whole world. She could have cried for the loss of her girlhood, for her old self long gone with the soft hands and dancing slippers, but what good would it have done? Curled up in her childhood bed at Tara, Scarlett didn’t cry. Instead, she folded in on herself, knees tucked up to her chest, and tried not to feel her muscles aching. She would have to get up again tomorrow, no matter how badly her shoulders still hurt.

She had strong shoulders, Scarlett O’Hara. That was maybe the most important thing about her. At any time, at any age, her shoulders could bear whatever they were given. “I’m surviving,” she would say each morning when she rose. A stranger’s freckled face greeted her in the mirror, but Scarlett only squared her small thin shoulders, breathed in, took one step and then another.

          Tomorrow, when I can stand it.

Calluses form like this: repeated pressure or friction is applied to the skin, most often of the hand or the foot. The outer layer, which is made of dead cells, begins to be retained rather than flaking off normally. The dead cells accumulate, forming hard layers sometimes hundreds of cells thick. 

They form like this: you use your skin. The shell of hardness around it slowly thickens. 

          I can stand anything now. 

The day after Rhett left, Scarlett packed up Wade and Ella and she once again drove the long road home to Tara. She pushed her way past Suellen at the threshold, exchanged brief pleasantries with Will, and then fell into her old bed as she’d done so many times before.

The next morning found Scarlett basking in the slanting yellow light that struck the porch from the east. Her eyes were fixed on the fields beyond and there was a devilish look on her face. 

When Rhett came back—and he would come back, he had promised he would—he would find her here at Tara, where she was strongest. “He liked when I was strong,” Scarlett said to herself. That was something she’d always known, for all that she’d been blind to the true dimensions of it.

Day after day, Scarlett rose and moved through Tara’s halls. She ate her breakfasts in the place where she’d faced down the Yankee army, sorted through figures where she’d once debated with Melanie over whether they ought to risk sending Pork out on the horse to look for food. Twenty times a day, she walked past the place at the base of the stairs where she’d shot her deserter dead. Here, in these halls, she had made her greatest stands.

She’d stood more rigidly then, threadbare and starving and uncertain. She’d come to the end of herself, only to find that she had wells of strength hidden deeper than she knew. Her hands were calloused and dirty. What else could she do?

          I’ll never be hungry again.

It’s easy to view Scarlett as hard and amoral. Even those closest to her would not have contested that characterization. Perhaps Melly would have argued, but then, Melly always saw the good in everyone. Scarlett killed and she stole and she schemed and she cheated, and she did it all in cold blood. What a selfish, conniving bitch, you might say.

It’s easy to forget Scarlett’s compassion. When she beat that poor horse to keep it trudging the long road home to Tara, she regretted hurting a tired animal. Her concern for Melanie, her friendship for Will Benteen, her joy when Rhett made her laugh: these were all true and genuine.

Didn’t Scarlett love her father and mother? Didn’t she grieve to see her friends and neighbors ruined by war? Scarlett O’Hara risked her life to save Charlie’s sword for Wade to inherit, and she built her mills for him and Ella both.

None of this negates the ruthless things she did in the name of survival, but it does begin to explain them. Scarlett made herself hard when hard was what she needed to be. She determined to live without reservation, without softness and with little kindness. Rhett called her cruel, and maybe he was right. But Melly also called her sacrificial and devoted, and maybe she was right too. 

          No, nor any of my kin.

On that road home to Tara, Scarlett once said, “If the horse is dead, I will curse God and die too.” Someone in the Bible had done just that—cursed God and died. Scarlett remembered feeling like that person, a despair of Biblical magnitude.

But the horse was alive, and so Scarlett did not die. Later, she thanked God that her knees still had the strength to support her, that her neck was still strong enough to hold her head high. Scarlett was not Job’s wife, nor even Job himself. She was Rahab, who escaped the destruction of Jericho, who saved her whole household and survived.

“What a fast trick,” said the Old Guard when she stole Frank Kennedy away from Suellen. No, Scarlett could never be Job. She was Jacob, the trickster and supplanter.

          Just a few more days for to tote the weary load.

Scarlett was easily provoked into courage; that was one of the first things that Rhett learned about her. A few insults, a pointed comment, and Scarlett lifted her chin and flounced off to prove just how brave she could be. She shed her crepe years early, and to Halifax with anyone who objected.

Rhett did that same thing to her on the awful day that Atlanta burned. He insulted her and laughed at her, and when Scarlett spat, “I’m not afraid,” it was true. Her hands, which had moments ago been shaking too badly to hold anything, were steady now, and anger had crowded all the fear out of her voice.

Rhett kept needling her all the way out of the city, until they reached the Rough and Ready where he left her. The banter kept her sharp. As long as her eyes were flashing in indignation, she hardly noticed the fire.

Even after Rhett left, his jabs stayed with her. “What would Rhett say if he knew I couldn’t do this?” spurred her back into action more times than she would ever admit. It was a petty kind of courage, and it felt smaller than the great, soaring motivation that came with thoughts of Tara, of the O’Hara name and Irish pride and red earth, but sometimes petty courage was enough to bridge the gap between strength and exhaustion.

He gave her something to hold onto, something to ground her, and even Rhett only halfway understood what that meant. I want you at your best, he never told her, but he pulled her into it by taffeta ribbons and witticisms. As the years rolled by, she rose to meet him. They swapped sharp words and insults, him always claiming to know her and her shouting, “You don’t know half!”

One day on the jostling ride out to her mills, Scarlett told Rhett about the fire that the Yankees set in Tara’s kitchen. “I’m not afraid of fire anymore,” she declared with something like pride, and Rhett remembered goading her past the flames the night Atlanta burned. “I beat it out with my skirts, and then Melly had to beat me out when my back caught,” she went on. “Now I’m not afraid of anything but hunger.”

I don’t want you to fear anything in all the world, Rhett didn’t say. Once they were married, he laughed at her appetite and teased her, “Don’t scrape the plate, Scarlett. I’m sure there’s more in the kitchen.”

           No matter, ‘twill never be light.  

After the war, Rhett had his millions. Ashley had his honor. Melly had the Association for the Beatification of the Graves of Our Glorious Dead. Scarlett held a ball of red clay in her fist and whispered, “I have this.”

Her father built Tara from nothing and he loved those acres like they could love him back. He had come to Georgia a poor immigrant boy and he had won that red earth. Whatever Gerald could do, his daughter could do too: of this she was certain. This land, this firm red clay on which she stood, was both her battlefield and her prize; her birthright and her hallowed ground. She gripped it tight with all the passion of a lover. She longed for its rolling fields on cold nights in Atlanta, sleeping beside Frank Kennedy.

“Yes, I have this,” and she let the dirt run between her fingers and lodge beneath her nails. Melly had Ashley and Ashley his senseless honor. Scarlett had Tara.

          I’ve still got this.

When she rode out in her buggy with her lap robe pulled up to her bosom, Scarlett heard how people whispered. She felt indignant about it the first time, and the second time she worried what Ellen would have thought. The third time, she decided not to care.

She still complained to Rhett about the whispering as he was holding the reins one afternoon. He didn’t laugh at her, just looked sideways from the road with his dark eyes and nodded like he understood. “Be different and be damned!” Rhett said, and his tone was like a soldier who’d heard the bugle. It was so strange, how Scarlett could tell him all the worst things about her and he would always answer back like they were medals instead of secret shames. 

Most of the city was in mourning, but Scarlett wore colors. She pilfered the store’s inventory in search of bright green, washed and mended her curtain dress as many times as it would stand, and when the money came she wore gowns of emerald, blush, indigo, and scarlet. Let them stare, she thought. See if I care.

At twenty-two, Scarlett rode up to Pittypat’s in the evenings, long after Frank had come home from the store, and she felt condemned. To the well-bred folks of Atlanta, she was as bad as a Scallawag. But sometimes, when she was alone, Scarlett ran her hands beneath the lap robe and hoped that Rhett was wrong about children and grandchildren, that the child she was carrying would understand one day. I hope you’re nothing like Frank, she thought. I hope you have shoulders like mine.

           I’ll never be hungry again.

“It’s no use, Scarlett. You can’t scrub out the past,” said Rhett when at last he came to Tara. “You can’t take back the last ten years, no matter how you’ve come — to appreciate my charms.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Scarlett snapped. “There’s never any going back. Not ever. But Rhett—” she reached for his hand. “I love you, and at last we understand each other. We can build something out of that.”

They argued about it until Rhett left again, fuming and bitter, his Panama hat pulled low over his face. Scarlett made an unannounced visit to Charleston the next month. “I was thinking,” she suggested, “That we might sell the Peachtree Street house.”

Scarlett knew all the words for making men love her, so long as she understood what it was that they wanted. The Tarleton twins had wanted merry excitement; Charles had wanted to feel important and Frank had wanted to feel like a strong, successful man. Ashley had wanted someone braver and better than he was, and he’d found it in Melanie without having to risk himself on Scarlett. Scarlett had never understood what it was Rhett wanted, but she did now. Why, it’s always been my love he wants! So Scarlett spoke the right words, and this time she meant them.

“You were right when you said that we’re alike. Only—you’ve always known about me, whereas I’m just starting to know you. Will you tell me about that knife fight in California again? About the sail boat you won at cards?”

“You know those stories,” clipped Rhett. “You don’t need to hear them again.” So Scarlett went downstairs and pried the stories out of his mother instead.

The house on Peachtree Street sold within the month, snatched up by some Carpetbagger who wanted it for a hotel. Rhett traveled to Mexico, and returned to find Scarlett back at Tara preparing for spring planting.

“What do the women wear in Mexico?” she asked him, leaning on the porch railing in the slanting light. “What is your favorite place you’ve ever traveled?”

Rhett indulged her in brief, but then abruptly he chuckled and shook his head. “I know what you’re doing, you little minx.”

“Yes,” said Scarlett. “Of course you do.”

           Tomorrow, oh tomorrow!

The clay soil of Georgia is red from iron oxides. It’s red the way rust is red, the way blood is red. If a blister splits open and your blood falls on the ground, that iron-red soil will just swallow it up. You can bleed and bleed, and the stuff in your blood will always be one with the stuff of the soil.

When cotton and vegetables sprout from the ground, it’s easy to believe they grew from your very own blood, and that your own sweat and tears watered them.

           Never look back.  

“We women were soldiers too,” Melanie said once. Scarlett didn’t respect her yet—at least, not consistently—but this might have been one of the moments where she first looked at Melly and thought not that her heart was soft and timid, but that it was a sword.

“We never expected to be – or at least I didn’t.” She looked around the circle of ladies, at India and Fanny, until her eyes came to rest on Scarlett at last. “We were children then. We all imagined the world far simpler than it was.”

Melly, India, Fanny, Scarlett. These women had all been girls together. They knew one another at seven, twelve, fifteen, swaddled in silks and trying to seem more grown-up than their playmates. They’d competed for beaus and Scarlett had mostly won, except where Ashley Wilkes was concerned. They had lived through the war together. Now, Scarlett sat among them on Melly’s front porch and tried to remember if she’d ever in her life felt like one of them.

For Christmas, Melanie gave Scarlett a small book of poetry. Scarlett never read it, except for the one verse which Melly had marked with a green ribbon. She bit back the urge to sigh when she undid the wrapping, but Melly pointed out the bookmark and said, “This one made me think of you, dear.”

Scarlett didn’t like to think of it now, but once she’d been sixteen in green muslin, confident that dimples and a clear complexion were the only weapons she’d ever need. She had been a child, but that child had not died when Atlanta burned. The belle of Clayton County was not in the grave with all the boys who’d never come riding home from war. Scarlett was alive. She was right here.

“What is a dead girl but a shadowy ghost/ Or a dead man's voice but a distant and vain affirmation/Like dream words most? / Therefore I will not speak of the undying glory of women. / I will say you were young and straight and your skin fair/ And you stood in the door and the sun was a shadow of leaves on your shoulders/ And a leaf on your hair—"

Scarlett came home from her mills in the gray evening and she made her way back to the Wilkes’s ramshackle front porch. She left her buggy feeling condemned and she sat with the other ladies feeling alienated, but all the same she couldn’t bring herself not to go. The war was over, and these were the survivors. They were through fighting, hung up on glory, but Scarlett still hadn’t holstered her guns. 

“We were soldiers,” said Melanie, and in her heart Scarlett added, “Some of us still are.”

           I won’t let them lick me.

Supposing that Ashley had married her. Perhaps the sight of her in green makes him brave enough to shed his veneer of honor and say, “Yes, you’re right, I can’t live without you.” It’s a minor scandal when he casts Melanie off in her favor, but not for long. The war is beginning and besides, good men have made themselves fools for Scarlett O’Hara before. By the time the soldiers march away, the scandal is all but forgotten in favor of the fine figure they cut as they embrace at the depot: Ashley so brave in his uniform, his young wife radiant as she clutches him.

Ashley sends her long, meandering letters full of philosophical musings. Scarlett reads them uncomprehending and sends back missives full of I love yous. She kisses them when she mails them, sometimes with a Hail Mary for her husband’s safety.

Rhett doesn’t notice this Scarlett at Twelve Oaks, and so he’s caught off guard when he hears the young Mrs. Wilkes say something blunt and scathing at the Bazaar. He chuckles to himself in delight and later he asks her to dance, and of course Scarlett simpers and agrees, and it’s a merry night. But Rhett doesn’t come back to Atlanta for the rest of the war.

This Scarlett leaves for Macon with the rest of the women when the Yankees come to Atlanta; after all, she has no Melly to keep her in the city during the siege. She takes Ashley’s child with her, and it’s in Macon that he finds her after the war. He waxes poetic about the Old Days, the Horrors of War and Götterdämmerungs and the like. He looks at her with sad, tired eyes and Scarlett says yes, I heard you the first time. But what are we going to do?

Twelve Oaks is razed. They go to Tara. Ashley tries his hand at farming, but it’s Scarlett who manages to pick and plant and organize while Ashley’s fumbling attempts at working with his hands yield scant success. His heart isn’t in it, which infuriates Scarlett. C’mon, get up and fight! She looks into the tired face of the man she loved so ruinously at sixteen and wonders what she ever thought was so noble about him.

When taxes come due there’s no way to pay. What’s more, Ashley doesn’t even try. It’s here that Scarlett breaks with her husband. Between Ashley and Tara, it’s Tara every time.

So Scarlett bullies her husband into calling old debts in from a few impoverished friends and when that isn’t enough, she goes to see the tax assessor dressed in green velvet and makes some very personal insinuations about Mr. Jonas Wilkerson. From there, Scarlett bullies her one-time-beloved and does as she pleases, and Ashley has to live with the fact that it’s his wife who provides for the family. In every world, it is Scarlett O’Hara who keeps Ashley Wilkes alive after the war.

His pride lays down in the dirt and dies. Scarlett Wilkes shakes her head bitterly and plants more seed in her red, red earth.   

Supposing Scarlett could have imagined all this. What do you think she would say? Perhaps in her youth she would have cherished the idea, but the hard-eyed Scarlett who emerged after the war would have only leveled her small shoulders and said, “What does it matter what would have happened? I’ll think about it later.”

           There but for a lot of gumption am I.

The day after Bonnie died, Scarlett called for the buggy and went to her store. Rhett took this as proof that Scarlett had never really loved the little girl, that she was devoid of maternal affection as he’d always suspected, but Scarlett was grieving in her own way. She threw out two uncut bolts of blue velvet: expensive fabric over which she’d have upbraided a clerk to hell and back if he’d wasted even a few inches. 

It was true that Scarlett had never wanted any of her children when she’d carried them. She had not felt joy or love or any of the feelings that other women described when first she saw them. What she did feel, in the moments after Dr. Meade placed each child in her arms, was a fierce surge of protectiveness. She was certain that she would work and sacrifice and even die for her children, if need be. They were her blood, her flesh, her kin.

Scarlett had hated pregnancy each time it happened to her. She hated feeling large and lumbering, hated the way that her tiny waist bloated and grew until even her modified dresses didn’t fit right. She hated the inconvenience of morning sickness, the limitations on what she could do, the necessity of seclusion as delivery drew near. It was nine months of hardship and frustration capped off with many long minutes of excruciating pain. 

Bonnie had died in an instant. She’d been flying towards the hurdle and then, half a breath later, she’d been gone. Standing in the back of the store with two bolts of blue velvet before her, Scarlett swallowed back tears that Rhett would never see. It wasn’t right that a child who’d taken her so much time and effort to bring into the world could be gone from it so quickly. 

When she returned to the house a few hours later, Rhett had locked himself in the bedroom with Bonnie’s tiny body. Scarlett paused for a moment outside the door, but then she squared her shoulders and kept walking. 

          Just a few more days for to tote the weary load. 

Scarlett had a habit of humming “My Old Kentucky Home” while she worked. Splitting wood, planting and picking cotton, driving between her mills, keeping the books—even sewing. The song was a thoughtless thing, an instinctual thing. She hummed it the same way a person might worry lips between teeth or tear at nails. 

She repeated the words again and again until her heart pulsed to their rhythm. Just a few more days for to tote the weary load. I’ll think about it tomorrow, when I can stand it. Tomorrow, tomorrow. No matter, ‘twill never be light. I’ll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my kin. I’ll never be hungry again. They were a mantra: something to hold onto when the whole breadth of her world had narrowed to a single point. A refrain. A liturgy of surviving.

          Just a few more steps

Rhett loved Scarlett and it was terrifying. He feared that she would treat him like one of her country beaus: a lovely toy to play with and to tear to ribbons when she was done. He was afraid, so he hid his heart behind his impressive poker face and said “I want you” instead of “I love you.” He called her “pet” instead of “sweetheart.”

Scarlett loved Rhett and it was slow. He brought her bonnets and bonbons and Scarlett thought, “Why, it’s almost like I was in love with him!” He came to help her the day Atlanta burned, and Scarlett thought that she’d like to stay in his arms forever. When he chauffeured her to the mills, she thought that he was the only person in the world to whom she could tell the truth.

"You never told me you loved me, you know," Scarlett said the next time she visited Charleston. "I never knew. That's not to say you were wrong about me - about what I would have done if you had said something. But you should have been brave enough to risk it all the same."

Rhett closed his eyes for a moment and his mask slipped away. It was doing that more and more these days.

"But I did tell you — once."

"I think I would have remembered that," said Scarlett, pursing her lips.

"Ah. ‘It is far off; and rather like a dream than an assurance that my remembrance warrants.’ I suppose my humble confession was the least of your worries that day."

Scarlett wrinkled her nose. "What?"

"The day Atlanta burned, my dear."

After a long moment, Scarlett gave a little gasp which turned into a sigh as it ended. "Oh. That's right, you did then, didn't you?" She shook her head. "Rhett, I do believe you have the worst timing of any person I know."

          As God is my witness

The day she married Charles, she wore Ellen’s cream-colored silk gown, aired out in a hurry from the chest where it had been sitting since the O’Haras married back in 1846. She couldn’t breathe for how tight her laces were —sixteen inches, like Ellen’s waist was when the dress was purchased— and perhaps that was a good thing. Scarlett was light-headed throughout the ceremony and she scarcely remembered it afterwards. 

The day she decided to have Frank, it was raining hard. Scarlett left the jail in sodden velvet and was grateful for the drops falling on her cheeks to disguise the tears. It was sunny the day of the wedding, but she scarcely noticed that. Afterwards, when she thought of marrying Frank, Scarlett would always remember the rain. 

There was a fine mist over everything the day she got Rhett back for good. Scarlett was wearing her work clothes when he came riding up to Tara; she’d been walking the cotton fields that day, overseeing the progress of the crop. They were both a little damp when he kissed her.

           I’ll never be hungry again.

O’Haras and Robillards had always known how to dig their nails in, and by God, Scarlett was both. Her namesakes had long ago fought for their own plots of Irish earth; had survived and died and been hanged fighting to hold onto it. All Scarlett’s forebears, her folk, had left crescent-moon imprints on all that was theirs when it was finally pried from her hands. Scarlett gripped her little ball of clay and felt her nails dig into the heels of her hands.

She was her father’s hot-tempered daughter, but she had her mother’s steel-hewn spine. All the years of her life, she never saw Ellen Robillard O’Hara rest her back against a chair.  When Scarlett’s own time came, she held herself every bit as straight as her mother: she didn’t rest or lean, just stood and stood.

Maybe this is what she was always made for. Her green eyes weren’t for charming young men, they were for seeing dresses in curtains. Her hands were never supposed to be soft; they were meant for digging in the red dirt. Even her lips—Rhett was wrong, they weren’t meant for kissing. Scarlett’s lips were as sharp as the words that she spoke when she wasn’t afraid what anyone thought. They were meant to draw blood.

She had been sharp all her life, even when her edges were carefully concealed in layers of satin. Scarlett was not made to be soft; her core held no gentleness. She could not pretend otherwise. All she could do was stand straight, and hold up her tired old shoulders like they were the strongest thing in the world.

           I’ll think about it tomorrow. 

One day, at the Butler home in Charleston, Rhett taught Scarlett how to play poker, and subsequently how to cheat. They were still playing hours later, counting cards and hiding them in sleeves and making all kinds of ridiculous bets on losing hands. Just as she was taking off her right earbob to call, the thought rose to Scarlett’s mind unbidden: “What on earth are we doing here?” And just as quickly, there was the answer. “We’re living.”

At the end of this most recent road home, weary and damp from running through the fog, Scarlett found her way back into Rhett’s arms. In the evenings she listened to his stories and witticisms, and late at night she listened to the sound of his breathing. I will not speak of undying glory, she thought. Rhett was still here, and so was she. They were both still here.

Scarlett took off her left earbob too, for good measure. “I’ll raise you,” she said. “I have a good feeling about this hand.” There was still an ace hidden up her sleeve, but if Rhett noticed it he didn’t say anything. 

They survived together. They built something new. There is always profit to be made in building things, and these two were nothing if not industrious.

           After all, tomorrow is another day.

[leclerc-s]

a nonsense christmas

series masterlist

liked by maxverstappen1, nataliaruiz, arthur_leclerc and others

maejones 'i caught that holiday glee, my true love gave it to me.' i present to you a nonsense christmas.

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danielricciardo i thought you couldn't get anymore unhinged after nonsense, i was so wrong.

daphnejones mae, what the hell is this song.

↳ maejones it's a christmas song daph! do you not like it?

isabellaperez brb gonna go play it for christian and my uncle!

↳ maxverstappen1 ISABELLA DON'T YOU DARE!

↳ isabellaperez OH IT LOOKS LIKE JOS IS IN THE GARAGE!

↳ maxverstappen1 ISABELLA!

↳ user89 oh to be apart of this friend group

penelopetrevino sometimes i wonder how people think i'm the horny one when mae writes shit like this.

↳ dulceperez you wrote mayores. daphne wrote dress. mae wrote nonsense. i think all three of you are equally horny

user41 well i made the mistake of playing this infront of my parents i will never recover.

↳ user09 NO! OH I PRAY FOR YOU

esteban ocon i'm supposed to be able to look max in the eyes now?

lewishamilton i renounce our friendship. good luck to fernando and seb, but i'm done. find someone to replace me. maybe kimi or valtteri. hell kevin or hulkenberg might like these guys.

↳ georgerussell63 good luck being able to get away from us

user32 i fear jos is questioning who his son is dating and who his friends are

↳ landonorris oh, he did that way before this song or nonsense came out

isabellaperez JOS VERSTAPPEN IS NOT A FAN OF A NONSENSE CHRISTMAS! I REPEAT HE IS NOT A FAN! MAX TELL HIM TO PUT THE FUCKING FORK DOWN!

↳ user13 there's no way she actually did it

↳ maxverstappen1 I WARNED YOU NOT TO DO THAT! HE WASN'T GOING TO LIKE IT!

↳ user13 i stand corrected

↳ danielricciardo THIS IS THE FUNNIEST SHIT I'VE EVER FUCKING SEEN! NETFLIX BETTER BE RECORDING THIS BECAUSE IT'S COMEDY GOLD!

↳ alex_albon SHE JUST RAN PAST THE WILLIAMS GARAGE!! I THINK I'M ABOUT TO PEE FROM ALL THIS LAUGHING!!

↳ nataliaruiz PEOPLE! IT'S NOT JOS CHASING HER WITH A FORK! IT'S MAX WITH A WATER GUN! JOS LEFT THE GARAGE AFTER ISABELLA PULLED HER LITTLE TRICK!! HE HAD A FORK BECAUSE HE WAS HAVING LUNCH WITH MAE!!

↳ maejones YOU COULDN'T HAVE WAITED UNTIL HE WAS ALONE? I CAN NEVER FACE HIM AGAIN! OH MY GOD, DIGGING MY GRAVE AS WE SPEAK!!

↳ dulceperez she looks like a wet and angry kitten

isabella perez MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN I WILL BE GETTING MY REVENGE!

max verstappen I'D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY!!

isabella perez DULCE MARIA PEREZ! YOU'RE FUCKING NEXT!

esteban ocon she's in the alpine garage and she does look like a wet cat

oscar piastri i think it's kinda cute

logan sargeant AY-YO? ARE WE JUST GONNA SLIDE PAST THAT?

alex albon i think the songs kinda catchy.

daniel jones-ricciardo i did not need to know max had big snowballs.

mae jones you've literally seen him naked before pierre gasly UM WHAT? daniel jones-ricciardo IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! HOW I SUPPOSED TO KNOW HE WAS NAKED? max verstappen THERE'S THIS NEW THING. IT'S CALLED KNOCKING daniel ricciardo DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE QUOTE ALVIN AND THE CHIPMUNKS AT ME MAX!

fernando alonso i worry for all of you. also what does 'you got a new toy for me' mean? aren't all of you too old to be playing with toys?

esteban ocon i know you're not that fucking naive fernando. stop fucking with them. fernando alonso but it's so much fun

lewis hamilton OH MY GOD! SOME THINGS ARE BETTER KEPT A SECRET MAE!

mae jones so my sister can write dress and scratches down daniel's back but i can't write about max's dick?

carlos sainz i am permanently scarred. some things i can't ever unhear.

george russell i am in shock

esteban ocon i need 3 to 5 business WEEKS to recover from this.

sebastian vettel i'm speechless and not in a good way

mick schumacher ignoring who the song is about and that i know the singer, it's good.

freya vettel a certified christmas bop

natalia ruiz I NEED THAT CHARLES DICKENS. YOU'LL BE SANTA CLAUS AND I'LL BE MRS. I'LL TAKE YOU FOR A RIDE, I'LL BE YOUR VIXEN. I DON'T EVEN KNOW I'M TALKING CHRISTMAS!!

daphne jones-ricciardo i know someday you two idiots will have children and i pray they never find this song. just like i pray they never find mine.

rowan todd digital footprint is real guys, just look at timothee chalamet, the superior french guy.

esteban ocon uh oh, i think they're fighting again. dulce perez alright, what'd you do this time gasly? pierre gasly why is it always my fault? dulce perez it's always your fault bitch, so what'd you do? pierre gasly i didn't do shit, this time, she's just mad because i ate the last croissant. natalia ruiz uh oh, i know those symptoms. charles leclerc the world is not ready for little pierres rowan todd i'm not pregnant (i think) pierre gasly what the fuck??? isabella perez ARE WE GETTING ANOTHER BABY?? SO CLOSE TO BABY LECLERC?? AWWW!! YES!!

max verstappen god i hope not. one mini charles we can handle but a mini pierre no please no.

taglist: @burningcupcakefire @arkhammaid @sunflower-golden-vol6 @applopie

¡leclerc-s speaks! shout out to @bb-swift who replied to nonsense and reminded me that a nonsense christmas existed. let's not talk about today's gp and use humor to cope. as a charles girlie i am struggling today as i have the entire season. i've also created a google form for people to fill out if you wish to be added to the taglist to any of my series.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[katebeckets]

💝-- jisbon x musicals (i would be thrilled if you could put some Sondheim on there, but also just go wild with what you love. also I use Spotify primarily)

fidajf;ajf i'd say you have no idea but i think you do know just how much joy (and pain) this brought me!! and i am using this to give my explanations for each song, enjoy. also, i don't know your preferred versions, but a lot of them are more recent recordings because my favorite people are in them hehe

this playlist is once again much longer than intended lmao so I'll be nice and put it under a read more

always starting over (if/then) - see the post gifset!

we do not belong together (sunday in the park with george) - yes I cheated and used some from our conversations hehe but you are right, peak 6b jisbon

no one is alone (into the woods) - "sometimes people leave you halfway through the woods. do not let it grieve you, no one leaves for good."

dyin' ain't so bad (bonnie & clyde) - "dyin' ain't so bad, not if you both go together." in particular, this reminds me a lot of Jane in various seasons/situations

what you mean to me (finding neverland) - "every word and every sentence doesn't seem to make a difference; nothing can explain just what you mean to me." you have no idea what you've meant to me..............

here i go (if/then) - "you know, deep down, I'm a coward—afraid to let you in. But the only thing more frightening is to say what might've been, so here I go."

dangerous to dream (frozen) - "I can't be what you expect of me and I'm not what I seem, but I would love to know you... is it dangerous to dream?" they're both such scaredy cats i love them

i've been (next to normal) - "all my fears just sit inside me, screaming to be heard." that line reminds me of jane, but this song applies to both of them in different ways.

i am the one (next to normal) - i truly feel this is peak jane/lisbon season one finale energy.

for good (wicked) - this one feels pretty self-explanatory

no good deed (wicked) - this is one I think of as a Jane song re: his wife and daughter and subsequent relationship with Lisbon. "Let all Oz be agreed, I'm wicked through and through—since I could not succeed, Fiyero, saving you, I promise no good deed will I attempt to do again."

i will never leave you (side show) - throwback to one of the worst days of my life where i listened to this on repeat for a six hour car ride lmaoooo but also, I adore this song, and I just love when songs like this aren't romantic because it speaks to the different kind of love that is present.

a change in me (beauty and the beast) - i feel like I'm putting a lot of Jane songs so this is my disclaimer that I love Lisbon with my whole heart my WHOLE HEART and it's just so unusual that I also love the lead male character lol (this one also feels pretty self-explanatory)

all i've ever known (hadestown) - Lisbon, Lisbon, Lisbon. (Jane as well in a pretty different way)

you matter to me (waitress) - i mean, this gifset explains it.

if i didn't believe in you (the last five years) - i can't put it on the playlist because it's spotify and i don't really know how, but particularly the pronoun showdown versions of this song remind me of Lisbon (although... without changing the pronouns LOL)

helpless (hamilton) - "now my life gets better every letter that you write me." do you know how much i sob every time i watch lisbon read those letters. do you. DO YOU!!!!

without you (rent) - this one specifically reminds me of the two years between 6x08 and 6x09.

falling slowly (once) - "you have suffered enough and warred with yourself; it's time that you won." this line is literally etched into my soul and applies to so many things.

halfway (reprise) (amélie) - "even though I am always halfway there," "I could meet you there halfway."

if i loved you (carousel) - "if I loved you, words wouldn't come in an easy way—round in circles I'd go! Longing to tell you, but afraid and shy, I'd let my golden chances pass me by."

unusual way (nine) - just... the whole song.

a quiet thing (flora the red menace) - jisbon + home.

heart of stone (six) - I had to get some Six in there. This one reminds me of Lisbon <3

people will say we're in love (oklahoma!) - are they wrong though? (no.)

as long as you're mine (wicked) - their 7x09 conversation 😭

promises (hadestown) - "I can't promise you fair sky above, can't promise you kind road below, but I'll walk beside you, love, any way the wind blows."

where do we go from here (amélie) - "but whatever happens, here we go."

[themwordcic]

I’m currently writing this listening to the beautiful silky harmony of Lewis Hamilton’s 2013 Mercedes flying around Silverstone. It’s a real pinch me moment but then I remember everything I’ve faced in the past few hours that lead to this moment.

I waited tentatively for 2 months for the announcement that tickets to the 2023 Silverstone Festival were live. And December 1st during my very hated Game Design class my prayers were answered. The tickets were live! Did I know how I’d get to the event? No of course not. Did I know where I would possibly stay during the three days of thrill? Absolutely not! Did that matter? Have you met me?! All I needed to hear was Silverstone and Formula One! When I was planning this amazing trip I didn’t think of the little things that would cause that all too familiar gut wrenching anxiety. I didn’t think that since I was doing this by myself that I would have to walk through those gates, deal with security and other fans of motorsport all over the place. I just didn’t think, instead I was totally blindsided by the fact it was Silverstone!

In the past 72 hours (3 days) I’ve been challenged. Oh how I’ve been challenged! I’m talking almost crying in the company van repeating “I don’t think I want to go anymore” like a holy prayer. I mean after all it was my money, if I wanted to waste it because of the growing feeling of fear why the hell would it matter.

The list seemed small at first, but like a video game there were levels. Each time I thought I’d fought the big boss villain another entered in arena.

1. Dealing with the security at the entrance (with a little support on day 1)

2. Collecting my program (from a stall surrounded by strangers who seemed to know exactly what they were doing!)

3. Dealing with maps (I may have passed geography but map reading is not one of my skills)

4. Talking to strangers about the world of F1 based books (in fact my collection has grown by 11 in just 2 days)

5. Finally finding and collecting my radio on day 2 (after writing it off as a waste of £15 because I was too shy to ask)

6. Asking a family of strangers to look after my stuff for a few minutes (took over half an hour to hype myself up to ask)

7. Having to talk/maintain eye contact whilst ordering food or a much needed cider

8. Attending a concert and actually dancing and singing along without a care (because come on it’s The Sugababes)

9. Dealing with the stampede of people trying to exit at the end of the night. Very overwhelming not to mention it’s in the dark with only soft fairy lights to guide your way…. I’m clumsy enough in the day time!

10. Joining and waiting in a queue for the Ferris Wheel (Can now confirmed I am 100% scared of heights but the pretty race cars in the distance did help distract a little)

This list of ten doesn’t seem like a lot, but from an Autistic individual doing it solo I need to see it as a time of growth. A time of proving to myself I can do it!

So I’ll leave you with this… The anxiety is temporary, the memories are forever!