#Michaela gets personal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

venussaidso · 3 days ago

Text

Sun Dominant Themes — 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏𝟑

Understanding why planets exalt in certain nakshatras, and houses, will give you an even better foundation for all nakshatra lords. For example, Venus loves being in Revati because this is where it can be unrestricted and as flourishing in its themes as it desires to be, since Revati is peak freedom and transcendence; Ketu loves being in Jyestha because this Scorpio nakshatra continuously releases so much heat which allows it to function at its highest level; and Sun is its best version when it is in Ashwini, because this Aries nakshatra allows the Sun to be as hyper-independent and selfish as it desires to be, and Ashwini being Ketu helps one attract resources to further advance oneself — a theme I am seeing in all the Sun nakshatras.

The symbol of Krittika nakshatra is a sharp knife, and its deity is the fire god, Agni. This emphasizes the heat in Krittika which is connected to its transformative nature. This is seen in the refinement of blades, where the beginning stages involve forging – the process of heating and shaping of the metal – and then heat treating. Resources are used with precision in Krittika, anything unnecessary being cut away as resources are channelled with focus so that one rises to the top. The ruling deity of Uttara Phalguni nakshatra is Aryaman, the guardian of social contracts and hospitality. Aryaman is a solar deity, giving more emphasis to the life-giving heat and brightness of this Sun nakshatra. With Uttara Phalguni, resources are built and sustained through agreements, partnerships and community. Creating mutual connections and valuing generosity will lead to later pleasures, as this nakshatra is symbolized by the back legs of a cot and the word Uttara in Sanskrit can mean "latter," "subsequent," or "final." Uttara Ashada is ruled by the Vishwadevas, the universal gods, this indicating the superior, hyper-independence and highly resourceful nature of this nakshatra. This enables mastery in resource mobilization and strategic planning.

Uttara Ashada Sun Orlando Bloom portrays the character Will Turner in Pirates of the Carribean, who starts out as an accomplished blacksmith by trade – his fantastic swordsmanship a product of his work with tangible resources like metal and tools, demonstrating his ability to make effective use of his environment.

The agency of the self and one's independence is due to the aftermath of the Ugra nakshatras having burned away previous barriers & roots, killing off enemies in order to pour into the world through love, beauty and creativity (Venus themes). This propels Sun nakshatras to be unbound, having them focus on making anything into a useful resource, so that one's inner solar light aligns with their material plane. This is interestingly explored in films through the so-called "American Dream".

The "American Dream" refers to the belief that anyone, regardless of their socio-economic status and background, can achieve their dreams and make a better life for themselves in a society where upward mobility is accessible to all. The core ideals of this belief are explored in the film The Pursuit of Happyness, starring Uttara Phalguni Sun Will Smith who plays a struggling salesman rising from poverty to attaining professional success as a stockbroker — his character being driven by persistent effort, ambition, and belief in upward mobility.

The theme of the human spirit's resilience in the pursuit of personal dreams is also seen in the film Forrest Gump, starring Uttara Phalguni ASC Tom Hanks who plays a low IQ man who goes through many challenges and still never gave up on his dreams.

Sun nakshatras are more commonly associated with strong themes of ambition, leadership and success.

Aja Naomi King has Uttara Ashada Sun and Uttara Phalguni Moon, making her a dominant fire rashi native. She portrays the character Michaela Pratt in How To Get Away With Murder. She is a young woman who is an ambitious overachiever, possessing an intense fire in her and is relentless in chasing after her goals with focused determination.

The character Paris Geller from Gilmore Girls, portrayed by Uttara Ashada Moon native Liza Weil, is known for her relentless ambition, being an aggressive perfectionist, and possessing a fear of failure which mirrors Michaela Pratt’s personality, often the cause of her clashing with others.

Sun natives are able to sacrifice and delay gratification for their goals. The elephant tusk of Uttara Ashada represents enduring strength, the nakshatra also being in the first section of the Capricorn rashi (Saturn supporting themes of endurance and delays). Uttara Phalguni's symbol is a bed or hammock, which represents the rest after hard work and generosity, completing the journey from Purva Phalguni in this final stage. And Krittika being the blade, or razor, signifies it as a cutting force able to slice through obstacles, fuelled by a desire to execute excellence.

Daniel Plainview in There Will Be Blood exemplifies the darker, more ruthless and capitalistic side of this "American Dream" — operating more Ketuvian as he is portrayed by Ashwini Moon native Daniel Day Lewis, drawing parallels with Ashwini Moon Christian Bale in American Psycho (further emphasizing why the Sun exalts in Ashwini, as Ashwini possesses this pure, ungovernable and all-consuming masculine energy which can become self-building).

The book Oil! follows the son of an independent oilman who initially idolizes his father's rise to power which has a rags-to-riches quality to it. The book highlights the nefarious strategies that oilmen employ through the main character's sympathy towards the underdog people (oilfield workers), a solar theme which will support further points I'll be touching on. But this corruption of the self from accumulating so much intoxicating power is definitely the darker side of Sun nakshatras.

The character Plainview uses oil as a lucrative resource and leverages it to build his empire, also coming from humble beginnings. He embodies this 'self-made', hyper-independent archetype in which hard work highlights one's determination and ability to turn opportunities into wealth. But the writer of the film, and the author of the novel Oil!, shine light on the emptiness and loneliness of this accumulation.

In the story, The Great Gatsby, the character Jay Gatsby initially comes from a poor background, and he meets a high-status woman who he falls in love with. She becomes one of the reasons for his drive, shaping his desire to escape poverty and become successful.

Uttara Phalguni's ability to outwardly evolve to positions of power and have access to things which are symbolic of pleasure and luxury emphasizes the inward radiance and resilience they possess to overcome challenges.

There is a Solar archetype which possesses a type of independence and a resourcefulness that doesn't translate into dominance, but rather into strictly following one's own path of righteousness — remaining strong willed no matter the people one is surrounded by. And there is a level of generosity and duty to this archetype, as Surya, the Hindu Sun god, embodies Dharma (which is related to duty, righteousness and upholding truth).

Will Turner fully embodies this archetype. Even when he's surrounded by pirates, and learns of his familial background of piracy, he stubbornly sticks to what he believes is right. His character has consistently been a strong moral compass in the franchise, upholding righteousness and truth — pointing to the higher leadership and moral integrity important in Uttara Ashada, as this nakshatra is ruled by the Vishwadevas, who are believed to reward those who follow moral principles and righteous paths.

Being burdened with so much duty, Surya (the Sun god) has to endure distant relationships with his close familial bonds. Will Turner mirrors this exactly, his duty as the Captain of the Flying Dutchman (a powerful evolution of his character as he initially started as a humble blacksmith) binds him to a duty higher than his mortal life. Because of this, he could only see his son and wife every once a decade, much like how Surya cannot be close to his sons and spouses.

A lot of sacrifices that they endure include cutting away human attachments, although this archetype is moreso explored from the hyper-independent lens in Claire Nakti's Sun Dominant Men video, as they voluntarily become absent fathers/deadbeats from their inherent selfishness — very much opposing the ideals of many Sun gods, but a correct negative manifestation nonetheless.

All Sun gods support this solar archetype of justice, leadership and source of nourishment. Helio, in Greek mythology, personifies the Sun, bringing light to the world, also regarded as the god of sight. Surya is a source of vitality and justice. Ran, the Egyptian Sun god, serves as a great protector, encompassing intense sun rays which ward off evil.

Characters which embody this protective, superior force are often played by Ketu and Sun nakshatra natives (and as Ketu nakshatras are seen as dominant forces in nature, we see how Sun nakshatras adapt in isolation, and become dominant as well, using tools and resources to remain resilient). Claire Nakti already explored this with Mula's connection to Hercules, while I connect the nakshatra Uttara Ashada to characters such as Robin Hood & Tarzan. Just as the Sun gods symbolize a life-giving energy which keeps stability in the universe, George of the Jungle and Tarzan are characters who both protect the jungle and its inhabitants from poachers and other humans with bad intentions — their presence alone warding off evil. Both characters serve as guardians to ensure harmony in the jungle.

The elephant tusk (of Uttara Ashada) often signifies, in many cultures, the protection of wildlife, especially from those who want to exploit and dominate nature. It also symbolizes a tool for survival, and it is associated with higher stature and power. This theme of one being the source of life and resources is seen in Robin Hood, a character which has Uttara Ashada influence. Robin Hood is known for safeguarding the well-being of his community, ensuring that their nourishment and dignity is preserved as he distributes wealth from the rich to the poor.

The bridge between Purva Ashada and Uttara Ashada could be represented by the purpose of Sagittarius — the archer aiming straight for victory. Uttara Ashada can be the release of the arrow, the culmination of focus to execute the final victory, as its stars lie close and pointing to the Galactic Center (signifying the bullseye). Uttara Ashada carries the final stage of the archer's triumph, embodying this legacy after the swift release of the arrow.

Much like Tarzan and George, Robin Hood lives in nature. Sun makes one completely self-sufficient, free from societal and religious roots which holds one back from finding their true essence. And the forest or woods represent a place one can explore their true selves and burn away what's false. The dominance of the Sun is seen in these characters' ability to comfortably live in such a place full of hidden threats like wild animals, bandits, or poachers. While for Ketu this theme signifies their huntress and taming power over the wild, for Sun it signifies their radical freedom and adaptability. Living in the forest, Robin Hood represents the figure of the outsider.

In the 2011 film Red Riding Hood, the character Peter is a woodcutter who embodies the archetype of the lone wolf. He is portrayed by Krittika Moon & Uttara Ashada ASC native Shiloh Fernandez. He knows the forest very well, and is often associated with the pure, wild aspects of it. He is very much like George of the Jungle, in that his love interest is also played by a Magha native, which I found this Sun-Ketu association very interesting.

His free nature and rough exterior (representative of his authenticity, making him a misfit in society) is what misleads the viewers into thinking that he is the werewolf that's been killing the townsfolk, but the truly animalistic and consuming force of the story is the character played by Ashwini Moon Billy Burke.

This lone wolf archetype supports their ability in being resourceful within their surroundings, often seen in survival stories in which the Solar native is stranded and is literally isolated from civilization.

Blue Lagoon (1980) is a survival film about two children living on an island after a shipwreck. Krittika Moon Christopher Atkins plays Richard, who becomes deeply attuned to the rhythms of the island, learning how to make use of the natural resources for their survival.

In the film Mad Max: Fury Road, Uttara Phalguni Sun Tom Hardy embodies this lone wolf archetype through the character Max. The story has a hyper-patriarchal system which is built around the hoarding of resources and exploitation of others. Max is completely removed from this society, prioritizing his own survival and maintaining his autonomy above all else.

His detachment makes him representative of someone who can solely rely on their resourcefulness and sharp instincts. This film is great as it stars two Phalguni natives; the character Furiosa being portrayed by likely Purva Phalguni ASC native Charlize Theron. Her warriorship is based around seeking a better future for the feminine, which is marked by love and autonomy.

Furiosa, being Venus and an Ugra nakshatra, represents the fight for liberation and happiness, particularly on the freedom of Immortan Joe’s enslaved women, and her own freedom from such a restrictive society unfit for the feminine. The women's rejection of the patriarchy mirrors Max’s independence outside the system. Initially, he aligns with her merely out of necessity as she and the wives possess resources beneficial for his survival. But he treats them as equals, recognizing their autonomy and agency. Max's collaboration with them emphasizes Uttara Phalguni’s purpose of creating alliances and partnerships for higher purposes, supporting the journey that started from Purva Phalguni nakshatra.

After aiding Furiosa, Max returns to his hyper-independent lifestyle; burning the attachments he formed with the women, and returning to his path that is away from the society.

This ability to survive by oneself, to reshape one's environment, mobilizing resources even in barren circumstances, is a theme for Sun nakshatras — further exaggerating this lone wolf, mysterious archetype (as seen with Max in Mad Max: Fury Road and Peter in Red Riding Hood).

The Sun is the natural giver of light and energy, but it does not receive light in return. Solar natives, often being so self-sufficient, give to others but rarely lean on them for much support. The character Elliot Alderson from Mr. Robot is a hacker, his final achievement towards the end of the series making him a modern day Robin Hood. His mission to expose corruption and empower the oppressed is akin to the Sun being a source of illumination, Krittika especially being known to cut away illusion. He is played by Krittika Sun Rami Malek.

Elliot remains emotionally isolated, as he has noticed that anyone who gets too close to him burns in the end — very similar to how the Sun god, Surya, burns and shines too brightly that his wife, Samjna, runs away from him. Elliot's solitary nature makes him feel extreme loneliness, but he maintains a distance from others, his hyper-independence stemming from his traumatic past and his mistrust of others.

There's a genre of film which explores the cause of such imbalanced independence, much like how Max's reason for burning attachments being due to trauma and previous lose. Christmas Carol movies often have Sun natives casted in them, portraying characters that possess a level of misanthropy and selfishness which drive them into further isolation.

The famous character, Ebenezer Scrooge, is a miserly, bitter, and cold-hearted old man who despises Christmas as it is associated with things of generosity and happiness. His name has literally become synonymous with selfishness, cynicism, greed and a lack of compassion. Ebenezer leads a solitary life, being estranged from family and detached from community due to his cold demeanour and focus on material gain. A Christmas Carol is a tale of Scrooge's redemption through three spirits, who highlight moments of lost joy, compassion, and the choices that led to his current misery and his future lonely funeral.

After his epiphanies, thanks to the spirits who took him on a journey of rediscovery, his redemption is seen when he wakes up on Christmas morning being transformed into a generous, joyful person — helping the community and reconnecting with his family. His renewed sense of compassion from being such a mean, wicked old man could be interpreted as the Sun burning away negativity to rekindle the warmth and generosity that the Scrooge has repossessed within himself. This tale is retold in the 2008 Barbie in a Christmas Carol, in which the character Eden Starling is a glamourous singer who is extremely self-centered and arrogant. She does not believe in Christmas and even refuses her employees from celebrating it.

She is voiced by Uttara Phalguni Sun and Uttara Ashada Moon native Morwenna Banks. Much like the timeless festive tale, three ghosts visit her on Christmas Eve, taking her on a journey through her Past, Present and Future. This leading her to have epiphanies regarding how much of her light had been dimmed and how lonely her future will be. These scrooge characters were once so brilliant and bright, but their inner light became eclipsed by bitterness, lose, or regret, leading to a life devoid of merriness — and being cold and frosty towards others.

Life’s challenges, such as betrayal, lose or disillusionment, leads these solar natives to retreat into isolation and despair. In the film Jingle Jangle, the character Jeronicus is a vibrant inventor, radiating so much brilliance and inspiring those around him.

Though not as cruel as Scrooge was, his arc still mirrors the Christmas Carol tale, in that his light becomes renewed. His young and redeemed older self both embody the festive spirit and joy of Christmas, acting as conduits for the magic, wonder, and generosity for the season.

The transformative journeys of these solar characters also extend to the Grinch, from the 2000 film How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the character portrayed by Uttara Ashada Sun native Jim Carrey. The tale was originally created by Uttara Phalguni Moon native Dr Seuss, first published in 1955.

The Grinch absolutely despises Christmas, much like Scrooge, being deeply consumed by resentment and envy while he isolates himself from the joyous Whoville community. His redemption is seen in him integrating himself into the community with newfound warmth, after experiencing an epiphany through a little girl’s unwavering joy and forgiveness. He returns the gifts he has stolen, realizing that Christmas is about love, not material possessions.

There are solar symbolisms in Christmas traditions, besides the gift-giving and festive feasting. These traditions can be traced back to ancient winter solstice celebrations, which made the symbolic rebirth of the sun, as the daylight hours began to increase after the winter solstice.

In 2018's The Nutcracker and the Four Realms, the character Clara, portrayed by Krittika ASC Mackenzie Foy, experiences a journey which can be symbolic of the winter solstice. The story begins with Clara in a dark emotional space following the death of her mother, this darkness being much like the world descending into the longest night at the winter solstice. But Clara seeks the key to her mother’s gift, which signifies as a source of life, fertility, and illumination that unlocks potential — the gift quite literally being a golden egg. Clara and her companion must retrieve the key and restore harmony to the unstable magical land. This theme of restoration, new hope, and redemption in a lot of these scrooge films, is symbolic to the Sun’s rebirth during the solstice — the return of life.

The practice of illuminating the Christmas tree with lights and ornaments mirrors the Sun's return, symbolizing a brighter future with the coming year. The infectious joy and generous acts during this festive season reflect the gratitude for the life-sustaining force that the Sun is, and the light for new hope it represents, as it promises abundance for the year ahead. The twin deities of Ashwini nakshatra are associated with rejuvenation, new beginnings, and vitality; this resonates with solar qualities, further explaining why Sun feels naturally at home in Ashwini. The Ashwini Kumaras are divine healers who bring restoration and renewal, just as the Sun sustains all living beings with its energy.

The character Robin Hood, much like the Sun, is a symbol of hope for the downtrodden, fighting off the darkness of evil and corruption. He sustains the spirit of his people by redistributing wealth and restoring their faith in justice, consistently being a force of resistance. The Sun serves as a profound symbol of redemption, perfectly embodying the cycle of renewal and the promise of transformation on earth. Its daily rise eliminates darkness, rejuvenating life and reinstituting balance in nature after its lengthy absence. Sun illuminates the paths which signify growth, healing, and change. The very pure symbolism of the Sun makes it an enduring metaphor for hope, forgiveness, and the power to provide. Robin Hood's actions literally restore the imbalance, which was created by corruption and darkness, giving the poor a chance to continue building their lives. Robin Hood stands as a symbol of light against injustice, signifying a timeless reminder that even in the face of darkness, renewal and justice are always within reach. The character Elliot Alderson is also the perfect representation of this, for anyone who has watched Mr. Robot (the only series I'd happily recommend to anyone — it's very dark though).

Merry belated Christmas! 🎄

186 notes · View notes

fratttymatty · 2 months ago

Text

Surfed Up

*All characters are 18 or over*

Adam decided to go to the beach with his girl best friend, Freya, Kylie, Lily, and Michaela. He was a skinny twink-ish gay guy who was dating a boy called Joseph.

They arrived and set up their towels and cooler so that they could get comfortable. Adam pulled out his phone and sent a video snap to his boyfriend.

"Oh my gosh babe we're at the beach, SOO excited to get a tan and relax!" Adam said and sent to his boyfriend. Lily went into the ocean dragging Kylie with her.

A little while later and they both came back and he decided to eat one of the ice lollies in the cooler, not knowing the girls spiked it with a little bit of their dark magic.

As he ate it his muscles started to grow, filling out his skinny build. His hair started to get blonder, decreasing his brain cells. His t-shirt was practically bursting at the sides, and a shark tooth necklace was placed round his neck.

His hair parted itself down the middle and grew out into a flowy middle part, typical of surfer boys. His teeth perfectly straightened and so did his sexuality. He could only think about dating girls and being dominant towards them. He grew a tan which made himself dumber and his voice deepened astronomically. His eyes got bluer and his mouth gained a permanent cocky grin. Finally his personality got more cocky and confident, whilst also being pretty stupid and beachy, as well as his name changing from Adam to Adrian. All he wanted to do was surf.

After his transformation ended, he let out a long "Yoooo!" solidifying his transformation. He pulled out his phone and broke up with Joseph and quickly blocking him.

A surfboard magically appeared near his towel, which he picked up.

"Soooo, which one of you sexy girls is, like, mine ya know huhuhu?!" He said in a very cocky tone. Why would he need to worry about getting a boyfriend when he had 4 sexy girls in front of him that he would probably bang one later.

"Mee!" They all say in unison.

"So that means I'll bang you all later then lol!" He said again super cockily.

He proceeded to grab his surf board and do a surfer boy run to the water to surf his old life away.

(Sorry for being gone for so long whoops!)

#male tf story #male tf #nerd to jock #gay to straight #surfer tf #surfer boy #smart to dumb

277 notes · View notes

pinkslaystation · 4 months ago

Text

His name is Ghost.

Toxic!Ghost and ...not you

You're friend wants you to meet a special someone, and he happens to be closer to you than you think. Literally. Word Count: 4.3k

"Yeah he's great, you should come meet him! Although I dunno, he said he wanted to keep 'us' a secret..."

You look up from your laptop at your best friend Michaela, who has blabbering about her new fling for an hour now. You hum in acknowledgment, but come on ... you're not really listening.

"And he has a sick motorcycle, but he's never let me on it..." She drones on.

"Uh huh."

"And he said I would look prettier with longer hair! Which I think means he finds me already a little pretty...?"

"Wow, I agree..."

"And- YO ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"

You shut your laptop and focus wholly on her. "Mickey I love you, but this is the eighth guy you've loved this year. Whose to say this is gonna work out?"

Mickey sulks into your bed as you lecture her, finally being able to pour out your emotions.

"The last guy, who you planned a wedding for, you ended up dumping 'cos he reminded you of wet ketchup." You complain, moving your hands around over-dramatically. "And the dick before that, couldn't even pronounce your name correctly-"

"To be fair, Mickey is quite a hard name-" She butts in.

"It's a fucking Disney character, for Christs sake, who the fucks Missy? Listen, Mick, I'm happy for you, but you keep on dating douches, and then a month later, you come back crying to me about it. This isn't good for you or for me, you know how busy I am on this thesis."

Mickey's face contorts to a look of displeasure and betrayal, her eyes squinting as if she's trying to restraint the tears that look like they're about to burst in a moment.

She looks away before recollecting her thoughts, "I- I just thought you'd be happy for me-"

"I am Mickey! I really am! But it's like you search up 'world's most toxic asshat' and decide to bone the dude. They never treat you well Mick...come on, even a blind guy can see that..."

Your friend looks down, playing with the hem of her jumper, as if she's carefully considering your words, but you know her enough to know that she doesn't care for her advice. 4 weeks from now, and shes going to be sitting on your bed bawling her eyes out over another prick.

"You really are the worst, you know that?" She mumbles almost inaudibly, before getting up and heading towards the door of your dingy flat. You call out her name, telling her to come back, but give it a month, she'll come back trying over a different person.

It's a dark stormy Friday night, not even a week since your last contact with her, and there's already a brash pattern of knocks bombarding at your door. You look up from your laptop, almost a quarter into your thesis.

I swear if it's my fucking landlord again... You think as you grab a bat to protect yourself with, Mickey always complains about how dangerous your neighbourhood is.

You sigh out of relief when you peer through the peephole, it's Michaela...but she looks hysterical.

"Mickey...hey listen, I didn't mean what I said..." You start when you open the door to her furrowed eyebrows and hiccuped sobs.

"H- He- He keeps ghosting me-" She tries.

"Mickey, what's going on, who-"

She digs her face into the nook of your right shoulder, and your sharp nose detected the slight smell of booze, "Saw him at the grocery store, b-but he ignored me."

"Michaela honey, sit down. Okay what's going on." You bring her to your bed.

And so she tells you all about it. About the new guy that she's been seeing for 2 weeks now, how she met him at a new bar opening in your area, about how he sweet talked her into buying her a few drinks, and how he drove her home like a real gentleman. Your face scrunches when she accidentally spills about the part how rough he pounded her in her bedroom, with both her wrists tightly gripped and bound by one of his large callous hands, as he bent her over her desk.

The skillful way in which he dug his hips into her ass, 'thrusting into her like God told him to' as she put it. You mumble a little blasphemous when you hear that part.

A few more, 'Oh the dick was so good, I can't, I'm obsessed' and 'He fucked me like my future husband would', and she finally stops, her train of tears coming to a halt and she blankly stares at your ceiling, laying on your bed.

You nod dimly, not knowing whether to use the pep talk that you'd used for the last guy.

"What's this guy's name again?" You question her.

She shrugs, without energy, and the idea of injecting with a tranquiliser faintly disappears from your mind.

You look at her with amusement. "What do you mean-" you shrug, mocking her actions, "Does he have an ugly name like the other guy...what was...oh, Lester?"

Mickey snorts, looking up at you, "Lester didn't know how to eat me out, like he did."

"You don't need to bring up every sexual detail, Mick..."

"Sorry virgin..." She huffs.

You cringe at her, "Okay, so what's his name, it can't be as bad as Lester." She doesn't respond, her eyes tearing up again, "Um, okay, Imma say some names, tell me if I get it. James, John, Joseph, Jeremy, Jeremia-"

"Why are they all J names?" She mutters.

"Uh hello, you barged into my flat at 11 P.M. and you're drunk, considering how toxic this guy is, it's gotta be a J name. Jerome, Jude, Javon, Julius, Jason-"

"G." She stops you.

"G? Jason with a G...what the...Gason? Yeah, girl, if his name was that ugly, I'd be crying just as hard at you-"

"NO UH." She shouts so loudly, dragging her words, that even the gust of wind stops in fright. "His name starts with G...I think it does at least. He wouldn't tell me his real name...just a nickname."

You nod, as if in agreement, but you stop yourself because you've never been in a similar situation. As much as you love Michaela, you despise almost everything she does.

Like how in 2nd year of university, she missed an exam just so she could go on a date with a guy she was seeing. And she wonders why she had to retake that module over the summer.

There was also the time at your 20th birthday dinner, where she uninvitingly decided to bring her fling for the month, and no, you couldn't the food given the amount of time they decided to share saliva right in front of you.

"Wow Mick, your standards be dropping like this economy." You kid, although some part of you really questions how much truth lied behind that, "So, hit me. Who's this guy you've been seeing. Tell me about him."

"You for real?" She smiles sweetly at you, and for a second, every bone of hate towards her actions wash away. At the end of the day, she still is your best friend, and you should support her decision no matter what. That's what friends do, no?

"Yeah. I'm sorry. What's his name...or nickname? What do you call him?" You hold her hands, rubbing above her thumbs.

She sniffs a bit, but her smile doesn't falter, and her cheek blushes at the mere thought of him.

"His name is Ghost."

It's official. This was the worst guy Mickey has dated.

You've made a list of all people she's been with, ranking them with how well they'd treated her.

Okay so, Derek was a pass, he cheated on her with the Philosophy professor...literally worst degree ever. What kinda dumb career can you even go into with that.

Then there's Jonah, reaaaal bad boy, but he screamed like a girl and was way too deep into feminism. Pass, how do you manage to mansplain feminism??

Marc, aspiring footballer. You know what, smash, he was fine, I'll give her that. But then he left to play for Spain and never texted back... But he had dimples, so I'd forgive him.

Oh how did I forget Oliver. Auditioned to be a k-pop idol but lied about being Korean the entire time...pass for sure.

GAAH! There all so trash!

And yet there's another member on this list. Nameless, faceless 'Ghost'.

"What does he look like?" You begin your interrogation.

"Dunno." Mickey shrugs.

"How old is he?"

"Dunno."

"...Career?"

"Dunno."

"Dunno as in you don't know, or dunno as in this freak's unemployed?" You rub your temples in frustration.

Mickey sighs seeing how annoyed you are, she begged and dragged you out of your flat into the bright lights and atmosphere of a cafe.

"I think he's loaded, he-"

You sigh, "You said that about the last guy, and that was just because you couldn't see the minus sign on his online banking app."

"Can you not get annoyed at me for a second? This is my potential husband for all I know." She says exasperatingly.

"Ah yes! Your husband is a nameless, faceless, jobless knobhead who you've had sex with once, talked to...ONCE. Remind me why you're so hooked on this guy? Here's a challenge, don't mention his dick."

An elderly lady sitting on the table besides you two, grumbles and leaves after hearing that.

"...Can I have a sip of your frappe?"

"Oh would you look at that! Princess Mickey DOES know how to ask a question! You couldn't just, I don't know....ASK for his name? Don't act like this was the hardest thing you've done, remember when you considered proposing TO A MAN-"

"The only hard thing about Ghost...was his penis."

The cafe goes silent when she blurts that out.

You sigh for what felt like the 100th time that hour, and you lean in to whisper to Mickey, "Mick, it's been just over a week since you've last seen him- whose to say you'll see him again?"

She rests her head in her hands, clenching her eyes shut at the thought. "I thought I'd run into him again, I don't know...Am I stupid for wanting him so bad?"

Yes, yes you are. You want to say. But you bite your tongue.

"nOoOoO, oF cOuRsE nOt, gah, why'd you say tha- yes. Yes, you are." So much for trying, "You don't even remember what he looks like, are you sure we're not stuck looking for a character out of one of your sex dreams?"

Mickey leans in so close to you, that you can smell the coffee breath.

"I know I was drunk, but I swear, I woke up and there was hickeys all over my neck-"

"But you said he was wearing a mask-" You're interrupting her and you can tell it irritates her, with her eyebrow twitching.

"Yes, but I don't remember-"

"What colour was the mask?"

"Uh, black."

"Was it a surgical mask or a balaclava?"

"Um, a baklava."

"Bitch, that's a pastry dish."

"I CAN'T! I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!" Mickey screams, standing up so abruptly, everyone in the cafe stops and turns.

You gasp, purposely loud so everyone can hear, "Are you breaking up with me...because I'm homeless?" All of the cafe goers murmur to each other at the scene in front of them.

"We were at your flat an hour ago, you fool- come on we're going." Mickey hisses, dragging you out the cafe, uncomfortably smiling at all the people that looked at you with sympathy, "No, don't feel bad, apparently a thesis is more to important than my future husband."

The walk home was pleasant, with Mickey hooking her arms around of yours, onlookers may have assumed that you two were a couple. But overall, it was nice being in her presence without the mention of any men.

"Hey look, the room next to yours is vacant. Maybe I should move in!" Mickey points out, when both of you have made it down the stairs of your building.

"I don't want you that often, jeez." You joke.

And for a while, your days do seem to be getting better.

It's been a month since your little cafe date, and you're still stuck at home grovelling through your tedious thesis.

The good news is, you're about 3 quarters in, the bad news is, your new neighbour has no apparent spatial awareness, having blasted his rock music through the floor. Unlucky for you, there's only 3 apartments on the floor of your building: you, Mr Feldman (who you're sure is deaf considering he hasn't made any complaint from the noise) and you're new neighbour, whom you've never met but already hate.

"TURN DOWN YOUR MUSIC DUMBASS." You bang on the door of your neighbour.

Yet no one opens the door and apologises.

In the evening, the noises get worse. Instead of rock, it's a combination of Weeknd songs and the loud female moans and bed shaking next door. Once you'd heard voices that had belonged to 2 women, so you deduced that you lived next to a sex-crazed lesbian.

"Mr Feldman, how are you okay with it?!" You complain. You've had enough of the noise, especially the headboard banging since it seems your neighbours bedroom is just a wall away from yours.

"Okay with what, sweetheart?" The elderly gentleman croaks out, standing at his doorstep.

"The noise! You don't hear the loud ass music?" You groan, having being repeating yourself for a 2nd time.

"Yes, the music is ass, but it isn't loud." Mr Feldman says, his finger tapping at his chin, comically pondering with his jurassic-age brain.

You roll your eyes, walking away and towards your own room, "How- I feel forgetting how old you truly are...."

"I heard that."

"I really doubt you did." You shut the door on him.

This is a real issue, not like the ones Mickey has with men, you can't focus on your thesis, this could seriously jeopardise your education.

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: have u talked to ur landlord

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: duh i unleashed my inner karen, but he isnt doing anything cos this dick offered to pay almost double the rent for his flat

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: damn he loaded

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: yet he cant afford earphones apparently

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: why dont u get him some

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: wat

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: as a joke

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: hm thats funny mickey

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: thanks who am i talking to again

So you did just that, you placed a pair of pink wired earphones in his mailbox... which happened to be right next to yours. And you waited.

And waited.

And a week later, and no response.

Your neighbour definitely doesn't know that he has a mailbox does he? A week since you're little prank, and yet you can still hear the music through the walls so loud, you think you've developed tinnitus. The throbbing in your ears is so painful, sometimes you feel phantom drips of blood running down your ear.

"Asshole doesn't even turn down the music. Come on, play some Beyonce at least."

Mickey snickers, she's on your bed texting other people.

"You're not even listening, are you?" You throw a pillow at her playfully to get her attention.

"Babe, it's 1 in the afternoon and I can't hear any music now, let's not start the day like this. Say, there's a lil get together in that bar down the road, you there?" She says, but you're not even sure she's talking to you as she hadn't looked up to you since saying that.

You crack your neck from exhaustion, "Nah I'll pass, need to finish a draft of my thesis and sen-"

"Blah blah blah, all I hear are excuses, thesis this thesis that." She rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, well you would have failed high school and university if not for me. So you paying with cash or card?" You boast.

Mickey gets up, dusting herself, "Listen I gotta dash, but I better see you there- it starts at 11."

"Woah, wait, which bar, who's going, what's the dress code- Okay you're gone."

And for a first time in a while, you're stuck in your room alone, without the loud obnoxious music and without anyone constantly whining at you. Peace and silence-

Hold on, what's that?

You press your ear against your bedroom wall, which is funny considering you usually complain about the noise. It's not music, it's more sultry and sexual. Deep and gruff moans escaping someone, and this time it's actually enjoyable to listen to. Nothing like those pornstar like squeals you were used to, no. This was more raw.

The way his voice broke at certain points combined with the lazy irregular slick noises, which you imagined to be his dick slipping through his tight, cocooned fist.

"Fuck, mhm."

That voice.

If this was the voice of your neighbour, you would have never complained about the commotion. Was this why Mr Feldman has no issue with the noise? Was he blessed with the intimidating whimpers next door?

You press further, ignoring the growing wetness pooling at your underwear. You could tell he started thrusting faster, his voice increasing in volume just a little bit.

You could tell he's close.

But some part of you wanted to deny him of this pleasure.

So instead of touching yourself with your neighbour, you're standing right in front of his door, banging against the door frame with all the might you can muster, you fear you might break it down.

The door opens.

And you're face to face with your neighbour.

And a minute the warmth between your legs actually makes sense. Because you're neighbour isn't a sex crazed lesbian...you're neighbour is a-

"Sex God,"

"Excuse me?" His voice is deeper when he's talking.

"... I said, oh God. Can you keep the music down?" You reroute your words, drinking in the appearance of this beast in front of you.

He's tall, maybe a few inches taller than 6 foot, with short dusty blonde hair, and a prominent scar running through his thin but well moisturised lips. And his jawline, wow, the Gods above must have spent eons perfecting his jaw structure-

"'m sorry. But uh, hey thanks for the earphones." He pulls out one of the hot pink earbud from his ear.

You blush, he had seen his gift, "Uh huh, how'd you know it's from me?"

"Y' think old man Feldman's gonna buy a bloke hello kitty earphones?" He kids.

"Maybe, it's 2024. Live and let live. Don't be shocked if you see Feldman walking around in a skirt." And you're surprised he laughs your joke, admiring the crease lines by his mouth when he smiles, almost forgetting that you had an imagine in your head that he was the worst possible neighbour alive...

"Cute." He comments, looking down at you.

"Me...? Or are you visualising Feldman....." You drag your words, until he laughs again, leaning onto his door frame and just then you understand why Mickey would chase guys the way she does.

"No, please, he's not my type. I lean towards um...cute, short neighbours."

"You're literally just describing Feldman, dude,"

"That's on me," he smiles widely at you, "If I had known it was you banging on my door, I'd 'ave opened it a while back." He flirts.

You blink at him, no ones ever flirted with you. What would Mickey do? No, she'd just snog him this very moment. I mean, what's stopping you?

"If I'd known you were my neighbour, I'd be banging you a while back. Wait."

There's a pause in the conversation and you're too scared to correct yourself. "I-"

But he cuts you off, letting out the loudest laughs at that you'd ever heard, almost as if he was cursed not to laugh and it had finally been broken. The type where he hand gently grabs your shoulder and you could almost feel the vibrations from his broad chest.

What a sight.

"You know what I meant." You giggle, wait, when did you start giggling?

His laugh ends in a fit of small coughs, "Didn't catch your name, dove."

You introduce yourself, opting not to sticking your hand out like you're in a job interview.

But he does it for you, placing one large callous hand in front of you, for you to shake.

"Simon." He says as he kisses the back of your hand.

You thought when you met Simon, that you two had bonded, like he was about to ask you out bonded, but alas you were wrong.

You laid in bed the rest of the day, intending to complete a draft for your thesis, yet instead you found yourself on Sims creating a family for you and your beloved Simon. And a short nap later, you wait up to over 20 notifications from your friend.

4 missed calls from ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: yoooo wru??? its 11:30

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: HOEEEE WAKE UP

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: fuck ur thesis come hereee im drunk

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: BABE THE GHOST GUY IS HERE NO JOKE

5 missed calls from ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: you better be dead

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: oml he saw me

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: black baklava btw

2 missed calls from ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: hehehehe im going back to his place

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: if i die yk where im at yh

Oh shit. It's past midnight, you try calling Mickey but her phone goes straight to voicemail, curse her and her DND.

You start looking for your keys, there's no way you're attending the party, you're just going to pick her up from whomever's place she's at and take her home.

"Mhm, doll, jus' like that."

You pause in your step. Mickey's safe right? A quick listen wont hurt anyone.

"'lil deeper pretty girl, yeah, like that."

Some part of you wishes it was porn Simon was watching, and that God was playing a cruel joke on you, introducing you to the prettiest guy you've seen, and now suddenly you're stuck hearing him fuck someone else? Yeah, you've heard it before but...this time it made you feel uneasy.

This time you knew who was behind the voice, you knew who was moaning. And forgive me, but you thought you had a connection, no? That talk earlier today...did it mean nothing?

And when did he suddenly become so vocal? What was so special about this girl than the others?

You stand still, with your ear pressed so tightly against the wall, you've probably left a mark against it. And his moans never stop.

And hers start. For a second you feel like you recognise the female voice, but through the slurs and hand-covered whimpers (you presume), you can't figure out if it was familiar to you or not.

You flinch when the head boards banging, and you feel yourself throwing every romantic thought you've had of this man when you hear his degrading tone towards her.

"C’mon, make yourself cum on my cock, dove."

You gulp hearing him use the nickname he gave you on someone else.

30 minutes of torture.

You stood against that wall, with your ear so firmly pressed, someone might have thought it was glued on. The only sounds you were focused on was his whimpers and you caught the way his voice broke when he spoke, and your infrequent breathes.

When the noises stopped, you stepped back in embarrassment. You felt so shameful practically peering into a man's sex life. How disgusting are you truly?

You reach into your pockets, feeling for your keys and your phone, suddenly remembering Mickey's whereabouts.

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: just woke up

You lied. You couldn't ever tell someone of today.

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: omw wru

You open your door, feeling the abrupt urge to surround yourself within nature after doing something so distasteful. And if it couldn't get any worse...

Simon's door opens.

One part of you wants to turn and see which lucky girl had the opportunity to getting plowed by him, and yet the other part knew you'd immediately crumble at the thought of it not being you.

"Oh my god! That's why this place looks so familiar....!"

You widen your eyes, your breathe getting caught once again.

"Mickey...?" You whisper, not even turning your head to look at the horror next door.

"Yes, it's me silly. Come here, want you to meet someon- oh can't walk, fuck." She giggles, barely conscious.

You turn your head towards her slowly, like a movie character.

It's Mickey in the flesh, wearing jeans and a black tube top that had been worn so sloppily, you were almost scared you were going to get flashed. She smiles innocently at you were half lidded eyes.

"Oh...I-"

A figure walks out, dressed in a blue-gray 3/4 sweater and a hood, and you swear you feel yourself sinking into the ground. Could this get any worse.

And your wishes were answered. Mickey turns back to press a vulgar, almost cringe-worthy kiss against his clothed jaw, and you shift your eyes down... to see his dark jeans... and the zip undone. You turn your head around, almost debating to ignore the couple and lock yourself into your bedroom until death overcomes you. Your darting eyes rest on his face, begging for him to say something to remove the awkwardness.

Yet, something about Simon was different...

His eyes bore deeply into your soul as if trying to read you, his once kind face contorted into a look of pure disgust, like he were looking into the eyes of a killer. This didn't look like the man you talked to this morning...

His eyes drag down over your crooked frame, a raised eyebrow twitching almost in mock sympathy. To make it worse, he had his arms crossed so tightly around him, he looked like the human epitome of a 'side eye'.

You pray to God it's the effects of alcohol. Or maybe you're the drunk one! Maybe you're sleeping and this is all just a dream, or nightmare...

You put your hands on the doorknob, wanting to resign yourself from this situation when your eyes drift back to Mickey, who seems to have taken the liberty of speaking.

"I want you meet the guy I was talking to you about. His name is Ghost."

First of all, thank you all for 6200 likes and 300 followers?!!!! THE BEST <3 Also, my writing schedule is so poor, I'll try to update as much as possible!! tags -> @lilliumrorum , @kxtz3 , @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12 , @restrictionsapply-blog , @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @chessecakelover , @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyysho3es, @delta98-idk , @spankmydepression , @yourfavbabigirl

#call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare #ghost #ghost angst #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon angst #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost smut

237 notes · View notes

thekatebridgerton · 7 months ago

Note

HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT THEY DID TO MICHAEL STIRLING?!

I haven't seen part 2 yet but I definitely saw the spoilers on my dashboard. And for all that its worth, I'm really sad about it right now.

I've seen a lot of posts invalidating the feelings of book fans by saying things along the lines of 'if you don't like Michaela Stirling you're ...you guessed it a #BadPerson' and I'm trying to process which person's feelings matter and don't matter in a world where those same people preach acceptance and support. I want my feelings to matter, I want to be allowed to be sad about the fact that this character I was looking forward to seeing is no longer going to be on screen. But the truth is a lot of people keep saying that my sadness and sorrow is invalid shaming people who feel like I do with all the self righteousness of a pastor in church. because apparently not liking the genderbeding of Michael Stirling makes me a #RaginghaterOfMinorities.

And lets be clear, everyone can say what they want, but book Michael Stirling is not going to be on screen, his story was too emeshed with the gender roles of the era, for a genderbent take to not strip and reorder the character's motivations and major plot lines in order to make him a woman. Michaela Stirling is for all intents and purposes a new and improved character. More power to her.

Still that doesn't take away the fact that I am sad and disappointed that Michael Stirling won't be on screen and that it will take me time to process this in a healthy way.

So in case nobody has said this to the crowd who is heartbroken over the genderbeding of Michael Stirling, those who feels upset and disappointed over the loss of a beloved character and don't feel brave enough to express it. Let me be the first to tell you that your feelings are valid, disliking the change in direction that was taken for a fictional character doesn't make you racist or homophobic or anti feminist or any other of those ' you are a raging hater of minorities ' epithets. ( Some of you may even be the kindest people I've met on the site) In my opinion, those feelings just make you human, and you should be allowed to feel it and process the loss in a healthy way without being told youre selfish and a bad person.

Does being heartbroken over this give anyone the right to go and harass actors like Masali Baduza for doing a job they were hired and paid to do? No. Does it give anyone the right to go send nasty harassment anons to people who actually liked the change? Also no. In fact it doesn't give the right to people who have a different opinion to harass you either. Boundaries are a two way street. Don't harass others and don't consent to receiving harassment is a rule we should all follow

But it does give you the right to feel your emotions, process them, accept the change and move on with a healthy mindset.

Its going to take me a while to get there myself, but that's what I'm doing.

And that's the tea

#bridgerton #michael stirling #bridgerton season 3 #it's okay to disagree #fandom is a safe place

193 notes · View notes

diamonds-of-the-first-water · 7 months ago

Text

I Have Evolving Thoughts on Fran’s Sexuality

(god hannah dodd is so pretty)

First of all let’s thank GOD francesca is the queer sister and not…that other one.

Anyways upon my initial viewing of part 2 I definitely read Fran as bisexual and if you continue to read her as such I think that’s fine but my mind has changed on the matter.

I believe that Fran is actually a lesbian suffering from comphet.

The reason this actually started to seem likely to me is because of her wedding scene with John. The whole season I thought they seemed so taken with one another and I enjoyed their quiet dynamic. They were more than comfortable sitting in silence with one another and seemed to grow closer in that way.

I like many others assumed this meant their love was romantic, but that kiss

Would a woman who is attracted to men make this face after kissing the man she loves? I don’t think so. Some people seem to think it’s because she’s shy but it doesn’t seem like she’s even thinking about her family here. It seems like she has retreated into her own thoughts. It seems like she was disappointed. And after spending the whole season feeling nothing for any of the men she meets why wouldn’t she be. She met a man she loved and she kissed him and she didn’t feel those sparks.

Now Fran is also autistic coded so this initially affected the way I viewed her relationships as well, but all of that changes when you take into account Michaela.

Francesca immediately starts to stutter and is flustered when she sees Michaela. We have never seen Fran act this way with a man, even her husband. It wasn’t for no reason that Violet describes how she felt the first time she fell in love with Edmund and then almost immediately after Fran reacts the same way to Michaela. The butterflies, not being able to string a sentence together. This was foreshadowing.

Some people were upset because they said it erased everything Fran said about having a quiet love and that is somewhat true, but I disagree with people saying that it erases slowly built love when Polin’s whole story is about love not striking you like a bolt of lightning.

None of this is to say she can’t love John, I believe she does I just feel it is platonic, and the loss of John would hit hard even if he was her best friend. John is one of the great loves of her life but who is to say that love is romantic? Friendships are the foundation of our lives and they are equally as important as any romantic relationship. Fran met someone who understands her and is like her, that doesn’t mean she has to have romantic attraction for him.

Some of this is affected by personal bias as I am a late-blooming lesbian, but holy shit the way I relate to Fran wanting to get married just because it would mean she wouldn’t have to pursue any other relationships with men and the way she was willing to accept whoever the Queen deemed fit because she didn’t have any criteria except “is kind to me”. Fran does not seem to be searching for love as she has not felt it before. The closest she comes is with John because the two of them are so similar and I believe she thought that because she liked him so much that she must be in love with him which is just so…lesbian coded I don’t know how to explain it.

This isn’t to say bisexuality isn’t real or is “just a phase”. Ew. Gross. No. This is just the way I am interpreting the character with the information we have now. If it comes out definitely that she is bisexual then I will accept that, sapphic rep is so needed.

All in all they look so good and I can’t wait to see these queers kiss and have a romance.

Also I think that Michaela still could have fallen first. Fran just realized she was a dyke at that exact moment and her brain stopped working which is valid. But did you see the way Michaela looked at her. I KNOW A LESBIAN FALLING IN LOVE WHEN I SEE ONE.

#bridgerton #bridgerton season three #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton s3 #francesca bridgerton #michaela stirling #michael stirling #john stirling #franchael #franchaela #francesca kilmartin #comphet #lesbian headcanon #when he was wicked #when she was wicked

198 notes · View notes

37sommz · 2 months ago

Text

❁ : reality check . . .

✼. masterlist — taglist — request. ✼. genre: angst angst angst. ✼. wc: 6k.

any signs of an improved positioning at mclaren are dashed to the wind during the second race of the season. the bright jeddah lights only further expose the cracks in the mclaren livery.

✼. warnings: language, mclaren team orders.

✼. notes: the start of a painful arc for michaela lmao, just know it gets significantly worse for her at mclaren <3

000.⠀⠀MARCH 25, 2022 › Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

Michaela tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she approached the final corner of the third practice session at the 2022 Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. The sun was a fiery ball in the cloudless sky, beating down on the asphalt and making the track sizzle. Sweat beaded on her forehead, but she remained focused, her eyes darting between the tachometer and the road ahead. The roar of the engine filled her ears, a familiar sound she had grown to crave.

As the session ended, she pulled into the pit lane, the tires screeching against the concrete. Her chief engineer, Rob, greeted her with a nod as she climbed out of the cockpit. His expression was a mix of satisfaction and concern. "Good job, Mick," he said, handing her a towel. "You're looking strong out there, but we need to find some more pace. The Bulls are looking really sharp today."

Michaela took the towel and wiped her face, her heart still racing from the adrenaline. "I know," she replied. "I'll push harder in qualifying."

000.⠀⠀MARCH 26, 2022 › Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

Qualifying the next day was a nail-biter. The track cooled down as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the circuit. The final moments approached, and she found herself in a fierce battle lodged in the timings between Ferrari and Alpine. As the checkered flag loomed closer, she pulled out an amazing lap, one that surprised even herself. Her McLaren shot up to second on the grid, just behind Sergio Perez's Red Bull. The team erupted in cheers as she pumped her fist in the air.

At the press conference, the atmosphere was charged. Journalists threw questions at the top three qualifiers: Sergio, Michaela, and Charles. Her heart raced as she fielded questions about tire strategy and her thoughts on the upcoming race. Then, the moment came. A journalist she didn't recognize leaned into the microphone and asked, "Michaela, can you tell us about your sister Courtney's relationship with Daniel Ricciardo? How does that affect your dynamic in the paddock?"

Courtney had accompanied Daniel to Jeddah for the first time since they began their relationship last year. Her presence alone had not been enough to catch the attention of the media and their drama-seeking journalists. Instead, it was the blue Alpine cap that rested upon her head that drew their attention. The blue was unmistakably different from Michaela's orange McLaren hats.

Michaela felt the temperature in the room shift as the journalist's question hung in the air. She took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I'd prefer to keep my focus on the race and my own performance," she said firmly. "Courtney's personal life is exactly that—personal. It doesn't affect my driving, and it shouldn't be a topic here." The journalist looked taken aback, but she held her ground, refusing to indulge in the gossip. "Let's focus on the race, shall we?"

The room went quiet, and she felt the tension thicken. The journalist struggled to find his words as Michaela continued to stare him down from her place on the media couch.

After the press conference, her phone buzzed with messages from Daniel and Courtney. "Thanks for that," Daniel's text read. "Could've gone sideways real quick." Courtney's message was similar, expressing her gratitude for the protection. Despite the annoyance, a small smile played on her lips. It was moments like these that reminded her of the highlights of her career.

That night, as she lay in her hotel room, she heard a soft knock on the door. To her surprise, it was Jenson, his grin as wide as when he won his first championship. They had agreed to keep their relationship under wraps to avoid unnecessary distractions, but seeing him here made her heart skip a beat. "Couldn't stay away, huh, JB?" she teased, letting him in.

"I had to wish you luck in person," he said, his eyes twinkling. He leaned in for a kiss, and she melted into his embrace, feeling his warmth and the comfort of his presence. The weight of the race weekend lifted off her shoulders for a brief moment in his arms. "I'm feeling another win in the air," he murmured conspiratorially. Michaela, ever superstitious, could only scoff shyly at his words, choosing instead to draw his lips back to hers.

"I won't be able to stay for long," Jenson hummed into her hair. "Don't want to distract you from tomorrow."

Michaela pulled away with a nod, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "As if you could," she teased, taking in his disheveled, jetlagged appearance. Despite their efforts to keep their relationship a secret, they couldn't resist the occasional stolen moment together. "But, I guess you're right. I'm going to be fighting for my life between Checo and Charles."

Jenson's eyes searched hers, a hint of worry flickering. "You've got this," he said with a firm nod. "Just remember, it's not just you out there. You've got a whole team backing you, and they want to see you on that top step more than anyone else."

"More than you?" She snicked as her fingers danced over the five-o-clock shadow dusting his jaw and spilling over onto his cheeks.

"Well, almost." His laugh was soft, a gentle rumble in his chest. "But I'll be watching from the Sky Box, cheering louder than anyone."

Michaela's eyes searched his, and she knew he meant it. His support had been unwavering, even if the world wasn't ready for their relationship to be in the spotlight. "Thank you, babe."

000.⠀⠀MARCH 27, 2022 › Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

The morning of the race dawned hot and dry, the air thick with anticipation. As she suited up in the garage, the smell of the city's surroundings filled her nostrils, a scent that she had come to associate with victory. The engineers made their final checks, and she took her place in the cockpit, feeling the car come alive around her.

The start of the race was clean, and she slotted into second place behind Sergio with ease. For the first stint, she held her position, her tires gripping the track like a vice. Her heart raced as the laps ticked by, the sound of the cars a harmony in her ears. But as the race progressed, the heat began to take its toll. The tire degradation was higher than expected, and she felt the car slipping away from her, especially under braking.

When Nicolas Latifi crashed and the safety car was deployed, her engineers told her to stay out on track. The pit wall was insistent, saying they were playing the long game. Her heart sank as she watched her rivals peel into the pit lane.

With a frustrated hiss, she questioned the decision of her team's strategy, "My tires are shot, and I'm losing time!"

Rob, her engineer, remained calm over the radio, "Mick, hold your position. We need to maximize your stint and we’ll pit you at the exact right time." When he was met with silence from the Australian, he added additional context. "If we play this right, you can win this race."

But as the safety car pulled away and the green lights signaled the restart, the truth of her situation hit her like a sledgehammer. The Mercedes of George Russell in front of her streaked away, the gap between them widening like a chasm with every passing corner. Her tires screamed in protest, the grip she once had now a distant memory. Each time she tried to push, the car would wobble, threatening to take her out of the race entirely.

Her engineer's voice grew more urgent in her ear. "Michaela, keep pushing! You're outside the pit window. Just a few more laps."

Michaela gritted her teeth, the car's handling deteriorating with every passing second. "I can't keep up like this," she replied through gritted teeth. "If we don't pit, I'll crash."

Her voice grew more desperate as she felt her grip on the race slipping away. "Tires are gone, Rob! I need to pit now."

The team's response was a tense silence, then, "Pit now, Mick. In and out. We're going for a fresh set of hards." Michaela nearly rolled her eyes at the defeat in Rob's voice, the weight of her pleas settling in as she rounded the last few corners before the pit entry.

In a flash of orange, she peeled into the pit lane, the crew springing into action around her. The tires were slapped onto her car with practiced accuracy, the milliseconds ticking by like hours. Her heart sank further as she saw her position drop down the order. When she re-joined the race, she had fallen to eighth. Only six laps remained, and she was nowhere near the podium she had been fighting for.

Her engineer's voice crackled over the radio. "Mick, we're issuing team orders. You're to overtake Esteban but keep behind Lando. You're the better defender. We need to protect our position."

Michaela's jaw clenched around the mouthpiece. "But I can pass Lando and chase Russell for 4th!"

"Negative," Rob responded firmly. "Prioritize passing Esteban and hold your position behind Lando."

Michaela's knuckles tightened further around the steering wheel. The injustice of the situation burned in her chest, but she knew arguing with the team was futile. With a deep breath, she begrudgingly accepted the order and focused back on the track. Esteban was in her sights, and she had to make a move. She waited for the right moment, then pounced, her car screaming as it flew past the Alpine.

Her eyes flicked to her mirrors, expecting to see Ocon falling behind. But instead, she saw his navy blue car approaching with alarming speed.

"What the hell?" she muttered under her breath. She knew the Alpines were fast in Jeddah, but she didn't anticipate Esteban to be so aggressive. "Keep it clean, Ocon," she warned, her voice tight as she muttered the words under her breath. Her warning went unheard. Esteban's car was all over hers, pushing her to the edge of the track. Her tires screeched as she fought to keep control, the heat from the asphalt rising like waves around her.

The team's voice crackled in her ear, "Michaela, hold your position." The warning came as if Rob had read her mind. If Esteban were to come even a hair closer to her under the breaking, the nose of his French car would be right under the tail of her McLaren.

Michaela's eyes flicked to her dashboard, the gap between her and Lando steadily closing. Her teeth ground together in frustration. The Englishman was making no effort to increase his pace, even if just to help her out.

"Why am I being held up?" she demanded.

"Michaela," Rob's voice came through, potentially as frustrated as she was. "We need you to hold onto your position," Rob replied, his tone straightforward but strained. "Concentrate on Esteban please."

Michaela bit back an objection, knowing the situation was already tense enough. Instead, she focused on the task at hand. Esteban was relentless, his car a constant presence in her mirrors. The tension grew palpable until she could almost feel the heat of his exhaust.

With four laps to go, she had had enough. "If Esteban lunges at me again, I'm going for it," she announced over the radio, her voice tight with determination. "Lando needs to get out of the way or we're both out of this race."

"Negative, Michaela," Rob's voice was stern. "Stay put."

Michaela's eyes flicked to the dashboard. The gap to Lando was practically nonexistent. Esteban's relentless pressure was getting to her. The Frenchman's impatience grew more apparent with each corner, his car nibbling at hers every chance he got. The tension mounted until it was almost unbearable, almost choking her with impatience.

As they approached the final corner of the 46th lap, Esteban made his move, darting to the inside. But he'd made a mistake. He'd overcooked it, and now he was too close for comfort. In a split second, her instincts took over. She jerked the wheel to the right, cutting him off, and took the corner with the precision of a fighter pilot. The crowd held their breaths as the two cars danced a dangerous dance, their paint almost touching.

"Michaela, what are you doing?" Rob's voice was sharp in her ear.

Her heart racing, she shot back, "Making sure I don't get taken out of this fucking race!" She glanced in her mirrors, expecting to see Esteban's car in a cloud of dust and gravel, but somehow he managed to stay on track. The move had been risky, but it was the only option she had.

The team was furious. "Michaela, that was unprofessional," Rob barked over the radio. "We need you to calm down and bring it home."

At first, she could not comprehend why Rob was so angry with her. The move, though sudden, had kept her out of the barriers of the Jeddah Corniche Circuit. But as she glanced in her left mirror she realized the source of the engineer's anger. Lando's helmet stared back at her as his head whipped back and forth between the back of her car and the front of Esteban's. The three of them were now nose to tail with Michaela out in front, the podium a distant memory.

Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the straight ahead. "Tell Lando I apologize," she murmured into the microphone. But she didn't truly mean it. The fire in her belly had been lit and she wasn't about to let it die out now. "But if he can't keep up, I'm not waiting around."

Her radio crackled with Zak Brown's voice, the McLaren team principal's tone a mix of annoyance and disappointment. "Michaela, please give the position back to Lando."

Michaela clenched her jaw, the taste of a podium now replaced with the bitter taste of defeat. With gritted teeth, she responded, "But I've been faster this entire race."

"It's not about speed right now," Zak said, his voice firm. "It's about the team. We need those points. Do it, Mick."

She gritted her teeth, trying to push aside the anger bubbling inside. The podium was lost, and now she was fighting for scraps. She carried on her race without responding to the team's CEO. She knew there would be hell to pay for her attitude during the race but as the laps remaining counted down, she couldn't help but heed the devil on her shoulder telling her to push it further.

She could hear the frustration in Rob's voice as he relayed her new position to her. "You're in sixth now, Mick. Just keep it clean please." The words stung like a slap.

The remaining laps were a blur of orange and blue. She pushed the McLaren to its limits, feeling the g-forces pressing her into the seat. The tires screeched in protest, but she was relentless. Esteban was now the one under pressure, his car visibly struggling with the wear from their intense battle. With each corner, she felt the gap between herself and Lando growing, but she knew it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for her ego.

As they approached the straight for the final two laps, she could picture the checkered flag in the distance, taunting her. The crowd's roar grew louder, a song of engines and cheers that seemed to fuel her determination. The gap between her and Lando was now stable, but she couldn't help the burning in her chest, the desire to push ahead.

Her thoughts raced as the laps ticked down.

Michaela felt the pressure building in her chest, the taste of failure bitter on her tongue. But she couldn't let it get to her. Not now. She had to push through, had to keep her head in the game. Her eyes flicked to the pit board, the words blurring together as she took in the information. "Fuel level okay, tire degradation stable, no issues." The calmness of the team's voice was in stark contrast to the chaos in her mind.

"Michaela, we will have a conversation after the race," Andreas Seidl's voice was clear, completely devoid of the emotion held in Zak and Rob's voices. Again, she left the message hanging in the air, giving no indication she heard the promise.

Michaela could feel the tension in the air as she took the final corner and crossed the finish line in sixth place. The cheers from the crowd were muffled in her ears as she pulled into the pit lane, her thoughts racing as she killed the engine. She knew she had let her emotions get the better of her, but she couldn't help the feeling of injustice that weighed on her.

As she climbed out of the car, the heat of the day enveloped her in a sticky embrace. The cameras flashed, and the journalists clamored for her attention. She offered them a forced smile, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of the race.

Her team's debrief was short and tense. The engineers avoided eye contact, and she could feel the disapproval radiating from them. "We'll discuss this in Surrey," was all that was said before she was ushered into a quiet corner of the garage.

Zak Brown, her team principal, approached her with a look that could make a seasoned racer quake in their boots. Michaela stood tall against the American, the top of her head a handful of centimeters above his own even without the added height of her loose curls.

"Michaela, in my office, now," he said curtly, his voice cutting through the din of the garage like a knife.

Her heart sank as she followed him, the weight of her McLaren cap feeling heavier than usual. She knew she had crossed a line, but the anger still burned in her chest. They entered the small, air-conditioned space, and the door slammed shut behind them. The coolness of the room was a stark contrast to the heated tension that had built up between her and the team.

"Michaela," Zak began, his voice tight with repressed emotion. "What was that out there?"

Michaela's jaw set as she stared him down. "I was racing. What did you expect?"

Zak's eyes flashed with anger, but he took a deep breath before responding. "I expect a team player, Michaela. Someone who follows orders, not a loose cannon endangering our strategy and our drivers' positions."

Michaela's eyes narrowed. "My tires were gone. The strategy was already ruined when you kept me out under the safety car. I was fighting for what I had left."

"And in doing so, you compromised Lando's race," he fired back. "We had a plan, and you threw it out the window."

Michaela's hands flailed at her sides. "A plan that was flawed from the start!" she retorted. "My tires were shot. You knew that. And yet, you made me stay out, and for what? Sixth place?" She huffed as her arms crossed over her chest. "I was in a podium position before you threw it all away!"

Zak leaned forward, his palms flat on the desk. "You know the politics of this sport, Mick. Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for the greater good. For the team."

Michaela felt the anger bubbling up again, refusing to understand his point. "I'm aware," she said through gritted teeth. "But you don't sacrifice your faster driver to play tag with the others."

Zak's eyes searched hers, trying to read the emotions behind her brown eyes. "You need to learn to trust us, Mick. We're all in this together."

Michaela took a deep breath, the adrenaline of the race still coursing through her veins. "I do trust you," she said, her voice strained. "But I'm not going to be the sacrificial lamb every time the strategy doesn't play out perfectly. You know what I’m capable of doing completely on my own in the car. You keep sacrificing my race knowing that I’ll pull points out of my arse every time."

"This isn't about strategy," Zak's voice was firm. "It's about following orders. You had a direct order to hold position, and you disobeyed."

Michaela felt the heat rising to her cheeks. "I was fighting for a podium," she said, her voice low. "You took that away from me and parked me behind Lando. Meanwhile, Ocon's up my arse for 10 laps." She paused, her eyes boring into Zak's. "What would you have done?"

Zak leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "What I expect from you is to be a professional, to respect the team's decisions, and to bring home the points we need." He paused, his gaze never wavering. "If you can't do that, then maybe McLaren isn't the right place for you."

The words hung in the air, a silent bomb that exploded in her chest. The room felt smaller, the air thicker with each beat of her racing heart. "Is that a threat?" she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Zak's gaze was unwavering. "It's a reality check," he said firmly. "We need drivers who are willing to work as part of the team. If you can't do that, then we'll have to consider other options for next season."

Michaela's eyes narrowed, her mind racing. She knew her value in the sport. Her talent had taken her to the pinnacle of motorsport, and she wasn't about to let a bad strategy call and a poorly-handled team order ruin her career. "Other options?" she repeated, her voice like a coiled spring ready to snap. "Like who? Latifi?" She scoffed with a roll of her eyes.

Zak's expression remained stoic. "Don't push me, Michaela," he warned. "You're not the only one with offers on the table."

Michaela's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and defiance. "Is that right?" she retorted. "Well, maybe it's time we had a real conversation about my ‘offers’."

The room grew tense as the unspoken words hung in the air. She knew her worth and wasn't about to let them push her around. McLaren was not Ferrari and she was two years removed from the conversation that haunted her every moment of every day. The stakes were high, but so was her pride.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she glanced down to see a call from Jenson. She quickly silenced it, knowing she couldn't deal with him right now. The urge to throw something across the room was strong, but she had to keep her cool. Instead, she turned her focus back to the stern face of Zak Brown.

"Look, I know I screwed up," she admitted, her voice tight with tension. "But I had to do something. If you can't see that, then I'm not sure why you keep me here."

Zak's expression didn't soften. "You're here because you're fast, Mick. But speed alone doesn't win championships. You need to learn to work with the team. We're not at the top yet, and to get there you and Lando will need each other."

Michaela took a moment to digest his words. The truth stung, but she knew he wasn't wrong. "Fine," she said, her voice tight. "But you can't expect me to just accept being held back like that. It's not right for either of us."

"We're a team, Mick," Zak's tone had softened slightly. "We win together, we lose together. Sometimes that means making tough calls. But you have to trust that we're making them for the greater good."

Michaela took a deep breath, the fight draining from her. "I get it," she said, though her voice was filled with the weight of her disappointment. "But you have to understand how it feels when you're out there, fighting for something that you know you could have easily had."

Zak's eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of understanding. "We all want the same thing," he said, his voice softer now. "We want to win. But we can't do it alone."

Michaela nodded, the anger subsiding into a dull ache. "I know," she said, her voice a whisper. "But sometimes it feels like I'm fighting Lando's battles and not my own."

Zak leaned back in his chair, his face etched with concern. "You're both important to this team, Mick. We need both of you firing on all cylinders. But you're right, we can't keep playing this game of musical chairs with you two. We'll sit down after the season, review what happened today, and make sure it doesn't happen again."

"After the season?" She whispered, eyes shining in disbelief. With a steadying breath, she chose her next words carefully. "My contract expires in Abu Dhabi. If you can't make up your mind, like I said, I have options."

Zak's gaze sharpened. "Your contract is our top concern. Focus on the races ahead, and we'll talk about priorities before the season’s over." His tone was final, but the flicker of doubt in his eyes was not lost on her.

Michaela nodded, swiping a stray curl from her forehead. "Fine," she said, her voice tight. "But if I'm going to be fighting for the team, I need the team to fight for me."

Zak nodded, his gaze still doubtful. "I understand," he said. "Now go cool off, and we'll talk more after the race weekend."

Michaela turned and left the office, her heart racing as she walked through the garage. The sounds of the team working on the cars echoed around her, but she was in her own world, lost in thought. Her relationship with McLaren had always been complicated, but she had never felt so at odds with them before. She knew her disobedience was a risk, but she couldn't just sit back and watch her chances slip away without a fight.

The paddock was a blur of sponsor banners and team personnel as she made her way back to her motorhome. She needed to be alone, to think. The door clicked shut behind her, and she leaned against it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She felt the weight of the team's disappointment and the fear of what her future might hold.

Her phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Lando.

What the fuck was that???

His anger was palpable through the screen. She rolled her eyes, typing a quick response.

Piss off.

But she didn't hit send. Instead, she tossed the phone on the couch and stalked to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. The cool liquid did little to ease the heat of anger and frustration burning within her. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to center herself. When she opened them again, she saw her reflection in the chrome of the fridge door, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows across her face.

Her thoughts were a tumultuous storm, swirling with the memories of the race, the team's betrayal, and the looming conversation with Jenson she hadn't had the guts to take. She knew he would understand her anger, her need to push back. But she also knew he'd be worried about her, about her being distracted.

Michaela took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Her heart was racing, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She had to call him back, had to explain. She couldn't ignore his messages forever. She picked up the phone and dialed his number, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as the promise of his warm British accent eased her racing mind.

"Hey," she began, her voice softer than she had intended.

"Hey," Jenson's voice was filled with concern. "What happened out there? I watched the whole thing. That podium was right there."

Michaela sighed, leaning against the cool metal of the fridge. "You know how it goes," she said, trying to keep the anger from her voice. "Team orders. Fucked strategy."

"They're not always right, love," Jenson said gently. "But you've got to play the game."

Michaela scoffed. "I know," she said, the frustration clear in her voice. "But when you're out there, and you know you can win, it's hard to hold back."

"I get it," Jenson said, his voice soothing. "But you're smarter than that. You know you can't win them all."

Michaela took a sip of water, the cold liquid barely quenching the venom in her voice. "This one was so close," she said, the anger still raw. "Until they decided to throw it away so I could help Lando out."

"You know it's not personal, Mick," Jenson said, his voice a gentle reminder of the harsh reality of the sport. "It's just business."

Michaela nodded, though he couldn't see her. "Yeah, I know," she replied, her voice tight. "But it feels personal when I'm the one left holding all the blame."

"They're just trying to manage the situation, love," Jenson's voice was calm and rational, a learned approach to the storm of emotions swirling within her. "You know how it is. Sometimes you have to make the tough calls."

Michaela's grip on the water bottle tightened. "But why me?" she demanded, the frustration bubbling over. "Why am I always the one who has to make the sacrifice?"

"Because you're the strongest, Michaela," Jenson's voice was firm. "You can handle it. You're the one who can bring home the points they need."

Michaela let out a frustrated sigh, her grip on the water bottle loosening slightly. "It just doesn't feel fair," she murmured.

"I know," Jenson said sympathetically. "But you're in a tough position. You're fighting for yourself and for the team. Sometimes those goals don't align."

Michaela nodded, her reflection in the fridge door looking tired and defeated. "I just don't know if I can keep doing this," she whispered. "The season's barely started and I'm already fighting the team just to do the things I know I can."

Jenson's voice grew more serious. "You're not alone in this, Mick. You've got me, you've got Guido, and you've got options. Don't let them push you around."

Michaela felt a glimmer of hope in the pit of her stomach. Options. She had options. And she wasn't going to let McLaren bully her into second place behind Lando. She took a deep breath, feeling the coolness of the motorhome's air-conditioning on her flushed cheeks. "I know," she said, her voice stronger. "I'll talk to Guido, and see what he thinks."

Guido was her loyal manager, a shrewd Italian with a keen sense of Formula 1 politics. He'd been her rock since the early days, navigating her through the treacherous waters of contract negotiations and political games. If anyone could help her figure this out, it was him.

Michaela took a moment to compose herself before calling him. "Guido," she began, her voice a mix of frustration and determination. "We need to talk."

Guido's response was measured. "Hello to you too, Michaela."

"You watched the race," she stated, not bothering with pleasantries. "Where do I go from here?"

Guido's sigh was audible over the line. "You've got two choices, cara. You either suck it up and deal with it, or you start looking elsewhere."

Michaela's eyes narrowed as she paced the small space of the motorhome. "Looking elsewhere isn't exactly ideal, is it?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"Ideal is relative in this business," Guido said, his tone unwavering. "But if you're not happy, you can't perform. And if you're not performing, the team won't be happy either. It's a delicate balance."

Michaela stopped pacing, her eyes focused on a point in the middle of the floor. "I know," she said, her voice tight. "But what do I do now?"

Guido was silent for a moment, the crackle of the line the only sound between them. "You've got a good relationship with the team," he said finally. "But you can't let them push you around like this. You need to sit down with Zak, with the team, and lay out your expectations. Make it clear that you're here to win, not just to make up the numbers."

Michaela nodded, her mind racing. "And if they don't listen?" She asked, the fire of defiance burning in her eyes.

Guido's response was swift and firm. "Then we explore those other options," he said. "But for now, focus on the next race. Show them that you're not just defiant to be defiant. Prove your worth, and the power will shift back in your favor."

Michaela nodded, the gravity of the situation settling in her bones. "Alright," she said, her voice a mix of frustration and resolve. "I'll talk to them, lay it out. But if it doesn't change, then we're looking elsewhere."

Guido's response was swift and firm. "Good," he said. "I'm tired of the dreadful UK weather, to be honest, this might be a good change for us." He chuckled with an air of mischief to his words.

Michaela managed a small smile. "Don't get ahead of yourself," she cautioned, though the thought of a change was tempting. "First, I need to have that talk with Zak. And then we'll see where it goes from there."

Guido's chuckle turned serious. "Just remember, you're the asset here, not them. Don't let them forget it."

Michaela took another deep breath, feeling a surge of determination. "I won't," she promised, ending the call. She took a moment to collect herself before walking out of the motorhome, ready to face the media and the team with a newfound sense of resolve.

The press pen was a minefield of questions about her decision to ignore team orders and the state of her relationship with Lando. She navigated them with a calmness she didn't feel, keeping her answers short and focused on the race ahead. When asked about her future with McLaren, she replied with a polished smile, "I'm committed to giving my all to the team this season. After that, we'll see what the future holds."

Once the press conference concluded, she sought refuge in the team's garage, surrounded by the familiar hum of her car being dissected by engineers. Rob, her trusted engineer, met her with a furrowed brow. "What's the damage?" she asked, referring not just to her car, but to her standing within the team.

"It's... a bit tense," Rob said, his voice tight. "But let's focus on the positives. Your driving was phenomenal, especially that move on Esteban. You really showed your grit."

Michaela nodded, acknowledging the compliment, but the conversation with Guido played in her mind like a broken record. Her future in McLaren was no longer a given. "I know," she said, her voice steady. "But I need to speak with Zak and Andreas again. I can't keep doing this."

"You're not wrong," Rob admitted, his eyes on the data screens. "But timing is everything. Give it a day or two, let the dust settle."

Michaela nodded, though she wasn't convinced. The sting of today's race was still fresh, and the thought of waiting only added to the frustration boiling in her veins. "I'm sorry for putting you in that position," she said, her voice genuine. "I got caught up in my frustration and took out on you. I'm sorry."

Rob gave her a small smile. "Don't worry about it, Mick," he said, his eyes lifting from their focus on the screens. "And just between the two of us, I would've done the same thing." The show of support was accented with a cheeky wink, a silent laugh escaping through their noses in amusement.

Michaela couldn't help but feel a little relieved by his understanding, but the weight of the day's events didn't entirely lift. She nodded, taking another deep breath. "Thanks, Rob," she said, her voice sincere. "I just need to figure out what's next."

"You've got this," Rob said, patting her on the shoulder before returning to the car. She watched him for a moment, his movements efficient and focused. Then, with a sigh, she turned and made her way out of the garage, back into the glaring lights of the paddock.

92 notes · View notes

anneslovegood · 7 months ago

Text

not even a huge bridgerton fan (I watched four episodes of season one and gave up but know a lot because it’s impossible to escape it), but people getting mad that michael was genderbent is so ANNOYING. especially with the garbage excuses of why people are mad about it, which this whole post will be about.

firstly, to say that francesca won’t struggle with infertility is ridiculous. francesca is married, as of right now, to john a man. there’s still a possibility that the writers will make changes so that her and john struggle with it instead. also being in a relationship with someone of the same gender doesn’t mean a person won’t struggle with infertility. infertility is not limited to heterosexual couples; I’ve heard stories of both heterosexual and queer couples struggling to have children

second is the question of how michaela could inherit john’s titles, as michaela is a woman. now I know bridgerton is not historically accurate, but this answer does include some history. for those who don’t know this, in british history, queen charlotte’s granddaughter, victoria, became queen (would take a long time to explain how victoria got the throne, so if you want to know you can read that on your own). queen victoria did NOT become queen because her husband succeeded to the throne as king; victoria earned the title because her father’s older brothers died without having a legitimate heir. so there is a possibility of michaela earning a high title. also going back to something I said already but bridgerton is not historically accurate, which I am sure is obvious by the amount of people of colour in the show with such high titles and being members of the ton.

ANYWAY this is a long winded of saying that people are hating on the show’s decision to genderbend michael, and that I think it’s awesome how francesca and michaela’s love story includes both queer and black representation (and I think both actresses are absolutely stunning).

edit: adding another ridiculous I point I saw someone use was “it feels like they’re diminishing her feelings for john”. you ever hear of bisexuality? also if michael stayed the same you wouldn’t be saying that, how is it suddenly different with francesca being attached to a woman? plus this wouldn’t take away an important part of francesca’s arc in the books (from my understanding of what I’ve heard people say) is that she felt incredibly guilty for having feelings for michael. I personally think it’ll make francesca’s story arc way more interesting due to genderbending her second love interest

#text post #bridgerton #francesca bridgerton #michaela stirling #michael stirling #john stirling #queer representation #pride month #happy pride 🌈#daphne bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #colin bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #kate sharma #penelope featherington #hyacinth bridgerton #gregory bridgerton

167 notes · View notes

37sommz-archive · 5 months ago

Text

✼. MOTHER, MAY I | 2019.

CH. 06. NOW PLAYING: stfu! by rina sawayama [fluff, lil angsty]. ✼.⠀summary: michaela and lewis have a chat, 1.5k. ✼.⠀view:⠀masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request.

✼.⠀NOVEMBER 02, 2019 — austin, usa

If the pounding in Michaela’s head told her anything, it was probably that Austin had been a dizzying show of form. Though she was slated to start sixth in Sunday’s race, Michaela found herself begging the racing gods for mercy.

The Austin wind paired with the fantastic glimmer of shuttering cameras, had left her struggling to keep her happy smile plastered to her face. Those who noticed the absence of her familiar joyfulness were loud about their observations. She had been put on blast all weekend by reporters, drivers, and social media alike, her thrilling qualifying performance forgotten amidst the generous flow of speculation.

Dodging questions about her personal life—one of the more helpful recommendations Sebastian had gifted her during her time as a reserve—she quickly settled on repeating the same half-assed response every time, “I’m taking a page out of Kimi’s book.” They would laugh and move on, realizing they would be wasting precious airtime attempting to get much of anything out of the Australian driver.

The tiny bit of solace she finds against the wall her blonde waves rest against is stolen in a millisecond as she hears footsteps approaching her. They are gentle yet confident, the contrast perfectly matching the driver to whom they belong. Slowly releasing a sigh of mild grief before beginning to straighten her form, any conscious thoughts are pulled from her mind once she matches the footsteps to the driver. With his hair tucked underneath his Mercedes cap, braids carefully pulled into a signature ponytail, finding Lewis Hamilton smiling down at her practically shakes any aches from Michaela’s system.

“Easy,” he laughs, the sound as relaxed as it was worried. His eyebrows dip as he frowns at the state of the 19-year-old sat below him. Pulling a stray chair to sit beside her, he recovers his frown with a tight-lipped smile. Michaela pales in response as she suddenly finds herself shy of his attention. The two drivers had barely had any time to talk during the younger’s debut season. Though words of congratulations had been exchanged through press conferences, there had been little time for any personal chats.

“Sorry, I’m a mess at the moment,” she rushes to explain her current condition. Waving a hand at the frantic cope, Lewis shifts his body to face Michaela head-on.

“How has everything been for you? The team, the media, the fans?” His voice is a calming force settling over the air shared between them. It is then that Michaela takes notice, with self-admitted shock, of the clearness of his skin and the cleanliness of his parts. The famous stud adorning his left nostril seemed to catch the lights brilliantly in a way that only seemed to mock the headache they had given to her.

Nodding slowly she responds with a practiced carefulness, “Not the easiest.”

Lewis simply laughs at her answer. Throwing his head back as if she had told the grandest of jokes. His amusement is quickly explained with a loud, “Welcome to Formula One!”

She chuckles at his reaction. Though it is measured and ends as soon as his does, her shoulders relax as the tension holding them up begins to ease. An air of calm falls between the two drivers as they settle into candid conversation.

“You’ve done pretty well though,” He hums as he nudges his chair ever so slightly closer to hers. Attempting to keep her cool, Michaela nearly misses the caveat of, “From what I’ve seen so far”, that he adds to the thought, a shrug added to emphasize his point of view.

She sighs in response to the addition. The roll of her eyes, so natural with a practiced ease, draws another laugh out of Lewis.

“I’m in an Alfa Romeo, it’d be pretty hard to make it worse than it already is.”

The Mercedes driver moves a tattooed hand to cover his mouth in mild shock the Australian rookie could be so bold. His eyes widen with another bout of amusement, the deep chuckle he tries to suppress managing to escape against the brown of his skin. Her typically subdued nature in press conferences had surely misled him of her true personality. There in the seldom-used hallways she had managed to find in Austin, Lewis found a spark in her eyes typically hidden underneath the pink and white of her famous helmet.

The older driver leans back to take a peak around the corner, muttering, “You never know who’s around these fuckin’ corners.”

Clearing his throat, he moves to offer a bit of sympathy to the rookie. With eyes shifting again, this time to true poise, he levels his speech. “The first few seasons are always rough. But I think you’re one of the more capable drivers on the grid. No doubt you’ll be in a better car before long.”

As Michaela flushes, shying away from the compliment, he attempts to wave off the show of humility.

“I’m serious, anybody who says otherwise? Fuck ‘em.” His shoulders rise in a show of nonchalance. Hands gesturing outwards catch Michaela’s eye as they crinkle in amusement.

It is Michaela’s turn to laugh out loud. Though her amusement is more subdued to be shared between the two of them, the grace she extends to the great seated in front of her is tangible. Waves of gratitude roll off her being and surround the two of them in a blanket of understanding.

“Can’t say that in these pressers yet,” She chuckles as her laughter subsides a few beats later. “They’d have me out on my arse by the morning.”

Her eyes roll again, annoyance replacing the ocean of gratitude she had previously been submerged in. The shift catches Lewis’ attention as he leans back against his chair. His comfort is immediately obvious to the rookie whose cheeks redden to her embarrassment.

“Yeah, that clause in your contract? What’s that all about?” His eyebrows furrow as the slightest of wrinkles around the perimeter of his eyes crinkle just the same. His lips pull into a frown as he awaits Michaela’s response.

“The shut up clause?” She huffs in reply. A graceful, manicured hand reaches up to massage at her temples. Her dark eyes close as she feels the weight of all the season’s pressure fall back onto her shoulders.

“If that’s what we’re calling it.” Lewis hums. The concern remains on his face despite his gentle curiosity.

“It’s supposed to keep me ‘in line’.” Her fingers signal quotations around the phrase. “They could fine me for any statements they think unfairly scrutinize them or the FIA.” When Lewis cocks an eyebrow with a questioning tilt of his hair, Michaela offers a clarification: the ‘them’ in question being Alfa Romeo.

“Damn,” He mutters with a disapproving shake of his head. “Didn’t know they could even put that in a contract.” When Michaela doesn’t respond, her head finds its way back against the white linoleum-lined walls, and Lewis takes a breath.

“Who negotiated that?” He inquires as his lips pull into a line.

An ironic chuckle escapes the younger driver who offers a simple response. “They wouldn’t sign me without it… had to… compromise.” The words are just barely strung together, loose and uncommitted as they hang in the air.

“Shut up clause.” Lewis muses with a scoff. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he sits up in his chair. “How long’s the contract? Two years?” When Michaela only offers a nod in affirmation, Lewis’ arms cross as if communicating his disappointment through solidarity.

The silence continues to freeze the previous ease of conversation. As the rumble of the anxious press floods through the walls separating the two from the waiting craze outside of their presumed sanctuary, Lewis’ phone begins to ring. The contact name of his Press Officer appears in bolded white at the top of the screen. Both drivers release a sigh through their lips, moving to stand from their comfortable seats. Though Lewis’ fingers twitch in an effort to respond to the call, he takes a brief moment to encourage the rookie driver.

“Being the first is never easy. There’s people waiting to see you crash, literally.” The added warning draws a tight-lipped chuckle from the Australian. “Don’t give them the satisfaction of failure, yeah? Experience everything with a cool head, make them eat their words.” Michaela nods in understanding, eyes wide as she hangs on to every syllable of the British driver’s wise words.

With a final, “Keep pushing, kid. You’re the shit”, he departs from her side. His phone raises to his ear as he huffs out an excuse to the woman on the other end, a jog in his steps as he disappears down the hallway. Taking a deep breath, Michaela’s feet carry her to follow him.

✼.⠀taglist:⠀

@cha-hot @certifiedlesbianbaddie @nichmeddar

@d3kstar @thewannabewriter @hwalllllllelujah

@pacmacs-macs @thearchieves @doodlehunz

@lavisenri @evie-119 @bxdbxtxh

@seaweed-orchid @glitterquadricorn @99snse

@ginghampearlsnsweettea @alliwantisadonut @hiireadstuff

@emilyval1 @scarlettwidow3000 @anotherblackreader

@sv5beehives @mynameisangeloflife @tellybearryyyy

@melancholyy-hill @emmma323

109 notes · View notes