#I do need to speak to the GP about coming off them or trying something different

[analogue-dreamer]

Note to self Jon, stop spending money when I don't have spare money 😂😂😂 more purchases from Hobbycraft 😅😂 Weather is good tho so I'm hoping to use some of my new purchases to do some spray painting this afternoon and then some more glass engraving tonight 🤓🫶🏻

Have a good Saturday all 😄🌻🤓

[harrysfolklore]

Can you please do an Instagram blurb with Isabelle Mathers?! 🤍

haters gonna hate - cl16

summary: charles’ new girlfriend gets tons of hate online because she’s a model. their answer? pissing them off even more

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by bellahadid, charles_leclerc and 1,278,544 others

yourinstagram my bf took this 🥵

view all 12,755 comments

ynfan1 SUCH A SLAYYYYYY

ynfan2 girlie when are you going to reveal who the bf is

dualipa MY WIFE 🤤 ♥︎ by author

anokyai Stunning girl ♥︎ by author

ynfan3 i would be absolutely insufferable if i had that face card

ynfan4 she has been soft launching this relationship for months now ughh i need to know who he is

↳ ynfan1 my guess is that it’s something reaaaallyyyyy really famous or like a billionaire lol

zendaya 😍😍 ♥︎ by author

charlesfan1 excuse me why did charles like this pic? 😭

↳ charlesfan2 idk but she needs to stay away we don’t want him near models

↳ charlesfan3 agreed

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 2,147,224 others

charles_leclerc Train, Rest, Eat, Repeat. 🤍

view all 22,462 comments

charlesfan1 OMFGGGGG

charlesfan2 im foaming at the mouth

scuderiaferrari 🙌🌊

charlesfan3 he can’t just post this and dip charles im salivating now

pierregasly can i come?

↳ charles_leclerc No

↳ charlesfan1 HEEELP 😭

charlesfan4 can you believe this man is single ?? like he’s looking like THAT and no one is jumping on his bones

↳ charlesfan2 i would gladly jump on his bones

yourinstagram 🤤🤤🤤 ♥︎ by author

↳ ynfan1 GIRL WE CAN ALL SEE YOU

↳ ynfan2 you have a boyfriend girlie control it

↳ charlesfan1 NO NO GO AWAY

↳ charlesfan2 ew can charles block her ?? we don’t need models seeking attention and thirsting over him

↳ charlesfan3 YIKESSSSS

liked by gigihadid, charles_leclerc and 1,307,466 others

yourinstagram life lately 🌺

view all 13,109 comments

ynfan1 that’s not a face card that’s a face ECONOMY

ynfan2 GIIIRRRRL WHAT DOES ALL THIS MEAN

bellahadid ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

troyesivan mother is mothering ♥︎ by author

ynfan3 JUST SHOW THE GUY’S FACE FFS

ynfan4 since when is she into f1 😭

ynfan5 THE PUPPY ADORABLE??

charlesfan1 why did charles like her post again why did she get a dog that looks like leo and why does she pretend to watch f1?? WEIRD

↳ charlesfan2 for me it looks like she wants to grab his attention (or the attention of anyone from the grid) typical model behavior 🤢

charlesfan3 guys not what to speak anything into existence bc her dating charles is literally the last thing i want but,, what if?

↳ charlesfan1 nah there’s no way

↳ charlesfan2 literally the last thing we need is charles dating a model just NO

ynfan6 why are motorsport fans so annoying and why are they crying in this comment section about a scenario they created in their heads 😭 ♥︎ by author

liked by yourinstagram, alex_albon and 1,487,012 others

charles_leclerc Miami, feeling at home already

view all 18,426 comments

charlesfan1 BABYYYY

charlesfan2 he should quit racing and just become a model

instagram blessing miami with his presence

charlesfan3 THE HAIR 😩

yourinstagram 😍😍 ♥︎ by author

↳ ynfan1 she’s begging to be dragged by his fans help

↳ charlesfan1 you again ?? annoying

↳ charlesfan2 CHARLES PLEASE BLOCK HER ALREADY

↳ charlesfan3 this is getting embarrassing like charles will never ever notice her and he even has a gf now

↳ charlesfan4 ATTENTION SEEKING BITCH

↳ ynfan2 i can’t wait for them to confirm that they’re dating so his fans can cry even more

liked by charles_leclerc, adrianalima and 1,544,937 others

yourinstagram miami here we go 🏁

view all 16,388 comments

ynfan1 SLAYYYY

ynfan2 SHES GOING TO THE F1 GP OMG

sabrinacarpenter google search how to be you ♥︎ by author

madisonbeer damn 😍😍😍 ♥︎ by author

charlesfan1 stay away !!! no one wants you near charles

charlesfan2 the second picture.. she’s making a fool of herself atp YIKES

charlesfan3 this is why i hate the miami gp influencers are all over the paddock trying to get to the drivers and ruin everything

↳ charlesfan1 and this girlie has been trying to get charles’ attention through her insta posts 💀

ynfan3 i love to see f1 fans cry

scuderiaferrari We can’t wait to see you 👏 ♥︎ by author

↳ charlesfan1 NO GUYS DONT ENCOURAGE THIS

charlesfan4 y’all i think it’s time to face the fact that she’s probably dating charles (which i absolutely hate)

↳ charlesfan2 nope i refuse. charles deserves better than a dumb model who just flexes her looks and seeks attention from the media

↳ ynfan1 girl wtf 😭 a model’s job is literally that and that’s okay, and yn doesn’t need to “seek attention” she’s an A list celebrity already

charlesfan4 CHARLES IS NOT GOING TO FCK YOU !!!

↳ yourbff oh boy do i have a story for you ♥︎ by author, charles_leclerc

↳ ynfan2 CLOCK THEM CLOCK THEM

↳ ynfan3 THIS IS SO MESSY ALSJAI

charles_leclerc I can’t wait 😍 ♥︎ by author

↳ charlesfan1 NO

↳ charlesfan2 CHARLES LOOK AT ME THIS ISNT YOU

↳ ynfan1 im once again showering in motorsport’s fans tears

↳ ynfan2 YALL LOOK EMBARRASSING RIGHT NOW

↳ charlesfan3 charles dating a model… literally worst case scenario

liked by charles_leclerc, kaiagerber and 1,876,503 others

yourinstagram ❤️ @charles_leclerc

view all 23,590 comments

ynfan1 SUCH A FLEXXX

ynfan2 she knows what she's doing i love her

francisca.cgomes 💕 ♥︎ by author

↳ ynfan1 the other WAGs love her charles fans are miserable right now

charlesfan1 GO THE HELL AWAY

charlesfan2 when i'm talentless and want fame so i have to pretend to care about f1

scuderiaferrari We love to see it 👏

↳ charlesfan1 wbk this is a pr strategy FREE CHARL

charlesfan3 the way no one likes her YIKES

↳ ynfan3 your fave driver does !! cry about it !!

iamrebeccad Best company 👯‍♂️ ♥︎ by author

charlesfan4 charles deserves so so so much better than you

charlesfan5 jesus some of you are sooo toxic it's embarrassing

charles_leclerc 😍😍😍 ♥︎ by author

↳ charlesfan1 NO

↳ charlesfan2 BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP

charles_leclerc Mon cœur ❤️ ♥︎ by author

↳ ynfan1 his fans can keep whining and bitching, she still wins

↳ charlesfan3 i refuse to believe this is real

liked by georgerussell63, yourinstagram and 1,987,548 others

charles_leclerc Feels good to be back home 🤍

view all 21,720 comments

charlesfan1 NO CHARLES WHY

charlesfan2 i didn’t need or want to see the second and third pic thank you

ynfan1 AHHH HE POSTED HER

arthur_leclerc ❤️

charlesfan3 how are we going to get rid of that bitch i’m so serious

↳ charlesfan1 i hope he cheats on her

charlesfan4 ugly, talentless, money hungry, attention seeker, i could go on @yourinstagram

charlesfan5 can we ignore the bitch and focus on adorable little leo

pierregasly Lovely to see you happy, mate. All the hate comments are just dumb ♥︎ by author, yourinstagram

↳ ynfan2 CLOCK THEM

↳ ynfan3 man his friends are pointing out how stupid his fans look aren’t they embarrased 💀

fracisca.cgomes YN defense squad is here 🫡 ♥︎ by author, yourinstagram, pierregasly

↳ lilymhe I’ve arrived ♥︎ by author, yourinstagram

↳ ynfan1 pretty girls love yn ugly bitches hate her

charlesfan6 why are you so harsh to yn???? it’s getting out of hand

↳ charlesfan1 because shes a model and all models are bitches

↳ ynfan1 are you for real??? just bc her career is modeling doesn’t mean that she’s a bad person or anything, this is such a 2013 mentality

↳ charlesfan2 she’s just not ideal for charles and she’s probably just leeching off his fame and money

↳ ynfan2 news flash: you don’t get to decide what’s ideal for him or not ♥︎ yourinstagram

leclerc_pascale Je vous aime tous les deux ❤️ @charles_leclerc @yourinstagram ♥︎ by author, yourinstagtam

↳ ynfan1 HIS MUMMA SUPPORTS HELP HIS FANS REALLY DO LOOK STUPID

↳ charlesfan1 ffs why can’t anybody see that this “relationship” is a mess

ynfan2 charles’ friends, his friends’ girlfriends and his family are in this comment section defending yn and saying that their relationship is adorable but his fans think that they know better than all of them and charles should break up with yn 😭 peak deluluness ♥︎ by author, yourinstagram

charlesfan7 we will never ever like you btw @yourinstagram

yourinstagram Wow this post really caused some commotion 😂 we’re those bitches, aren’t we baby? @charles_leclerc ♥︎ by author, pierregasly, francisca.cgomes, georgerussell63, lewishamilton, iamrebeccad

↳ ynfan1 HEEEEELPPP

↳ charlesfan1 this bitch and mean girl attitude is exactly why we don’t like her

↳ ynfan2 this is the first time she even reacts to the millions of hate comments yall send her !

↳ charles_leclerc We are 😘

↳ charlesfan6 CLOCK THE WEIRDOS CHARLES

charles_leclerc has added to their stories

TWEETS LIKED BY CHARLES

liked by charles_leclerc, arianagrande and 2,096,118 others

yourinstagram he’s so pretty when he goes down on me

view comments

charles_leclerc I love you ❤️

COMMENTS ON THIS POST HAVE BEEN LIMITED

[ningvory]

hii!

could i pretty please req g!p brat tamer kkura x brat reader with some cockwarming ?? (its totally fine if you arent comfortable on writing this, just ignore!)

i love ur works <33

and also, could i be 📷 anon ?

parings: ceo!gp!sakura x brat!f!reader

warnings: brat taming 🤭🤭, you guys fuck in her office, cockwarming, cum eating, oral (kkura receiving), mentions of dumbification at the end, not proofread🙏🙏, pet names like baby, princess, and pretty, voice kink, mild choking

wc: 1.1k (1,178) words MIGHTVE GOT CARRIED AWAY..

saw these pictures on my pinterest feed and ceo kkura came to mind😵‍💫😵‍💫 she’s so fine omg just want her to ruin me…OMG HEAR ME OUT..RIDING HER ABS-*GUNSHOTS*🔫

📷 welcome aboard!!🤭🤭 <33

there’s just something about being such a brat to your sweet girlfriend to the point where she just breaks and does something abt it 😵‍💫😵‍💫 the best time to get under her skin is when she’s busy with work.

as a ceo, her whole day is filled with several boring meetings she could probably care less about, but yk as the ceo she has to attend them. of course you know not to call her unless it was an emergency but that didn’t stop you from doing so, you just needed her so bad you couldn’t help it! :((

when she felt felt her phone ringing she excused herself and told them to carry on. stepping outside of the meeting room’s door so she can answer your call.

“k-kkura~ mm! need you so bad!” your words kept getting cut short due to your moans, she could barely make out any words you were saying.

when she put two and two together, she was downright furious, her cock was starting to harden and she clenched her jaw, trying to keep her cool.

“-mm! baby- ‘gna cum!!” you brought the phone closer to your dripping cunt, the squelching noises and the buzzing vibrator that was stimulating your cunt so she can really hear the noises. anyone walking by could see how pissed she was, her veins in her hands were showing from how hard she clenched her fists.

your orgasm must’ve been intense, right after your loud whine you were panting and soft whines were spilling out your mouth. your noises would’ve been adorable had she been there to see your pretty face and your stimulated cunt, but it wasn’t in this situation that you got yourself in.

“how cute, princess. come by my office once you’ve finished at home. i have business to attend to so it’ll be a while.” her voice was stern and low, and fuck she sounded hot, making you bite back a moan.

“kkura—” you tried to speak out but she hung up the call. you know you definitely pissed her off, but it wasn’t exactly your intention to do so! but your cunt throbbed just thinking of what she’ll do to you.

-

once you arrived you of course did the usually when you come to her work place, getting everyone with the same smile while making your way to your girlfriend’s office.

once you reached her office, you open her door but she didn’t bother to look up. no one would dare to come in her office without knocking. you took in her appearance, her hair was in a low ponytail with a few pieces of her front hair sticking out on the side. she looked so damn good in her business suit you couldn’t help but clench your legs around nothing.

“lock it.” she spoke out sternly, eyes glued onto her computer screen.

you obliged to her words but not after a exaggerated huff. you were all dolled up for her, wearing your pastel pink skirt that you knew she liked with one of her hoodies just for her to not look at you.

she has you standing infront of her desk while she was still typing away at whatever she was on. you fished out your phone to take a quick glance at the time to see, it’s been about 15 minutes of you standing here.

“kkura..” you spoke out but got nothing in return. the only thing audible was the clicking and tapping coming from her computer, which annoyed you.

you stood for another 15 minutes, you were even more annoyed. she’s been on her computer acting as if you weren’t even standing here, your hands were clinched in fists and your face rested in a pout.

“sakura, why the fuck did you tell me to come here if you’re gonna act like i’m not here?” you starkly spoke out, you noticed she clenched her jaw and let out a sigh.

“c’mere.” she finally spoke out, man spreading in her 360 chair.

she’s got you on her lap, shoving her tongue in your mouth which has you choking and whining into her mouth. her hands are tightly gripping your hips, forcing you to grind on her clothed cock.

“on your knees, pretty.” she says, unbuttoning her pants and lowering her boxers, revealing her hard member.

she doesn’t even waste a minute, she has her hand in your hair, shoving her cock so far in your mouth it has you choking and unable to breathe.

“fuck~ put that mouth to use baby.” she groans, bopping your head up in down. your hand rest on her thighs trying to keep up with her fast pace.

your tears and drool was making a mess on her pelvis, you have no room to speak and nothing was heard but her grunts and the gagging noises you make when her cock is so far down your throat.

you hear her let out a loud grunt and she presses your face down until your nose is touching her pelvis, deepthroating her cock. you feel her buck into your mouth, making tears fall down your pretty face because it hurts so much! she cums in your mouth and has you there until all her load is released and that you’ve swallowed it all. she finally brings your head up for you to breathe, a long string of your spit was keeping your mouth and her pretty tip connected.

“stand up.” she orders, which you stood up almsot immediately.

she slowly pulls your soaked panties down, groaning when she sees your slick connecting with your cunt, “so wet for me baby.” she lowly says after taking them completely off, collecting your slick on her fingers, making you let out a small whimper.

she sinks you down on her thick cock, whining and squealing out when you feel her stretch you out, filling you up so much better that puny vibrator you were using earlier.

“n-ah~ kkura!!” you squeal out moving your hips back and fourth. until she stills you when you go to bounce on her thick cock.

she lands a harsh slap to your ass, making you yelp and look at her with tears in your eyes. “aw~ what’s the matter baby? only good girls get to ride my cock.” she coo’s which has you look at her with wide eyes, tears threatening to fall.

“kkura! you’re joking-” you go to say but her grip on your neck shuts you up immediately, her expression still tells you that she hasn’t forgotten nor forgave you for what you pulled earlier. this must be your punishment.

“oh, i’m deadass princess, just sit still and look pretty on my cock while i finish my work, if you’re a good girl f’me, i might let you cum.” she smirks, pushing your body to rest on hers.

the best way to teach a brat is to punish them by not letting cum and then finally fuck the brat outta them until they’re a babbling mess who can barely remember their name <33

[communicationthroughlyrics]

Watch The World Explode, From Underneath Your Glow

It was supposed to be a relaxing night with your wife. People forget things, that happens. But the way people look at your wife? Well, that drives you insane.

A/N: Hello friends, thank you all for your continued support and kind words. I appreciate it! As a thank you, a ONE-SHOT, smutty lil' thing with an Intersex Reader. Much love y'all!

TW: Intersex!Reader, P in V sex, jealous/kinda anxious reader, and just some sex that I desperately need to dish to someone 😅

Word Count: 5.1K

I Wanna Take You Home

There was a faint smell of perfume as you crossed the threshold to your shared loft. Tossing your backpack off to the side, you shrug the blazer off your shoulders, hanging it up behind the front door. The space was eerily quiet, which was unusual for a weekday evening. You could've sworn that Lizzie said she would be home tonight when you got off, but it doesn't seem like she is.

"Lizzie?" you call out, waiting for a response as you stand in the middle of your living room. The only reply is the soft ticking of the clock on the wall, echoing through the open-plan space. The loft's high ceilings and large windows normally filled the apartment with a comforting warmth, but tonight they only emphasized the emptiness. You glance down at your phone, seeing it's already 6:42 PM. You start to walk to your bedroom, recalling the conversations over the past week that would tell you where she may be.

Perhaps she got held up at work again or went to meet friends without mentioning it. You decide to call her, quickly pressing her contact photo, a photo that makes you smile at the memory. You had gone to a pumpkin patch to pick out some of the orange orbs for Halloween decorations. Her laughter had been infectious as you both tried to find the perfect one. She had walked ahead of you, oblivious to you fishing out the device from your pocket, and snapping pictures of her as she twirled and skipped through the field. The autumn leaves were a perfect backdrop as her blonde hair swirled around, a bright smile on her face as her eyes finally landed on you.

The line rings, and just when you think it's going to voicemail, she finally picks up. You can tell she is laughing, her voice having familiar breathiness, before hearing her speak through the line.

"Hi baby," she began. "Did you just get home?"

You nodded even though she couldn't see you, the question echoing in your mind. "Yeah, I was expecting you to be here," you laughed a little, walking around the living room, and rubbing the back of your neck. "Did something come up?"

Her laughter trickled through the speaker, and you felt a pang of annoyance. "Oh babe, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot to text you. I'm at that restaurant on the corner of 12th and 47th. We had some last-minute changes to the project we've been working on, but since we got them all worked out, we are officially done and celebrating."

You leaned against the wall, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment. "It's okay," you lied, trying to keep the edge out of your voice. "What time do you think you'll be back?"

"Well, we're just about to order some food," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "But I'm not sure, there's a bunch of people here. You should come, I want to introduce you to everyone."

Your eyes scanned the empty kitchen, the fridge barely holding a few takeout containers. "Okay," you respond, typing the restaurant name into your phone to get the GPS directions there. "I'll be there in 20. I love you, babe."

"Love you too," she says, and before you can ask anything else, the line goes dead. You let out a sigh, tuck the phone into your pocket, and head to the bedroom to change into something more dinner casual. You opt for a shirt you know Lizzie loves- a coppery, silk button-up that shows your tanned skin underneath. After slipping on a pair of loose-fit tan linen pants and some black loafers, you grab your keys and head out the door.

You muss your hair, ruffling it slightly and making sure it looks how you want it to, before pushing the brake pedal to the floorboard and starting the car. The engine purrs to life and you pull out of the garage, navigating the familiar streets to the restaurant. The evening air is cool and crisp, hinting at the coming winter, and the streetlights cast a warm glow that makes the city feel alive. You park and head inside, the buzz of conversation and clinking of glasses growing louder as you approach the large group in the private room in the rear of the restaurant.

As you enter, Lizzie spots you and waves, her eyes lighting up. She stands, and you take in her effortless beauty. The black blouse she chose was tucked into a heathered, almost canvas-like skirt that hugged her hips tight. The black heels she wore clicked through the restaurant as she began weaving through her colleagues with a grace that was as mesmerizing as it was frustrating. She's surrounded by a sea of faces you don't know, all of them looking at you with curiosity. She kisses you on the cheek, and you catch a whiff of wine and something else - a scent that isn't quite her perfume. "Everyone, this is my wife," she says, her arm around your waist, pulling you closer. "This is Y/N, the one I've been telling you all about."

You force a smile, feeling a bit like an intruder in her professional world. The introductions are a blur of names and job titles, none of which you can remember. They all seem friendly enough, though you notice a few lingering glances from one of her colleagues, a man with piercing blue eyes and a cocky smile. You try to ignore the knot in your stomach and focus on the conversation, sipping the wine someone hands you. The room is a whirlwind of chatter and laughter, but it feels forced as if everyone's playing a role in a play you don't know the script to.

As the dinner progresses, the stories get louder and the drinks flow more freely. You sit next to Lizzie, trying to engage in the conversation, but she seems more absorbed in the banter across the table. You can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the ease with which she interacts with her work friends. You've never felt particularly welcome in this part of her life, always the plus-one at work functions and the one left out of inside jokes. The blue-eyed colleague keeps looking over, his gaze lingering just a beat too long.

The server brings out plates of food, the aroma of garlic and butter filling the air. You take a bite of the pasta, hoping the carbs will help soothe the discomfort in your stomach. The conversation turns to the latest office drama, and Lizzie leans in, recounting a story with animated gestures. Her hand lands on your thigh, and you give it a gentle squeeze, hoping to remind her that you're there. But she doesn't seem to notice, her attention fully on her colleagues. You begin to feel a familiar pit of jealousy and anger in your stomach, you don't like to be ignored. Especially when there is someone who is practically eye-fucking your wife from across the table.

The blue-eyed colleague, whose name you've already forgotten, tells a joke that has the whole table in stitches, except for you. You've heard it before. It's not funny, it's just a play on words that only people who don't know any better find amusing. You manage a polite chuckle, trying not to let your annoyance show. But as the laughter dies down, you catch his eye, and he winks at you. It's subtle, but it's there. The wink sends a cold shiver down your spine, and you take a sip of your wine, trying to wash the feeling away.

"Lizzie, dear?" You lean in, trying to get her attention. She turns to you, her face slightly flushed as she is now onto at least her 4th glass of wine.

"Yes, my love?" She purrs, her eyes a bit glazed over as she leans into your chest.

You swallow hard, willing the anger to stay at bay. "Could I talk to you for a second?" You ask, your voice calm but firm. Her face drops slightly, but she nods at you.

"Of course," she says, before she follows you out of the room, her stumble slightly exaggerated as she stands. You lead her to the quieter bar area, where the music isn't as loud and the lights aren't as bright. You lean against the polished wooden counter, the coolness of the marble seeping through your shirt.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, her eyes searching your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. "Well, yes, I would say 'OK' is an adequate way to describe everything," you start, keeping your voice steady. "But I just wanted to talk to you about something."

Lizzie's expression shifts from tipsy cheer to concern. "What is it?" she asks, reaching for your hand. You pull your hand away from her, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Actually, it’s a couple of things," you begin, your voice a tad shakier than you intended. "One, why didn't you tell me about this dinner? I would have liked to be included from the start."

Her eyes widen, the concern deepening. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. It just came up, I didn't think it would turn into this," she gestures vaguely to the noisy room behind her. "But I'm so happy you're here now."

You nod, acknowledging her apology but not letting it dissolve your feelings entirely. "And two, while you say that you wanted me here, and you're happy that I came, I cannot help but feel like you wouldn't have invited me had I not called, and you haven't been the most attentive since I got here." You let the words hang in the air, watching as the color drains from her cheeks. She goes to speak, but you stop her. "And lastly," you begin, glancing over to the room where her colleagues were all seated, laughing and clinking glasses as thier banter grew louder. "Flirty Mc Blue Eyes has been practically eye-fucking you all night. Is there something I need to know about, Elizabeth?"

Her hand flies to her mouth, a gasp escaping her lips. "What? No, no, it's nothing like that. I swear, he's just a flirty guy, it's his thing." She tries to laugh it off, but her eyes dart back to the table where the blue-eyed colleague is watching the exchange with a smug look. "Baby," she steps towards you, her arms wrapping around your neck as her fingers work through your short hair. You look into those green seas that you find so much comfort in, seeing nothing but genuine honesty within them.

"You have nothing to worry about, darling." She purrs into your ear, standing on her tiptoes to reach. Her breath was warm, tickling the shell of your ear and sending shivers down your spine. "He's just a colleague. You know I only have eyes for you. Do you want me to prove that to you?"

You feel your anger and jealousy shift to desire and arousal at your wife's words. You feel a growl echo through your chest at her words. Leaning down to her ear, you whisper, "Those better not be empty words, baby girl." She shivers in your arms, and you can feel her breath hitch as you pull her closer. You kiss her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under your lips.

Lizzie pulls away, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. "Now, let’s go be social, shall we?" she says, taking your hand and leading you back to the table. As you sit down, you notice the blue-eyed colleague's gaze lingering on the two of you, his smug look replaced with something resembling annoyance. You decide to make it your mission to show him that she's yours and you're not just some forgotten plus-one.

The conversation turns to the upcoming office retreat, and you listen intently as Lizzie's voice becomes more animated. You lean in, whispering sweet nothings in her ear that make her giggle and blush. You make a point to touch her frequently, your hand resting possessively on her thigh, your fingers tracing patterns that only she can feel. The tension between you two is palpable, and the blue-eyed colleague's glances become less frequent, his smirk fading.

Deciding to test the waters, you lean over, resting your lips against Lizzie’s ear. "You look stunning tonight, doll," you murmur, your voice thick with desire. She giggles again, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she nods. You nuzzle your nose under her ear, right by that sweet spot you know she loves. "Makes me want to take you home and rip that skirt right off of you." She shifts in her seat, her hand flying to your upper thigh, squeezing it tightly. You press a lingering kiss to her pulse point before pulling away slightly. "If you’re that beautiful in those clothes, you must be beautiful out of them, right?"

The room is a blur of conversation around you, but the only voice you’re tuned into is hers. Her hand slides up your thigh, sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. "Oh, baby," she whispers, her breath hot against your neck. "You have no idea." Her eyes dart to her colleagues, who are still deep in conversation before she leans in closer. "But then again, you only think you know what’s underneath this outfit."

The tease sends your mind racing, and you squeeze her thigh in response. The night wears on, and the alcohol loosens everyone's inhibitions. You watch as Lizzie laughs at every joke, her hand sliding higher up your leg with every touch. It's a silent battle of wills with the blue-eyed colleague, but you're winning. He tries to rejoin the conversation, but she's focused solely on you now.

The teasing touches and remarks continue throughout the dinner, she has finally made her way up to the apex of your thighs, rubbing your member through the loose fabric of your pants. "Someone is liking this," she whispered, placing a kiss on the shell of your ear. "But don't get too excited, I'm not sure if we're going to be able to leave just yet." You bite your bottom lip, trying to compose yourself as the heat builds between the two of you.

You continue to think when you finally get an idea. You scoot back as subtly as possible, excusing yourself to the restroom. You walk down the darkened hallway towards the lavatory, thankful that the majority of the dinner rush has left. You look back over your shoulder, ensuring no one has followed you. The bathroom is empty, the soft lighting casting a warm glow on the tiles. You enter a stall, lock the door behind you, and pull out your phone, typing out a quick message to Lizzie. You feel like you're back in high school.

-Meet me in the restroom. 2 minutes. -

You smile as the text goes from delivered to read, indicating she knows what to do next. Not even 30 seconds later, you hear the door creak open, and her heels click on the tile floor. She locks the door behind her and you can feel the anticipation thick in the air. She opens the stall, and you take in her flushed cheeks and smoky eyes. Without saying a word, she straddles you, her skirt hiking up around her waist. You groan as she grinds herself against you, the fabric of your pants the only barrier between you two.

"Oh, baby, no panties?" you groan into her ear, nipping at the side of her neck as she whimpered and rocked on your lap. She smirks, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Thought you might like that," she whispers, her hand reaching down to unbuckle your belt. You tutt, swatting her hand away. Her eyes dart to yours, a mixture of lust and confusion.

"Home," you growl, standing with her legs still wrapped around your hips. She whined at the thought of having to wait, her eyes misty with passion. You give her a quick, hard kiss before setting her down and exiting the stall. You wash your hands, fix your shirt, and glance at her in the mirror. She straightens her skirt, fluffs her hair, and fixes her lipstick. The sight of her doing this in such a public place sends a thrill through you.

"Good thing you chose loose pants," she giggled, leaning into you and stealing a kiss, grasping firmly on your throbbing length. The sudden stimulation causes you to gasp, allowing her to push her tongue into your mouth, quickly overtaking and dominating a very sloppy, passionate kiss. She pulls away, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Come on baby, let's go."

You nod, leading her out of the bathroom, and glance at the table. "Should we say goodbye?" you ask, a wry smile on your features.

"No," she smirks back, quietly working through the main dining room of the restaurant. "I just want you."

Her words are music to your ears as you both sneak out of the bathroom. You can feel the tension between your legs, a stark contrast to the casual air you're trying to maintain as you make your way to the exit. The cool evening air hits you as you step outside, and you immediately feel a sense of urgency. You lead Lizzie to the car, the engine purring to life as you drive off, the city lights blurring past the windows. The drive home is a battle of wills, both of you fighting the urge to rip each other's clothes off.

As you pull into the garage, the tension is palpable. You can't even wait to get to the bedroom. You press her against the car, kissing her hard, your hands roaming her body. She gasps as you pinch her nipples through her blouse, her hips bucking against yours. You can feel her wetness through your pants, and the thought of her being this turned on because of you is intoxicating.

"Oh darling," you growl in her ear as your body presses her against the passenger door of the car.  "I am going to destroy you for tonight." She gasps, her breaths coming out in short pants as she nods, eagerly anticipating what is to come. Your hand reaches down to lift her skirt, sliding your hand between her legs to feel her heat. She is soaking wet, and you can't resist sliding a finger into her, watching her eyes roll back in pleasure.

"More," she whispers, her voice needy. You comply, adding another finger, curling them just right to hit her g-spot. Her legs quiver around your hips, and you can feel her beginning to lose control. You pull away, suddenly turning and walking to the elevator doors. She stumbles after you, her heels clicking against the concrete floor.

Once inside the elevator, you push her against the wall, your mouth claiming hers in a fiery kiss. Your hands roam over her body, tugging at her clothes, desperate to feel her bare skin. The elevator dings, announcing your arrival at your floor, and you break away, smirking as you pull her out into the hallway. She stumbles slightly, her eyes glazed with lust.

You unlock the door and push her inside, the loft bathed in the soft glow of the living room lights. The quiet starkly contrasts the restaurant's buzz, and it feels like the perfect playground for your desires. You slam the door shut, spinning her around to face you. Your hands trace the curves of her body, the fabric of her blouse feeling like sandpaper against your fingertips. You rip it open, buttons flying everywhere, and she giggles, her cheeks flushed with excitement as her eyes darken to forest-green seas of lust.

Her skirt follows suit, landing in a pool around her ankles. Your kisses become more frantic, more possessive as you devour her neck and collarbone. She arches her back, pushing her breasts against your chest, her nipples pebbling with need. You reach behind her, unclipping her bra and letting it fall to the floor, revealing her perfect, perky breasts. You take one in your mouth, sucking and biting the sensitive skin as she moans your name.

Her hands are equally busy, unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it off your shoulders. Her nails trace the lines of your abs, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You lift her, her legs wrapping around your waist as you carry her to the bedroom. The room is dimly lit by the moon shining through the windows, casting shadows across the bed. You lay her down, taking a moment to drink in the sight of her, sprawled out before you, bare and beautiful.

You kiss down her chest, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her breasts before moving down to her stomach. You can feel her tense with every touch, her breath hitching as you reach her bare waist, nipping and licking above where she needs you the most. She's begging for you, her hands tangled in your hair, guiding you where she wants you. You look up at her, her eyes hooded with desire, and smirk as the smell of her arousal slowly invades your senses.

"What do you want, baby?" you husk at her, not quite willing to give in until she tells you.

Her eyes flash with something primal and she growls, "You know what I want."

You kiss down her body, your tongue tracing the path of your fingers, until you reach the juncture of her thighs. You hover there for a moment, feeling her pulse against your mouth. "Tell me," you demand, your voice low and commanding. Her legs we shaking as they tried you close around your head, but you were forcing them to stay open.

"I want you," she whispers, her voice trembling with need. "I want you to taste me, to make me cum."

With a growl of your own, you give in to her demand, pressing your mouth to her pussy. Your tongue flicks out, tasting her sweetness, and she arches off the bed, her hands gripping the sheets. You lick and suck, exploring her with an intensity that makes her toes curl. Her legs tighten around your neck, and you can feel her getting closer, her moans filling the room. You love the way she tastes, the way she feels against your tongue. It's intoxicating, and you know you could spend hours doing this. You take the opportunity with her back off the bed to push yourself upwards, effectively lifting all but her head and arms off the bed, wrapping an arm around her hips while one supported her ass.

You pushed your tongue into her wet walls, slurping and licking at all of her arousal as she writhed and mewled in your grasp. Her moans were urging you on as you explored every crevice of her pussy. You could feel her getting closer, her juices becoming even sweeter as she neared her peak. You sucked hard on her clit, flicking it with your tongue in a rhythm that had her breathless and shaking. Her legs tightened around your neck, her heels digging into your back as she begged for release.

"Please, baby..." she moaned, as you leaned back, pulling her with you as her back came into contact with your front. You could feel her shiver as you continued to probe her entrance with your tongue. You took her clit into your mouth, sucking and biting gently, while you slid two fingers into her, curling them in that magical way you knew she liked. She bucked her hips against your mouth, her cries of pleasure echoing off the walls. You could feel her getting closer, her muscles tightening around your fingers. She was wiggling and moving you both around, desperate for her release.

Her orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over the shoreline of your senses as she screamed out your name. Her entire body tightened, her pussy pulsing around your tongue as she came hard. You didn't stop, keeping the rhythm steady as she rode out her climax, her heels digging into your shoulders. It was a sight to behold, one that you never tired of. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth open in a silent scream as her body trembled in your arms. You pulled away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you let her back down on the bed. You crawled up, resting between her legs as you kissed her passionately.

She moaned as she tasted herself on you. Her hands were everywhere, clawing at your back, pulling you closer as she kissed you with the same desperation she had felt moments ago. "I need you inside me," she gasped, her hips rocking against yours. You could feel the tip of your throbbing member poking at her wetness, and as she kept rocking against you, she began to tease herself with your length.

With a groan, you pulled away from her kiss, sliding down to position yourself at her entrance. You looked into her eyes, watching as she bit her bottom lip, her pupils blown wide with desire. You pushed in, inch by inch, her walls clenching around you like a tight fist. She was so wet and ready, and you felt yourself get lost in the feeling of her heat surrounding you. "Fuck," you breathed, as you reached the hilt, her pussy stretching to accommodate your girth.

She arched back in a silent scream, her hands blindly searching for you as they came to rest on your breast, thumbing your nipples as she lay back down. "More," she begged her voice a breathy whisper that sent chills down your spine. You didn't need any more encouragement. You began to thrust into her, your movements slow and deliberate at first, feeling every inch of her tightness. She was so wet, so warm, and so incredibly tight around you. It was like sliding into heaven.

Her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you deeper into her with every stroke. You could feel her nails digging into your back as she moaned your name, urging you to go faster. You obliged, your hips moving faster, the slap of your skin against hers filling the quiet loft. Her walls were tightening around you, contracting as she neared another orgasm. You leaned down, your teeth grazing her neck as you whispered dirty words into her ear.

"You're mine, Lizzie," you said, your voice gruff with desire. "Say it." You nipped and sucked at the column of her throat, leaving a trail of marks that would need to be covered if she goes to the office. But you didn't care. It was childish, but you wanted everyone to see your marks.

"I'm yours," she breathed, her voice was a sweet surrender that was music to your ears. You thrust into her harder, feeling the tension in your balls tighten. She was so wet, so hot, and she felt so good around you. You could feel yourself getting closer, your rhythm becoming erratic.

Her nails raked down your back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Again," she begged her voice a whimper that sent a shiver down your spine. You didn't need to be told twice. You picked up the pace, hammering into her with a fierce passion that left her panting and whimpering your name. Her walls tightened around you, squeezing you in a vice-like grip that was both painful and pleasurable.

"I'm going to cum," she screamed, her legs tightening around your waist. You could feel her pussy spasm around you, and it was all the encouragement you needed. You thrust into her one last time, feeling the warmth of her orgasm as it washed over you. You followed her over the edge, your release filling her up. You collapsed on top of her, both of you panting and trying to catch your breath.

You lay there, your heart pounding against her chest, your cock still twitching inside her. You kiss her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath your lips. "Fuck, Lizzie," you murmur, your voice still thick with lust.

She giggles, the sound is music to your ears. "That was... intense," she says, her voice filled with awe. "Maybe I need to get you jealous more often..." she teased, tracing her fingers over the red, angry welts from her nails on your back. You can't help but smile, feeling a swell of pride at her admission.

"Don't push it, darling," you murmur, kissing her forehead. "Or I might just have to take you in public." You both laugh, the tension of the evening dissipating as you lay in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of your passion.

You roll over, looking into her eyes. "I love you," you say, your voice earnest. She smiles, her eyes sparkling. "I love you too," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. You can see the truth in her gaze, and it fills you with warmth.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your mingled breaths and the distant sirens of the city outside. You kiss her softly, savoring the taste of her lips. Your hand finds hers, your fingers interlocking as you both lay there. "I'm sorry for being such a jealous prick," you admit, feeling the weight of the evening's tension lift from your shoulders.

She giggles, stroking your cheek with her thumb. "It's okay," she says, her voice soothing. "It's kind of hot, actually."

You can't help but chuckle at her response. "If you say so." You lean in for another kiss, feeling the love between you stronger than ever. The sound of her laughter, the feel of her skin against yours, it's all intoxicating. But you know you can't stay here forever. You roll off her, pulling her into your arms. "We should get cleaner up, get some rest," you murmur, your voice lazy with satisfaction. She nods, snuggling closer.

You both get up, a little wobbly on your legs, and make your way to the bathroom. The cold water from the faucet is a shock to your system, but it helps to bring you back to reality. You clean up, and she watches you with a smile on her face, her eyes roaming over your body. You look back at her, the love and lust warring in your gaze. "Ready for round two?" you ask, a wicked smile playing on your lips. She nods, her cheeks flushing with excitement. She grasped your semi-erect member, slowly pumping it as her eyes darkened.

It was going to be a long night.

[lsunstreakerl]

wing!famiglia, 2k, GP POV. some things are different- but some things stay the same. (hi! I describe the accident in more vivid detail than I do in the original famiglia, because I'm writing from GP's POV.)

The rain is slamming down in harsh sheets, pasting Gianpiero's feathers down, and his heart is pounding as they pull over to the side of the road, sprinting towards the crash site.

There's cars strewn across the road, twisted metal scattered around them. His hands are shaking, trying to figure out where he needs to go first. There's so many, too many to handle at once, he needs to-

There's a rasping cry from a van, warbling and distressed. It's rolled over, resting on its a side, a mangled mess. Gianpiero runs over, cupping his hands around his eyes to try and see better in the dark, slamming to his knees to try and look inside.

There's bloody feathers coating the car, dark brown and maroon, and Gianpiero feels bile rise in his throat at the twisted bones rising from the man in front of him, shattered and pinched at unnatural angles.

There's a deep gash in his forehead, blood dripping from his mouth and nose, and his eyes are unfocused, one pupil larger than the other. He makes another desperate rasping noise.

His arms are curled around something, cradled tight to his chest, and Gianpiero's heart flips into an ugly pretzel when he hears a soft chirp.

"I'm here, I'm- I'm going to get you both out of here-"

The man lets out another wheezing cry, wet coughs rattling his chest, blood coating his teeth.

"My son..."

Gianpiero can't save him. He's not sure anyone could, but-

There's a fledgling in there.

He shuffles forward on his knees, reaching in through the shattered windshield, and the man drops his arms, head falling to the side with another wheeze.

There's a boy, one wing tucked tight around him, the other resting unnaturally to the side.

The man's fingers land in the boy's hair, weakly ruffling through it, but his eyes drag to meet Gianpiero's, piercing even in their final moments.

"My champion,"

He hacks again, and the fledgling flinches, curling tighter in on himself.

"My Max."

Gianpiero is going to be sick, can't bring himself to meet the eyes of a dying man as he carefully gathers the boy in his arms.

Max.

The fledgling cries out, hands darting forward to tangle in Gianpiero's shirt, and then he's latching to his chest, desperately chirping, pleading for reassurance.

He still has soft hatchling feathers, smeared red, and Gianpiero supports him with one hand, the other coming up to curl gently behind his head as he coos softly, backing away from the car.

His wings are heavy and waterlogged, but he strains his back lifting them anyways, wrapping around the fledgling to shut out the rain.

He doesn't look at the dying man again.

------

The fledgling's name is Max. He's 14, a falcon subspecies, and he's probably never going to fly.

His right wing is shattered, needs hours of corrective surgery that Gianpiero doesn't think twice about telling them to move forward on.

His blood type is A-, he's small for his age, and he's-

"...most likely imprinted on you, Mr. Lambiase. Fledglings at that stage, after a traumatic event, are going to look to the nearest adult to take care of them, and there is a very good chance he's picked you."

Gianpiero blinks at the social worker. First responders wear masks and helmets to avoid accidental imprinting, but Gianpiero hadn't-

He hadn't thought about it. Hadn't allowed himself to consider the idea that there was a fledgling- barely a fledgling, still with fuzzy little hatchling feathers- in that wreckage.

"I, uh,"

He pulls his wings tighter against his back. The warm blankets have helped to dry them back off, but he tries his best to be spatially aware of his surrounds- having a heron wingspan isn't always a helpful thing.

"I need to call my boss."

------

Max is 16, speaks softly, and doesn't fly. He's had more operations than Gianpiero likes to think about, but he won't even try, refuses to even visit common lift off areas.

Gianpiero wouldn't dream of pushing him- they utilize non-flight spaces as much as possible, and they live on a lower level accommodation, which was both cheaper and easier to access than where Gianpiero had been before.

Most people don't like being so close to the ground. GP doesn't mind- his subspecies means he likes to use his legs, and Max needs the accessibility.

He still works out his back and shoulders. Gianpiero has quietly wondered about it before, why Max chooses to train his flight muscles with no intention to ever use them, but he's never asked.

It's Max's business.

------

Max is 19, leaving Gianpiero's nest for his own place not too far away. There's a light brace fitted around his right wing, overlapping carbon fiber and intricate pulley systems to allow full supported range of motion.

He still doesn't fly.

He'll go up higher into buildings with Gianpiero now- they can frequently utilize skyways and platform spaces up in the sky, as long as Max doesn't get too close to the edge.

He's still Gianpiero's tiny little fledgling, and he still fits perfectly under his wings.

"Dad, you are a heron, I'm always going to fit under your wings."

"Exactly."

------

Max is dating a dove. A high profile, flirty, racing driver dove.

Gianpiero has never approved of anyone less in his life. He'd been a fan of the songbird from uni, now that had been a nice boy.

Apparently, Max and the dove- Charles- have history. Gianpiero doesn't care for him at all, and certainly not for the way he leaves feathers everywhere, bright white against the couch cushions.

------

Charles isn't terrible. He's grown on Gianpiero like a leech, and he's preformed the miracle of at least getting Max within a few meters of a lift-off range before he'd backed out.

It's more progress than anyone else has been able to make.

They've been dating for a few years now, growing into their twenties. Gianpiero sometimes looks at Max and sees a small bloody fledgling, has to bundle him in his arms and wings until tears no longer burn hot on his lash line.

Max tolerates it.

------

They're at a FIA event, all dressed up for hours of self-absorbed speech giving, something Gianpiero has learned to tune out while still looking like he's listening.

Max had taken a few years to catch on, but he's getting better at it, although he still looks annoyed if a camera ever lands on him.

They're mingling up on the aerial platform, and there's drinks flowing, which is a safety violation that's not usually an issue- but the F3 drivers are here tonight, so everyone is being responsible.

They're supposed to be, anyways.

Gianpiero has spotted more than a few young drivers with drinks they shouldn't have, and he's trying to keep an eye out, but there's so many of them- they're playing some ridiculous game of catch, small wings flapping around as they trip over their own feet.

Hugh pulls him into a conversation with a Ferrari engineer, and his attentions drifts.

It's fine.

It's fine until it's not, fine until there's a terrified screech, fine until he snaps his head around just in time to watch a fledgling fall over the edge, time slowing down.

The F3 drivers should be able to fly and glide short distances. They can't pull a recovery dive, not at this hight, not inebriated. Snapping out their wings- it would tear their muscles, snap their joints.

They need- Gianpiero unfreezes the same time as everyone else, darting to the edge- it's been three seconds, four seconds, they need an eagle or a vulture, six seconds, seven seconds, they need-

They need speed, need someone who can make up those seconds, they need-

A flurry of brown and blonde darts past him, arcs gracefully over the edge before wings tuck in, and the towers emergency lights flash on.

There's a small blur dropping fast.

Max is moving faster.

Gianpiero feels like he's going to throw up when the blurs collide, heart in his throat when Max doesn't immediately flare-

He's still diving, but he's extending his wings slowly, twisting into a arching upward curve, bringing himself to a speed manageable by species other than falcons, and he's curving back towards the tower.

Someone has corralled the other fledglings, and they're trying to clear a space for Max to land- a landing that will undoubtedly be messy, because he's never done it before.

Max finally flares closer to the tower, wings snapping out fully behind him, fledgling clutched tightly in his arms as he lands in a staggered run, crumpling to his knees on impact.

Gianpiero is at his side in an instant, hit with a wave of complicated emotions-

Max has his wings curled tightly around the F3 driver, cooing gently.

Gianpiero had done that once.

Someone has gotten the medical team, and they're making their way onto the upper deck as Max uncurls his wings- it doesn't escape Gianpiero's notice that his right side moves stiff and slow.

There's a flash of vibrant white in the corner of his eye, and then Charles is crouching next to them as well, cooing softly to coax the fledgling out of Max's arms.

It's careful work to disentangle them, but the fledgling finally works with them, moving over with the medical team.

Gianpiero wraps his arms around Max gingerly, wings curling over them both, giving Max the privacy to drop his head onto his shoulder.

"Max,"

Max makes a soft noise, and something hot and wet drops onto Gianpiero's skin.

"Hurts, dad."

"We'll fix it."

He'd worried, as soon as he'd seen Max flare his wings- he has anchors and stabilizers in the muscle and bone, but the speed of the dive, the force of the flare-

There's a chance the muscle is shredded.

Max buries his head further into Gianpiero's shoulder.

"It felt so nice, for a second."

Gianpiero tightens his wings, nudging the sides of their heads together.

"I'm sorry, Max."

Sorry that none of them had gotten off the platform sooner, sorry that Max had put the pieces together faster than the rest of them, done the math in his head, sorry that all the surgeries in the world will never fully repair his wing, sorry that he'll never experience flying the way he should-

He's sorry for all of it. If he could cut off his own wings, give his boy a chance, he would. He'd do it in a heartbeat.

He squeezes the back of Max's neck gently.

Max sniffs, sitting back up as Gianpiero slowly lowers his wings.

"Is Kimi okay?"

The F3 driver is tiny- Gianpiero had heard gossip about one of the junior drivers being a pygmy owl, and it must be this one- but he's standing on his own two feet, dutifully listening to the medical team.

"It looks like it."

Max's shoulders slump in relief, but his right wing stays hitched up behind him, trembling in place.

Gianpiero opens his mouth to say something about it, but a brilliant white wing extends underneath the curve of Max's sharply angled one, offering a rest.

He shares an appreciative glance with Charles, unspoken that in this they're on the same team.

They always are, when it comes to keeping Max safe.

Max laughs softly, looking at GP.

"Maybe if that German hospital had a songbird you could've not ended up baby trapped by imprinting."

Gianpiero narrows his eyes, feathers bristling.

"Don't say that. I could never regret you, Max. I wouldn't have wanted someone to pull you away- imprinting goes both ways."

Hadn't that been a surprise, the first time someone had offered to watch Max while Gianpiero went to a meeting and he'd puffed up, wings spread wide threateningly.

The first few years had been a learning process for them both.

He leans forward, knocking their heads together briefly.

He's so proud of his boy, all grown up and out of the nest, and he hasn't quite processed yet that Max had flown.

"But maybe no more jumping off buildings? I'm getting too old for you to be doing that to my heart."

Max grins weakly at him.

"I think the fledgling rescue thing just runs in the family."

It's not the worst family trait Gianpiero can think of.

"Maybe it does."

[33max]

3 times GP uses the force to speak to Max | 1000ish words of padawan max and master lambiase ✨

“Max,” Gianpiero sighs, “would you mind?”

It takes Max a moment to understand what his Master is talking about, Max hadn’t been doing anything… copiloting is boring and he had completely zoned out while Gianpiero navigated them around the fourth moon and into the nearest hyperspace lane. Max was just daydreaming about getting back to the temple and finally having his own quarters, away from his Master, where he could- oh.

“Sorry,” Max blushes, looking over at his Master and shifting in his seat uncomfortably. He can suddenly feel where the leather belts are digging into his shoulders and his groin.

It’s embarrassing how often this happens. He shares a strong training bond with his Master, as most Padawans do during their Jedi training. They can share thoughts, feelings, and even images across the bond when they concentrate – Max both loves and hates it, especially when GP insists on cracking the most ridiculous Dad jokes directly into Max’s brain in the middle of briefings from the Jedi Council.

Max does try to shield his personal thoughts from GP, but he’s not very good at it yet. His peers seem to have mastered this skill, and his Master worries that Max is not practising enough. GP is probably right, Max is very good at shielding from others, but his bond with GP is too strong… when he shuts it out it feels like part of him is missing. So he doesn’t shut it out.

“It is okay, Padawan,” Gianpiero smirks, “It has happened to us all.”

“It doesn’t happen to you,” Max groans. His Master never shares anything without intending to.

“No,” Gianpiero laughs, “but that is because I practised shielding from my master, Max.”

Max glares at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gianpiero says, calmly. “You need to practice.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t like it. I like having you there.”

“I know, Max, but it is an important skill that you must learn before you can become a Jedi Knight. Not to mention I do not want to be sent indecent thoughts of Padawan Leclerc while I am flying.”

“You could have let me fly,” Max says, shaking off the embarrassment of GP witnessing some of his more lewd daydreams.

You can fly when you practice your shielding.

Max frowns. “Fine.”

—————

If there is one thing that Max knows he’s good at, it’s lightsaber combat. He knows all of the lightsaber forms well, he can fight in any of them, and he knows that he’s the best in his class. Padawan Leclerc is very good, especially at Djem So, but Max refuses to lose. Especially to Charles because Charles is good at everything. Even hyperspace theory. All of the Masters love Charles.

Anyway, Jar’Kai comes naturally to Max. And he’s not just good at it, he’s the best.

The first time he had tried Jar’Kai, he knew. He felt it in the force. He didn’t even have to think about his next move, his body already knew it, and the force hummed around him pleasantly.

He was practising Ataru with his Master, and Gianpiero had looked at him, tilted his head, and said “You’re fighting like something is missing. Maybe you should try a second blade in your left hand.”

And then Gianpiero was handing across his own blade for Max to try.

“Are you sure?” Max asked, holding his Master’s weapon so carefully. The hilt was still warm from where Gianpiero had been gripping.

“Of course,” Gianpiero laughed. “Come on, let’s set up the training droid.”

The moment Max ignited both blades it felt right. One orange blade and one blue, glowing in each of his hands. He had found his lightsaber form, but it was not just that, holding his Master’s ignited blade he felt like he was two halves made whole.

“It suits you,” Gianpiero commented as Max took his opening stance against the training droid.

Guess we found your form.

Can you feel that, Master? The force…

Yes, Padawan. I can feel it. ——————

“This sucks,” Max shivers.

It has been three days since their ship crashed in the middle of fucking nowhere on an ice planet of all things.

He is sick of being cold. He is sick of having to light a fire to defrost ice to have water to drink. He is sick of eating ration packs. He can’t feel his toes. He wants to go home.

“Sharing a tent with me or being stuck on Hoth?” Gianpiero asks, amused. He’s way too relaxed for someone who might freeze to death soon.

Max doesn’t blame his Master for the crash, not at all, very few star pilots could have avoided being shot down by the seventeen vulture droids that the separatists had sent to ambush them. He just can’t help but be irritated at his Master’s inhuman ability to stay completely calm and level-headed about their current situation.

“Both,” Max says, curling up further into his sleeping bag and turning his back on his Master. This isn’t the time for jokes.

“Max…” Gianpiero says, “Someone will come for us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I can feel it.”

“You said that three days ago.”

“And I was right three days ago.”

Max lets out a frustrated scream into his stupid too thin and slightly damp pillow. He is sick of waiting for a rescue that might not be coming.

Padawan, come here.

“No.”

Max, you’re cold. Come here.

“I am not cold,” Max says stubbornly, even though his teeth are chattering.

“Padawan,” Gianpiero sighs. You don’t always have to be so strong, part of being a Jedi is being able to acknowledge what we are feeling and be vulnerable before letting that emotion go.

Max’s eyes water. He’s fine.

His Master must feel Max’s misery in the force, because the next thing Max knows he is being force-pulled, sleeping bag and all, into his Master’s arms.

It startles a laugh out of him. “Master!”

I’ve missed this, you’ve not snuggled your old Master in years.

I’m too old for this.

You’re never too old to be comforted, Max. Remember that.

[berryhobii]

OMG HI😭😭i love your writing so much like im obsessed you’re so talented!!! i see your request are open and i just wanted to see if you do something where it’s after Yoongi and Y/N get into petty argument and Y/N is like “you know what? whatever” and gives Yoongi the silent treatment however, Yoongi hates being ignored (especially by his girl) so after giving her some space for a few hours and trying to get her to talk to him, he’s had enough oh the silence and decides to take matters into his own hands 🫣 I HOPE THIS MADE SENSE😭😭😭this thought has been running rampant in my mind for a week and i would love to see how you would write this ! there’s no rush, take your time if you don’t feel like it that’s TOTALLY okay i just want you to know that you’re writing is IMMACULATE, chefs mf kiss 🤌🏾 and that’s you are so freaking talented!! thank you for sharing your writing with us🥰🥰💕

Ahhhhhh! I love you so much! Your requests have given me such good ideas! I hope I fulfilled this one well. It turned into kind of brat tamer Yoongi who loves reader to pieces because I love everything about that trope. I really hope you love it bb!🩵🩵🩵

~

“Turn left up here!”

“I know where I’m going!”

“Obviously not! The parking lot will be full by the time we get there.”

Currently, you and your husband were on the way to your favorite store to spend some more of the gift cards you got at your wedding. You received so many and Yoongi made you agree that you’d only use them for important things.

New stuff for Holly counted as important, right? Of course it did.

A few months ago, you two moved to a new neighborhood which meant you didn’t really know where everything was.

As designated passenger princess, it was your responsibility to look hot, control the music and also manage the GPS to get you places but Yoongi wanted to trust his car’s GPS more than you. Ridiculous right?

He sighed. “I know where I’m going, okay? I don’t need your help.”

Your mouth dropped, a scandalized and dramatic gasp passing your glossed lips. How dare he?!

Crossing your arms over your chest, you slumped in the passenger seat. “You know what? Whatever, Yoongi.” You mumbled.

Silence enveloped the car, only the low sound of J.Cole’s melodic voice filling the space.

Yoongi glanced over at you, a smile threatening his lips at your pouty face. Ugh, you were such a spoiled little brat but he loved you so much. He actually took pleasure in riling you up and watching you get all huffy. Everytime he saw that princess personality, it awakened something in him—a need to both smother you with kisses and spank your ass until you were crying.

He reached over to place a large hand on your thigh. “Come on baby. Don’t be upset.”

You ignored him, fully turning your body towards the window. Uh oh, your full super bratty mode was activated.

“Are you really gonna ignore me?” He pondered.

No answer.

“Baby please. I’m sorry.”

Nothing.

He guessed he’d have to roll with this.

When Yoongi pulled into the parking lot of your favorite store, he tried to talk to you again but you were already out of the car.

Unfortunately, whenever you were upset with Yoongi, you got a sudden stroke of independence. He normally opened your door for you so he knew you were really upset when you did it yourself.

You didn’t talk to him the entire time through the store but you almost broke when you passed the pillows.

“Look baby. They have those pillows you were looking at.”

You picked one up before turning to Yoongi, opening your mouth to say, “yeah they…..” but you cut yourself off, remembering your vow of silence. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to speak but you held it. Tossing the pillows into the cart, you continued through the store, hands hurting from how hard you gripped the handles.

You couldn’t fight that skip in your heart. He remembered the pillows…..you told him about those weeks ago…..fuck.

You didn’t even notice Yoongi’s sly smirk as he walked behind you. He knew this silent treatment wouldn’t last long and he was honestly kind of amused. He knew you wanted to talk to him but your pride wouldn’t allow you to break first, not until you felt like it. He guessed he’d have to put up with your silent treatment a little longer.

Besides, with you walking ahead of him, he could stare at your perfect ass in those stretch pants all he wanted. His hand itched to grab it but he resisted. He didn’t want to make you more upset…..on purpose.

Yoongi ended up having to practically fight you with the bags, insisting he’ll put them back in the cart and push them to the car. You weren’t happy but you also didn’t argue, huffing and puffing your way back to the car.

Yoongi didn’t unlock the doors until he was finished putting the bags in the trunk which was getting you even more riled up. He knew you wanted to open your own door but doing it for you was just more amusing.

You squinted your eyes at him in frustration, throat burning with the desire to tell him off but you got in the car anyway, still completely silent.

The drive home was silent, as was the short journey up to your apartment. Holly greeted you both at the door, the wiggly dog jumping all over you. You didn’t even try to go through the bags, just heading straight for your bedroom where you could ignore Yoongi better. And of course, Holly followed you, not sparing Yoongi a passing glance.

Traitor, Yoongi thought.

He sighed but left you alone. He knew you weren’t that upset about what he said in the car. You were just being stubborn. He spoiled you too much. He could also be kind of passive(he’s working on it) as well so perhaps this was proving to be a little test for him.

After putting away the few grocery items and leaving the rest of your choices for you to sort through, he flopped down on the couch.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

He liked his peace and quiet as much as the next person but the noise you brought was different. He had grown used to hearing you singing under your breath or talking to yourself as you thought about dinner or the crash of all of your hair products falling because you had so many and they didn’t fit right in the hallway closet.

You had ingrained yourself into his life—you and your own perfect little storm of gentle chaos.

He missed you. Even though you were in the next room. He missed you.

Standing from the couch, he walked down the hall to the bedroom. He couldn’t hear anything on the other side.

His knuckles rapped gently against the wood before he opened he door. “Baby?”

He found you laid on your back on the bed, phone held over your face as you scrolled through social media. Holly was resting on his dog bed in the corner, little head lifting as Yoongi entered.

“Go.” He motioned to the door. Holly tilted his head in a way that solidified Yoongi’s suspicion that his dog was secretly a human. Human or not, Holly knew better than to stick around.

Yoongi closed the door before focusing his attention back on you.

He approached the bed, leaning a knee on it. You could feel the dip but made no move to acknowledge him.

“Baby please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. Of course I need you. I love when you tell me where to go but then you get distracted so we miss the turn. Remember we were late to our rehearsal dinner?”

Your lip twitched at the memory. Of course you do. The excitement of your wedding being the next day had you so caught up in your then fiancé that you couldn’t even focus on giving directions. And thanks to Yoongi being equally distracted by how stunning you were, he didn’t even think to make sure you stayed focused enough to give directions. He missed the exit twice before finally getting on track. Nevertheless, it was still a memorable evening with his family and close friends.

And the precursor to the rest of a wonderful life with you.

You still continued to ignore him. You could hear the sincerity in his apology but you wanted to make him sweat just a little bit longer.

But even Yoongi had a breaking point and you were crossing it.

“Baby.”

No answer.

Alright. Breaking point crossed.

~

“Why do you have to make everything so difficult? Ignoring me, “he scoffed with a shake of his head and landing a sharp smack to your ass. “You’re crazy.”

Your head was buried in the blankets, shoulders pressed against the bed and wrists held tightly in Yoongi’s grip.

His hips were slamming into your ass hard enough to hurt, his thick cock stretching your walls to their limit. He was thick enough to give you that slightly searing stretch and long enough to make you feel it all the way to your deepest parts.

“Mm, Yoongi!” You cry out as his strokes became longer, pulling himself all the way out to the tip remained before slamming back inside. He grits his teeth at your walls sucking him in as if they didn’t want him to go. Thank goodness for his stamina. After meeting you, he’s had to learn how restrain himself longer than ever. He never used to cum quick before meeting you. And yes, that was one of the many reasons he pursued you. “F-fuck….you feel so good.”

You arched your back more, lifting your ass so that he could reach even deeper.

“Don’t ignore me again. Do you understand?” He landed another slap on your bouncing ass, loving the recoil.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, face feeling hot from your breath that kept blowing back from how your face was pressed into the mattress.

Everything felt too tight, too hot, too sweaty, too good.

“Yes! I’m sorry!” You cried.

Releasing your wrists, he grabbed at your braids, twisting them around his wrist a few times. Waist length were definitely a smart investment.

He pulled you up until you were “balanced” on your hands because let’s face it, those things were numb as hell. His hold on your hair was really the only thing keeping you upright.

“Sorry for what? Apologize properly.”

He wanted you to form full sentences? That was like asking Jada to stop talking about Tupac. Impossible.

Another stroke knocked your speech centers loose, third orgasm since you started bubbling in your lower belly.

Yoongi could feel your walls clenching up, your moans growing louder at each thrust. Oh no you don’t.

He stopped his hips, still buried deep in your cunt. You whined as your orgasm ebbed away, wiggling your hips in an attempt to throw yourself back on his cock but a hand on your hip made you still.

“You’re not cumming until you apologize properly. Now, what aren’t you gonna do again?”

You swallowed, lip quivering and tears welling up. “I…I won’t ignore you again.”

He grinned. “Apology accepted.”

His hips set a punishing pace, your ass ricocheting off his hips. It had you moaning in ecstasy, nearly slipping from his grasp but he wrapped an arm under your breasts to keep you steady.

“Shit, I love this pussy. So. Fucking. Good.” Each word was punctuated with a thrust.

Your hand reached back to claw at his side, the slight sting making him groan and thus pushing him faster.

He yanked your hair until your back was pressed flush against his chest, his hips never slowing down. Almost instantly, you turned your head, seeking his lips as you always did when you were close. His heart fluttered, loving how affectionate you were.

You almost miss his lips from how absolutely feral he was going in your poor cunt. Fortunately, he tilts your head better with his grip on your hair, kissing your wet pout. The tenderness has your heart swooning despite all the chaos. He sucks at your tongue, leaving a light bite on your bottom lip as well.

“Gonna cum, my sweet girl?” He whispers in your ear, nipping at the skin.

You didn’t need to answer him, you’re growing moans enough to confirm. The hand that wasn’t scratching at his skin raises up to bury in his hair, yanking his strands similar to how he was doing you causing him to grunt in delight.

The arm around your body moved down to rub circles into your clit and you swore you saw the upper room. He buried his face in the side of your neck, inhaling your sweaty skin, lips leaving kisses and bites along the side of your throat.

His hips move even faster than before, desperate to carry you to your orgasm before he lost his shit. Pent up from that brief denial and riddled from your previous orgasms, you’re quick to crumble against him. Twisting in his hold, you cry out his name that’s like music to his ears.

“Yoongiiiiiiiiii! Cum in me, baby. Want you so bad….”

Your walls grip him tighter than a vice, his hips stuttering with careless abandon as he gives you exactly what you want. The sensitivity between your thighs burns in the best ways, little gasps coming from you another tiny orgasm washes over you.

“Ugh, fuck.” The last few sluggish ruts of his hips make both of you whine and gasp, his grip on you tightening and then loosening as his body shudders.

Your body falls forward on the mattress, muscles and bones weary and your eyes drooping as exhaustion weighs on them. You feel Yoongi flop down next to you, only the sound of his slightly hurried breaths filling the room.

“Not falling asleep on me, are ya?” He asks after a few seconds. He turns his head to find you are, in fact, beginning to doze off.

“No.” You fib, rolling your achy body over and holding up one arm. “Come kiss me.”

His smile is as sweet as him. He scoots over to bury himself in your warmth. Your arm wraps around him as his head lifts to give you your requested kisses.

“I love you.” You confess against his lips.

He hums. “Love you too. Even though you’re bad at giving directions.”

You roll your eyes but continued to peck at his lips. “Marry your GPS then.”

“I already have.” He hugs you closer. “And I wouldn’t give her up for anything.”

[dxmedstudent]

I haven't been on Tumblr in a while but wanted to check how you're doing! How is married life treating you and how is work- I remember last time you were applying for GP training! I'm just coming to the end of F1 :)

Me neither, Anon! Honestly? I have been meaning to come back to Tumblr a while ago, but life has been busy! I had tried to spend less time on socual media so i could focus on my membership exams, and that went too well.

Time flies, I can't believe it's been more than 10 years since I joined tumblr or graduated from med school.

I can't remember which updates I've already shared, so I'll make a list.

Married life is great - pretty similar to pre-married life. Because we started off in different cities due to my training and covid, it's honestly just a joy to live together and be able to hang out. I've been meaning to post a couple of anonymised wedding photos. It still feels amazing that we managed to get all the people we love together. We also managed to fly out to my birth country so that DxDude could meet my relatives...most of whom don't speak English. It was hilarious and lovely and he took being mobbed by an army of Eastern European Babushkas very well.

We adopted a cat! His owner died suddenly and my parents sort of got left with the cat. It was at a difficult time, as it was around the time my beloved cat passed away last year. I still miss her. But I couldn't let someone's baby, a lovely senior cat, live out his last days in a shelter. He's a little 14ish year old man called Sherlock. He loves being held and sitting on my shoulders and he drools when he gets excited. We've been trying to discourage his habit of nipping you when he wants something.

My houseplants and balcony plants may be slowly getting out of control, but I'm happy I have lots of them, and i would have more if we weren't running out of space. I'm currently waging a war against mealybugs. Send thoughts and prayers.

I did get into GP training! And it was local to where I wanted to be, which made it much easier to finally move in together. In fact, I JUST finished GP training a couple of weeks ago and am now living my GP dreams working in one of the practices that I trained in. It's very inner city London. Our patients have complex needs, and I'm honoured to ve in a team that have a lot of experience serving patients affected by substance abuse, homelessness and refugee populations and other complex issues.

We went on Honeymoon to Japan! It was amazing, and I'd still love to go again. I was bold enough to arrange my Honeymoon to be barely a month before a postgraduate exam, but I passed!

This past academic year has been filled with sitting exams and jumping through the hoops required for my eportfolio. On top of working full time as a GP. I didn't think I would do it all first time TBH, but my supervisor had more faith in me than I did. It's honestly been amazing to work for a few jobs in GP training where I felt seen and wanted and where my hard work was appreciated. I can't believe my supervisor offered me my current job, and wanted me to stay on, but they did!

I finished a diploma in sexual and reproductive health and trained in fitting contraceptive implants. I'd like to train up to fit IUDs also to try to improve local access to sexual health services.

I went on strike these past couple of years, when the junior doctors went on strike again. I'm still processing the pay offer and the new government. But I'm relieved we're no loner under the Tories.

We'd like to move house, but we've not gotten around to trying to do this seriously, because my life was already stressful enough. We do need more space, and I hope we'll find somewhere modestly nice that we can afford.

We're trying for kids, and it's sadly taking much longer than we hoped. Being a patient is...a slow and frustrating experience because it already feels like I've had to work harder than I should to advocate for appropriate care. I could say a LOT about the postcode lotteries that come with UK fertility care but I'll leave that for another post.

I've finally accepted that my hair is wavy, and I'm trying out different products to lean into the natural waves and bring them out without leaving it a frizzy Hermione-esque mess. It spent tge past years mostly in a plait or cadet bun, but I'm finally giving my hair a bit more freedom. I have NOT yet accepted that my hair is mostly white at this point. I alternate between wanting to go grey (because that would look cool) and wanting to stay brown because that's kind of how I've imagined myself for the past 35+ years.

I finally get to indulge in painting my nails. I've loved it since I was like 13 and seeing my nails sparkly and colorful brings out my inner 13 year old and she is thrilled. Every time I make my nails glow in the dark, I show them off to DxDude before bed.

My laptop died and then I inherited an old laptop from my parents which is also dying. Which is part of the reason I haven't created much art in recent years. I should probably just bite the bullet and buy a new one, but my exams and diplomas have been expensive so I've been putting it off. To be fair I also made the decision to use my limited free time to keep up with friends and family IRL and try not to feel bad about taking a break from creating. I felt like I was blaming myself for not managing to do everything I wanted to do. I've slowly accepted that none of us can do everything.

I think that's it for now. Looking forward to catching up with what medblr are up to 😃

[ysmtttty]

Red Ferrari

Chapter 10

Summary: Azris AU, where Azriel is a mechanic and has his own service station. One day, Eris comes there because something is wrong with his car

AO3 link Chapter 9 Chapter 11

Flipping through the emails in his phone, Eris waited for Azriel to return with their ordered coffee, which the courier should have brought, judging by his GPS in the delivery app.

Surprisingly, Morrigan still hadn't contacted him, maybe she was still searching for a new lawyer. Eris wasn't sure, but he suspected that most people were now cautious about becoming her attorney, since dealing with her had proven to be a doomed endeavor, and many had come to realize this even more.

Now that he and Azriel had seemingly cleared everything up and he had earned forgiveness, the realization of the problem with Keir hit him hard. According to the terms, Eris had to ensure that his father would agree to support whatever conditions were part of their deal, the details of which he hadn't been allowed to fully grasp over the years.

There were many problems with this, but the main one was that he really didn’t want to deal with Beron, especially over someone like Keir with his threats. Eris would have loved to tell both of them to go to hell and leave the country. Maybe start over somewhere where they wouldn't find him. But his loved ones were still here, and Beron definitely wouldn’t hesitate to threaten him through his mother. Keir, even more so.

And yet, he would have to call his father, maybe even persuade him. Eris hated such situations, always trying to avoid them entirely. A couple of times, Beron had been threatened through him, and it had turned out very badly for those daring idiots. However, something told Eris that this time it wouldn’t be so simple.

Why the hell did Beron even agree to this wedding scheme, which hardly promised him much profit?

Eris stared at the phone screen for a long time, his finger hovering over the call button. He didn’t want to hear that voice, didn’t want to let Beron know he needed his help—even if calling it help was a stretch considering that without dear old dad, Eris wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place—and he absolutely didn’t want Beron to know that Keir had threatened his life. Again—nothing good could come from that other than a bloody mess.

Still, he treated this conversation like ripping off a band-aid—the faster, the better.

One ring, two, five. Maybe he shouldn’t have called in the morning. Who knows, the old bastard might’ve decided to sleep in, after all, given his age…

"Eris?" came a gruff voice. Eris just gripped the phone tighter, reminding himself that his father was hundreds of kilometers away.

"Father," he greeted as politely as possible. "I'm calling about business."

Beron might have been disappointed in him if he had called just to ask how things were going.

"Speak," Beron said, getting straight to the point.

"Keir wants to be sure that you will uphold your end of the deal after my divorce from Morrigan," Eris explained bluntly, lacking the strength or desire to play mind games or figure out how to word it more softly or advantageously. This was also the first time he had confidently informed his father that he would definitely be getting a divorce. The divorce was now a fact.

"And what am I supposed to do with the information about his desires?"

Eris rolled his eyes. Of course, why make life easier with a simple “okay, son, I got it,” when he could continue acting like a self-proclaimed jerk.

"Confirm that you’re in."

"And why do you think I’m in?" A pause, during which Eris reminded himself that he had bought this phone two weeks ago and throwing it against the wall now would be stupid. Especially considering what happened the last time he went a whole day without a phone. "What did Keir do?"

"He kindly delivered that message," Eris replied sarcastically.

"Eris," Beron’s voice carried a warning. Eris thanked all the gods that this man wasn’t in the same room with him right now, because otherwise, this would have been unbearable. "I’ll get in touch with him."

And he hung up.

Eris still didn’t know if he felt relief or irritation, but at least it was something. At least now he didn’t have to worry about getting killed somewhere in an alley or, again, in his own parking lot.

He wondered where Azriel was with the coffee. Reluctantly, he got up from the bed, put on some lounge pants, and went to look for his mechanic.

"Finally!" a voice greeted him, belonging to someone who wasn’t Azriel at all. "You really do look terrible."

Eris glanced at Lucien, who was lounging on his couch with a cup of coffee that suspiciously resembled the one they had ordered from the nearby café.

"What are you doing here?" Eris asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You didn’t know he was coming?" Azriel asked, leaning against the wall. Eris looked at him and raised a questioning eyebrow when he saw that Azriel was wearing his robe. Not that he minded. "I grabbed the first thing I saw when he came in," Azriel nodded toward Lucien.

"I wish I could unsee that," Eris’s younger brother shook his head.

"A question for both of you," Eris looked at his brother, "what the hell are you doing here?" then at Azriel, "and why did you open the door without putting anything on?"

Azriel shrugged. "I was going to throw on a robe, but I didn’t have time before he opened the door—he had keys."

"It doesn’t matter," Lucien interrupted. "I wanted to say that you’re coming with me and Jurian to your house in the countryside. And I suspect it’s a brotherly bond that made me feel so strongly that you’d been beaten up here."

"I’m fine, thanks for the concern. Why do you have my coffee, and why are you making decisions about my country house?"

"Because I conveniently ran into your courier, who asked me to unlock the elevator for him, and when I found out the floor, I said I’d deliver it myself," Lucien shamelessly drank one of the coffees. Azriel held out the other to Eris in silence, who gratefully took it, took a few sips, and handed it back. "Nice that you two made up, very happy for you. But this wasn’t how I wanted to find out about it."

"Knock next time," Azriel advised.

"Put on some pants next time," Lucien retorted.

"The house, Lucien," Eris reminded him of his earlier question.

"You clearly needed to relax. I thought I’d turn this into a bachelor party to cheer you up and distract you from... well, now it doesn’t matter," he glanced at Azriel, who was watching all of this with barely concealed amusement. "But now I can tell Jurian that he can bring Vassa, and I’ll bring Elain, because, Azriel, wouldn’t you like to join us for a weekend in the countryside? Alcohol and food on my generous brother."

"Go to hell," said Eris.

"How convenient that I have no weekend plans," Azriel smiled. Eris shot him a withering look.

"Great," Lucien clapped his hands and stood up. "I’d stay and ask you about this," he circled his finger around Eris’s face, "but I won’t linger here any longer."

"Disappear before I demand the keys back," Eris shook his head.

"I’ll send the details later!" Lucien shouted as he quickly exited the apartment.

As soon as the door closed, Azriel burst out laughing. Eris groaned, clearly not thrilled with his younger brother’s sudden visit.

"You have a house in the countryside?" Azriel asked.

"Yeah, and at least five apartments around the city that I don’t use," Eris waved it off, heading to the kitchen to brew some tea. Damn, he forgot to buy coffee beans for the machine a few days ago. "Didn’t think you were a nature fan."

"I was kindly invited," Azriel smiled, approaching him from behind and hugging his waist, his nose buried in Eris’s neck as Eris tried to make tea. "Besides, your younger brother is funny. But how did you end up in his circle of friends? You seem like you’re from different age groups."

"Mutual acquaintances," Eris sighed, enjoying the small kisses Azriel left on his skin. "Jurian was initially my client, back when I was just starting out, and few people trusted me with their business. He trusted me. He hired me as his lawyer for several years, and very often, so we somehow became friends. And he is dating Vassa, Lucien’s friend and his girlfriend’s."

He turned around and kissed Azriel on the lips, who ran his hands over Eris’s chest with the same almost irritating caution as yesterday. Eris couldn’t get upset because normal people don’t usually get mad at their partner for caring about them.

"I forgot to ask yesterday, are we dating?" Eris asked.

"Yes, we’re dating," Azriel nodded and kissed him again.

Azriel left closer to noon after Eris received the fifth message in the tenants' chat about the concern over a smashed Volvo being left in their parking lot.

The rest of the day Eris spent working, wanting to finish everything in advance so he wouldn’t be distracted tomorrow, since they were apparently going with Lucien and his squad of friends. It was strange. But not the strangest thing happening in his life right now, so he could turn a blind eye and think, "shit happens."

A couple of document filings, a trip to the office to sign some papers, and waving off questions about the bruises. Eris expertly lied, saying he had taken up boxing in his spare time to relieve stress. No one suspected a lie since many people in his position did the same.

After what happened yesterday, Eris was twice as cautious in his movements. He constantly looked around, but the feeling of being watched had vanished. Eris now trusted his intuition twice as much, but since no danger was felt—or possibly it seemed like it because of his overwhelming exhaustion from all this chaos—he decided to allow himself to relax a little.

It might have been ideal to spend some time away from the city. It wouldn't provide a miracle of salvation, but it would allow him to mentally exhale and regain strength. Far from the bustle, stress, and divorce.

His lawyer wrote to him saying he had sent Morrigan another copy of the property division agreement. Eris replied that she wasn't in a position to represent herself at the moment and asked him to focus on more pressing matters, not wanting to waste one of his firm's best employees on this nightmare.

By the evening, Lucien sent him a picture from the store with a full cart of food, drinks, bags of charcoal, and more, with the price for all this luxury added below. He also mentioned that he and his friends had chipped in, and Eris just needed to pay for his share.

Knowing these idiots, Eris didn’t need to be a genius to realize they probably hadn’t even paid for half of it. Nonetheless, he sent the money. Better now for them than later regretting it being spent on Morrigan’s designer clothes if she takes what she wanted.

His father hadn’t reached out again. It both scared and relieved him at the same time. Eris wasn’t sure yet whether he wanted to hear "you can rest easy, Keir won’t bother you" because, on the one hand, he wanted it to be true, but on the other, it might mean Keir was lying in a ditch somewhere.

Late in the evening, Eris returned to his empty apartment, loosened his tie, and sighed heavily. These had been crazy days, and his body still ached from all the bruises, while fatigue continued to weigh him down. He only had enough energy to drink some coffee—thankfully, he had finally found the time to buy it at the store—and pass out because caffeine had somehow stopped keeping him awake. The problem might have been the non-stop hours of work, but Eris refused to believe that. It hadn't been such a big issue before, so why should it be now?

The next morning, his younger brother and friends, along with Azriel, burst into his apartment. Why the hell they all gathered this early and at his place was unclear. Eris seriously considered taking Lucien's keys because he preferred to start his morning with coffee, not a meeting with a bunch of students and Jurian. He had no complaints about Azriel’s presence.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Jurian said, and despite Eris’s protests, gave him a tight hug. Eris wrinkled his nose, pretending not to enjoy the moment at all, while Azriel silently laughed at him from the hallway.

They were all dressed similarly today—sweatpants, hoodies, and jackets. Azriel in a leather jacket was a sight for sore eyes, and Eris wished they were alone so he could say that out loud.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” Eris awkwardly patted Jurian’s back, and only then did he let go, smiling cheerfully.

“Lucien said you got into a fight. Didn’t think you could even do that. Back in the day, you should’ve at least hired people to take revenge,” Jurian noted, eyeing his bruises as if he had studied medicine enough to make any conclusions. Jurian had dropped out of medical school after the first year, so his medical knowledge was about the same as the average person’s—close to zero. Eris just waved him off, along with the very valid comment about hiring people.

“No questions about my face,” Eris shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly,” Vassa remarked sarcastically. Eris just rolled his eyes and ignored her.

He and Vassa were on friendly terms. Every time Jurian invited him out for a drink, it ended with him calling her to pick Jurian up. In the early years, they were all still very young—Eris had just graduated, and Jurian had three citizenships and two restraining orders, which later required legal services. In celebration, he’d always bring out Cuban cigars—genuinely brought from Cuba—and order expensive drinks, back when Eris didn’t know he’d be the one paying at the end of the night.

In short, they had a wild youth, which Vassa didn’t like. Of course, over time she got used to Eris and realized that since he and Jurian were such good friends, she’d have to put up with him. A couple of years ago, Eris didn’t make that task easier for her, continuing to be an arrogant bastard and treating everyone outside his close circle like dirt—or so it seemed to most. Eris himself thought he didn’t treat people that way, and never had—he simply didn’t care enough to treat anyone poorly. Vassa strongly disagreed.

“Get out of the apartment,” Eris gestured, waving them towards the door. Lucien rolled his eyes and muttered about how Eris wasn’t a morning person, but he took his girlfriend by the arm and led her into the hallway. Jurian slowly followed with Vassa.

Azriel stayed behind, closing the door after them and smirking.

“Nice jacket,” Eris noted, running his hand up Azriel’s arm to his shoulder.

“You look good too. Sometimes I forget you own anything besides your suffocating suits and dozens of ties,” Azriel remarked sarcastically.

“It’s called style, but I doubt someone who wears dirty overalls and tank tops could understand.”

For that comment, he earned a quiet laugh and an eye roll.

“Are you still sure you want to go?” Eris asked, looking at him with exaggerated exhaustion. “We can still ditch them and stay here together.”

“Jurian and Lucien have been bragging the whole time about how great they are at grilling meat, and forgive me, but I’d sell my soul for good meat,” Azriel smiled so simply that it made Eris want to scream. Why did someone like him have to fall into his life?

“I can order the best restaurant steak if it’ll make you ditch these idiots and stay here with me,” Eris said, stepping closer. Azriel kissed him quickly, still smiling.

“And they also mentioned you have dogs, and I’d love to see them too.”

“Did they tell you that Jurian will be telling pirate-style stories? Or that those two lovebirds will be playing guitars and singing serenades? Or about the swarms of mosquitoes? Those are serious oversights,” Eris shook his head, but Azriel just laughed.

“I have experience enduring serenades, trust me,” he replied, kissing Eris again. Eris returned the kiss, burying his hand in Azriel’s hair and pulling him closer. “The rest is tolerable. Let’s go. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this group in a few minutes, it’s that they’re impatient.”

Eris groaned internally but quickly grabbed what he needed and followed Azriel. They opened the door just as Jurian raised his fist, ready to bang on it. Giving him a judgmental look, Eris led them to the parking lot.

As it turned out, Azriel had come in his car, and since they couldn’t all fit into one, Eris and he drove together while the other four rode in Vassa’s car. It was quite a long drive, as it was an isolated spot far from the city.

“I still think they won’t be offended if we turn around without warning,” Eris muttered, watching Vassa’s car overtake them, speeding ahead over the bumps.

“I don’t think you’re that against it,” Azriel laughed. “You’re just being dramatic. Besides, your younger brother is right—you need to unwind. As do I.”

The rest of the way, they drove with the radio on and didn’t talk much. Azriel hummed along to the songs, while Eris, like the lovesick idiot he was, listened intently, pretending not to pay attention, though he very much did.

When they arrived, Azriel’s eyes widened in disbelief. They were greeted by a huge three-story house with a tall fence and grounds at least three times the size of any other house around.

“You know, when I heard ‘country house,’ I was expecting, well, you know, a little cottage, something between a house and a shack. But definitely not this.”

Eris just laughed as he got out of the car to open the massive gates and let Azriel drive in and park. Loud barking, Jurian’s swearing, and female laughter immediately reached them.

As soon as Azriel got out of the car and heard it, he frowned a little and followed Eris. When they reached the source of the sound, they saw Jurian surrounded by six dogs, barking actively at him. But the moment they sensed Eris and heard his whistle, their attention shifted, and the whole pack ran toward him.

The aggressive barking turned into a happy one as several dogs stood on their hind legs, jumping on him and wagging their tails. Azriel watched all this with fascination and pleasant surprise because seeing Eris like this was rare. Sure, he made him laugh sometimes, definitely made him smile, but this joy on his face was something special. Different and utterly unique.

One of the dogs did eventually notice Azriel, and he saw how Lucien tensed up, already taking a few steps toward him, clearly intending to intervene if the dog turned aggressive toward the stranger. However, the dog simply leaned its front paws on Azriel’s torso and gave a happy bark. Azriel stroked the furry head and smirked as he looked up at the shocked faces of everyone around. Even Eris seemed surprised.

"Unbelievable!" Jurian exclaimed indignantly. "I’ve been coming here for years, bringing them the best food, and they still hate me. But he shows up, and they’re practically kissing him—" At that moment, the dog licked Azriel’s face, causing him to grimace and laugh. "Yep, even kissing him! This is just absurd!"

Jurian continued ranting about the unfairness of the world, while Azriel petted the friendly, large dog. Soon, other furry friends joined him.

“I’m starting to feel a bit jealous,” Eris quietly remarked, so only Azriel could hear.

“Of whom exactly?” Azriel asked with a grin, looking up at Eris while the dogs happily swarmed him. “Me or them?”

“Take a guess,” Eris grumbled. “Astra, come here,” he called one of the dogs, and although she seemed reluctant to leave Azriel’s side, she eventually went to him. Eris petted her, scratching behind her ear, which made her tail wag even more energetically. “My most unfriendly hound,” he said. “Once bit Jurian so badly he had to go to the hospital for stitches. I’ve never seen her be this nice to a stranger.”

Azriel realized Astra was the first dog that had taken an interest in him. Eris’s words puzzled him a bit, but also filled him with a sense of pride and satisfaction.

“Good girl,” Eris praised Astra as she followed one of his commands. He whistled, and the other dogs also left Azriel alone, giving him some peace.

“Who takes care of them while you’re in the city?” Azriel asked as they walked toward the kennel, with the dogs obediently following Eris.

“I have people for that,” Eris shrugged. “They’ve been looking after my dogs since I was a kid, so I pay them to keep doing it now. I don’t get to come here often, so they live in the guest house on the property. Of course, we always let them know if we’re coming, and they usually leave for that time.”

“Isn’t it sad to leave them for so long?”

“It’s not like I’m crying without them,” Eris scoffed, though when he turned to look at his loyal companions, something soft flickered in his gaze. “But I used to be here more often. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll quit and move here for good.”

Azriel couldn’t help but imagine it. He and Eris in this country house—Azriel tinkering with his motorcycle in the garage for the thousandth time, while Eris wandered around the property grumbling about the dogs trampling the flowerbeds, only to later pretend he didn’t enjoy playing with them.

Damn. That was too far, too reckless to imagine their future like that. If they weren’t already outside, Azriel would’ve needed to step out for some fresh air.

“You okay?” Eris asked, apparently noticing the change in his expression. “I hope you’re not allergic to dogs to the point where you’ll die, because the hospital’s far, and I’d rather not have to bury a body in the backyard.”

“How sweet of you to think of me,” Azriel replied sarcastically. “How often do you bury bodies back there?”

“More often than I’d like,” Eris smirked, playing along.

Astra barked happily again, nuzzling her nose into Azriel’s palm.

“Someone’s being extra affectionate today,” Eris noted.

“You really are jealous,” Azriel teased. Eris only rolled his eyes and shook his head.

While they were playing with the dogs, the others moved the groceries from the car into the house. Elain and Vassa busied themselves in the kitchen, preparing salads and snacks, while Lucien and Jurian rummaged through the garage, looking for the grill and dragging it outside.

Azriel, in the meantime, tried to remember the names of the hounds and learn to tell them apart.

“I swear, these three are identical,” he muttered. While some of the dogs were distinguishable by unique spots on their fur or ear shapes, three hounds looked absolutely identical.

“You’ll learn to tell them apart by their behavior,” Eris calmly responded, petting one of the identical hounds.

“How did you choose their names?” Azriel asked out of curiosity, tossing a ball he found on the property for the dogs to chase. “Astra, Ember, Lyra, those make sense. But Stormbringer?”

“I was fourteen,” Eris shrugged. “He’s the oldest of them all—I named the others when I was a bit older. But back then, I wanted a dramatic, cool name. And look at this rascal,” a soft smile touched his lips as he scratched behind the ear of the coal-black hound. “He’s totally a Stormbringer.”

Azriel chuckled, reaching out to scratch Stormbringer’s ears as well. The dog leaned into his touch, eyes closing in contentment. “I guess he does look like a Stormbringer,” Azriel admitted, watching the hound’s calm demeanor.

Eris gave a soft laugh, almost nostalgic. “He was a bit of a terror when he was younger. Used to chew up anything he could find—furniture, shoes, you name it. But he’s mellowed out a lot. Still, the name stuck.”

“Was he your first dog?”

“No, there were others,” Eris replied quietly. “I’ve had dogs for as long as I can remember. Originally, they belonged to my mother, but once she noticed how much I loved them, we somehow convinced my father to keep them all. Growing up with them… it was hard to lose them.”

Azriel placed a hand on his shoulder, then moved it to his cheek. Eris leaned into the touch.

“Sorry, this was supposed to be a lighthearted conversation, no depressing stuff,” Eris muttered, closing his eyes as if mentally scolding himself for the somber turn.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Azriel said softly.

“At some point, the hounds were the only ones around,” Eris glanced at the dogs playing on the lawn, chasing the ball and trying to steal it from one another. “So it hit harder when they were gone.”

Azriel didn’t press further, and Eris didn’t continue, instead grabbing Azriel’s hand and kissing his knuckles.

Later, they helped Elain and Vassa carry the food outside, setting the table in one of the three gazebos scattered around the yard. Lucien and Jurian were still standing by the grill, now handling the meat and arguing about whether to add more coals or leave them as they were, in fear of burning everything.

Eris’s hounds ran around Jurian, barking at him, and Azriel suspected they just enjoyed scaring him. They seemed to do it with some kind of amusement, and Eris watched with the same amusement, making no move to call them off, allowing the dogs to torment Jurian to the brink of a nervous breakdown.

“They’re going to bite him,” Vassa shook her head. Elain watched the dogs curiously—Eris’s hounds never seemed to bother her either. But Eris had simply remarked that Elain was like a Disney princess, with a magical connection to animals, which is why they left her alone. Lucien had long complained that dogs hadn’t accepted even him right away but once they saw Elain, they all suddenly became so cuddly and soft.

“Only if he deserves it,” Eris replied, turning away from Jurian to glance at his phone. A few emails still awaited his response.

“You know they don’t need a reason,” Vassa continued.

“They need a reason. So, if Jurian wants to keep his limbs intact, he’ll just avoid teasing them like last time,” Eris grinned sarcastically. Azriel suppressed a laugh.

He watched the exchange with a faint smile on his face, noting how the dynamic between them all seemed so easy and natural. It was a rare sight to see Eris so relaxed, even playful, as he teased Vassa and kept a watchful eye on his dogs. The whole scene felt almost like a family gathering, where everyone had their roles to play, even if some involved scaring poor Jurian half to death.

"Eris, please," Vassa said with a playful reproach, though a hint of concern crept into her voice. Meanwhile Elain arranged vegetables on plates, occasionally glancing toward the guys as if to make sure the dogs weren’t bothering Lucien.

“It’s fine,” Eris said, not looking up from his phone, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s weird for him to be scared of dogs at his age. He’s a big boy; he’ll manage. Until there’s another fire, I’m not calling the dogs off.”

“Another fire?” Azriel asked with curiosity and amusement. Elain giggled in response.

“It’s almost a yearly tradition,” she explained. “Don’t tell them, but we keep track of how often it’s Lucien’s fault versus Jurian’s.”

“Don’t forget, you’re part of that competition too,” Vassa smirked, handing a plate of snacks to Azriel, who eagerly took it and, for some reason, served both himself and Eris, who wasn’t paying attention while typing something on his phone.

Azriel raised an eyebrow at Vassa’s words. Elain shrugged lightly. “There was that one time the oven malfunctioned, and the brownies caught fire. Hardly a real fire.”

The four of them turned again toward Jurian’s outraged shouts as he cursed Eris for not calming down his monsters. Eris pretended not to hear, while Vassa shook her head, Elain giggled quietly behind her hand, and Azriel and Lucien watched with open amusement as Jurian flailed his arms, trying to defend himself.

“They’re just playing,” Lucien said through laughter, but Jurian flipped him off, told him to fuck off, and continued to ward off the fluffy beasts.

The dogs eventually tired of their game with Jurian and settled down near the table, clearly content to be around their human companions. Azriel bent down and petted one of the hounds, who responded to the affection by nuzzling her nose into his hand, as if asking for more.

“Why don’t you scold Azriel for spoiling your dogs?” Vassa teased with a smirk.

Eris glanced from Azriel to the dogs, then to her, shrugging. Elain whispered something to Vassa about double standards as she knelt down to scratch one of the dogs behind the ear.

“I don’t understand why I trust my ass to you,” Jurian grumbled as he returned to the table, sitting next to Vassa while Lucien stayed by the grill. “You can’t even save me when I need it most.”

“Funny, I thought you knew I save asses for money,” Eris replied with a smirk.

As Jurian continued to curse at him and the hounds barked from their spots, clearly unhappy with the insults directed at their master, Azriel stood up and walked over to Lucien, intending to help him now that Jurian had left.

Not that keeping an eye on the meat was a monumental task, but it always felt right when more than one person was in charge of it. Lucien chuckled as he watched Jurian try not to hide behind Vassa whenever Eris’s dogs barked at him, and he looked at his girlfriend with a special tenderness as she shooed the dogs away from Jurian, even though she was laughing the whole time.

“Thanks for coming,” Lucien suddenly said, surprising Azriel as he turned to face him. “Eris hasn’t gone anywhere with us for a long time, and lately, he’s been more of a bastard-lawyer than himself.”

“Are you implying this cliché that I bring out the best in him?” Azriel asked with a teasing smile.

“Oh no, he’s still a bastard, even with you around,” Lucien laughed. “But… as cliché as it sounds, he’s happier now. Even if it’s not immediately obvious through all the sarcasm and snark. There’s a subtle difference you have to know to notice.”

“I’m glad,” Azriel said quietly, his smile softening as he glanced over at Eris. “Really glad.”

“I’d love to play the protective sibling and say something like ‘don’t hurt my brother,’ but I doubt I could ever top the speech Nesta gave me when she found out I was dating her middle sister,” Lucien shook his head, and Azriel chuckled.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of food, drinks, and stories about everything under the sun, especially since Azriel was the new face in the group, and Jurian and Lucien were particularly eager to tell him as much as possible in one night.

As morning approached, the group started to trickle back into the house, leaving Azriel and Eris as the last ones outside. Eris had fallen asleep, resting his head on Azriel’s shoulder, and Azriel remained because he was trapped—two hounds lay at his feet, snoring peacefully, while another lay on the bench beside him, with her head resting on his lap. And then there was Eris, who had dozed off against him.

The task of extracting himself without waking anyone turned into a bit of a challenge, taking Azriel longer than expected to figure out how to manage it. Eris eventually stirred, mumbling something incoherent. But it was impossible to take his drunken, sleepy grumbling seriously, so Azriel just smiled and helped him inside.

“Left door to the right,” Eris muttered.

“I don’t think that’s useful information,” Azriel remarked, realizing there couldn’t possibly be a left door on the right.

“Smartass.”

Laughing quietly, Azriel found an empty bedroom and decided to stay there as well. Not that he was keen on wandering around the dark house in search of another room. Plus, the prospect of staying with Eris was far more appealing. So, after undressing and settling under the blanket, Azriel comfortably wrapped his arms around Eris from behind, pressing his nose into the crook of his neck and inhaling the scent of alcohol, charcoal, and that now-familiar cologne.

tag list: @sizzlingstarlightsky @isnotwhatyourethinking @molcat07 @chairofchaos @lilah-asteria

[batsplat]

Jerez 2006

[It] was certainly within the four walls of that gym, between rep after rep on different muscle groups, that the 'LorenShow' was born. There was a time when only Rossi used to put on a show, but even that has become a rare event. 'Now he only does it on certain occasions,' says Jorge. 'The World Championship was losing a bit of sparkle. Other riders were trying things but they weren't funny, especially in 125cc. There was a time when Melandri tried to imitate Rossi but he never managed to make it as funny.' Jorge had been thinking for a long time about how he could offer his fans something extra after a win. A lot of people saw him as too serious, but he wanted to show that he cared about them, that he enjoyed what he did and that he was affable and good humoured, as well as imaginative. He needed an ingenious plan because he had a clear objective: to celebrate the World Championship title in style. 'We wanted to do it in style, go mad,' recalls Dani Palau. That seemed a long way off, back in the summer of 2006, but once the crises of Turkey, Shanghai and Le Mans were behind him the dream of beating Andrea Dovizioso was alive again.

Strictly speaking, the first episode of the 'LorenShow' was at the Spanish GP in 2006. It was his first victory in the 250cc class and Jorge got off his bike, took off his helmet and started shouting at the fans. 'It was pretty spectacular and it was the first time we used the word "LorenShow",' he recalls. 'Palau and I used to put together a ten-page magazine of our own after each Grand Prix and on the front cover of that particular edition we put a photo of my celebrations and the headline [in English] "Welcome to the LorenShow!" That was awesome, really different. I have always been creative and I fancied doing something special after I won, so I decided to give it a try!' The design of the magazine, by the way, was similar to GQ. 'Well, not similar exactly. We kind of copied it! We were worried about getting into trouble for copying it but I hope they don't hit us with a lawsuit now ... it was only for us!' he laughs.

March 2007

After his victory at Losail Jorge pretended to skip like a boxer, as he'd done for so many hours in the gym with Marcos. It was a spontaneous, intuitive celebration and an early turning point for his season. After such a morale-boosting performance during and after the race, why not celebrate all his victories from now on? 'In Qatar I did the skipping-rope thing but I never thought that in the future I'd be using props to celebrate my victories!' The preparation that went into each episode of 'LorenShow' was a simple but elaborate process. Generally the original idea would come from Jorge and, often with the help of his computer, Palau would fill in the details. It became something of a team effort at Motorsport48, where almost everybody began to join in the fun. Everybody except the boss: Dani Amatriain kept his distance. He didn't like or dislike the celebrations but he preferred to leave them to Jorge as a bit of innocent fun. Out of the blue came another idea, this time from Marcos. Once again, it was an idea born in the gym. 'You are a warrior. You have to reclaim the championship, right? But what kind of a conqueror doesn't have a flag?' Jorge's eyes began to twinkle. 'It has to be something really visual,' Jorge told Palau, taking on the idea. 'Imagine that in each race I stick a flag into the ground, as if I have conquered that land. Like Christopher Columbus when he arrived in America!' The design process was short, with Jorge's X-fuera logo the obvious choice, set on a black background - the colour used by pirates. And written in English, so that it would be understood all over the world, not just in Spain, would be those now famous words: 'Lorenzo's Land'.

The day of its first unfurling soon arrived. It was the Spanish Grand Prix at Jerez, known as 'The Cathedral' by local fans. Dani Palau headed for partisan territory - the section of track that features the 'Angel Nieto' and 'Peluqui' corners, where he would meet his friend if he won the race. 'I had goosebumps. You should have heard the noise from the crowd when Jorge stopped!' he recalls. There were 140,000 people packed into the grandstands at Jerez that day and they had been treated to an outstanding 250cc race: 'la carrera de los cuarenta y dos adelantamientos' ['the race with forty two overtakes']. Jorge Lorenzo savoured the moment. As he had done in 2006, he removed his helmet, got off his bike and punched the air to celebrate his second victory at Jerez. Then the flag appeared by his side. He took it and drove it deep into the gravel. Jerez had been conquered, the first circuit to be claimed as 'Lorenzo's Land'. A few weeks later he won again, in China, and again he planted the flag. However, unlike Jerez, this victory was his first in Shanghai. Nobody was going to stop him now.

"Now what's happening with Lorenzo? Oh, he's going to plant the flag, I think. Here we go! Or he's going to throw the flag. He's going to do something, but, eh... All the script we have in front of us, all the timings, goes out of the window when Lorenzo wins a 250cc race... so you can just, rustle up your papers, any scripts you've got, what's coming up next, disappears, because he delays everything. There we are. Plants the flag..."

Le Mans 2007

Lorenzo, who designs his own logos and comes up with fun things like the pirate flag he sticks in the sand at the circuit where he wins to "announce to everyone" that he has conquered "that land" , says that preparing for these celebrations is just another way of coping with the hard training he does and, above all, having the best time possible. "Looking for ideas for the parties I have at the circuits encourages me to win ," he said yesterday after his excellent victory over Dovizioso.

The Mallorcan, who did not hesitate to admit his mistake on a line and apologize to Dovi for the push he had given him ( "I'm very sorry, I went out too wide on a curve, I wanted to regain verticality too soon, get back on the right line and I crashed into him" ), yesterday came up with nothing better than to dress up his soulmate, Dani Palau, as Jorge Lorenzo, with whom he shares the entertainment of festive designs and games. Palau appeared on the lap of glory and tried to get his two-and-a-half-litre Aprilia and, as they had agreed, Lorenzo told him to go away, that the bike was his and that he was the owner of the winning machine. "We wanted to make a joke, implying that the double, which was him, Dani, represented the Lorenzo who had fallen on Friday and that the real one, that is, myself, was the one who had won the race."

Mugello 2007

Jorge was coming up with more ideas for celebrations than he could use, and that was probably a good thing because some of them would have got him into more trouble than they were worth. Like the one that involved him wearing an Andrea Dovizioso mask. 'We've still got the mask but Andrea would have had to do something really bad to me to warrant getting it out ... though he'd better ‘watch it!' smiles Jorge. Another one that failed to get past the ideas stage was for Valencia, the final race of 2007. Jorge had already claimed the title and, after being criticised all year for using the 'Lorenzo's Land' flag instead of the Spanish one, planned to go completely over the top, using not only the Spanish flag but dressing up' as a bullfighter. Maybe it was a good thing he only managed seventh. The celebrations he did get to use became ever more elaborate and meticulously planned. He would scour the circuit for the best comer, with the best camera angle and the best view for the fans. Jorge had decided that each celebration should have something to do with the country he was in, and in Italy a friend, Jordi Ohva, who worked for Dorna [the commercial and television rights holders for MotoGP] gave him an idea. 'In Italy they've nicknamed you "Spaniard". The commentator on Italian television has started calling you that.''"Spaniard"? Why?''Because you are like a gladiator and that's what they call the main character played by Russell Crowe in the movie Gladiator.' Maximus Decimus Meridius was a Roman general born in Merida, Spain. He lived in the second century and since this was the second year of domination by a Spaniard in the 250cc class then what better way for Lorenzo to celebrate victory in the Italian GP than by dressing up as his namesake? 'In fact, the idea of doing something historical came after watching 300 with Marcos,' explains Jorge, 'We watched the film again with Palau, the three of us talked about it and we decided we wanted to do something related to the Battle of Thermopylae. It was while we were looking for a King Leonidas suit that we came across a Gladiator outfit. That coincided with me finding out what [Italian television commentator] Guido Meda was calling me.' The wheels were quickly put in motion. like any good media relations manager, Pere Gurt sourced an exact replica of the costume worn by Russell Crowe in the film, which was owned by an agency in Madrid. It cost 600 euros a week to rent and the sword was extra. It was kept in a corner of the garage at Mugello, where Dani Palau devoutly guarded it from the inquisitive eyes of journalists who were already wondering what Lorenzo had up his sleeve if he won this one. On race day Palau headed for the comer where they'd agreed to meet if a miracle should happen. Jorge was starting from 20th on the grid, but he still had his sights set on victory. Everybody knows what happened next. On the big screens around the circuit, Palau watched his friend slide into the gravel after colliding with Bautista. He jumped onto his scooter and raced to fetch him, sword, breastplate, helmet, 'Lorenzo's Land' flag and all. The Italian fans spotted the props and, despite Jorge's popularity there, Dani could hear them laughing and shouting insults. The mediocre can be unforgiving when a winner falls from his perch. 'The preparations were perfect, but unfortunately the race wasn't!'

Catalunya 2007

You have to be very confident in your abilities to appear on the starting grid, having previously asked two friends to dress like you, to wait for you at a strategic point during the lap of honour and to take out some guitars so you can emulate your favourite band in front of 112,600 spectators. That was how Jorge Lorenzo celebrated his fifth victory of the season at Montmeló, giving a concert on the track and another one off it, microphone in hand, as a tribute to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and to make up for his fall at Mugello a week ago. This time, the Mallorcan needed two stunt doubles at his side for his performance, and those who dressed as him were Dani Palau, his webmaster and the same one he used at Le Mans, and Ricard Cardús, a CEV driver and Carlos' nephew.

Looking back on his performance, it could be said that the most critical moment was the start, when Thomas Luthi had taken the lead on the first corner. 'Por Fuera' did not back down, he lived up to his nickname and made an epic outside turn. That was the only thing that really cost him, or so it seemed from the sidelines, because he later said that it had been a difficult race. Maybe he said that because he still had in mind the blunder in Italy, that fall on the last corner when Álvaro Bautista overtook him. Whatever the reason, he was exultant and at the end of the podium ceremony he dared to take the speaker's microphone to address the public. "Did you enjoy the show?" he asked from the top of the podium. And he continued: "I know that some of you liked me and others didn't, but I don't care. You are Spanish like me and I love you! Thank you."

The trio completed a recce of Montmelo on Thursday and Friday and performed a rehearsal at the corner of choice, in front of the stadium section. I told them, "When we're playing here, I want you to jump around like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Go on YouTube, have a look at the videos and learn the dance moves," ' recalls Jorge. 'But the bastards ignored me!' For one magic moment Jorge, Dani and Ricky were no longer Lorenzo, Palau and Cardus. They weren't even three Lorenzos, dancing and singing like maniacs in front of 100,000 people. They were Anthony Kiedis, Flea and John Frusciante. Only Chad Smith was missing on drums, otherwise they would have been the real Chilis. 'I wanted there to be four of us, like the real Chilis, and I was going to ask Ricky's older brother Jordi to join in but there weren't any more leathers in my size. Also, getting a drum kit onto the track would have been a nightmare!'

Donington, Assen, Sachsenring 2007

After Catalunya came the British GP and before travelling there they went to dinner with a racing friend, Xavi Ledesma - the owner of the Fortuna Team hospitality unit and one of Jorge's closest friends in 2005, as well as being the organiser of the Copa Aprilia when he first started racing Xavi told them that the tradition in England was to drink tea in the afternoon. No sooner said than done. They went out and bought a tea tray, complete with teapot, cups and spoons. Palau planned to sit at a table at the Melbourne Loop, dressed as a waiter in a tuxedo and crash helmet. All Jorge had to do was turn up, rest his feet and have a drink. Oh, and win the race. Unfortunately, the final and most crucial part of the plan started to go wrong in the warm-up because, as is well known, rain is as traditional at Donington as tea. Despite the heavy downpour, Jorge produced a great performance - he was having the best wet race of his career. 'Shall I go out or not?' thought Dani halfway through the race. His buddy was running in second place behind Dovizioso. He had to have faith. 'If you have any doubt, something is bound to go wrong,' says Jorge. 'Whenever I have felt sure I would win I have won, but if there has been any kind of doubt I've lost, come second, or something has happened. That is what the brain is like.' And just as Palau made his mind up and went to load up the scooter with props, Jorge hit the deck. That was one cuppa that was hard to swallow. Jorge's next celebration was enjoyed by the Spanish fans, although it was on a Saturday rather than a Sunday. The Dutch are a bit different in everything, even their racing, and since 1949 the TT at Assen has always taken place on a Saturday. Jorge knew exactly what he was going to do if he won. He wanted to copy the thousands of locals by riding a pushbike. They rehearsed their routine at two or three different comers. 'This place is best. How far will you ride the bike? Will you be able to cycle in boots?' Every minute detail was taken care of. 'We'd practised in that area where Valentino sat when he won the MotoGP race, the bit that looks like a target. I was going to leave my Aprilia and the pushbike would be in the middle of the circle. We thought of it before Rossi!' Suddenly, he changed his mind. On his return to the pit garage he realised that there was a stage, all set up right next to the track, because just by the final chicane that leads into the start-finish straight there is a VIP terrace. It was the perfect place - and not only that, there was a television camera directly opposite.

'We could sit down and have a drink,' Jorge told Dani. The fact he'd missed out on his cup of tea at Donington a few days earlier still irked him, so it was all hands on deck. The owners of the terrace had to be consulted and asked for permission. Initially they weren't too keen because there are no fences there and it is easy for people to get out and access pit lane. For that reason, a huge deposit has to be paid to hire the area, which the circuit organisers retain if there are any problems. In the end they realised it was a Lorenzo celebration and they went along with it. This time Jorge backed up his plans with a dominant victory. However, having left his bike propped against the fence before climbing over the tyre wall and on to the terrace, he was swamped by punters taking photographs and the television cameras lost him in the melee. 'On top of that, the bar owner was a complete opportunist and he got a bunch of people to hold up an advertisement! It was a disaster.' Even though not much could be seen on the television, it was clear that Jorge's double had returned and that they'd gone to have a drink together. But why? Jorge was happy to provide the answer in pare ferme. 'After the crash at Donington, somebody [Dovizioso] had suggested I was getting nervous. So I sipped on a herbal tea.' Some time later Dani Palau insisted that the initial idea was to drink a glass of water but, as at Le Mans, Jorge was thinking on his feet and he was eager to hit back at Dovizioso. 'Sometimes that happens to me. I get really good ideas on the spur of the moment. Other times I really have to think things through for them to work out. But sometimes I get a flash of inspiration.'

Jorge finished fourth in Germany but there were no plans for a celebration even if he'd won. He was worried about the joke wearing thin. 'You have to keep people guessing. It is good to have an element of the unexpected. If we did it every time it wouldn't be funny any more. The truth is that I like things to be complete and maybe I would have continued the celebrations race after race but I let them convince me. It was good to have a break.' The summer holidays were approaching and they wanted to leave the fans gagging for more. To be fair, I have to say that I can't always put on a big celebration because I need helpers and Palau didn't come to every race. For the ones outside Europe we had a much smaller group.' There were no celebrations in the Czech Republic either, but this time for a different reason. Nobody at Motorsport48 was in the mood for a party. Dani Amatriain's assistant, Esther Serra, had just lost her brother, Marc. Jorge won but conducted a silent parade of his now obligatory 'Lorenzo's Land' flag in honour of the family. 'The problem with the celebrations is that it gets harder and harder to come up with something original, with meaning, that isn't just plain stupid,' says Jorge. 'Ideas are finite. We had something planned for Portugal but I'd prefer to keep it to myself - I might use it in the future. We also wanted to do something with animals but are they allowed on the track? We planned to get Datil, my mum's dog, a set of made-to-measure leathers but imagine if we brought him out and he had a shit on the track! That'd cause a scene!' Jorge fell about laughing as his imagination took over. 'It's a shame Marcos doesn't come to more races because we could dress him up as Shrek! Ha, ha!'

Misano 2007

From that moment on, Jorge defended his first place, riding alone and maintaining a calm margin over the second, who ended up being the Japanese Aoyama, after first catching his teammate Kallio, who fell next, and then Héctor Barberá, who added his third podium of the year. Lorenzo is now 50 points ahead and celebrated by doing a lap of honour dressed as a Roman gladiator. De Angelis is second after finishing a disappointing fifth in what was his Grand Prix.

Jorge toyed with the idea of wearing his new outfit [the gladiator costume he had been mocked for at Mugello] if he won at the GP of Catalunya but eventually decided that revenge is a dish best served cold and it was better to wait. The season would give him plenty of opportunities to settle the score and the Italian fans would have no choice but to bow down before him like a Roman general. Every great film has unforgettable lines that are often repeated by film buffs. This one from Gladiator suited Jorge down to the ground. My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius . . . commander of the armies of the north . . . general of the Felix Legions . . . loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius . . . father to a murdered son ... husband to a murdered wife ... and I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next. 'What a well-chosen phrase!' Lorenzo must have thought. Italy owed him one and he was going back to collect his dues. It wasn't to be in that first race on Italian soil, but he was determined to get his revenge in the second. He rented the outfit again, waving goodbye to another 600 euros, but this wasn't about the money. This was a question of honour. He didn't know the circuit, because there hadn't been a GP there since 1993, and although he had visited Misano once, when he'd signed for Derbi in 2002, he was only 15 then and not old enough to actually ride. None of that mattered now, because he went out and won. And on top of that, Dovizioso broke down. Jordi Perez and Cheni Martinez raced out onto the track to dress their man. They'd already discussed with Race Direction and the television directors where the best place would be for the celebration in terms of safety and maximum exposure. Jorge didn't want to take the outfit off - not when he stepped on to the podium, or when he sprayed the champagne. He even kept it on for the press conference. He clearly wanted to recoup his investment, but above all he wanted to enjoy the moment. He felt like the king of the world. ' "Now THAT was legendary," Guido Meda told me.' "

Sepang 2007

Dovizioso responded to remain in Lorenzo’s slipstream as the duo were caught by KTM team-mates Hiroshi Aoyama and Mika Kallio, plus Hector Barbera. The five battled until the penultimate lap when Dovizioso’s wafer-thin title hopes were ended as Mika Kallio took him out in an out-braking move. Hiroshi Aoyama inherited the lead and kept it to the flag from Barbera and Lorenzo. As Kallio remounted to finish fourth ahead of Tomas Luthi, Andrea Dovizioso remounted to cross the line eleventh. Meanwhile Jorge Lorenzo was celebrating keeping the 250cc world championship in a boxer’s gold-coloured gown and gloves, and picking up a fake championship belt in parc ferme.

Jorge won his second 250cc World Championship at the Malaysian Grand Prix with one race to spare, to top off an outstanding 2007 season. And what better way to celebrate in style than by looking way back to the very first race of the year in Qatar, when Jorge recovered the 'eye of the tiger'? His antics in 2007 had made him the leading contender for the title of paddock showman left vacant by Valentino Rossi in a season when the Italian had little to celebrate. It's clear by now that Jorge is up for a challenge and a second 250cc World Championship title was enough of an excuse for him to stake his claim, as the leading heavyweight in 'motorshowbusiness'. On this occasion it wasn't actually one of his own ideas, but he made it his own as soon as it left the lips of Marcos Hirsch. Having started the season training like Rocky Balboa and trying to recover the 'eye of the tiger', he took the title in Malaysia (coincidentally a country the famous Italian novelist Emilio Salgari referred to as the 'land of the tigers' ) and there was only one way to celebrate - as the new CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOOORLD! That box in the corner of the garage at Plulhp Island contained a story all of its own. Jorge and Marcos's initial idea was to set up a boxing match between the two of them, in which Jorge would knock Marcos out. The idea was that I had to beat a heavyweight. And boy is he heavy!' laughs Jorge. When I'd dressed as Jorge at Valencia the previous year, the message was that he had grown up,' explains Marcos. 'This time it was a case of demonstrating that he was capable of anything. Even knocking out somebody twice his height and weight, like me!' Another of Jorge's ideas was for Marcos to grow his hair like Don King, the world's most famous boxing promoter. In the end the celebration wasn't exactly as Jorge and Marcos had planned, partly because the Brazilian trainer was unable to make the trip to Malaysia.

The final idea came about after a conversation between Jorge and Marcos after which the 'celebration panel' of Jorge, Dani Palau and Pere Gurt set things in motion. They went on the Internet to download information about the Clint Eastwood film Million Dollar Baby and then researched other famous boxers like Mike Tyson, Evander Holyfield, Oscar De La Eioya and Julio Cesar Chavez. Once they had decided on a look they set about sourcing the outfit. Esther Serra was sent to a fabric shop in Barcelona, which is where they encountered their first setback. They didn't have any gold fabric for the hooded cloak - only black - and if that shop didn't have it, it was difficult to imagine anywhere else that would. But necessity is the mother of invention and somebody suddenly remembered that the covers used to unveil Jorge's Apiilia RSW250 at the start of the season had been gold. Problem solved! Now it was a case of putting the whole outfit together. They'd found a blue cloak in a Barcelona boxing shop, and picked up a gum shield at the same time. There were some fruitless trips to fancy dress shops. It was time to get the family involved... Pere Gurt called his mother, Rosa Casas, and her friend, Carme Armengol. After much protest, which fell on deaf ears, the pair reluctantly accepted the assignment and, as a result, MotoGP ended up with two more avid fans - to the point where they would get up at 5am to watch Jorge race in Australia.

A world championship belt needed to be found at the same time, so the team got in touch with the Spanish Boxing Federation (FEB), who recommended 'Charlie's', a specialist shop in Madrid. Bingo! Not only did they have a belt, they also had a pair of golden gloves. The only problem was that the belt featured the Dutch flag, but Esther wasted no time in having the red, white and blue colours replaced with a logo designed by Dani PalaWeb that read: 'Loren Show II'. In the end Jorge didn't use the gum shield, but there's a little story about that too. When Juan Llansa saw it he said there was no point: 'That is a shit gum shield. You need one made to measure!' Juanito knew what he was talking about - he'd not only seen plenty of riders use them over his 20 years in motorcycle racing, but also his daughter, Zaida Llansa, was the 2001 Kata [a form of martial arts] World Champion. As soon as he landed in Australia he looked on the Internet for a martial arts shop near Phillip Island. He bought the silicone, warmed it in boiling water and made Jorge bite it for a made-to-measure gum shield. Lorenzo still decided not to use it for the celebrations, but Juanito saved it just in case Jorge decided he needed one for MotoGP. 'He never wore one in 125cc and 250cc but I've saved it just in case he really needs to grit his teeth in MotoGP!' Llansa laughed. Everything was prepared as quickly as possible because there wasn't much time. Jorge quickly became impatient: 'Pere, how's the cloak coming along?' 'Don't worry about it.' 'If it's going to be shit just leave it and we'll think of something else.' 'Trust me. I don't doubt your work, so don't doubt mine.' It was almost time to leave and everything was ready. Cheni Martinez picked up the outfit and went to meet Jorge at the Hotel Barcelo-Sants gym in Barcelona for a dress rehearsal. He had to try everything on before leaving for Melbourne. In the car on the way to the airport Jorge received a call. It was Pere. 'How is it?' 'Pffff. It's not that bad.' Pere Gurt hung up with a smile. 'We've done it,' he thought.

The box remained unopened in Australia, of course, but in Malaysia the surprise was unleashed. The hardest-hitting World Champion in racing was about to be crowned and the character of Rocky Balboa represented the strength he'd displayed to overcome his own limitations and fears. Jorge Lorenzo had not only clinched his second world title, he'd proved to himself and to the world that he could do anything, as a rider and as a person. And then he and the clan treated the public to their most memorable celebration yet. His friends, headed by Juanito Llansa, waited for him with the boxer's outfit that Lorenzo wanted to wear to mirror his battling performances on the track that season — the cloak, gloves and belt of a World Champion, made out of gold fabric and with a logo on the back, hand sewn by Pere Gurt's mother and her neighbour. It simply read: Loren Show II. World Champion 2007. The 'Lorenzo's Land' flag had fluttered at seven different circuits during the year, but this time it was the Spanish flag that an emotional Lorenzo drove into Malaysian soil, in the final turn of the Sepang International Circuit. The whole act had been Jorge's tribute to 'the eye of the tiger', the winning attitude of Rocky Balboa that he'd adopted as his own. All the knock-out blows to his rivals during the season had given him just cause for celebration. Celebrations are often forgotten the following day, as soon as the outfits and props have been returned, but not this time. The World Championship gown and gloves will always remain part of Jorge's life.. 'One day I returned home to find that my mother had prepared a surprise. She had redecorated my bedroom and there it was, my gold outfit, hung on the wall, looking magical.' Some people think Jorge Lorenzo is simply copying Valentino Rossi, the originator of post-race victory celebrations, in order to enhance his own image. Others feel that perhaps he takes things too far, or they may view the Lorenzo antics rather more favourably. Jorge will continue to hope they're accepted for what they are: harmless, innocent fun but always with a moral to the 'story'. There's no doubt, though, that he will have something to say if other riders start copying him...

Jorge Lorenzo and 250cc celebrations

Lorenzo is authentic, reject imitations (2007); Shanghai race commentary (2007); A recital by Jorge Lorenzo to forget about Mugello (2007); Lorenzo 'Gladiator' conquers Misano and caresses the title (2007); Sepang MotoGP: Jorge Lorenzo is 2007 250cc GP champion, Hiroshi Aoyama wins race (2007); Jorge Lorenzo: My Story So Far (2010)

[charlie-lec-stories]

Dirty Little Secret - Part 3: Maud // CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character

Series Summary: Charles' wife went to The Other Side and came back, but her past did too.

Chapter Summary: Max and Y/N dirty secret needs to be brought to light. Who is Maud?

Series Warnings: Death, descriptions of CPR and a car crash, sexual comments and implied sexual acts, mentions of blood, mentions of suicide and depression.

Author’s Note: This is a special I decided to write inspired by Halloween and the Qatar GP, it's five parts long. It's the first time I write something for this page instead of editing thing I have written before, I hope you guys like it. Rate: +16 (descriptions of medical procedures).

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"Ik kan hem niet uitstaan". (I can't stand him). Max complained as he walked into the room, not even bothering to greet his friends.

"Leclerc?". Maud asked, earning a scoff from Max, who threw himself on Maud's bed and closed his eyes trying to contain his anger.

"Hij is zo'n eikel". Y/N raised an eyebrow, her dutch was not that good when it came to insults.

"What does that mean?". Max opened his eyes again and looked at the redhead, he didn't want to do the translation, a part of him refusing to be the one teaching that language to his friend.

"He called Leclerc a jerk". Maud explained as she braided her long blonde hair in front of her mirror, and Y/N just nodded, pensive.

"I know that we hate him a bit-". She started but Max cut her off.

"A lot, Bunny, we hate him a lot".

"Okay, a lot, but I have never met him! How come I haven't in all these years racing? I'd like to meet him". Maud shrugged her shoulders, finally sitting on the bed next to Max.

"I guess it's just bad luck. I raced him a few times when I was younger". Max scoffed again.

"Bad luck? She's lucky she hasn't cross paths with him!". Max sat straighter. "He pushed me off into a puddle after the checkered flag was out! It was so unfair! And do you want to know what he said about that?". The two girls nodded eagerly. "'Just an INCHIDENT on the race'. The idioot can't even speak properly". Now he was just looking for excuses to be mad.

"Inchident? He said 'inchident'?". Y/N giggled. "That's cute".

"No, it's not cute. It's just-". Max's new rant was cut off by the sound of a Facebook direct message incoming. The three 14 years-old quickly got up and ran to the computer. Maud sat in front of it, opening her inbox and smirking.

"This is cute, Y/N, not Charles' terrible English". Maud said smugly as she opened the message, Connor Lee's name big on the screen. Connor was an older boy, he was 17 and every girl on their school liked him. Usually, Connor never talked to anyone on Max, Y/N and Maud's year, but Maud had liked one of his posts and then he sent her a message from his second account, one he had to talk to his closest friends. She was 10 days away from turning 15 and that meant that her age gap with Connor "wasn't that bad", or at least that was what she thought.

"He's not that great. You both have horrible taste". Max, who secretly had a crush on Maud, stated as he rolled his eyes. Maud was extremely pretty, her mother was an ex Beauty Queen and her father a model, and she got the best of both of them. It was genuine surprise when she told them that she wanted to race cars and not be a model like everyone guessed she'd want to be.

"Shut up". Y/N instructed Max and then looked over Maud's shoulder, trying to read the message. "What did he said?"

"He keeps insisting on meeting tonight". Y/N smiled excitedly, her best friend was going to date the most popular guy in the school and maybe that meant that she had a chance with Lucas, Connor's best friend and Y/N crush since she was 12.

"You should go". Max frowned at Y/N comment.

"She shouldn't. Going out with an older dude is the most stupid idea you two ever had!". This time it was Maud's turn to scoff.

"It's not like I'll be going out with a stranger, Max. It's just Connor". Y/N nodded her head in agreement.

"If he's so great why doesn't he ask you to join him for lunch or something like that? He ignores you at school, Maud!". Connor had told her that other people wouldn't understand that they liked each other, so he asked for her not to approach him at school.

"Oh, shut up, Max. You know why. You're just being negative because Chales Leclerc drove you into a puddle in front of everyone". Max sent her a deadly stare.

"Your parents won't let you go anyways". He said after sighing. He knew that he being petty because he was jealous, but he wasn't admitting that in front of the girls. Maud smiled wide.

"They don't need to know". The other two didn't like where this was going. "Y/N can tell them that I'm staying at hers and I just go to the date. Connor can drop me off at Y/N's and I climb through her room window". She looked at them as it was a master plan. "Easy".

"I don't know, Maud...". Y/N hesitated. "I don't like lying to your parents". They had done that before and it always made Y/N feel bad. She liked Maud's parents as her own and she felt like she was betraying them every time they lied.

"Please, Bunny". Y/N looked at Max, who didn't seem to like the idea either, but since he didn't refuse out loud, the redhead said yes.

"Okay".

That night the three of them told their parents that they were having a sleepover at Y/N home. Max and Maud were dropped off there by 5 pm, with their bags full of snacks and DVDs. They displayed everything on Y/N room to make it look like the three of them were sleeping there, Max's Sylvester the Cat's blanket on the ground over his sleeping bag and Maud's Lola Bunny's one on the bed next to the window. Max and Y/N were supposed to stay awake and wait for Maud to get back from the date so they both brought some Rock Star energy drinks and a lot of candy to stay up late. Maud and Connor agreed to meet by 8 pm, he was picking her up from Y/N's house and dropping her off back there at 10 pm, since it was just getting some ice cream together. The next day they had a local race and Y/N parents were supposed to take them all to the track in the morning. Even though they were going to be tired the next day, the date with Connor was a once in a lifetime opportunity in Maud's eyes and her friends just wanted to be supportive. After a nice dinner, they all excused themselves to "go to bed early for tomorrow". In the room, they put some pillows under Maud's blanket and when a car stopped in front of the house, Max and Y/N helped Maud out the window.

"Have fun". Y/N said and Maud smiled.

"I owe you guys!". She jumped down the remaining height and ran off to the car.

Maud sent them some texts though the next hour, telling them how much fun she was having with Connor. Max and Y/N played their part, feigning sleep when Y/N's parents checked on them around 9 pm. But as the night went by and 10 pm got closer, Maud started to tell them that she didn't want the date to finish just yet. Max didn't like it one bit, but there was nothing he could do about it. The blonde just told them to go to bed and she would call them when she was on her way back so they could help her up and through the window. Max and Y/N just followed her advice and went to bed, making sure that their phones weren't on silence mode so they could hear Maud calling. They woke up the next morning at 7 am and when they looked at Maud's bed they found the pillows still there. Max checked his phone, but no call or message was there, Y/N did it too, with the same luck. They called her but the calls went straight to voice mail, her phone was off. Panic started to set into them and now they had to explain to Y/N's parents why Maud wasn't there. They both walked down to the kitchen, their palms sweating and stomachs aching.

"What do you mean she snuck out?!". Y/N's mother yelled at them. The teenagers just looked down at their laps, sinking into the couch as far they physically could. But the hardest part was explaining to Maud's parents that their single child was nowhere to be found.

Before they knew it, Max and Y/N were explaining to the police that Maud was last seen the night before and that she was on a date with Connor Lee. It was as simple as going to Connor's and pick her up from there, but when the police made it to Connor's house, Maud wasn't there and Connor assured them that he had never talked to Maud before. A few hours turned into a day and the day turned into a week and Maud was still missing. It turned out that she wasn't talking to Connor and that Facebook account wasn't his. Max and Y/N soon realized that they were all played by a stranger, but the guilt of helping Maud sneak out never left. Maud's parents didn't blame them, which was something that surprised them a lot, because they did it themselves. Both of them deleted their Facebook accounts and for some time they spent countless hours of their weekends looking for Maud. They searched the woods close to their school, hoping to find her hidden there, probably freezing and hungry. Maybe she got lost escaping from her attacker. Those weren't thick woods but you still could get lost in them. The police was looking for a dead body, but they were not losing hope, not when there were people who had gotten lost in the woods and came back. The young two drivers grew even closer than before in the next few months. They spent all of their time together, not letting the other out of their sight. Y/N started to fear men and Max became extremely overprotective when it came to her. That's how they dealt with everything that happened. That same year, Y/N saw Charles for the first time, but when he walked towards her to talk, she ran off to Max, too afraid to get closer to anyone else.

Maud was never found, not even her body. Time went by and the police assumed that Maud was kidnapped for sexual trafficking. Her parents did all they could to keep the case alive and even moved to Amsterdam to see if she was there. Max and Y/N went on with their racing careers, but on every summer break they went back home and spent four days camping in the woods, looking for Maud. They didn't expect her to be alive, but they needed to find her. There was this guilt inside of them that even after a decade hey couldn't shake off. Max paid every private investigator he could find, but no one succeeded. Maud was the love of his life, he fell for her when he was 10 years old and never stopped loving her. He just couldn't move on and Y/N felt like terrible that she knew that Maud liked him back and never said anything. She used to be afraid that if Max and Maud dated, they would leave her alone, so she kept the secret. On the fifth anniversary of Maud's disappearance, Y/N confessed to Max all of this and how she felt like she pushed Maud towards her horrendous end by being selfish. Max forgave her, but she had trouble forgiving herself.

"I'm so sorry, Maud!". She cried looking at the decaying image of her childhood best friend, standing at the other side of the living room, behind a pale Max. "Please, please, please!". Maud just looked at her accusingly, like she had been doing for the past few days, since Y/N was brought back to life. Charles kept asking Max questions but the Dutch just couldn't answer. What could he say? What could they say? How could Charles understand? She was so ashamed of what happened, of what they did, she couldn't admit it to Charles. She couldn't loose him. In a blink Maud was standing in front of her, her mouth open, but no words came out of it. A worm moved under her skin and Y/N felt like throwing up. Maud lifted her rotting hand, a single finger pointing at Y/N and the redhead knew what she had to do:

She had to find Maud.

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[oreramar]

Florist Talk: Deliveries

Time to talk about what happens when flowers leave the shop! As always, I'm talking from the anecdotal perspective of someone working in a small US flower shop. This is going to be especially important for this one because the place I work at has some Delivery Rules that I know for a fact aren't - maybe can't be - universal, especially if you get into bigger cities.

For writing purposes, take inspiration from any bits of this that could be interesting for whatever plot you're writing out, and change others as makes sense or is properly narrative.

So, first of all - is your Florbo going to be running deliveries at all?

I do, because it's a small shop and we don't have a dedicated delivery driver. I design flowers and also drive them places, except on very very very busy days when we get other people in just to drive, like Valentine's and Mother's Day.

If you're writing a bigger shop in a bigger city, or even a small one with more dedicated roles, a flower design Florbo might not drive deliveries unless it's very needed, for whatever reason. Even so, you could have another character of some importance be the dedicated driver anyhow, or you might just vaguely need or want the opening to a scene be the driver coming back complaining about something that happened on the run, so this still might be useful.

So here's roughly what happens when Flower Deliveries go out:

Deliveries get sorted by Most Efficient Route. If a delivery address is unknown it can be looked up on a map. Maybe someone uses GPS to navigate. Maybe the Flower System being used can map a route for you automatically. Maybe it's all done in the driver's head because they know the area really well by now.

Flowers (and other things like balloons, etc) get put into the back of the Flower Delivery Van. There are holders back there to keep things in place en route. These holders can vary from foam inserts in plastic trays, with circular shapes in various sizes cut out of them, to wood boxes with more various circular shapes cut out of the top, to styrofoam trays with various openings to, heck it, some of those heavy cinderblock bricks with cloth or foam lining the inside so glass vases don't chip on the edges on turns.

Broadly speaking, these measures will mostly be effective. Sometimes the fit is loose, though, and a change in direction or speed is too sharp, and the driver will hear something rustle, thump, and start to trickle water. That is never a good sound.

Some vases fit the holders better than others. The ideal is a good snug fit that doesn't allow wobble, let alone clank-clank-clank on every turn or bump.

Deliveries tend to have matching delivery slips that are kept up front by the driver and are used to remind driver of addresses and to check things off as they're done. Personal anecdote: it's the norm at my workplace to write the time of delivery on the slip when it's done, so that if anyone calls later and asks if/when it was delivered we can give that info.

Here's where stuff is gonna vary: the rule at my place is that the delivery goes to the door of the house, and if no one answers, it cannot be left there. If no one answers the door, we call the recipient's phone number off the slip, assuming we got it. If we get an answer there, we ask if there's a better time to deliver these flowers, or another place within town - sometimes someone's at work and can receive them there, or they're out until a certain point and we'll return then.

If no one answers the phone, or if we don't have their number, we call the person who ordered the thing, and tell them what's up and ask if they have a way to get hold of the person the flowers are for. Sometimes it's a yes, and we get the info asked for above. Sometimes they also fail.

Sometimes voicemails must be left, with the store's phone number given and a request to arrange a better delivery time. Sometimes the voicemail box is full or has not been set up yet and we just gotta try again later.

The flowers are never left, only messages. They go back to the store if they must. They are stored in the cooler for the next day if they really must. They are remade a week later if they really really must (sometimes people go on vacation out of town right when someone they know, who doesn't know about the vacation, decides to send them birthday flowers or something).

This rule is definitely not universal. I've sent flowers other places and been told how they were just left on the front step and were found by accident as the recipient didn't ever hear a doorbell or knock or get a phone call like the website said they would upon delivery.

Businesses tend to be easier to deliver stuff to than houses. At the very least you've generally got some kind of front desk or counter to leave the things at.

Other little notes on delivering stuff:

If in a cold season and place, like sub-freezing cold, flowers must be put into plastic bags which are taped or stapled or tied shut before they go outside. This traps just enough warm air around the flowers to keep them from freezing between building and vehicle and building. There is a fine line between "cooler which keeps flowers fresh longer" and "freezing air that will give flowers frostbite so that they look nice until they thaw at which point they go to hell immediately."

Sometimes someone is sent flowers from someone they don't want flowers from. I have been told that, as flower shop, we have to complete the delivery. We can't take them back. What happens to them after they're out of our hands is, well, out of our hands, but we gotta be able to honestly tell the customer, if asked, that we did indeed successfully deliver the flowers. That being said, write what you will.

Delivering balloons on a windy day is hell. I haven't lost one to the wind yet - knots and strings tend to be pretty sturdy and I keep a good grip on them - but they will batter you all around the head as you try to walk with them, and if there are multiple they will tangle the strings together.

A delivery driver of any type probably knows the general area pretty damn well. Even if they don't know exactly where XYZ street is, chances are they know the general direction where it should be.

A florist driver probably knows by heart the location of and routes to nearby/local hospitals, clinics, funeral chapels, schools, and quite possibly churches.

Sometimes you get to meet one or more Very Good Dogs on a delivery and it is the highlight of your day.

[myimaginarywonderland]

F1 is killing itself. It started years ago and it has continued on ever since.

How you might ask? Well for starters let's talk about broadcasting. I can only speak for my country (Germany) but F1 has been taken off any market and made an exclusive Sky sports product. Which is terrible considering it was basically never before behind a pay wall and the TV commentator team had been there for such a long time that even my parents/grandparents knew about them. When you have such a well established commentary team and then not only take that away but also basically put F1 behind a paywall, you are going to lose viewers.

Then, F1 marketing has someone been some of the worst it has been in years. In theory when you have something like DTS it should be an opportunity, a chance to show some of the behind the scenes. Instead, what you get when you watch it is made up drama, fake rivalries etc. Yes it might attract viewers but it gives a compleltly wrong picture of the sport and almost all of the drivers.

Adding onto that, there's the Vegas GP. I think everyone knows that Monaco is prestigious, the F1 track that is probably most considered flashy but F1 is trying to do that with the Vegas GP. Why? No one knows. Also no one cares. The reason why most people are excited wasn't even the race, it was because a driver who currently isn't even driving wanted to have a race there. Fans do not look forward to racing there, instead the most anticipated thing is the stories that might happen outside of all racing. That tells you everything you need to know about that GP. Yeah, they want to attract viewers with it and visitors and oh, what was that? No one in their normal life could afford those tickets. Yeah, that's what I thought. Going to F1 GPs has become so expensive that many people can't even afford it and adding even more expensive venues to that is not going to help in any way.

While we are already talking about GPs, how about we acknowledge the fact that having the current season is absolutely insane? Not only are there's weird small gaps between races not enough to give drivers a rest, we also are harming the mechanics life more and more by basically not allowing them to see their family or be able to take a break. Not to mention how insane the spread out of races is to make them even more inaccessible and environmentally damaging.

While are already talking about tracks, maybe it's time to acknowledge that this calendar is for the most part boring? Sure there are some good tracks but by removing so many beloved tracks that have brought actual great racing, F1 is further digging itself a deeper hole. And also, don't call yourself a world championship when we still have no races in Africa. (I will mourn this until it changes especially now having seen with Formula E how well the Cape Town race was visitied.)

We could also talk about other things like how a crash that could have killed a driver should not be nominated for any award or how Abu Dhabi was a fundamental moment that marked the sport priorizing spectacle over safety but that's just going to make this post longer and longer.

So, let's talk about why we removing free practice is one of the worst ideas possible and for me personally will lead to a point where F1 can't return from.

Free practice might not be watched by many fans because it is on a Friday, a workday. And depending on where the timezones are going to complicate that further which is totally alright. Free practice doesn't need to be watched by everyone. It however for fans gives them an opportunity to get familiar with the track or in some cases is even maybe the only way a fan might come to a race considering the tickets for Friday are the cheapest. It offers new fans an opportunity to have a look at the track layout and not be thrown in complelty without any knowledge. Furthermore it's an opportunity to learn for maybe more strategic fans how possible strategies might look like, what things might be taken advantage of etc.

But that's not even what it is about. Free practice first and foremost is for the drivers and engineers. It gives drivers time to test out different setups, offers engineers to opportunity to test race strategies, is a chance to see how much conditions have changed etc. It is important for the safety of the paddock as it gives drivers to opportunity to get familiar again with the track and test limits before actually having to race. It helps to get out of the vast majority of unknown conditions and get into a territory where drivers feel comfortable with the track and the car. It is crucial to the safety first and foremost.

Getting ride of free practice would not only be a huge lose for fans but it would also mark the final point of no return where drivers safety truly stops being a concern.

Getting ride of free practice would be the final nail in the coffin and would be another reason we can later out to a list of all the things that probably led to a fatal accident.

F1 claims to know things aren't what the fans what and yet I have not once seen them even approach fans to ask for their opinion. Instead of gaining fans with their actions F1 is actively pushing them away.

[lsunstreakerl]

definitely going to be posting more on this particular avenue because I think it's horrid and interesting, but until then- 1.5k words, max POV: discipline

HELLO still darkbull! mature themes and content and all that.

Max is fuming as he gets out of the car, fingers angrily yanking at the straps of his helmet. They keep skating over the latches, fucking missing, and Max is-

Max is so pissed off. He waves off GP, and he knows that it's rude, but he doesn't want to snap at him, doesn't want to take his anger out on the team again- even if they maybe deserve it.

He finally gets his helmet off, chucking it into the corner of his drivers room as he tugs at the strap of his racesuit across his neck.

Everything is hot and sticky, and the car won't fucking drive. Max feels like his entire body is slick with sweat as he peels his suit off, and he can't bring himself to feel bad yet, but he'd snapped over the radio earlier, pissy and annoyed.

It's his right, as a driver, but he hasn't been that bad for a few years. The team wasn't expecting it.

He wants to shower, and he wants the car to work, and he wants the team to listen when he tells them there's a fucking problem-

Two of those problems he can't solve. The first he can handle when they get back to the hotel, but he still has media and debriefs, and he'll probably fall asleep after the debrief and forget to shower, and then he'll feel worse when he wakes up.

There's no winning. Not in his choices, certainly not in this race, and probably not the fucking championship either. He's mathematically in it still, but-

It's not happening.

Max clenches his jaw so hard he hears something pop when his door slides open. He's still pissed off, standing in his drivers room, and he doesn't even have pants on yet, just his boxers and one sock, so if it's someone here to tell him to behave better he's going to lose it.

"What."

It comes out snappish, which is exactly how Max is feeling anyways. He drags a hand through his hair, bracelets clinking together on his wrist.

Christian steps in. He's holding Max's water bottle and a damp towel, and if it's a cold towel Max might actually start forgiving the team here and now.

"You left your water outside."

He passes the towel to Max, and it's ice cold- feels so good against his overheated skin that Max just holds it to his face for a moment.

He lets out a low groan, trying to get rid of the anger. It's still there, simmering in his gut, but already- he needs to apologize to the pit crew, probably. In a week or two.

Christian huffs a laugh, holding the water bottle towards Max.

"Thought you might like that. Jake put some electrolytes in your water since you didn't drink enough during the race, so make sure you finish it please. I took you off the presser."

Max lowers the towel finally, looking at Christian in surprise. He thought for sure he'd have to do the press conference.

He finally grabs the bottle, taking a few long sips as he starts running the towel across his arms, trying to get rid of the sweat.

Christian has a point that Max probably should have drank more in the race, but he just didn't think about it. At a circuit as hot as this one he should know better.

He feels marginally better once he's wiped down, or at least less like he's going to fly off the handle if someone breaths at him wrong.

The towel gets dropped onto the bench, and Christian passes him a bundle of clothes, not looking up from his phone.

Max eyes the clothes, a soft shirt, sweatpants, fresh socks, and boxers. It's not teamkit, which means he might not have to do the debrief either- might be able to go straight back to the hotel.

He still waits until he's dressed again to ask Christian about it, pulling his necklace out from under his shirt collar as he speaks.

"Are we debriefing?"

Christian finally looks up from his phone, eyes briefly skating down Max, cataloging that he's changed completely.

"No. Straight back to the hotel for you."

There's the tiniest bit of edge to his voice, and already Max is starting to feel bad, guilt creeping in on the edges of his emotions.

"Christian-"

Christian cuts him off with a sigh, tucking his phone into his pocket and crossing his arms.

"You can apologize to the team tomorrow, Max."

Max shifts on his feet.

"What about apologizing to you?"

Christian's shoulders slump slightly, and he uncrosses his arms, spreading them.

"Come on then."

Max takes a few steps forward and wraps Christian into a hug. He doesn't quite envelop Max anymore like he had when he was younger, but it's still one of the safest places Max can think of, tucked between Christian's arms.

"You were shitty to the team."

Max is well aware.

"I will apologize. I really am sorry."

Christian brings one hand up to spread across the back of Max's neck, palm pushing the chain of his necklace into his skin. His fingers curl around the side of his neck, the tips of them pressing slightly into the front of his throat.

Max breaths out a soft sigh as Christian squeezes lightly.

"For what?"

Max hates this game- the one where he fucks up and has to admit it more than once. It's for 'team cohesion' or something. He still thinks it's humiliating.

He lets the weight of Christians hand settle him, heavy where it's resting. It's grounding.

"For snapping over the radio."

Christian hums.

"And?"

Max's lips twist into a frown.

"Not talking to GP about it."

That's the crux of the issue here- when Max has a problem, he's supposed to go to Gianpiero about it. Preferably before it gets to the point where he's snapping down the radio, and he hadn't done that today- had tried to drive through it instead, letting the frustration build up.

To then go and brush GP off when he was getting out of the car- Max has fucked up here.

Christian squeezes his neck again before letting go, stepping away.

"That's right. Take some time at the hotel to cool down, and we're having a team dinner later. You can apologize to GP tonight, everyone else tomorrow."

Max nods, feeling chastised.

Christian sighs again before reaching forward, tugging lightly at Max's necklace so he looks up at him.

"It's okay, Max."

Max gives a thin smile and nods. He knows it will be okay, but he hates when the team is upset with him.

Max snags his water as Christian turns and leaves, and he falls into step behind him, taking a few more sips. It tastes a bit off, but Christian had mentioned Jake put electrolytes in it- it's probably that.

------

Johnathan is laughing about something with Daniel across the table from Max, but he can't quite follow the thread of the conversation. Hasn't really be able to follow it since they got to the private room at the restaurant, but especially not now.

Max looks back down at his plate. He's not sure how long he's been loosely holding a fork in his right hand, or even what he'd had- it looks like a half eaten portion of pasta, but he can't quite remember what kind.

He leans slightly to his right, shoulder lightly bumping GP's.

"GP? Do you know what I ordered?"

"Aw, Max."

GP half turns, resting his arm across Max's shoulders and tugging him close.

"Can't remember?"

Max frowns. He should be able to, he knows that, but-

He always gets so twisted in knots when he's upset the team, and it seeps into his brain, practically turns him into a different person. He hates when it happens. It makes him feel stupid.

"Don't tease, GP."

His voice comes out a bit whinier than he means for it to, and GP gives him a quick squeeze and a smile.

"Sorry Max. You know it's only out of fun."

Max feels a hand settle across the top of his left thigh, broad and hot, and he turns his head to meet Carlos's warm gaze.

"You got the salmon fettuccine."

Oh. That sounds right. Max leans slightly into Carlos's side, resting his head onto his shoulder.

"Thank you."

Carlos drops a kiss into Max's hair, dragging his hand up the inside of his thigh and brushing over his hip before it's gone, and Max can't help the soft noise he makes. He wants the feeling back.

Carlos is chuckling low at him, lips brushing against his hairline.

"We're still at the restaurant, remember?"

Max fights to wrestle back control of his thoughts, but it's hard- like trying to catch smoke in his hands.

Restaurant. Team dinner.

He looks down at his plate- he can't quite remember what he was eating.

Max turns to look at GP on his right. GP will know- GP always knows.

"GP? Do you know what I ordered?"

GP smiles fondly at him.

"Oh Max. Can't remember?"

[cakesexuality]

Psychiatrist appointment kept getting rebooked on both our ends and was cutting close to the 6-month mark (when I'd be officially considered discharged if I didn't come back) but it finally happened yesterday

Last time I saw him, he said my main problem was psychosis, which is true and that probably was my biggest problem at that point

This time, he said he doesn't think I have psychosis at all

I asked if we could try a depot, because I'm having issues taking my meds as part of my relapse and a depot would make it a little bit easier

He says he can't do that because I don't have a diagnosis for something an antipsychotic would be used for

I have a diagnosis for something that an antipsychotic would be used for and have had this diagnosis for the last 9 years

I ask why I need a diagnosis of something specific in order to receive a depot

He tells me "I need to tell them why you're taking it"

Who the fuck is "them"?

He wants to increase my Seroquel to 100mg

Even 75mg of Seroquel is too much for me to take on a daily basis and I have to cycle my dose throughout the week between 75mg and 50mg

He wants to change my antidepressant from Wellbutrin to Prozac

I give him the heads-up that Wellbutrin doesn't do anything for my MDD but works for my ADHD, so taking me off it would leave my ADHD unmedicated, but this doesn't seem to bother him

I've taken other antidepressants similar to Prozac in the past and they didn't do anything for my anxiety, sometimes made my anxiety worse, usually didn't do anything for my depression, and were not worth the stuff that would happen to me like hair loss, hallucinations, rapid mood swings, dissociation, etc., but this is fine to him

He wants to give me the liquid form of Prozac because it's easier to control the dose, but oral suspensions have been the hardest medications for me to take right now and I'd fare better with a pill

I just finished taking 28 doses of a liquid medication in 7 days, please give me time to breathe before starting a new one

He wants to change my antidepressant because I'm in a bit of a relapse and one of the potential side effects of Wellbutrin is reduced appetite

One of the potential side effects of Prozac is reduced appetite

The increased hunger caused by my Seroquel outweighs any possible reduced hunger from my Wellbutrin

He says my main issue right now is anxiety and that's another reason why he wants me on Prozac

I ask him what had led him to say anxiety is my main problem so I can clear up any possible misunderstandings, since I don't feel like that's my main issue at the moment and I don't know what I've said or done to make him believe that

He says "Because that's my opinion"

I ask if it's my body language, my tone of voice, my word choices, etc. leading him to that conclusion

He says "None of those things"

I ask, if not one of the things I listed, what else could it be?

He says "Because that's the impression I get"

I ask why he gets that impression

He says "I just do"

I can see that he apparently gives prescriptions based on vibes rather than actual symptoms

After going around in that conversational loop at least 5 times, I say "Okay" and disconnect the video call

I talk to a social worker at CMHA who doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about when he says I need a diagnosis to get a depot and she convinces me to reconsider whether I want to give up on this doctor already

I call his receptionist the next day and she says that he meant he would need to tell my diagnosis to the drug manufacturer

The receptionist also says I'm already officially discharged less than 24 hours after speaking to him, so I guess the decision of whether to go back has already been made for me

I talk to a nurse at CMHA, a pharmacist at my pharmacy, and a receptionist at my GP's office, and none of them know why he would have to tell my diagnosis to the manufacturer

[darkcircles4lyfe]

If you’ll allow me to stretch this metaphor to the moon and back—

Imagine one day you find yourself in the mood for ice cream, so you do a GPS search: “ice cream near me.” The nearest place is somewhere you’ve never been. You look at the reviews. “The milkshakes they have here are pretty good. Nothing new or unique, though. If you’ve had a lot of milkshakes before, you might think they’re boring,” someone writes. Another: “I’d say they know what they’re about! They make the platonic ideal of a milkshake. Nothing more, nothing less.” Well, sounds fine to you. Besides, the name of this ice cream place rings a bell, some conversation you overheard, some people you tend to agree with were raving about it. So you decide to give it a shot.

When you get there, you think maybe your GPS is broken. This is clearly a hardware store. Oh, but look, there’s a poster in the window advertising milkshakes. A fast food counter greets you as soon as you walk in, and several people are in Iine. They’ve only got one ice cream machine, and only one flavor: vanilla. Still, when you taste it, you’re pretty sure it’s the best vanilla milkshake you’ve ever had. Maybe there’s a secret ingredient.

Some of the other patrons walk right back out the way they came after receiving their orders, but some continue inside, past another set of automatic doors. You decide to follow the latter group, and sure enough, this place is actually a hardware store.

Great! Coincidentally, you’ve been meaning to buy more potting mix for your houseplants. On your way around the store, you notice the truly extensive selection of nearly every handy thing you could imagine. You’ll keep that in mind for future errands.

You return to this hardware store when you need insulation film to seal your windows for the winter, and when need to color match the paint on the walls in your bedroom. When you need an extra set of keys, some fungicide, some obscure brand of wood polish, one specific type of screw that fits in one specific type of hole. Even when you’re not sure what you need, you ask one of their staff, and they always know exactly what you’re talking about and where you should go. Over time you get better acquainted with them, with other regulars. You swap stories about your projects and troubles, share ideas, get inspired by other people’s hobbies.

It’s weird to admit, but in hindsight, a random spur of the moment ice cream excursion has changed your life. Who would have thought a hardware store with a silly marketing scheme could wind up being the locus of so much of your free time. You just keep coming back for more.

Speaking of those milkshakes. You do still order one once in a while, when you feel like it. Regardless, you can’t help but stare and frown as some people choose to take theirs to go, never stepping foot beyond the second set of doors. Do they know what they’re missing out on? You suppose it’s none of your business.

The one time you do try saying something doesn’t exactly go well. It was sort of an accident. While waiting in the milkshake line, you end up next to someone who really looks like the hardware-store-shopping type: denim, work boots, actual literal saw dust in their hair. So you strike up a conversation about what you’re working on, as you do. But when you mention what you’re picking up there today, they look at you funny. “Wait, you’re getting those here?” Oh. Well, this is the time to introduce them, right?

The more you talk, the more visibly uncomfortable they become. Finally, they say something that sticks with you long after they leave with their to-go order:

“Man, I just don’t think I can trust the expertise, the pricing, the inventory, when it’s clear they’re only interested in profiting off of ice cream sales.”

An expression of doubt coming from a person you might have otherwise felt a kinship with leaves you shaken, whether they meant to do that to you or not. You wonder if you’re too inexperienced to know what you’re talking about, if you’ve been played for a sucker. Some uneasiness lingers even as you continue to go about your business as usual. If nothing else, it stings a little.

Then one day, the milkshake counter is vacant when you walk in, and there’s a comically large “OUT OF ORDER” sign taped to the ice cream machine. You hear the doors behind you open and close again. A voice you don’t recognize says, “Aw, shit!” You turn. The face is familiar, though. This guy comes here for milkshakes a lot. “Why are they even open if their machine’s broken?” He groans.

You roll your eyes. “Maybe because some of us are here to buy lightbulbs,” you grumble as you continue into the main store. Unexpectedly, the guy follows you. He stalks up to the nearest staff member, who happens to be the manager, a jolly-looking older woman with arms that could crush a man. Her sweet face goes sour when she sees him.

"Can I help you?"

"No," they guy spits, "not if you can't serve me a milkshake. What's your deal, anyway? It's been weeks! Are you guys so incompetent you can't even run the simplest business?? A child with a lemonade stand could do better! I could do better!" He flings his arms around as he speaks, ironically drawing attention to the handyman's paradise which he seems to be oblivious to. The manager crosses her arms methodically and leans forward, pressing just enough into the guy's personal space to make him pause.

"Sir, this ain't a Dairy Queen. You've got a lot of other options out there if you want ice cream so badly. Move along."

It takes a little more coaxing to actually get the guy to leave, but when he does, the manager turns to you with a smirk.

"It's not actually broken, by the way. We're gonna move it to the back for folks in the know." She winks at you, and suddenly you feel like you've woken from a trance. For the first time, an unspoken truth has been plainly revealed to you. Like it was nothing.

Anyway, that's how I feel about these panels:

I feel like some people need to relearn Genre Expectations... "Man, this tragedy sucks!!! Why didn't they just do XYZ, then everything could have ended happily!!" well, then it wouldn't be a tragedy, would it. "Man, this lighthearted teen romcom is terrible, it's so sappy and unrealistic!!" Well, yeah. If it had been gritty and dark, it wouldn't have been a lighthearted romcom, would it. Is the writing actually bad or are you just trying to order a milkshake from a Home Depot