#I know nothing of cars

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.

[sainz100]

2024 Brazilian GP | x

[ultravioletbrit]

“vintage” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 253 words

 

Regulus is standing with James in their garage looking at what is probably the saddest excuse for a car Regulus has ever seen.

“It’s old.” Regulus says.

“It’s vintage.” James counters.

“It’s ugly.” Regulus is walking around the car.

“It’s… okay, yes, it is ugly. But it won’t be when I’m done with it.” Regulus walks towards James with a skeptical look.

“I promise, it’ll be beautiful. You’ll see.” James tells him. “Please, can I keep it?” James pouts.

Regulus smiles fondly at James and wraps his arms around his waist.

“Jamie, you don’t need my permission to keep it. But I don’t understand why you don’t just want to buy a new car. You know, one that actually runs?” Regulus asks him.

“Restoring it, rebuilding it, is the whole point. It’s not just about the car, it’s about the process.” James has a glimmer in his eyes that makes him look absolutely beautiful.

“The process?” Regulus says, amused and endeared by how excited James is.

“Yes! It’ll be fun. Doesn’t it sound fun?” James runs his hand over the hood of the car and his finger tips turn black from the dust and dirt.

“It sounds dirty.” Regulus tells him.

“You don’t want to help?” James teasingly wiggles his fingers towards Regulus.

“I’ll watch.” Regulus grabs James’ wrist to avoid the dirt but uses his hold on him to pull James in for a kiss.

And Regulus quickly realizes that watching a sweaty, greasy, dirty James is, indeed, a lot of fun.

[randumbkatt]

madotsuki giving a baikal seal a pup cup

[2btheanswertothequestion]

(part 3 of November Paramedic; part 2 is here.)

When Gareth mentioned a plan to locate Eddie’s paramedic in shining armor, Eddie assumed it'd be him getting into various accidents all over Indianapolis. It's something the little shit would've found funny, okay! But, Gareth's plan is much less hazardous and slightly more logical: lurk around the university until they spot him. Like a pair of drug dealers trying to tempt the goody-two-shoes protagonist into addiction and sin on an 80s Saturday morning cartoon.

It's not the simplest task since they don't know when Steve might be there. Also, other responsibilities mean they can only spare so many hours loitering. So, thirteen days post-hatching plan and nineteen days post-meeting Steve (not that Eddie's been counting or anything), with nothing to show for their ethically questionable behavior, Eddie is ready to give up. Especially since both of them have a rare simultaneous day off. Usually, those are spent jamming, smoking, playing D&D… literally anything other than this.

"This is fucking stupid," he says, cigarette clenched between his teeth. "We're not gonna run into him."

"Sure we are," Gareth says. He drops his butt among the dozens they've chain-smoked and lights another without meeting Eddie's gaze. "We're getting closer. I can feel it."

"The only thing you're feeling is delusional. It's time to give up."

"Eddie, c'mon-"

"Nope." One last drag and Eddie stomps out his cig. "Fuck this; I'm out."

He stalks toward his van at the far end of the parking lot. Gareth curses before running after him.

"Dude!" he exclaims, jogging to keep up with Eddie's longer strides. "You can't just give up! What about what you said-"

"I was being stupid. What was I even imagining? We orchestrate another meeting and, what, I use my freakish wiles and seduce him? And then we'll live happily ever after…" Eddie shakes his head. "It doesn't work like that. He'd probably turn out to be a douche anyhow."

"No, listen!" Gareth seizes Eddie's arm and yanks him to a stop in the middle of the lot. "You always do this. Self-sabotage and cut things short, even when there's potential."

Eddie scoffs. "You know what else always happens? I end up liking them more than they like me. It's not fun."

"You don't know it'll be like that this time. You have to try."

"No."

Eddie takes a step back. He's done; he's out. Gareth reaches for his wrist to pull him back in. He jerks away, almost losing his footing and stumbling into the burgundy car behind him. Gareth's arms shoot out to help, but Eddie steadies himself before crashing. For a second, silence reigns as they assure everyone's on solid ground. Then Eddie opens his mouth to once and for all-

"Eddie? Gareth?"

Their heads snap to the side, eyes landing on… Max? Looking unusually dressy in high-waisted shorts and a fitted top under an oversized jacket, and her hair in a high ponytail. She's got her skateboard under her arm, a messenger bag with a textbook sticking out, and a confused furrow between her eyebrows.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

Fuck. They can't tell her the truth – she'll never let him live it down. Fortunately, Gareth realizes this too, because he says:

"Uh, I go to school here? What are you doing here? The math building is way over there."

She rolls her eyes and leans on the burgundy car. It's a shiny BMW M5 – the limited anniversary edition. Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie almost dented that thing! It's worth more than his life. And Max is slouching against it like it's nothing. He could warn her not to scratch it, but she's unlikely to care; she's always been metal that way.

"Waiting for my friends," she says. "We have dinner on Tuesdays."

Eddie's ears ignite. Dinner? With friends? While wearing what's basically a date outfit?

"Ooohhh…" he says, sharing a grin with Gareth. "And do these friends include someone special?"

She shrugs, looking anywhere but at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"C'mon, Red! You're killing me! I need to know if he's good enough for you."

His fingers hover over her ponytail, as if to tug at it. She slaps his hand away.

"You're annoying."

He laughs. This terrible day just became infinitely better. He won't rest until he gets what he wants – or until she punches him, which'll probably come first. He's about to tell her so when a voice calls her name. Both turn to look, and…

It's a boy Max's age. He's beaming and waving, quickening his steps toward her. She smiles too, almost shyly, as she waves back. It's the perfect opportunity for teasing, if Eddie's day hadn't just become infinitely better.

His tongue is heavy, his skin is itching, his heart is bruising his ribs from the inside. Sweat is gathering in his pits and it's getting a little hard to breathe. Because walking half a pace behind the boy, carrying a huge duffel with such ease it might actually be stuffed with feathers, is… is…

"Yesssss!" Gareth hisses next to him. He may also be fist-pumping. Eddie isn't looking.

"Hey!" The boy stops in front of Max. "Sorry, practice ran late."

"It's okay," she says, cooler than ice, though her eyes are glittering. "I just got here."

She says something else, or maybe the boy does? It's all background noise, because Steve has caught up. Steve, in jeans and a polo that must've been tailored to his exact measurements because oooooooooohhhh boy. Steve, unshouldering the bag, muscles shifting and straining under his shirt with the movement. Steve, smiling, his golden eyes flying over Eddie.

"Hey! Eddie and Gareth, right?"

Eddie draws a sharp breath. He remembers!

"Y-Yeah!" he squeaks, hands fluttering to either wave or shake hands, ultimately doing neither. "Hi! You're here!"

"I am," Steve says, casual, as if inane conversations with former patients happen on the regular.

(It better not – Eddie doesn't do well in competitive settings.)

Max, keen eyes darting between them, asks, "You know each other?"

"Met at work," Steve says. "Or, I was working and he…"

"Ah." Max taps her temple. "That."

"How do you know them?" the boy asks her.

She points at Eddie. "Neighbor. And that's the guy who dumpster dives outside our apartment building."

Gareth flips her off. Eddie would laugh, but he's busy pretending he doesn't know what Steve looks like shirtless. It's hard (pun slowly growing more relevant) – his gaze keeps dropping to the polo's undone top button. Steve is just as gorgeous out of uniform, and now Eddie's thighs are tingling with want. He could stare at him forever…

Unfortunately, 'forever' is cut short by a woman arriving in a flurry. Wait, no. 'Flurry' implies some sort of graceful whimsy, while this person… she's a hurricane crashing into a house.

"Sorry I'm late! Nielsen wouldn't stop talking and got angry when people started leaving because it's an important lecture so this girl called him out for not keeping time because he goes on all these tangents and he said they're interesting tidbits and she said it's disrespecting our time and-" She pauses for breath. "You don't care, do you?"

Max, Steve, and the boy shake their heads.

"Right. Sorry." The woman turns to Eddie and Gareth. "Hi! I'm Robin. And you are?"

"My neighbor and his friend. Steve treated his concussion," Max rattles off, glaring at them. "You didn't answer my question: why are you here?"

Gareth frowns. "I told you," he says, pointing at the building. "School." He points at himself. "Student."

Max glares harder. "You don't have class on Tuesdays. And Eddie doesn't go here at all."

"I had stuff I needed to drop off."

"Is tagging along a crime? Jesus."

Max doesn't reply, though her glare remains.

Robin hums. "Okay, so this is super-enjoyable, I love just standing around, but I'm starving, so…" She looks at Steve, who nods.

"Yeah, we're going," he says, but neither moves. He glances at Eddie, which makes her glance at Eddie, and then they make a series of eyebrow-movements at each other, ending in a shared smile. Steve asks, "Have you guys eaten yet?"

Eddie shakes his head, pulse racing. Is this going where he thinks it is?

"D'you wanna come with? There's this diner we like…"

Holyshityesitis!

"Yeah!" Fuck, too eager. "I mean, uh, sure, sounds good."

"Cool." Grinning, Steve clicks a remote car key; the burgundy BMW beeps. What the fuck? How high is a paramedic's salary?! "Did you drive here?"

"I, uh…" Eddie falters. Shit, wasn't he supposed to? It's been three weeks and he feels fine – he thought he was in the green!

"Nope! I did!" Gareth says, 'proving' it by hauling his house keys from his pocket and jingling them.

Steve nods. "Should be safe for you to drive again, but the less strain you put on your brain, the better. Even a mild concussion isn't anything to sneeze at."

"Y-Yeah, I've been taking it easy. Basically done nothing. Until now."

Max snorts. Eddie is going to pour coffee through her mail slot.

They decide Eddie and Gareth will follow Steve's car to the diner, since Steve can't fit all of them (the real reason he asked if they drove here, duh). It's good because Eddie gets the chance to panic/gush/collect himself in the privacy of his van. It's bad because Gareth drives, lest their fib be revealed. Gareth spends the ten-minute journey gloating about driving Eddie's beloved girl, interspersed with 'I told you so!'s.

The diner is cozy, all wooden furniture and sepia photographs on the walls. A graying waitress who smells like tobacco directs them to a booth and takes their orders. An awkward silence then falls as they wait for someone to speak.

The boy clears his throat. "My name is Lucas, by the way. I don't think I said." After shaking his hand and introducing themselves, Lucas says to Eddie, "I think Max has mentioned you."

"Oh yeah? I've been dying for her to mention y- Ow!"

Eddie rubs where Max kicked his shin. Her glare is murderous. Lucas is blushing happily, though.

"So, what d'you guys do?" Robin asks.

Right. Time to small-talk like adults. Eddie gets his job as a mechanic out of the way, then gives the word to Gareth, who tells them he's a creative writing major. Robin turns out to be getting a masters in linguistics and Lucas studies biology.

"I don't actually know what I want to do, but biology feels broad enough to give me options, y'know? I can go to med school, or forensics, or, I don't know, paleontology?" he says. Max glows brighter with every word that comes out of his mouth. Cute.

This then segues into talking about their friends, who by the sound of it lead incredibly interesting lives.

"Dustin's at MIT, Mike's at Oxford, Will's in San Francisco…" Lucas says, counting on his fingers.

Max interjects, "El's in Africa building houses and teaching kids English."

"Erica is still at home, finishing high school and drowning in early acceptance letters to, like, every Ivy League there is," Steve says with a look of pure pride.

"Nancy and Jonathan – they're our age – are chasing scoops in Afghanistan… " Robin says.

"... and Argyle is also in California," Lucas finishes.

Eddie whistles. "And here we are, still in Indianapolis."

"Dude, I'm surprised I got this far," Steve says. "Wouldn't've managed without her."

He jerks a thumb in Robin's direction, who preens at the acknowledgment. Robin's cool, Eddie decides. Garrulous but fun and nice… and verrrrrrrrry close to Steve. The kind of close where they're always in each other's space. Where they wordlessly transfer food between their plates. Where Steve unceremoniously wipes a speck of ketchup off Robin's chin after she repeatedly fails to get it. They're comfortable, but not necessarily romantically affectionate. Like they're siblings rather than lovers.

(Dear God, if you are in heaven, let them be siblings.)

Conversation flows. They joke around, tell stories, swap opinions. Robin gets passionate about tonal shifts when stage shows are adapted to film, and Eddie tries not to stare at Steve's mouth as he eats. And then, once their plates are cleaned and they're waiting for dessert, Gareth leans his elbows on the table and fixes Steve with a purposeful look.

"I figured out where I've seen you before."

Eddie stiffens.

Steve blinks. "At campus, right?"

"Thought so, but no. I realized it's actually…" Gareth chuckles. "It's ridiculous, but uh, my mom had this calendar…"

Steve recoils, red flooding his face. Robin, Lucas, and Max shriek in delight, Robin grabbing Steve's arm and shaking it as he hides behind his hands.

"And my mom," Gareth says between bursts of laughter, "she's shameless, all right? She kept it in our kitchen. So during, what was it, November?"

"November," Steve confirms, muffled.

"For 30 days, if I wanted to check the date or make a notation… I saw you."

Tears stream down Robin's face, she's laughing so hard. She and Max have started chanting 'Slut! Slut! Slut!' at the still crimson Steve.

"You don't understand," Lucas says, gesturing for emphasis. "We've been waiting for someone to come up and say 'hey, weren't you…?' for years. Thank you so much!"

"Hey, thank my mom," Gareth says. Eddie's quite stunned he'd throw his own mother under the bus like that. She's a really nice person, too!

"Makes sense," Max says. "Moms love Steve."

"All parents do," Lucas says.

Cackling, Robin pinches Steve's cheek. "Gotta hide your mom and your dad around Steve!"

Steve bats her off, flushed but smiling. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You got your wish, now shut it."

That only makes the three restart the chant to ridicule him for his harlotry. Steve's indignant squawk that 'it was for charity!' merely has everyone laugh more.

And Eddie? Well. As he sits beholding this man who works as a paramedic and drives a luxury car, who models for charity and allows his friends to mock him for it, who blushes and giggles when they lovingly call him a whore…

All Eddie can think is that he's in fucking trouble.

Afterward, it only makes sense for Eddie to drive Max home. Steve shakes his hand outside the diner, saying it was nice to see him again. Eddie, not knowing how to ask for Steve's contact info without seeming weird, agrees. He waits until the BMW drives off, then tells Gareth to get the fuck out of his seat. Gareth relocates to the backseat, whining since Max already called shotgun.

The initial minutes, they're quiet. Then Max turns to Gareth and says:

"When were you telling me Eddie is your mom?"

"Huh?"

"You said you knew about the calendar because of your mom. But that's not true."

The warmth drains from Eddie's face; his knuckles crack around the steering wheel. Gareth's expression is the epitome of 'oh shit' when he meets Eddie's gaze in the rear-view mirror.

"Yes, it is," Gareth says.

"It's not," Max says.

"It is!"

"It's not! The calendar was for 2021, and in November '21 you were a freshman and had already moved into the dorms! If your mom kept it in her kitchen, you wouldn't have seen it!"

She scowls at Gareth, mouth pinched and eyes flashing, daring him to contradict her.

Gareth swallows thickly. "It… wasn't for 2021."

"Yes, it was."

"How do you know?"

She puts her hands in her lap and lifts her chin, almost primly. Eddie gasps as the penny drops.

Gareth screams, "WHAT!"

"You have it?" Eddie cries. "Why do you have it?"

She scoffs. "You know why – you've seen his pecs."

"I don't- Okay, how're you so sure it's me?"

"Because you spent all of dinner looking like you wanted to crawl inside his mouth and live there." Her nose wrinkles. "At least I hope it was his mouth you want to crawl into-"

She's cut off by Gareth shouting "I can't hear you! Lalalalalalala-"

Eddie crumples in his seat. He's depleted of blood, air, life, everything. Behind, Gareth is grilling Max for information: are Steve and Robin together? Is Steve single? Is he queer?

Max replies: no, yes, and 'that's not for me to tell, moron'.

Gareth nods, satisfied. "That means he is. If he was straight, you'd say so." He slaps Eddie's arm. "You got a shot, man!"

"You… don't know that…" Eddie wheezes.

Max tuts, shaking her head. "You actually want to hit on my chauffeur."

"He prefers the term 'seduce'," Gareth says.

Eddie smacks his face into the steering wheel at the next red light.

------------------------------

Tag list: @rougenancy, @raisedbylibrarians, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @emma77645, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @eddielives1986, @stevesbipanic, @the-redthread, @fandemonium-takes-its-toll, @henderdads, @gay-little-bitch, @lordofthepointygerbils, @lenore1232, @imzadidragonfly, @zerokrox-blog, @eddiemunsonswife, @cherrycolas-things, @ediewentmissing, @princess-eddie, @atombombbibunny, @ajamlessbaby, @dogswithforks, @grimmfitzz, @cutiecusp, @cuips-not-cute, @manicallydepressedrobot, @messrs-weasley, @madaboutmunson, @mightbeasleep, @suikatto, @brassreign, @snapshotmaestro, @bea-sayan, @courtjestermunson, @csinnamon-fox, @steveisabicon, @spectrum-spectre, @spinmewriteround, @just-super-fucking-gay, @escapingthereality, @oneweirdcryptid, @deehellcat, @misticageri, @lovelyscot, @olivethenerd16, @linkydinky06, @rynnytintin, @anything-thats-rock-and-roll,

I won't be adding more to the tag list because there are already so many of you. Instead, I'll be tagging the four remaining parts (it'll definitely be seven in total, btw) as #steddie fic: november paramedic. Hopefully, they'll show up in the tags and you'll see them that way.

Thank you for reading 🖤

Part 4

[fjordline]

little images while i draw something more substantial

[little-mouse-adventures]

Currently thinking about Artemis's will in the code at the bottom of TLG and how it really kinda shows how strained his relationship with his dad still is. Everyone else gets something they're interested in or that Arty thinks they'd like (sound system for Juliet, frozen chicken for Mulch, ethical investments for his mother, etc) and yet for his father he leaves only bearer bonds, despite Artemis I trying to move away from a money-focused enterprise and lifestyle as of TEC. Not to mention it's Butler who would know how to disengage all the booby traps protecting said bearer bonds, further highlighting the difference in trust & familiarity Artemis has with everyone but his father.

[idontcaboose]

Haunted car Au part 18

Previous. Masterpost

It was a while before Hood and Duke got done mother henning him about his entire situation, and after their private phone call they seemed to be making a plan.

Turns out, the Red Hood was a pretty cool guy. If you ignore the cursing that would have all the grandmas back home fainting, finding a switch, or grabbing soap. Either way, they would also tell your mom and a grounding would be the kindest punishment. 

Wait…. Does that mean he can curse here? 

…….

“I AM TIRED OF THESE MOTHERFUCKING SNAKES ON THIS MOTHERFUCKING PLANE!”

This is now officially the best day of his life….

“LANGUAGE!” 

……...Hypocrites

---

“So?”

“'So’ what Glowstick?”

“Do we have any plan other than ‘Wait for the magic guys’?” 

Hood snorted.  “Not really. Why, you got a plan?”

“Well, I don't know about you, but I dont think Danny knows how to drive, and I am willing to bet he would like to learn how to drive if they take their time getting here-” 

“Are you asking to take Danny for a joyride?” Hood asked incredulously.

“What do you say Danny?” Duke was smiling with mischief in his eyes.

“HELL YA!” 

Next

@kizzer55555 @sebas-nights @candeartist422 @trappednyourheart @fandom-life-corrupted-me @tkiesai @2lbballpeenhammer @admiralwidow @rewrittenwrongs @whotfevenknowsanymore @symmetricalastigmatism

@thespacedragons

@atinygracie @okami-love

@lesbian-spider-drone @1n0sss @forgetmenot-bluepurple @ehobep

[kousanosgf]

johnny's car is so hilarious to me.

you gonna tell me a terrorist rockerboy fuckboy drives this bug-looking thing with a straight face?

[spark-circuit]

watching a therapist play Slay The Princess (Euro Brady) and I love how he;

overanalysed the Cheated so much he trusted the Razor blindly

started to break down some good psychology stuff on four of the Voices - right before all of the other Voices got dragged into it (to his instantaneous regret and comedic dread)

practically becomes canon Long Quiet as he starts pleading with the Narrator to take him over again and find a way to shut all the Voices up

[capricorn-ascending]

Faithful and Virtuous Night, Louise Gluck (insp)

On February 1st 2024, it was announced that 7-time Formula 1 World Champion Lewis Hamilton and Formula 1 team Mercedes AMG Petronas would be parting ways after the 2024 season. This announcement ends an 11-year long partnership between Hamilton and the Mercedes works team, and a 17-year long relationship with their parent company, Mercedes-Benz.

Hamilton will drive for Scuderia Ferrari in the 2025 season. It will be the first time in his racing career driving a car with no connection to the Silver Arrows.

Image credits, in order:

Lewis Hamilton in the Mercedes Garage (Photographer unknown, 2023) / Lewis Hamilton takes his first pole position since 2021 (via Lewis Hamilton's Instagram, 2023) / Lewis Hamilton celebrates with the Mercedes team post-race (Photo by Dan Istitene, 2022) / Lewis Hamilton celebrates his 7th F1 title with the W-11 (Photo by Clive Mason, 2020) / Lewis Hamilton celebrates his 7th F1 title on the podium with Sebastian Vettel and Sergio Perez as confetti falls (Photo by Pool, 2020) / Lewis Hamilton and his father share a moment in the aftermath of the 2021 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Fuck the FIA (Photographer unknown, 2021) / Lewis Hamilton doing donuts at the end of the season (Photo by Marco Renzi, date unknown) / Lewis Hamilton at the Silverstone Grand Prix (Unknown source) / Lewis Hamilton during a F1 press conference (Unknown source) / A young Lewis Hamilton accepts a junior racing trophy (via plus44world's Instagram, 2023) / A young Lewis Hamilton poses with his signature yellow helmet, inspired by his childhood racing hero, Ayrton Senna (via Lewis Hamilton's Facebook, 2018) / A young Lewis Hamilton racing remote-controlled cars (Unknown source) / Lewis Hamilton takes the podium for third place at the 2007 Australian Grand Prix, his first podium in F1 (Unknown source) / Lewis Hamilton celebrates his win at the 2013 Hungarian Grand Prix, his first win with the Mercedes works team (Photo by Mark Thompson, 2013) / Ferrari Trento sparkling wine is pictured on the podium at the 2023 Azerbaijan Grand Prix (Photo by Marco Renzi 2023)

[fiveredlights]

is it weird and evil that i feel a sense of joy watching other people experience the patented VCARB God Awful Strategy (or as I like to call it, the Daniel Ricciardo Experience™️) that we’ve been complaining about for literal months… i said may everyone get what they deserve… much love and light <3

[bicheetopuff]

This might not mean anything to anyone but seeing the hate towards deku for losing his quirk and becoming a teacher feels a lot like the discourse about Cars 3 a few years ago when people were mad that Lightning got old and became Cruz’ crew chief.

And what’s crazy is both of them still got their happy ending. Deku still got to be a Hero and Lightning still got to keep racing. And I actually think it’s even better cuz they both have legacies since Deku has Kai, Eri, Kota, and all of his other students and Lightning is getting to train Cruz like Doc trained him. Yet people are/were still upset…

[2btheanswertothequestion]

(part 4 of November Paramedic; part 3 is here and the AO3 version is here.)

Eddie wakes on the following Saturday with an itch beneath his skin. It's been there for days now. Warm and at times aching; an inflammation.

He hasn't seen Steve again. He's been thinking of him and talking about him (or rather listened to Gareth talk about him – he's not convinced Gareth doesn't want to fuck him). But he hasn't talked to him. He could rectify that by asking Max for his number, but that'd mean facing her little freckled self-satisfaction. He's not that desperate (yet).

The bedroom is blue with mid-morning light. Outside the window, some poor bastards drive to their weekend shifts. Technically, Eddie is one of them, but he doesn't start until the afternoon, so he's taking his time yawning and stretching out of his sleep-rumpledness. The cover has pooled around his waist and his t-shirt is rucked up; he scratches the exposed skin, the itch deepening as his fingertips ghost the area above his dick.

He slides his hand down and cups himself. The first caress over his boxers punches a sigh out of him.

The calendar is in the porn drawer, but Eddie doesn't need to have it in front of him – he knows every pixel better than the furrows on Uncle Wayne's face (ew, he shouldn't think of Wayne when palming himself, ewewewewew!). Even if he wasn't so familiar with the photo, he'd be okay. After all, he's sat opposite the subject. He's seen him up close and in four dimensions. Watched him lick salt from his fingers and wrap his lips around paper straws.

The itch now burning, he lunges for the near-empty lube bottle on the nightstand and delves his hands into his shorts. Shifting so the cockhead pokes out of the waistline, he starts stroking in earnest.

He likes to go slower, stop and start and prolong it, but this time it's like a fucking race. He grips the shaft, twists, squeezes the head, pulls, while his other hand rubs his balls. Sweat beads on Eddie's face as his breathing speeds up. He needs to calm down or he'll finish before he's even started.

It's hard, though, especially as the image of Steve is solidifying at the foot of the bed. Kneeling, legs spread, Eddie's thighs resting on top of his. He's wearing the paramedic uniform, zipper down and shirt open, sliding off his shoulders. And he's smiling like that, a hungry glint in his eyes.

Fuck, what would Steve be like in bed? Would he take charge or be passive? Would he be flexible? Does he like giving oral? A guy who looks like that must be getting laid constantly; he has to be good with his mouth. And his hands, they're big, surely big enough to envelop Eddie's around his cock. Eddie prods at his taint, imagining his fingers were longer and thicker as the flats of his knuckles rub through to the muscle. The pressure is building, the tingling lighting up in his chest and legs.

Would Steve let Eddie restrain him? Tie him to the headboard, hook his knees over Eddie's shoulders, and fold him in half? Or would he prefer to hold Eddie down… push him into the mattress, palm splayed between his shoulder blades, and open him until he begged to be fucked. Then he'd spread Eddie's thighs, split him in half on that cock and pound until he screamed-

Eddie screams, hips lifting off the bed. Sizzling waves of pleasure roll over him, leaving him spasming. It came faster than preferred, but fuck it, he's too spent to be mad about it. He should have expected it anyway – November-paramedic always does this to him.

November-paramedic. Steve. Steve could do it to him, too. 'If he was straight, Max would've said so', right? The only thing to worry about then is if Eddie is his type.

(Catching himself in the bathroom mirror, blotchy and shaggy and with spunk on his shirt, he can't see himself being anyone's type.)

Someone knocks on his front door as he prepares to step into the shower. He's not expecting anyone, so he ignores it, stripping and tossing his dirty clothes in the hamper while waiting for the water to get warm.

The knocker doesn't relent. They get louder. Frantic. Shit, maybe it's someone in trouble?

When they bang hard enough to break through the door, he turns the water off and rushes out. Stopping only to grab his sweatpants from the couch, tugging them on as he walks, he reaches the door and yanks it open and

stops dead in his tracks.

There's no emergency. No serial killer running amok and no fire, unless one counts Max's flame orange hair. It's in twin braids today, and she's wearing loose gym shorts and a tank top. She has a tote bag on her shoulder and a smile on her face, but nary a sign of distress.

He slumps against the doorjamb, glaring at her. "What."

"Do you play basketball?" she asks.

"Does it look like I play basketball?"

He gestures to his lanky, shirtless frame. She gives him an unimpressed once-over. Exactly. He's about to ask if she's filled her quota for inane questions this fine morning when she looks at him with unscrupulous eyes.

"Steve and Lucas like to play at the park. I'm not as good as them, but it's pretty fun so I join in. They're competitive and go really hard. Gets sweaty. And they always wear these tiny basketball shorts-"

"Okay, so?" he says, interrupting before the picture gets too detailed and the blush reaches farther down his chest. He crosses his arms even though he knows it won't hide anything.

Max rolls not just her eyes, but her entire head. "I'm throwing you a bone here, dumbass! Do you want to join or not?"

"Why would I want to join?"

Her reply is a mere look, but the 'are you fucking kidding me' is louder than her voice could ever be. His hands, needing something to do, begin rubbing his upper arms.

"What do you get out of this?" he asks. Because he can't think of anything. Is it simply out of the goodness of her heart?

"Meddling in your love life is the closest I'll ever get to becoming God." (Ah. Egomania. Of course.) "So?"

Eddie sighs. On the one hand, there's Steve, panting and sweating while wearing short shorts. On the other hand…

Yeah, no, there's no discussion here.

"Yeah, I'm in."

"Great. We have," she looks at her phone, "fifteen minutes until they're here."

"Fifteen minutes? Max, I haven't showered yet!"

Seventeen minutes, one change of clothes, four spritzes of body spray, and half a can of dry shampoo later, they're sliding into the backseat of Steve’s ludicrously expensive car. Eddie had been skeptical about the dry shampoo – he didn't use fancy products for his hair, didn't need them. Plain regular shampoo and conditioner were good enough, thank you very much. He'd rather it be stringy with natural grease than artificially stiffened. But Max swore by it; after covering his scalp with the dandruffesque stuff and combing it out, he has to admit it looks and feels fine. The breezy smell isn't terrible, either. He might ask her where she bought it.

"Hey, guys," Steve says, already putting the car in gear. "S'great that you wanted to join, Eddie!"

"Uh, yeah," Eddie, who was going to apologize for springing his appearance on them, says. But neither Steve nor Lucas seem surprised he's there? He shoots Max a look. She ignores him as she's rapidly texting. "This isn't really my thing, but it'll be fun?"

"We won't go all out," Lucas says. "Max doesn't play either, so we know how to take it easy."

"Mmm, yeah, they're both okay teachers…" Max says, distracted, like she's barely paying attention to the conversation. "Lucas usually helps me, so you and Steve can have each other."

"I'll be here if you need me," Steve says, flashing a front cover-worthy smile in the rear-view mirror.

Eddie just laughs weakly, already out of breath. They've hit traffic now, and masked by the thrum of tires and Steppenwolf playing on the radio, he leans over to Max's side to whisper:

"Stay out. Of my. Love life."

She raises a brow. "You mean the love life that wouldn't exist without me?"

"It would exist."

"No, it wouldn't."

"It would."

"No, you're hopeless. Have you even been on a date before?"

"Yes, I have!"

"Did Gareth ask the guy out for you?"

"No!"

Sure, there had been this one time at a party when Gareth drunkenly announced to a guy that Eddie had been checking him out the entire evening. But that's the closest either of them has ever come to asking someone out for the other. And it doesn't count anyway because it didn't lead to a date, just a mediocre makeout session. The other guy's personality turned out to be the equivalent of a toolbox full of dicks, and he wasn't hot enough to make up for it. However unbelievable it may seem, Eddie does have standards.

Max sighs, powering down her phone and slipping it into her tote. "If I asked you in advance, you'd have the time to get cold feet and cancel."

"I wouldn't've done that."

"I wasn't risking it." Her lips curl with distaste. "Steve always gets so pouty and puppy-eyed when he's disappointed. It's gross."

"Me canceling wouldn't disappoint him!"

She gives him a long look. Pitying, like she thinks he's so stupid he can't even realize how stupid he is and is sad on his behalf. "I think I'm better at judging whether or not it would."

The park they stop at is nice and big but otherwise nondescript. A dozen or so other visitors are scattered around the area, most of them walking their dogs (or in one case, cat). The adjacent basketball court is empty, however. Unsurprising given the early hour, and also relieving – the fewer people who witness this, the better. Because Eddie really doesn't play basketball. Sports, in general, is incomprehensible to him. How do you do it? Why is it 'fun'? He doesn't get any of it, thus has accepted he'll make a bit of a fool of himself today.

Except he doesn't. Not as much as he thought, at least. Steve and Lucas are both so nice and enthusiastic about it, explaining and demonstrating and explaining again. They're not playing sports, per se; more like playing games that involve basketballs and sometimes hoops. They run, dribble, shoot, steal the ball from each other, try to catch one another, all without keeping score or declaring winners. They just… play. Carefree, like children.

If high school PE had been anything like this, Eddie would've passed on the first try.

It's still exacting. After two hours (hours!) of playing, Eddie is feeling it in his legs and lungs. It's good, though, the sting and the burn. He's slick with sweat and his hair is frizzing out of its tie, but he's accomplished something. When the muscle cramps hit later on, he'll be happy about it for once.

He's still quick to agree when a rosy-cheeked Max suggests they take a break. Sitting on the edge of the court, sharing the water she brought, they watch as Steve and Lucas play for real. And it's, wow. Poetry in motion. Eddie knows nothing about basketball, but he has to assume they're both good. By his analysis, whatever it's worth, Lucas has more natural aptitude but Steve has the experience, at times pulling feints that stump Lucas. This conclusion is vindicated when they at several points stop so Steve can coach Lucas through the maneuvers.

They're both impressive. Mesmerizing. When they first arrived, seeing them step out of the car did a number on Eddie's poor, gay heart. Those shorts are short, and their jerseys display just enough arm and throat to tantalize. And now? When they're getting into it? Giving each other a run for their money, giving their all, until they glisten and their clothes stick to their skin?

No wonder Max likes to join them, the little pervert!

"Do you play basketball now?" Max asks, snapping him out of it.

He squints at her. "You're a voyeur, Mayfield."

"You're the one who's drooling."

"Am not," Eddie says and surreptitiously wipes his chin, just in case.

"Sure." Max pushes to her feet. "Hey, Lucas! You're supposed to help me with my throws."

Steve and Lucas, in a battle for the ball, break it off. Lucas beams at her.

"Yeah! Let's do it!"

Max and Steve switch places, Max grabbing the ball on the way to her spot in front of Lucas, and then Lucas' hands are all over her. On her shoulders, her elbows, her hips, correcting her grip and her stance. She's smiling like a cat with a canary dipped in cream, pressing her back to his chest. He's basically embracing her, and by the time she shoots they've melted together.

Jesus. How can these children be bolder and smoother than Eddie ever has?

"Cute, aren't they?" Steve says between sips from his water bottle.

"Yeah. What's their deal?"

"They used to date. Shit went down and now it's complicated." A bit of water dribbles out the corner of Steve's mouth after an especially sloppy swig. Eddie's stomach is one big butterfly. "I think they belong together. Just need to find each other again first."

And then it happens: Steve offers Eddie the bottle. His breath hitches; he accepts it with a trembling hand. Raises it to his mouth and puts his lips where Steve just put his lips. Hoooooooly shit. There's a metal festival going on inside his ribcage, his pulse like a bass drum in his ears. Beat a little faster and he'll risk cardiac arrest. 'Death by indirect kiss' has a kinda romantic ring to it.

He swallows and asks at a higher frequency than usual, "You known her for long?"

"She was thirteen," Steve says, too busy staring wistfully at the kids to notice Eddie's newfound resemblance to a dog toy.

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

Eddie rolls the bottle between his palms. Maybe he can smuggle it away when Steve isn't looking. Take it home and cherish it forever. Never pour the water out or wash it. Put it on a pedestal and give it a plaque that said 'I have Steve Harrington's spit in me' and be envious whenever he read it.

(Christ, he's a creep.)

"How did you get to know them?" he asks, giving it back. He doesn't trust himself with it.

Steve drinks again, so now they've both gotten a taste of each other. Cool! Third base, or whatever. "I was kind of their babysitter."

"Really?"

"Yeah. No. They were too old for babysitters, it was more like… giving them rides. Being there when they…" Shaking his head, he fully turns to Eddie. His face is dead serious business. "Like, these kids are nerds. Or just troubled. Or both. It was hard sometimes, so they needed someone."

"And that was you?"

"Not always. Remember Nancy and Jonathan? They're Mike and Will's older siblings, respectively. They did much more. But, y’know… Nancy and Jon have ambitions. They're going places. They've been in those places, and now they have new ones!" He smiles, sweet but with a hint of bitterness. "They were busy. So I filled the gaps. Also, not everything was… Like, Nancy is the toughest, strongest person I know. But she's also a bookish, 5'4 girl. She couldn't break up brawls or scare off bullies. Not permanently at least. And Jonathan, he packs a punch when he wants to. You won't think so when you see him, but he does. But he still needs to get into the fight. I don't. I could just show up and people would leave. Because I'm bigger and, uh, my reputation kinda precedes me."

"Really?" Eddie makes a show of looking Steve up and down. He's strong, anyone can see that, but he doesn't look like the type of guy who gets in that kind of trouble. "You got a rep as a fighter?"

He realizes too late how rude he's being. Fortunately, Steve just snorts good-humoredly.

"More like I got a rep as someone you can't win against. If someone said 'Steve Harrington beat us' I could say 'no' and that's it. Even with two black eyes, people would believe me. Jonathan, though? He could have an airtight alibi. Eyewitnesses, security footage, the works! But if he was accused, people would find a way to pin it on him."

As he speaks, Steve's voice gets louder, the words tumbling out. He sounds upset, like he knows what he says is indisputably true, but he's not yet used to knowing it. The fire he spits it out with must surprise him, because his eyes grow a size before he reels himself in. Kicking at the ground, he clears his throat.

"But, uh, it didn't happen often," he says. "S'not like we fought every week. Mostly it was stuff like him dropping them off at the arcade and me picking them up. Or I let the kids use my pool for their birthday parties and their families had me over for the holidays when- if my parents weren't in town. That stuff. Just helping each other out."

He looks at Eddie, his smile tight at the corners, but shrugging like it truly isn't a big deal. Just helping out. Just being kind. Because these people, these kids, mean something to him, so how couldn't he be good to them?

Eddie's head is spinning. He recognizes that 'being a paramedic' and 'caring about people' typically go hand in hand, and he shouldn't be left in a fucking daze over the revelation that Steve is nice to his friends. Yet. The confirmation has turned him into a bubble floating in the wind.

"You wanna go again or get something to eat or…?" Steve asks, popping the moment. Eddie blinks the shimmer off his retinas.

"I haven't eaten yet, so I'm starving."

"You haven't eaten at all?"

"Uh, no? I woke up and, um, I- I mean, and then, Max was there and she kinda sprung this on me fifteen minutes before you arrived?"

Steve stares at him. Eddie stares back. The basketball thumps against the asphalt. Steve's expression screws into annoyance.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm so sorry."

"What?"

"You didn't… If you didn't want to come today-"

"No! No, I did, it's been fun!"

"Really? Because they keep doing this. Trying to set me up."

Eddie chokes on his saliva. "S-set up?"

Steve nods, rolling his eyes. "They think I don’t have enough friends my age. Which I do! Not many close friends, but I don't need any! I have Robin." His face gains a pink tint. "Um, but that doesn't mean I don't want to get to know you better. I do."

"Cool," Eddie says. The world is spinning again. "Me too."

"Well." Coughing loudly, Steve waves to catch the kids' attention. "Let's get something to eat."

The remainder of their time together passes in a leisurely blur that Eddie watches from the sidelines. Not as in he doesn't engage with the others, but as in he engages with them on autopilot while his actual consciousness hangs around like an apparition. They get tacos from a food truck and ice cream as dessert, courtesy of Lucas who talks Steve into it. Something about Steve owing his little sister, but since she isn't there he should buy for Lucas instead, or something. Despite his grumbling, Steve doesn't seem too perturbed about paying.

It's a little past one o'clock when Steve drops them off, saying they should do it again before driving off. Max smirks at him as they reach their apartments, saying 'you're welcome' and tossing her braid over her shoulder. Eddie flips her the bird, which she doesn't see since her door is already closing.

The first thing Eddie does after stomping inside is collapse face-first on the couch. The second thing is groan into the cushions as he remembers he still has work this afternoon.

"Dude," Gareth says later that same evening. Half-filled character sheets and messy notebook scraps are spread before him on the kitchen table, where he's finishing the description of his character so Eddie can sketch it. "You went on a date."

Frowning, Eddie stirs the pancake batter harder. It's all mixed, but the stove is from circa 1860 and takes forever to heat up.

"No we didn't," he says. "Max and Lucas were there too."

"Dude, you went on a double date."

"It wasn't a date! I'd notice if it was."

"He said he wanted to get to know you better!"

"As a friend."

Gareth sighs, tapping his pen on the table and leaving ink stains behind. "He's a guy. Guys don't say 'I want to get to know you better' when making friends. That's flirty talk."

"It's… not," Eddie says, unsure. It's not, right?

Gareth plants his chin in his palm, fondly shaking his head. "This guy is into you. I'll make you see it. Just wait."

Eddie doesn't know if he should interpret it as a promise or a threat.

------------------------------

Part 5

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[tommygotwrittenoff]

i just think if roles were reversed and buck was the one saying those gay ass lines to eddie, eddie wouldve proposed like four seasons ago

[soracities]

Still I rise?! Are you a Lewis Hamilton fan

that is a maya angelou poem