#Team pain au chocolat

[alder-saan]

Or burial of a boy's life

Yes.

Baguette.

Daily reminder that the French saying for 'bachelorette party' is literally 'burial of maiden's life' and that's goth as fuck

🥖🤘

[bbaycon]

In america, I found that some people called them chocolate croissants

They are not french enough if there never had been the pain au chocolat controversy THERE

Plus lil doodle

[unepersonnelouche]

Holidays somewhere in France with the family ✨ (Or : Miles Edgeworth cannot say no to his girls and they know it)

(Drawing in a comics format is harder than I thought it would be, hence why this is so short)

[madamemachikonew]

Absolutely cannot wait for Fontaine 'pain au chocolat -v- chocolatine' discourse.

[vivwritesfics]

Mrs Baker, Ma'am

Landoscar's girlfriend loved to bake and all of the grid love when she brings her baked goods to the paddock

Y/N loved the Monaco Grand Prix for just a few reasons. One, it was the race set where she lived, meaning she was familiar with the surroundings and she could sleep in her own bed the night before the race. Two, she could watch the practices from her balcony with her cat on her lap and coffee in her hands. Three, she got to rock up to the paddock with a basket full of baked goods.

Maybe that was why Lando and Oscar fell in love with her. Because Y/N always had some sort of baked good ready for them. While Lando was gaming, she’d be teaching Oscar to bake and presenting the results to Lando. Fans loved when it happened while Lando was streaming. They loved nothing more than watching a blushing Oscar walking into the room with a tray full of cookies. His cheeks would be red while Lando took a cookie from the tray and moaned while he ate it.

The rest of the paddock had also expressed their love for Y/N’s baking. Carlos had been the first to try her baking when he and Lando were teammates. When he moved to Ferrari, Carlos found himself wanting some of Y/N’s baked goods and telling Charles all about them.

Y/N found herself strolling towards the Ferrari garage the next day, a container full of biscuits, muffins and cookies tucked under her arms. It was kind of funny, actually. The Ferrari boys had been talking about it in a press conference and Y/N had seen it and gone out to get ingredients that day. She’d spent her night baking, thankful that she and Lando were staying in an apartment, not a hotel, in Australia.

And then when Daniel had become Lando’s teammate, Y/N had brought him something baked almost every grand prix. From there the news of her baking had spread around the paddock, since Daniel was friends with everybody.

Y/N began bringing her baked goods whenever the grand prix was in Monaco. If she happened to make too much, she’d take some over to Charles or Max in their apartments.

This time, Y/N had two baskets of baked goods on her arms. She strode through the paddock in her best trousers and a cute vest top. She couldn’t stop from smiling as she walked into the McLaren garage.

Zac Brown was the first to spot her. Her, and the basket of baked goods. “Hi, Y/N,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as he walked her further into the garage.

“Hey, Zac,” she said, holding out one of the baskets.

After Zac picked out a cupcake, Y/N put the basket down. She greeted more of the McLaren staff and directed them towards the basket of baked goods. She had everything, croissants, pain au chocolats, cupcakes, doughnuts, muffins, cookies, and biscuits. At the bottom of the basket was some fudge she had made, just in case there weren’t enough baked goods for everybody.

Once those working in the McLaren garage were working through her basket of baked goods, Y/N made her way out of the McLaren garage and headed off to Red Bull.

There were just twenty pastries in this basket. On Monaco weekends, Y/N gave out what she could and brought more the next day, giving pastries to as many people in as many teams as possible. Drivers got her pastries on a Saturday and everybody else got them on the Sunday. Everybody else included wags and whoever else got to her first. There was one time where Martin Brundle got completely sidetracked when he went to talk to Lando and ended up with one of Y/N’s pastries.

Max was nowhere to be seen, so Y/N went over to Sergio Perez, who was talking to his engineers. She waited for him to finish up before offering him a cookie. And then she went off to Max’s driver room, after asking Christian where he was.

She knocked on the door and waited for confirmation before walking in. Max’s eyes lit up when he saw her. “If I didn’t have a wonderful girlfriend, I’d be jealous of Lando and Oscar,” he said and gratefully accepted a chocolate chip muffin.

Y/N moved on, walking towards the Ferrari garage. Carlos seemed to have a sixth sense for Y/N and her baked goods, and spun on his heel and marched over to her, a wide grin on his face. “pequeño pollo,” he said and wrapped his arms around her. Carlos pressed a kiss to the side of her head, wearing heart eyes as he picked out the pastry he wanted.

She offered Charles a pastry and moved onto Mercedes. Y/N went from garage to garage, greeting the drivers her boyfriends called their friends and offering them a cookie or a cake or something. Each and every driver was grateful.

And last, after giving Fernando and Lance two of the last pastries, Y/N made her way back to McLaren. She strode into the garage, the mechanics, engineers and strategists giving her compliments on her baking skills.

Y/N grinned and thanked them, making her way to where her boyfriends were talking to their boss. When Zac saw her, he trailed off and the boys turned around.

Oscar was the first to spot her. He walked towards her and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the pastries. “Have you been making your rounds?” He asked her.

Nodding her head, Y/N kissed his cheek. “I’ve got two left for you and Lan,” she said.

Wrapping his arm around her waist, Oscar walked Y/N over to Lando and Zac. She smiled at the CEO, who immediately began complimenting her on the cupcake. “And the fudge? Oh my god, it was next level,” Zac said. He then left them to it, walking back over to the basket to look for more fudge.

YN looked at her boyfriends and held the basket up in front of her. The boys reached inside, Lando pulling out a chocolate filled croissant and Oscar pulling out a cookie. “Thank you, baby,” Lando said and reached forward to kiss her. Oscar did the same and broke off a piece of cookie to share with her.

Y/N spent the rest of the Monaco grand prix with her boyfriends either tucked into Lando’s side or holding Oscar’s hand. After the qualifying, Y/N took her boyfriends home and rewarded them with another round of baked goods. On race day she brought enough for the WAGS and other team principles. She made another batch of fudge for Zac Brown and Zac Brown only.

All of the paddock were slightly jealous of Lando and Oscar, and their girlfriend who loved to bake. If she was bringing her baked goods to the grand prix, they could keep their jealousy at bay.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Birthday Wishes

Summary: LH44 + Birthday Wishes

Song: It's My Birthday · Will.i.am

Author’s note: Happy Birthday to my Black King, my idol and inspiration! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 3.8k

The sprawling, modern house, perched on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean, felt strangely quiet. It was a stark contrast to the roaring engines and frenetic energy of the Grand Prix circuits you were accustomed to seeing Lewis dominate.

Today, however, there was no racing. Today was his birthday, and you were here, a flutter of anticipation and nervous energy churning within you.

You had been looking forward to this for weeks, ever since he’d casually, almost as an afterthought, said, "You should come over for my birthday. Just a quiet one."

Just a quiet one, he'd said. As if anything involving Lewis Hamilton could ever be truly quiet.

You wandered into the living room, its floor-to-ceiling windows framing a breathtaking view of the sea. The sun was painting the water in shades of sapphire and gold, reflecting off the sleek, minimalist furniture.

A small table in the corner was laden with a variety of pastries – croissants, pain au chocolat, and a stack of what looked like homemade scones. A single vase held a vibrant bouquet of wildflowers, a thoughtful contrast to the polished perfection of the room.

"Beautiful place," you murmured to yourself, feeling slightly out of place in your casual jeans and linen shirt. You’d debated what to wear for hours, eventually settling on something that was comfortable yet still felt like you had put in the effort.

You desperately hoped he wouldn’t notice how much you had agonized over it.

A moment later, the sound of footsteps made you turn. Lewis stood in the doorway, his smile genuine and warm. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt and joggers, his hair slightly tousled, giving him a relaxed look that you found incredibly endearing.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little husky, "You made it."

"Wouldn't miss it," you replied, your heart doing that irritating little flutter-kick. You tried to sound casual, but you knew your cheeks were probably betraying you.

"Coffee?" He gestured towards the kitchen. "Or we can just dive into the pastries."

"Coffee would be great," you replied, following him. The kitchen was equally sleek and modern, with stainless steel appliances and a large island where he began brewing coffee.

You watched him, the way his hands moved with confidence and ease, and a familiar warmth spread through you. You'd spent so much time with him at races, surrounded by teams and media, that it was strangely intimate to see this side of him, the quiet, domestic side.

"So," he said, turning towards you as he poured the coffee, "What do you think? Is it…birthday-ish enough?"

You laughed, the sound echoing slightly in the large space. "Well, there are pastries, and flowers, and the absence of any car engines... I think you're definitely on the right track."

He handed you a mug, the steam swirling upwards, carrying with it the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. "Good," he said, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, you felt like you were the only two people in the world.

He broke the gaze first, turning back to the counter. "So what do we do today? Walk down to the beach? Take the boat out?"

"Whatever you'd like," you replied, your voice slightly breathless. The thought of spending the day with him, just the two of you, was enough to make butterflies dance in your stomach.

You spent the morning talking, sitting out on the balcony, the sun warming your skin. He spoke about his plans for the future, not just in racing, but his other passions: music, fashion, his love for animals.

He was so much more than just a Formula One driver, and you reveled in learning all these hidden depths. You, in turn, spoke about your life, your dreams, your anxieties.

You were surprised at how comfortable you felt, how easily the words flowed. It was like the wall you kept between yourself and the world had crumbled in his presence.

"I'm glad you're here," he said softly, his gaze on the ocean. "It's…nice. Different."

"Me too," you admitted, the words feeling like a confession. You wanted to tell him so much more, how you felt, how your heart had been inexplicably drawn to him.

But the words caught in your throat, fear holding them captive.

Later, you walked down to the beach, the soft sand warm beneath your feet. He kicked off his shoes and rolled up his trousers, and you followed suit.

The waves crashed onto the shore, the sound a soothing rhythm. As you walked, you found yourselves in comfortable silence, just enjoying the beauty around you.

Then, he surprised you. "Want to try?" he asked, pointing at a stand-up paddle board that was leaning against a nearby rock.

You hesitated, you had never tried before. "I'm not sure I’m very good at these things," you confessed.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Don’t worry, I'll help you."

And he did. He was patient, his hands gentle as he guided you, his laughter warm as you wobbled and nearly fell. You spent the rest of the afternoon in the water, laughing and splashing each other, the tension you’d been carrying finally melting away.

By the time you returned to the house, you were both exhausted but exhilarated.

As dusk approached, you found yourselves back on the balcony. The sky was painted in brilliant hues of orange and purple, the air cooler now. You were sitting side-by-side, sipping wine, neither of you wanting the day to end.

"This was… amazing," you said, your voice low. "Thank you."

He turned to you, his gaze intense. "Thank you," he repeated, his voice softer now. "It's the best birthday I've had in a long time."

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. You knew, deep down, that there was something special between you, something more than just friendship.

You had felt it all day, in the shared laughter, the comfortable silences, the warmth of his touch.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. "Lewis," you started, your voice barely a whisper, “I…”

But before you could finish, his phone buzzed loudly, breaking the spell. He sighed, picking it up. His face changed, his smile fading.

"Sorry," he said, his voice distracted. "Work call."

You watched him as he spoke to someone on the phone, his mood shifting completely. You knew that this was the reality of his life. The world of racing was demanding, always demanding.

It was a reminder that despite the intimacy you'd shared today, his world was vastly different from yours.

He hung up the phone a few minutes later, his expression apologetic. "Sorry about that," he said, "It was…urgent."

The moment was gone. The words you had been about to say felt foolish now, too vulnerable to be spoken in the face of the realities of his life. You forced a smile.

"No problem," you said, your voice much lighter than you felt. "Work is work."

He seemed to sense your shift in mood, the slight withdrawal. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice concerned.

You met his gaze, your heart aching with a mix of longing and resignation. You knew you couldn't keep your feelings bottled up forever.

You wanted to tell him everything, but the fear of rejection was always right there, holding you back.

"Yeah," you said finally, trying to sound convincing, but you knew he could see through the facade, "Just… a little tired. It's been a long day."

He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah," he said, "It has been."

There was a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken words, before you both just went back to staring out at the fading light, the gentle sound of the waves washing over the beach.

You knew you had missed your window but you also knew with a certainty that this was not the last time, and maybe one day you would find the courage to tell him exactly how you felt.

But for now, you were content to just sit here, with him, in the quiet afterglow of the day, wanting more than anything for the night to never end.

The roar of the engines was a physical thing, vibrating through your chest and making your teeth hum. It was a sound you knew intimately, a sound that usually brought you a sense of exhilaration.

But here, in the Australia International Circuit paddock, standing amongst a sea of scarlet-clad Ferrari fans, it felt different. Foreign. Unsettling.

It was all because of him. Lewis.

Seeing him in red was a surreal experience. The sleek, aggressive lines of the Ferrari suit, emblazoned with the prancing horse, just didn't seem to belong to the man you knew.

Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time champion, the man who was synonymous with silver and black, was now a vibrant splash of crimson. The world was still reeling from the bombshell announcement.

A few months ago, it had been unfathomable. Now, here it was, the reality staring you in the face.

And you were here, a reluctant participant, forced to bear witness to this seismic shift in the Formula One landscape. You haven't seen Lewis since his birthday.

That night, fueled by too much champagne and a heart overflowing with something you couldn't quite define, you’d almost confessed your feelings.

It was a near-miss, a moment where the truth had hovered precariously on the tip of your tongue. The near-confession had scared you so badly that you'd become adept at dodging calls, making excuses about work, or simply, pretending to be busy.

You had convinced yourself that if you just kept enough distance, the feelings might fade. They didn't.

Today, however, distance was no longer an option. Lewis had called, his voice laced with a familiar charm, yet with an undertone of stubborn authority.

“You’re not going to leave me hanging on my first race, are you?” he'd asked, the question more of a statement. You'd tried to resist, even feigned a sore throat, but he had simply said, "I'll send a car."

And here you were, leaning against a barrier, trying to appear nonchalant amidst the chaos, while your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.

You watched as Lewis, a whirlwind of energy even before he entered the car, moved through the pit lane, exchanging quick words with his engineers. He looked incredible.

He’d always been handsome, but something about the Ferrari red seemed to amplify his presence, his confidence.

"Lost in thought?”

The deep, familiar voice sent a jolt through you. You turned, your breath catching in your throat. Lewis stood there, his race suit unzipped at the top, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple.

His eyes, those intense brown eyes you’d spent far too many nights dreaming about, were fixed on you with a playful glint.

"Just... taking it all in," you managed, your voice a little too breathy for your liking.

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “I know, it’s a bit much, isn’t it? Even for me sometimes.” He gestured around at the bustling pit lane, a small smile playing on his lips.

"It's..." you paused, searching for the right word, "different."

"Different good, or different bad?" he teased, stepping closer. The scent of his aftershave, a mix of citrus and spice, filled your senses, making it even harder to think straight.

"Different… jarring," you admitted, your gaze darting down to the Ferrari logo on his suit. You weren't being intentionally cold, but it was the truth.

It wasn't about the car but about who was in it.

His smile faded slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering in his eyes. “Jarring?” he repeated, his voice softer now. "You don't like it?"

"It's not about the car, Lewis," you said, quickly lifting your gaze to meet his.

The air crackled between you two, a tangible tension that had been simmering for months, growing more intense in the claustrophobic confines of the pit lane.

"Then what is it about?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. The noise of the paddock faded into background static. It felt like you were the only two people in the world.

You opened your mouth, wanting to say it, wanting to finally confess the feelings that had been eating you alive, but the words caught in your throat.

Instead, you muttered the first thing that came to mind, "It's just... new.”

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his braids, a gesture you knew so well.

“Well, new is good, right? Keeps things interesting. Besides," his eyes twinkled, “I look good in red, don’t I?”

He was doing it again, charming his way out of a serious conversation. You couldn’t help but smile. “You do,” you conceded, forcing a lightness into your voice. “Very… striking.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said, his smile returning full force.

“Now, I need to go get ready. But,” he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I'll see you after the race, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your heart thumping against your ribs like a drum.

The roar of the crowd was a distant hum, a backdrop to the frantic energy within the Ferrari garage. You tried to focus on the data streaming across your screen – lap times, tire degradation, fuel consumption – but your eyes kept betraying you.

They kept drifting towards the track, towards the scarlet blur that was Lewis.

It was the first race of the season, his first in the iconic red of Ferrari, and the air crackled with a tension that both exhilarated and terrified you.

The red suit wasn’t just a new color; it was a visual manifestation of a new energy, a raw hunger that pulsed from him with every turn, every overtake.

He was a predator on the track, precise, powerful, and undeniably captivating. A strange mix of worry and pride swelled inside you as you watched him fight for position, pushing his car and himself to the absolute limit.

The race was a blur, a ballet of speed and strategy. You meticulously tracked his progress, biting your lip, heart pounding in your chest with every corner.

You tried to reason with yourself, telling yourself to focus on the data, on your job, but it was useless. You were mesmerized, completely and utterly consumed by the spectacle of Lewis Hamilton piloting a Ferrari.

When the checkered flag finally waved, the roar from the stands hit a crescendo. You saw it on the screen - Lewis, first across the line. A wave of relief washed over you so profound it made you dizzy.

You hadn’t realized how tightly wound you were until the tension finally snapped. You didn’t want to think about why watching him risk it all put you so on edge, you just accepted it as a part of who you were.

You found yourself drawn to the edge of the team garage, away from the frenetic celebrations unfolding between the mechanics and engineers. Your heart wouldn't be able to take it, not today.

You watched on the monitors as Lewis emerged from his car, a triumphant smile splitting his face as he was enveloped by his new team.

You saw the spray of champagne, the joyful leaps and shouts, the shared camaraderie. You desperately wanted to see him, to congratulate him, but you hung back, the familiar sting of your reserved nature keeping you rooted to the spot.

It felt like an eternity before the excitement began to die down, the celebrations slowly dispersing. You paced anxiously, hands twisting in your pockets, waiting for him to return.

You weren’t sure what you wanted to say. Congratulations felt inadequate, almost like an underselling of what you had just witnessed.

Finally, you saw him. He was still damp with champagne, his red racing suit clinging to him, making him look even more imposing than usual.

His braids was a mess, his eyes sparkling with the post-race adrenaline, and when he turned, you found yourself caught in his gaze.

You opened your mouth to speak, “Lewis-“

But before you could finish, he was there, his hand reaching for yours, his fingers wrapping around mine, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

It was a casual touch, yet it made your entire body sing.

He didn't say a word, but the pull in his hand was unmistakable, guiding you through the open door of his driver’s room, leaving you no choice but to follow, as if you were caught in his orbit.

The room was small, functional, but it felt like a haven compared to the vibrant chaos of the garage. He closed the door behind you, the sound a quiet click in the sudden silence.

His grip on your hand didn’t loosen, his thumb gently tracing your knuckles.

“Where were you before?” His voice was rough, a hint of disappointment lacing his tone.

The question caught you off guard, the intimacy of the question making your heart skip a beat.

You blinked, your mind scrambling to find an answer. "I- I was here," you stammered, your voice betraying your nerves.

"I didn't think… I didn't think you would want me there." You couldn't meet his eyes, your gaze fixed on your hands, still entwined.

He tilted his head, studying you, his eyes searching. "Of course, I wanted you there. I always want you there."

The words hung in the air, charged with an unspoken depth. You looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

His eyes, those incredible brown eyes that seemed to see right through you, were locked on yours.

“That was an incredible race, Lewis,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

They felt so inadequate, so clumsy, compared to the way he had just taken control of that race.

He smiled then, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes, and it was like the sun had broken through the clouds. It was a smile that was meant for you, and you only.

“It was, wasn’t it?” He squeezed your hand slightly. “But it would have been even better if you were closer.”

“I was in the pitlane,” you stated softly, your voice barely above a whisper, but the memory of him crossing the finish line, the sheer power and determination he radiated, still made your heartbeat erratic rhythms.

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “I mean to be there when I get out of the car, to be the first one I see,” he clarified, his gaze still locked on yours.

He wanted you there, front and centre, the first thing he sees after the adrenaline-fueled intensity of a race. It was a sentiment that sent a flutter of both hope and uncertainty through you.

“I don't think they'll let me stay in front for you,” you joked, trying to lighten the intimate atmosphere that had settled between you, the vulnerability in his expression making you feel a little overwhelmed.

You knew the protocol, the chaos that erupted after a race, the swarm of people who descended upon the winning driver. You couldn't possibly break that wall.

“I can make that arrangement,” Lewis stated seriously, his tone firm, the glint in his eyes unwavering.

He was so sure, so absolute, that for a moment you actually believed him. It was a ridiculous notion, but from him, it felt strangely plausible.

“Lewis…” you muttered, looking up at him, your eyes wide. His conviction was thrilling, but it was also terrifying.

He was raising your hopes too much, painting a picture of a reality that, you feared, could never be. 

He moved closer, the distance between you shrinking until you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face. You were trapped between the intensity of the moment and the logical part of your brain telling you to walk away while you still could.

Despite the inner turmoil, you stood your ground, your heart thumping a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

“Did you know what my birthday wish was?” Lewis said, his voice softer now, laced with a hint of something you couldn't quite decipher.

“What?” you whispered, the question trembling on your lips, afraid of both the answer and the silence that might come after.

“For you to like me back,” he said, his voice almost a caress, the words like a revelation that left you breathless.

He looked at you, his eyes searching, probing for any sign of reciprocation. “Did it come true?”

You didn’t speak for a moment, stunned into silence. It wasn't just a casual question, it was a confession, a risk taken, a heart laid bare.

You opened your mouth to answer, but found that nothing came out. You swallowed thickly, trying to find the right words, the perfect way to convey the feelings that had been building inside you.

“Lewis…” you began again, your voice barely a whisper, your gaze fixed on the floor, still scared to meet his eyes.

He took your hand in his again, his touch gentle, but firm. He lifted your face until you were looking at him.

“Tell me,” he urged softly, his eyes pleading. “Please, tell me.”

You finally found the courage to meet his gaze, to look into those deep brown eyes that held so much warmth and understanding. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your cheeks flush.

“Yes, Lewis,” you whispered, the words barely audible. “Yes, I like you back.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you, connected by a shared feeling, a mutual hope.

He squeezed your hand again, a silent promise, a shared understanding that had just changed everything. The roar of the crowd, the pressure of the race, the expectations of the season - all of it faded into the background.

All that truly mattered was right here, in this moment, with this man, the fastest man in the world, who wanted you, right here.

He laughed, a light, joyful sound that made your heart swell. “Good,” he breathed out, his smile reaching his eyes. “That’s very, very good.”

He finally closed the remaining gap between you, and pressed his lips against yours. You melted into his embrace, the kiss was soft, tender, and filled with the unspoken promise of a new beginning.

A beginning you never expected, but one you were more than ready for. Perhaps being here, so close, was exactly where you were meant to be. And you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your soul, that this was just the beginning.

The first race of the season may have been won on the track, but a much more significant race had just begun, one that was just for you and Lewis. Starting from a wish. . . .

[seasidepierre]

sunkissed face - charles leclerc

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS MASTERLIST

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8

summary: A special one, for a special weekend.

warnings: I'm not sure when I'll be back, but enjoy this one while it's out.

words count: 1k

a/n: You know I couldn't not write something. It took me thirty minutes, I did not reread myself, you're getting first draft, spur of the moment, here. I promise I'm not dead. Thank you for loving Sunkissed so much and for being the sweetest readers ever. Love you tons. Daghe Charles 🤍

The waves kept licking your toes, your sundress pooling around your thighs. The Monaco harbour was finally calm, the sea tame and the sun reflecting golden speckles on the horizon. The streets had been busy, busier than usual, but you found yourself in one of the rare corners of the principality where you’d be left alone, in a quiet bubble, where no one would bother you.

The week of the Monaco Grand Prix was always special. It was always a mix of a frenzy, crazy times that you never quite were able to deal with, but also a mix of warm sunsets, comfortable bed sheets and piano sessions to wake up to in the mornings. It was also the week of pains au chocolat in bed, of fresh and cold fruit juice in tall glasses, of wandering fingertips on your thighs and soft kisses in your lover’s neck.

The Monaco Grand Prix was always your anniversary weekend, too. Three years ago, you left your friends on a boat to sneak into a Ferrari event. Three years ago, you met Charles, who took you for a tour of the principality in his beloved Ferrari, then for a swim on his Riva boat. Three years ago, you sat on this same pier, listening to the cars drive in the background while Charles grieved the possibilities of a home win after a treacherous pole position secured by a crash into a barrier. Three years ago, you met the man you’d share your life with, dressed all in red and sunshine, a warm man who turned your world upside down with soft words whispered in your ears, with arms wrapped around your stomach and with tender kisses on your cheeks.

Three years ago, you dried tears of sadness for a man you barely knew.

Today, you dried tears of pride and happiness for the love of your life.

Charles was laying on the pier, his race suit still wet and clinging on his thighs. His hair was finally dry, curling in the most adorable little curls at the end, that you kept playing with absentmindedly, tangling your fingers in sea salt waves of brown strands, drowning yourself in the green eyes and dimples you loved so much.

Charles was finally relaxed of that remaining constant tension in his shoulder, he had finally achieved the ultimate dream of his and his father’s. He had won that Monaco Grand Prix that meant so much to him, after years of sadness, disappointment and doubts. You had gone through four races here, now, not one leaving you relieved about the outcomes. But this weekend, Charles had mastered everything he needed to have done, everything had finally clicked into place and with the complete support of his team, something you had pleasantly welcomed in your lives a few years ago, he had finally turned the dream into reality.

A few hours ago, he had jumped into the harbour with his team principal, yells of happiness and pride mixing with the sea salt water and the tears. You had waited your turn, letting him enjoy that win on his side, first with his team, then with his family. You’d lived a few wins with the Leclerc family already, but none that left everyone crying so much. You knew what it meant for them all, so you took a step back and left them to celebrate this one between themselves. Charles hadn’t said much after the podium and all the press duties. He had been relieved from the race debrief, there would be time to do that later, so you had patiently waited for your man to be free and ready to celebrate this one out with you.

So many of his friends were waiting for him at a club. So many of his peers were waiting to party and congratulate him. So many people in Monaco waiting for the prince of the day, the one who’d made everyone cry.

And still, Charles was laying on the pier, his head rested on your thighs, his breathing calm and relaxed, his eyes closed and his nose taking the faintest pink hues, a result of the sunkiss effect that drew you in the first time you’d seen him.

“Everybody is waiting for you, Charlie,” you whispered. “Let them wait. I’m good here,” he whispered back. “I don’t need to go to the club. I just need to lie here. I just need you.”

You smile at the horizon, knowing perfectly well that he would get jitters in a few hours, that he’d drag you to a club and that you’d end up driving his car because he’d be too hammered to drive himself. But for now, for an hour or two, you’d selfishly enjoy this one with your man.

His gold trophy was next to you, the medal hung on the little hairpin representation of the track. His cap, ruined by the water, completed the triptych of a magical afternoon, spent in the streets you fell in love with, just as you fell in love with the man lying at your side.

“Congratulations, my love,” you softly exhaled. “You deserved that one so much.” “Thank you,” he smiled a little. “I love you.” “I love you too,” you grinned.

The streets were finally calmer, after they’d exulted in celebrations. The harbour was finally quiet. The sun was starting to dip behind the horizon line. Your sundress was finally dry after you’d taken Charles’ hand and jumped in the water, taking your time to float in the sea and to kiss the winner under the heat of a May sun. Your hair was curling just like your boyfriend’s. You’d go back to your place, get rid of your clothes, slide in the shower together and God knows what you’d do in there. You’d party tonight, put him to bed when he’d irrevocably end up drunk and you’d make sweet love in your bed tomorrow morning, when the quiet and calm would be back to your lives.

Your Sunkissed boy had made it. You couldn’t be more in love with him.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Support a writer, reblog their works!

Tell me what you liked the most about this! If you want to help me support my writing, you can also buy me a ko-fi 🥺🤍

taglist: @lu-morningstar​ @zayniegal​ @baueoud​ @letsstarsfalling​ @alliss19 @sirlewismybeloved​ @spiidergirlsworld​ @mae-266 @vioaglkvs @simxican​ @lewispool @its-astrotea-love​  @toofarintomcu​ @pizza-portal​ @carotrujillo @parkerbunny​ @layazul​ @avsensio @gothicwidowsworld​ @sirlewismybeloved​ @paprikabadger​ @mazzbarnes​ @ireallydontknowdudee​ @charlesleclercje​ @obxcalm @darkice99​ @mayamess @j-briefmalfoy @superdeath​  @pedrodaddypascal​ @allison-rosewood-maximoff​ @honeybadger03 @altalin @adiaz-25​  @theduchessinme @idkiwantchocolatee @actual-spawn-of-satan @spideyanakin​ @multilovebot​  @marauvdersfate @amsofftrack​ @dr3lover​ @reiding-and-writing @lovingroscoee @enjoymyloves​ @eternalharry​ @teamspideyman @iamasimpingh0e​ @calmleclerc @andziiiiaaa​ @spngi​ @yeolsbubbles @ophcelia​ @coffeehurricanes​ @haloxmendes @ohthemisssery​ @im-an-overthinker​ @blueflorals​ @wintergilmore3​ @honethatty12​ @gayyvodka6 @tempo-rary-fix​ @organasith @buendiabebeta​ 

[puppypeter]

I saw your tag on my Shrinking gifset and I need to share the thought that has been in my head since this morning!

I literally can't stop thinking about a royjamie Coffee Shop AU, where retired Roy has shaved off his beard to be incognito while grumpily running a coffee shop 😂

I don't care what people think, I'm digging the look ahah It makes me want to squish his face but I feel like it also gives him a more awkward nerd vibe rather than sexy footballer?

Anyway YES Coffee Shop AU! I don't know how easily a footballer of his level would be incognito even with shaving and it's always hard coming up with AUs for rich people 😂but maybe it's like (grown) Phoebe's coffee shop? She's the cheery cashier/owner and he's the grumpy barista/waiter? Like he's not needing to work but she still drags him around because since retirement he's been going out less and less and the lack of routine (which he has had since he was 9!) has not helped. So he goes there super early in the morning to bake (or receive a delivery of) croissants and pain au chocolat etc and ensure everything is set up and she joins him when it's time to open.

Now where's Jamie? Are we talking s.3 happened so they're besties and so he still goes on his 4am training by himself and stops at the cafe at 6am, while still closed, so they can have breakfast together? Are they an established couple? Secret husbands (fuck I love this one!!!)? Did they lose touch (I doubt Jamie would allow) and the team finds out and turns up the way they did Nate/A Taste of Athens?

Tell me more 😊😊😊

Regardless of the universe, I LOVE the idea of canon-Roy shaving his beard and the team reacting like a those toddlers who don't recognize their dads. Dani would be terrified 😂😂😂

I think Jamie would dig it while Roy would feel a bit self conscious about it (I mean even Brett jokes that he terrifies children ahah). But maybe early career Roy didn't always have one?

And one last thought > I have previously mentioned the idea of Roy having a twin brother and the chaos that would create ahah

[noneedtoamputate]

Band of Brothers Olympics AU - Chapter One

I don't have a great title for this yet. I was thinking about The Vault in Our Stars, a pun on another Shakespeare quote to go along with Band of Brothers. If you have any ideas, please let me know.

This came out of my Olympic obesession, and I've tried to include a lot of details that came out of the Paris games in the fic.

I can't thank @mercurygray enough for helping me flesh out this story and providing some much-needed details. She deserves co-author credit on this chapter, but any mistakes or sections that don't work are on me. And thanks to @shoshiwrites for beta-reading and telling me it was a fun read. That's exactly what I am going for with this fic.

Hope you all enjoy!

Tuesday, July 23, 2024

Five days before Opening Ceremony

Four of the five members of the United States men’s gymnastics team lounged in the larger of the two bedrooms in their Olympic Village suite after their designated practice time. Harry Welsh texted his girlfriend, Kitty Grogan, a member of the U.S. women’s gymnastics team and America’s current sweetheart. High bar specialist George Luz balanced a plate of French baked goods on his lap. Team himbo Floyd Talbert read the newest issue of Field and Stream. Carwood Lipton, the youngest member of the squad, sat on the floor doing a v-stretch. 

“My mattress here is worse than the one in my dorm room,” Carwood lamented, grabbing his foot and reaching his head to his knee.

“Yes, but it’s environmentally friendly,” Harry pointed out without looking up from typing. “You can save the world or save your back, but not both.”

“Fuck, this pain au chocolat is good,” George said, his mouth full and his pronunciation terrible.

“You don’t say the last letter of the word,” Tab explained, hardly looking up from his magazine. 

“Whatever.” George considered the pastry again. “I think I’m going to record a review and put it on TikTok.”

“You know French?” Carwood asked Tab. It wasn’t impossible, but Carwood didn’t take Tab as the … cultured type. He knew Dick and Harry pretty well - he was a few years behing them at Penn State, after all - but he was still getting to know George and Tab. Both men liked to joke, although their senses of humor worked in different ways - in strong contrast to Dick, who didn’t really go for jokes when it came to his team and his sport. 

“Kinda. I’ve been doing twenty minutes of Duolingo a day for the past two months. I’m up to Level Six,” Tab explained proudly.

Harry laughed and shook his head. “And here I was thinking the only French Tab knew was mènage à trois.”

“I resent that you think that low of me, Harry - and that’s an important phrase,” Talbert defended, finally looking up from his reading. “Speaking of, any chance Kitty introduces us to her teammates?”

Harry put his phone down. “Kitty’s already told them all about you. And if that didn’t scare them off, she threatened  that if they so much as shook your hand, she’d send their names to the doping agency and they’d have to take extra urine tests.” 

“Shit, I wouldn’t cross Kitty. She scares the hell out of me.” George admitted, brushing crumbs off his chin. 

“If only the American public knew about the real Kitty Grogan,” Carwood agreed. Harry’s girlfriend had worked hard for the America’s Sweetheart nickname, but George was right. Her tiny frame and blond curls hid a ruthless sense of humor, a deceptively strong arm, and a very, very strong protective urge for the other women on her team. (Necessary equipment, she would have said.)

“Well, there’s lots of other women in the Olympic Village,” Tab said, unbothered and unashamed. “And I’ll need some more condoms, too, since someone -” he glared at George - “wouldn’t share.”

“Christ, will you let it go? Harry asked for mine first. And everyone got five to start with. If you need more than that, walk your lazy ass downstairs to the clinic. They have more there for the taking.”

The suite door opened, and team captain Dick Winters walked into the room.

“Hey, have you had any of these, Dick?” George asked, gesturing to the remnant of croissant on the table. “They’re really good.”

Dick looked at the pastry like George had just suggested he eat something toxic, and gave a brief shake of his head.“I just got through talking with Coach Taylor, and he was really happy with the way practice went this morning.”

“Well, that’s why I came to France. To make Coach Taylor happy.” Harry rolled his eyes. He wasn’t on the best of terms with the national team coach, and he wasn’t afraid of letting everyone know it. 

“Hey, Tab, you should ask Dick!” George suggested. 

“Ask me what?” Dick looked over Tab’s way.

“Can I have the condoms that came in your welcome pack? George already gave his to Harry.” Tab still sounded put out.

Dick looked even more offended about this than he had about the chocolate croissant. “No!” 

“Why? Did you use them already?” Tab sat up and looked at Dick, interested in his answer.

“No!” Dick shouted again, even louder this time. “And nobody is no going to need the condoms, because nobody on this team is going to have sex until we’re done with the competition.”

“What?” Tab asked incredulously. “There are 5,000 women here. And 5,000 men, if that’s your thing. Ten thousand people, all of us at the peak of our physical well being. And you want us to refrain from doing anything that requires a condom for a week?”

Dick sighed, more than a little agitated he had to explain this to his teammates. “We have a chance to do something really special here. I know it's a long shot, but we could medal. It would be huge for men’s gymnastics back home. We owe it to ourselves and our sport to do our best, and that means focusing. Abstaining for a week isn’t going to kill anybody.”

Harry shook his head. “Look Dick, I understand what you’re saying, but you know how superstitious I am, and I always sleep with Kitty before a big meet. She does this thing where … ”

“STOP!” interrupted Dick, eyes closed in pain. “Nobody is interested in what you were about to say.”

“I am,” Tab answered honestly, and George laughed.

“Look, I didn’t come up here to talk about condoms,” Dick said, desperately wanting to change the subject. “I’ve been thinking we should skip the opening ceremonies.”

The rest of the team stared at him.

Dick sighed before starting again. “I know we’ve all been looking forward to it, but it’s only two days before our qualification round, and we’ll be on our feet and it will throw off our sleep schedule.”

“C’mon, Dick. It’s one night,” George said.

“I know it’s not a big deal for you, being in just one event,” Dick said, sounding judgmental. 

George sat up straighter. “Yeah, I only won the silver medal at last year’s world championships for the high bar. I have no idea how I even got picked for the Olympic team, because that’s not a big deal.”

The three other teammates turned their heads back and forth, following the heated exchange.

Dick grimaced. “That didn’t come out the right way, George. I’m sorry. But you have to see my point. You get it, don’t you, Carwood?”

Everyone looked at Carwood. 

Carwood looked up to Dick, both as a gymnast and a person, so he was slow to voice his dissent. Truthfully, he’d been looking forward to the ceremony quite a bit, and the idea of not going for something like a sleep schedule sounded … well, lame.  “I want to do well, too, Dick, but there are so many things about the games that we don’t want to miss out on. The opening ceremonies, meeting new people …”

“Mènage à trois,” Harry added with a huge grin, and Tab threw the magazine his way. 

“You know what, forget it,” Dick said, clearly agitated. “Let’s just treat this like one big frat party and forget about representing our country and bringing home a medal.” He walked out of the room.

“Aw, Dick, come on!” he heard Harry call out to him, but he didn’t respond. He’d shared his feelings with his team, and they’d shared theirs. 

How was a captain supposed to lead when his team didn’t want to be led?

-

Dick decided to take his frustration out in the weight room, and then he got a massage. Back in the locker room, he checked his phone and saw Harry had messaged him.

Harry: Hey, you okay? We’re going to grab dinner, but I understand if you need to cool off.

Harry: I don’t think that conversation went the way anyone wanted it to.

Harry: They’re all good guys and they care a lot, but we all need a little fun, too.

Harry: You don’t have to be perfect, Dick. You’re already a good leader.

Harry: You know I love you, man. Kitty says she loves you, too (but not like she loves me).

Dick smiled briefly at the words on the screen. Harry was more than just a long time teammate. He’d been his freshman year roommate, one of the first friends he’d made at Penn State, and the guy on the team who understood him the best. They had shared wins and losses and ups and downs. Dick was even there the first time Harry laid eyes on Kitty, and she quickly became one of Dick’s people, too.

Thanks. Dick texted back. Grabbing dinner with Lew. Appreciate the invite, though. I’ll catch you before lights out.

He would need to apologize to them all later - he could see that now. Sometimes he forgot that other people saw the world a little differently than he did. But that was part of being a leader, too. 

It’s good to have people who care about you, he thought.

-

An hour later, Dick took the Metro and walked a few blocks to meet team sponsor Lew Nixon at a bistro. A second-generation tech titan, Lew and his sister, Blanche, needed a way for their father’s software company to save face after Stan’s headline-making fourth divorce. Blanche suggested adopting two Olympic teams that needed financial support and didn’t mind the backing of NixWorks, despite the reputation of its founder. 

So Lew met with men’s gymnastics, promising free housing for its national team members, as well as covering travel expenses and extensive social media coverage. Blanche did the same with the women’s rugby team, and both teams were happy to accept. 

Nix hated athletics - his idea of weight training was 12 ounce curls - and Dick had nothing in common with the San Francisco tech bro. But in spite of their differences - or maybe because of them - the two had become close friends during the past year. Dick appreciated having someone he could talk to outside of the gymnastics bubble he placed himself in leading up to the games. 

Dick spotted Lew sitting at a table for two on the outdoor patio, looking at his phone, a glass of red wine already in front him. 

“Dick!” Lew said, greeting him a little too loudly. Dick thought the glass of wine may not have been Lew’s first of the evening. 

“Have you seen the new dating app we created for the Olympians?” Lew turned his phone around so Dick could see it.

“Yeah. Light My Fire. Great name,” Dick said.

“I know, right?” Lew missed the sarcasm from Dick. “You know, because the torch and everything.”

“I get it,” said Dick.

“And my dad is a huge Jim Morrison fan. Once I told him the idea and the name, he had the programmers start working on it right away.” The waiter came over to go over the specials and take Dick’s drink order. Lew translated and answered back in perfect French.

“Dick, it wouldn’t kill you to try some new things while you’re here,” Lew said, considering his friend over the candle in the middle of the table.

“I don’t like sparkling water. I just want tap. And what’s wrong with ranch dressing?”

Lew tried to hold in his smile.“They call it still water here, Dick. And nothing is wrong with ranch dressing ... if you’re in State College, Pennsylvania. But you happen to be in the culinary capital of the world, and I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” Lew said conspiratorially, leaning a bit closer to Dick across the table. “Champagne vinaigrette won’t get you drunk.”

Dick rolled his eyes. 

Over the meal - Lew had steak frites, rare, and another glass of what Dick learned was Bordeaux, while Dick stuck to water, still, and a grilled chicken salad - Dick shared what had conspired earlier in the day. Dick would have never guessed it when they first met, but Lew was a good listener, always taking in facts and asking pertinent questions. 

Lew took a long sip of wine before sharing his conclusion.

“Listen, I know you don’t have beaches in Pennsylvania, but I’m sure you’ve held sand too tightly before,” Lew said. “I don’t think I need to tell you it usually doesn’t work.”

Dick couldn’t help but laugh. Lew was right.

“I’ve seen all five of you work hard, make sacrifices. You’re all ready for this. Give them a little space, a little freedom. This thing only happens every four years - enjoy it a little!” 

Dick nodded.

When he got back to the room, the team was half-watching an action movie dubbed in English on the television while Kitty was recording George eating another one of those chocolate pastries. Several sets of eyes swung to him and the door as he came in, just as quickly going back to the movie.

He looked down at his feet for a moment. “I owe you all an apology. I came on a little strong earlier, and I’m sorry. I’ve … got a lot on my mind at the moment.” The group continued to watch the movie, but George’s frown had softened a little.

“Here’s the deal,” Dick said in such a way that everyone turned around and stared at him intently. “We’re going to work like hell for the next two days. Then we’ll go to the opening ceremonies. And then we’ll kick some ass.”

His teammates look stunned. They never heard him swear once before, let alone twice in one speech. 

“Fuck yeah,” George answered back, smiling.

“Fuck yeah,” Harry and Tab said at the same time.

Carwood took his time. He didn’t swear much, either. “Fuck yeah,” he finally said, and Harry patted him on the back.

As Kitty recorded the moment on George’s phone for posterity, she knew this group was something special. 

[saintescuderia]

welcome to the mini series of the random, mindless thoughts had by a poet disguised in an orange jumpsuit watching cars speed by all weekend. enjoy!

--- note: 5am starts, 7pm finishes. all four days. gotta love formula 1!

thursday: media day!

i want the ferrari jacket

there are school kids here?

i don’t want the ferrari jacket

$7 for a small can of red bull is THEFT

especially since they broke the cost cap

me walking through the “accredited personnel” gate and tapping my special lanyard is a CORE memory

i think my uber driver dropped me off on the opposite side of the track

*stressing about being unable to admire the sights of albert park bc i’m stress-running from the opposite end of the track to my station*

pls don’t be a dick and say i’m late - i know

how is a 5am wake up not early enough HOW?

“last year i was stationed at the corner where charles spun out.”

sole thought = 💀💀💀💀

i. fucking. love. cars.

the whole SENSORY experience of a race ffffffffffffuuuuuck

“be careful taking pictures because that security camera is on us and is straight to race control and the FIA.” is such a cool sentence to hear

a porsche gtr should not be covered with branding idc

i’m definitely going to abuse caffeine this weekend

friday: FP1 / FP2

the sun is rising over the lake as i walk on the albert park track and i’m happy to be alive

especially as i found a toilet that isn’t a port-a-loo

ah, a cafe that does good decent coffee thank GOD

am i going to pay $10 for a croissant?

i'm going to pay $10 for a croissant.

i lived in paris but this one fresh lune choc croissant has topped it all

no like there will never be another croissant experience to beat me eating a fresh pain au chocolat on a f1 circuit as the sun rises over the water with the melbourne skyline in the background

aramco engineers are walking behind me as i shit talk about f1, nice

“it is an increasingly unique experience peeing in a port-a-loo beside a formula one track as cars race by.”

120’000 is a LOT of people

how has the float not broken yet?

metro boomin has released an album as i stand before live formula one. life has PEAKED

fernando alonso is the first F1 driver i ever saw live

there is a shift in formula one as the heritage fans of motor racing are on the out as the next generation of fans absorbed in driver hype and social media takes over and we see this in how F1 has created the new US tracks and made them all into spectacles and fans are here because of it being “cool” instead of caring about cars

… maybe i should buy the redbull jacket instead?

bonus: sole thought during the pitlane walk for the marshals

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

saturday: FP3 / qualifying

the relief of thinking you’re late and then seeing someone you know HA

commentators are now contractually obligated to bring up saudi arabia every time they talk about ollie bearman

jesus they’re as bad as the f1 girlies

i have to watch the grand prix replay after all of this i have no idea what’s actually going on

CHARLES GOES FASTER THAN MAX HA

kimi spinning out has me actively wanting to cry

a safety car FROM THE PIT EXIT

welcome to F2 everyone 👏👏👏

not me lying to the cute irish guy hitting on me about @saintescuderia

a big fat ha at the eshays holding their puffer jackets - even they can’t stand the heat

don’t flex on me that you’re here at F1 when you don’t even know what’s going on yourself bruhhhh

to the red bull fan telling me i’m “dramatic” for rolling under the fence (it’s how marshals have to do it) pls get help

$7 for a calispo is a JOKE

recording F1 quali isn’t even worth it bc they're TOO FAST

JOKES I GOT A PHOTO WITH ALBONO

i’m very lucky for my team of marshals :))))))))))

i’m only going to eat half my muffin

*finishes the whole thing*

sunday: race!

KIMI ANTONELLI!

do i ask for a photo?

*every photo of charles leclerc being abused flashes through my mind*

nah leave him be

five minutes later: i regret not asking him

the group of aussies dressed as lance stroll drunk at 9am have my heart and my respect

i need a coffee

seeing kimi walk right by me has now made so much invested for f2

i really need a coffee

yep they screwed kimi with all those safety cars

i really, really need a coffee

we get to go ON TRACK? for the DRIVERS PARADE

*starts practicing “get well soon” in spanish*

my heart is BEATING

lol jokes carlos didn’t even look at us

*checks footage to see that i accidentally just recorded guanyu zhou next to carlos the whole time :))))*

lol are they putting lewis and charles together all the time?

every marshal: “that was the shittest parade ever.”

i need a drink

pls don’t talk to me for the next two hours

don't meet your heroes kids

but also why the fuck did they do the float in one big car? and do INTERVIEWS? this is legit the one time the drivers can be there JUST for the FANS

F1 can PISS OFF

race start = okay it's happening

waitwaitwaitwaitWAITDIDIJUSTSEECARLOSOVERTAKEMAX?!

nevermind i love him

"race control has asked that you calm down, marshals are supposed to be neutral."

lol at the entirety of albert cheering that max is slowly coming to a DNF

mclaren swapping oscar for lando is DISGUSTING fuck zak brown

somehow, i've forgotten that charles is just there

SEND IT CARLOS VAmos

(this is all because i told you que te mejores pronto!)

daniel ricciardo....man..... aus gp can't market you like this.......

damn yuki got HANDS

ferrari and mclaren having the top 4 places is just *chefs kiss*

lewis just had to stall just pass my sector like i hope ur okay but couldn't u not be ok in front of me?

red bull deserves this after all the FLACK i've copped from red bulls fans ("dramatic" MY ASS)

wait george russell ARE YOU SERIOUS?!

singapore all over again. i can already see the memes.

somehow marshalling a gp has you closer and more removed from the whole thing i have no idea what's going on

(literally the only time i used my F1TV live timing)

finishing after the safety car means i can't stick my head out and clap for carlos FUCK OFF

wait, he came up right UP TO MY SIDE OF THE TRACK TO WAVE

... do you think he noticed me?

[coto524]

so the café at work closes an hour before we finish, and sometimes the staff there bring us leftover stuff they won't be able to use or sell. y'know, like milk dated that day, sandwiches, pastries, that kinda thing.

and there's a guy at work who's cute and friendly and we've bonded a bit over shared gay experiences. send each other memes and cat photos. y'know how it is.

anyway. for the last few weeks the café team have been bringing me the unsold muffins and pains au chocolat, and i've usually let him know, in case he wants to drop by and choose something. and it's only today that i've considered that this may fall into the category of Down Bad

[variabels]

they added a French femboy to BL, now the most important question is: team pain au chocolat or team chocolatine?

[cheemscakecat]

Missing in Action 5 1/2

Chapter 5 1/2 Team Meat-ing Part 2

Young Spy prepares a meal for the whole team with Scout’s help. But despite the good food, he doesn’t seem super happy.

No cover art, but I’ve included pictures of each dish IRL

The first thing Scout noticed the next morning was the smell of Spy’s stupid cigarettes. He followed the smell into the kitchen, which was where he was going anyways. The new guy was there cleaning and gathering pots and pans, while smoking one of Spy’s cigs. Jeremy decided that someone might as well use them.

”What’s up?” He asked, sneaking over to the fridge to get the milk. Most days he just ate cereal, if it was there and nobody cooked breakfast. They hadn’t had much left after the admin mess, but there was ham and bacon unopened in the bottom drawer, and nobody got sick from it. He didn’t know if it was good that his thoughts drifted to miss Pauling. He wanted to believe that it was just concern over her new job, but he worried that he hadn’t moved on.

”I am going to cook ze food today. But there are many hens, so I need both kitchens.” Jeremy nodded and mindlessly took a bowl and his sugary chocolate cereal. It look him a second after pouring to notice new Spy staring. “What is that?”

”It’s cereal. Mostly just kids eat it for breakfast but I uh… get in a hurry.” Normally, Scout wouldn’t be embarrassed about not cooking most days, but this new guy was right here gatherin stuff for a big meal. He felt pretty lazy.

”I need to get food from ze other kitchen started. Come there after cereal.” And with that, Spy wandered off with an armful of clean pots.

When Scout opened the passageway door 10 minutes later, he found the Spy chopping vegetables. That was weird, there weren’t really any in the other fridge, even after a restock. “You go to town last night?” Spy turned around and shook his head. He opened another hidden door.

“Ze delivery people put ze new produces in this bread pocket so it would not rot.” Spy set down the knife and brought over a white paper box from the island. It was full of fancy looking bread that Jeremy wasn’t familiar with. “Have this pain au chocolat.” He said, plopping the dessert into his hand.

It was a real flaky bread with chocolate filling! Scout was surprised that it was still fresh, but quickly remembered that newbie woulda thrown out any moldy bread.

Things seemed to be going pretty well for a while. Jeremy offered to help Spy if he wanted it, and was tasked with putting the vegetables in each pot. He noticed a lot of butter. But he noticed that everything had grinded to a halt when they got to cutting the chickens.

New Spy was staring blankly at the fancy bird with a knife half raised in his hand. At first, Jeremy assumed he was just making up his mind on somethin, but he stayed like that for 10 minutes before he decided to speak up.

“You uh, alright man?” He asked. Spy blinked once and sighed. “Sorry, it’s… I wasn’t planning to do meals so soon after… after relocation.” He didn’t explain any further than that. But Scout got a very sudden feeling that there was much more going on.

“Well uh, I could try to help you. Cut the time in half, right?” Spy flinched for some reason before putting on a forced, close-lipped grin. “I think that would be best, thank you. I’m not feeling… fast right now.”

Spy got to work browning stuff in one of the pans. “Cut ze drumsticks and ze thighs off 2 hens.” Scout remembered watching Ma cut the turkey at thanksgiving and did his best. As far as he could tell it was decent, but he figured Spy might not agree. He glanced over from the bacon and veggies in the pan. “Did I… do it right?” He asked. “It does not have to be perfection. The bulk of ze meat is where we want.” Good.

“So, uh… what are we making right now?” Jeremy got the feelin he should keep things light. Something was botherin the new guy. “Coq au vin.” He snorted and spy blinked at him. He was almost convinced that it was because it sounded like his old man’s weird *** snort laugh. Oh wait, no. New guy wouldn’t know about that. “What is funny?”

”Oh, just sounded like an American word for… something.” Spy stirred for a while and made Scout believe he’d moved on. “Oh, is word for *****.” He wheezed like Ma and for some reason newbie looked even more surprised.

They prepped something called “chicken fricassee” which two more hens worth’a drums and thighs, then two pots of… um…

”Wait, what was it called?” “Poulet a la Moutarde Francaise.” “Uh….” “Mustard chicken.” Maybe there was a good reason for fancy names after all.

With the remainin four chickens, they prepped two to be roasted whole. Cut the thighs and drums off the others for “chicken chasseur” n that left the breasts for “chicken Provençal”. Scout watched new Spy take the bones and put them in a big metal thing.

“What are you gonna do with the bones?” “Chicken stock.” He answered, shoving them in the big freezer. Apparently some of the other freezer mystery tubs were stock or sauces.

—————————

Good lord, the base smelled magnificent. It took half the team just to make sure Solly didn’t go in the kitchen and mess up that cookin food. Thankfully Engineer didn’t have to keep Pyro out on account of his mask.

They knew Spy was French, they knew that but.. it was easy to forget the whole “food hub” thing when the smoking room wasn't for meals. Spy musta been cookin and eating in his secret kitchen, or the base woulda smelled like this sooner.

Demoman wasn’t much affected by the smell. It was nice to be sure, but he had gone on with his pure alcohol diet so long that food didn’t tempt him. But he noticed Sniper of all people pacing around all impatient like. He liked to live on the land, but even he weren’t immune to good cookin.

Heavy was glad that Spy had not gone to his house in Siberia. Not just because of Scout being ill, but because he wouldn’t have been happy with the food. There were many less spices in a place so far, and mother had to make them last. Normally he was content with his sandviches, but he could tell this meal would be a treat.

Medic locked Archimedes and the other doves in the medbay. They, like him, had no qualms about eating cooked bird. Archimedes might have possibly eaten a cooked dove if it were offered to him, but he was cute and the doctor was content with that.

Antoine wasn’t looking forward to dinner. It wasn’t doubt in his own abilities or the healthfulness of the food. He just.. he didn’t want to cook for a new team! On that Helicopter he told himself he’d be wise this time, not overly friendly and naive. But here he was cooking for a strange team without a proper mask to hide his face.

And he missed them. It was the same good food, but it wasn’t for them. They weren’t… here. Was he really about to do this so soon? During his failed relocation, with total strangers?

He pictured the desert Scout assisting him earlier that day. If he’d been alone, that good hen would have gone rancid from him standing useless at the counter. And it shouldn’t be like that. He shouldn’t be like that. Desert Scout seemed like a nice enough guy. Someone he would befriend if he got to stay, but that probably would not happen. But for now, it was nice knowing someone near his age who was kind.

This Scout reminded him of Merriam, actually. He missed her, even if she hated him forever. Of course she didn’t know the secret. She and Jeremy were safer that way. He debated calling her on the desert Spy’s phone but felt afraid it was tapped.

It had surprised him that the missing Spy was French actually. France was in Europe, and while it’s people were not as pasty and weak to heat as the British, it was not a sweltering country. He took the nightmares over staying awake long in the weeks he spent in that cave. Better to conserve energy that way. The missing Spy had expensive tastes and probably did not much like heat himself. What possessed him to move to a desert team?

He may have been one of the bad spies. The ones who sell their teammates secrets. He knew they were out there, his old team warned him to speak with carefulness around other RED spies, not just BLU. He wouldn’t let that advice go to waste, especially if his family could be tracked.

—————————

New Spy laid out a really epic spread of food! Jeremy had to admit, he’d been skeptical of the meal gettin boring using the same veggies in so many fancy French dishes. But he was wrong. It all looked so good, and he wanted to taste everything!

There were really smooth yellow mashed potatoes and some kinda greens, and lots and lots of chicken! Spy wrapped some melon in fancy deli meat and put it on a cutting board with cheese, olives and more deli meat. There was a tray of colorful desserts and fancy breads like the one he ate at breakfast, too.

Engineer made sure to grab some extra dessert and watered down wine with Pyro’s plate, and loaded up his own with just about everything he and Spy could fit. Heavy had already told him they didn’t eat at the table, but at least Engie knew he hadn’t offended baby Spy.

Heavy was interested in the cheese platter, but skipped it because he knew his big hands would touch everyone else’s share by mistake. But he was pleased with the red sauced chicken meals and the roasted whole breast. He took a spiral bread from the edge of the dessert tray and it was very sweet and pleasantly delicate.

Medic enjoyed the mushroom based sauce on the mashed potatoes, it reminded him of Germany’s different gravies. The meat wrapped cantaloupe was surprisingly good, and even if the spinach was soft and unlike sauerkraut, the flavor was still very good. He made sure to grab an extra plain pastry to share with his birds later.

Spy hooked Demoman up wit scotch and some stronger wine instead of insisting that he eat. He appreciated it, even if the drink was too mild for him to get a buzz.

Soldier had never been a fancy civilized person. He preferred to sleep outside surrounded by raccoons, not in buildings that were too neat and riddled with rules. He was enjoying the food though. He hoped that Spy might make more for him and Zhanna sometime, because the only other place to get fancy people food was fancy people restaurants. And he could tell that she would feel just as itchy to leave as him in a place like that.

Sniper didn’t usually go for smaller white meat birds, preferring emu and other big Aussie bird meat, but the red sauces appealed to him. He liked the fancy desserts well enough, even if he didn’t know what the squishy stuff was… not pudding.. not frosting. It was good though. The mustardy chicken was good broken up and eaten with the green stuff, which he took to be polite.

Scout was having a blast! He never knew there were so many ways to cook chicken and make it taste different. And new Spy probably knew like seven more ways. French food had always seemed like a distant idea behind his stinking deadbeat father and his stuck up attitude. It always sounded snobby by proxy.

But maybe his dumb*** dad was used to good food like this, and that’s why he hated the fried chicken Scout bought. He had to admit, if he ate it after a bite of one of these dishes it would taste like cardboard. But that didn’t make it right to waste food like he did during the bread monster accident. Letting it fall on the floor and get gross… whatever, this wasn’t about him.

There was mustardy chicken that was really good with the green stuff and a plain “croissant”. The roasted chicken was lemony and had a bunch of green spices on it. The white sauce with mushrooms went super well with the good mashed potatoes. He ate pieces of cheese from the cutting board in between the heavier red sauced chicken. And even the melon thing he tried was good!

He got full faster than he usually did eating chicken. But then again, he usually just ate a bucket of fried drumsticks with no mashed potatoes or other stuff. It was kind of boring food, now that he thought about it. He smelled something like peanut butter on the dessert tray and decided it was worth trying. New Spy told him it was hazelnut flavored; he knew because he ate one too.

————————

The leftover food was put in the shared kitchen, except for the cheese board and some of the pastries, which Antoine took back to the other Spy’s kitchen. Then everyone went to bed. He was glad that everyone liked the food, especially since it meant they didn’t watch him too closely. The sound of Scout innocently cutting the raw chicken bones apart almost made him vomit earlier.

It was not so bad at dinner, but his stomach still churned looking at the food he wished he was serving to his old team. He ate the potatoes, roasted chicken and creamed spinach instead of having the same fun as the others. It all went down well enough, and when the desert Scout was unsure of what dessert he had eaten, he worked up the guts to taste one and tell him the flavor. He missed them. And he missed Merriam. It took him longer to fall asleep in the chair by the fire, even though he was just as full as the desert team who were dreaming in peace. For once, he did not have a nightmare.

Here’s what the meal would have looked like, more or less

Coq au Vin

Chicken Fricassee

Poulet a la Moutarde Francaise

Chicken Chasseur

Chicken Provençal

Roasted whole chicken

Charcuterie board

Mashed potatoes

Creamed Spinach because health [same]

The desserts

The hazelnut thing Scout ate.

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

ttwt episode 3

“Last time, on Total Takes World Tour: we dropped off our contestants in Seoul, South Korea- literally! Though they survived the fall, not everyone survived the challenge- after losing half their players, Team Mojo was doomed from the start, and ultimately took the fall- leading to Frollo’s real fall, haha. Mal made some brand new enemies, and Bonnie showed off their soft side when they made buddies with Julia- aw. Who will be falling from altitude next? Will anyone survive today’s challenge? Find out now, on Total Takes: World Tour!”

The inside of first class is illuminated with light classical music, mood lighting, and the smell of fresh pain au chocolat. Kelly and Staci are lounging with their feet up and cucumbers over their eyes, Phillip is busy writing in a thick journal (while giving everyone sideways glances) and Bonnie is absent-mindedly toying with their Switch. 

Max walks into the cabin holding a small bag. “Bathroom’s full. Is anyone here afraid of needles?” then, after a short pause. “Oh, right. I don’t care.”

He sits down next to Bonnie and rolls up his pant leg, then starts unpacking some medical supplies. The latter looks up from their switch curiously. “Whatcha got there?”

“Heroin,” he says plainly, lightly pinching his thigh with one hand and readying a needle with the other. It suddenly hits Bonnie and their face goes blank. 

“Oh. I didn’t know, sorry,”

“It’s fine. Not like I’d be getting any more privacy in the Orwellian nightmare bathroom back there,” he says, not breaking a sweat as he finishes up the injection. 

Kelly leans over the back of their seat. “I do patches,”

“Congratulations,”

---

Ass wakes up with a long stretch, groaning as they work the kinks out of their back from the bumpy and uncomfortable ride. The sound of merry chatting is like nails on a chalkboard to them as Joner and Sha-Mod discuss their upcoming album from across the cabin. 

“I mean, we both have great ideas,” Joner says. 

Sha-Mod nods. “Really great ideas,”

“But it’s not fair to make big decisions without McLovin,”

He thinks for a second, then shrugs. “I guess you’re right. Sucks that we can’t all be here,”

“Tell me about it,” Joner sighs, looking at his teammates. “You gotta promise not to get kicked off. I need you now more than ever, buddy.”

“I swear it! If we go down, we go down together,”

---

SHA-MOD: “Okay, Joner’s my friend and all, but… I’m starting to think maybe this time apart from each other, and MC is good. We’re all a little… What's the word… codeperous!”

From outside the bathroom, Max’s voice shouts “THAT IS NOT A WORD!”

---

Chris’ voice blares over the loudspeakers. “Goooood morning! All campers report to the galley in five for the deets on your next challenge,” 

Economy class grumbles and starts unbuckling themselves for the depressing walk to the tiny eating area. 

---

Chris is standing on the metal picnic table in the center of the room, wearing a viking hat and fake beard. “Welcome to Iceland! Land of the vikings and reduced alphabets!” Chris says. “In just a moment, we’ll be right over some of the most famous hot springs in the world, where I’ll give you the deets on your next challenge. Before then, I’d suggest buckling up- this landing’s gonna be bumpy!”

The teens look at each other and then rush towards the nearest seats, buckling in fast as the plane hits a massive wall of turbulence, shaking everyone like they’re inside a blender. Chris laughs with glee and the plane promptly lands. 

Now dizzy and disoriented, the teens take a moment to collect themselves before unbuckling, but Chris is already five steps ahead of them. He throws open the doors and shouts, “HELLOOOOO, Iceland!” to crickets. 

The plane sits atop an ice sheet in the middle of nowhere. “Um. Where are we?”

Chef walks up to the door behind him. “It’s Iceland,”

“No it isn’t!”

Chef looks across the empty ice sheet. “I see ice. I see land. Iceland,”

“Chef,” Chris sighs, massaging his temples. “Where are we on the map?”

“Big island thingy by Newfoundland,”

“Greenland! We’re in Greenland!” Chris shouts. “What can we even do in Greenland?!”

“That’s not my job,” Chef shrugs and disappears back to the pilot’s quarters. Chris groans. “Okay, okay. Does anyone here know anything about Greenland?”

Silence. The teens look between each other silently and Chris sighs. “Okay, fine. Everyone out. We’re gonna walk across the ice sheet til we find something,”

The entire group groans and follows Chris out into the cold. The wind is blowing snow across the sheet and everyone is shivering as the host zips up his parka and loudly sips from a Thermos. “Mmm. Hot chocolate really lifts my spirits,” 

“I am going. To kill him,” Ass grumbles, wrapping their arms around themselves. “Or myself.”

“Ugh, don’t you dare leave me with Mal,” Courtney says, trudging along. 

Near the back of the group, Mal rambles on happily about her favorite manga to Joner, who’s starting to look like a corpse. 

The group suddenly stops, crashing into each other as Chris stops in front of them. “Here we go!” 

The teens stand before a massive glacier face. “Didn’t think there were any of these left,” the host chuckles. “Okay, impromptu challenge. First team to scale that glacier gets hot chocolate dibs back on the plane.” 

Without another word, the freezing teams rush by him and start climbing the slippery face of the massive glacier. Kelly climbs with an unseen precision and speed, outpacing all of the other competitors. 

---

KELLY: “Fusion gymnastics really pay off,”

---

They reach the top of the glacier in minutes, and peer over the edge. “Come on, Team Friendship! We can do it!”

“Speak for yourself, you spider monkey freak!” Max shouts from the base. 

“Spider monkeys are beautiful creatures!” Kelly yells back. 

Nearby, Michela struggles on the slippery, icy surface- her hands won’t hold onto the sleek edges of ice, and her heavy boots keep pulling her down. As she loses her balance for what feels like the millionth time, someone grabs her arm and hoists her over a ledge. 

“Try digging your heels in more,” Albert says. “And your hands. I did a campaign against oil drilling in Alaska, and did some climbing. while I was there”

She huffs. “Thank you,”

He salutes her and starts climbing upwards while Max watches in annoyance from nearby. 

---

MAX: “I just want to point out, for the record, that he could be flirting with any other girl on the show, but he had to choose mine. There’s something wrong with that guy,"

---

“Dude, later,” Bonnie says as they climb past him. Max sighs and follows them up. 

Albert reaches the top of the glacier and huffs, looking around. Kelly is a few yards away, still shouting down to their team. “Let’s go, guys! You’re doing great,”

He smiles and sits beside them. “Well, aren’t you a little ray of sunshine?”

“Hm?” Kelly looks up. “Oh- I try! We could all use a little push in the right direction, don’t you think? There’s no point to giving up.”

“You can’t win everything, though,”

“Not with that attitude,” they say, matter-of-factly. “Let’s go, team!”

Albert walks off to help Michela over the ledge and Kelly cheerily returns to their team, most of whom keep shouting back at them to be quiet. 

Michela and Albert hoist Austin over the ledge and fall backwards as he collapses on top of them with a scream. Kelly’s attention is diverted to the scuffle, but they quickly turn away when they see who it is. 

“Hey, baby, don’t be a stranger,” Austin says, noticing the avoidance. “Friends, right?”

Kelly looks back and clears their throat. “Yeah, I mean…. It’s been a while, that’s all,” 

“Not too long for an old lover, eh, bird?” he nudges them and they giggle. Patrick makes it over the ledge and slips across the ice, crashing into Michela and Albert like bowling pins and sending them tumbling backwards again. “Well, best get back to the old ball and chain- the team that is!” he laughs at his own joke and walks off. 

---

KELLY: “Sometimes I forget how much I liked Austin when we were together. I mean… we broke up for a reason, and-and I stand by that! But still…”

---

Phillip reaches the top and skids across the ice before coming to a stop in front of Michela and Albert, preventing them from being barreled over again. The first of Team Yaoi successfully makes it over the top and pulls Joner up with them. He and Courtney wheeze atop the ice for a few moments before brushing themselves off and peering over the edge. 

Ass and Julia come next, followed by Mal, who’s been talking about Yuri on Ice for the past eighteen minutes. 

“Someone either get me a pair of earmuffs or a shotgun,” Ass grumbles, pushing past Courtney as Mal babbles on. 

While the team is distracted, Joner runs over to the edge and pulls Sha-Mod up, looking both ways for witnesses. 

“Thanks, man,” he huffs. Joner shrugs. 

Next up is Max and Bonnie. “Has anyone seen Staci?” The latter asks, looking from side to side. 

“Right here, bozos,” Staci says, sitting in a makeshift ice throne. “I found some scrap metal and used it to make ice picks like, ages ago!”

Max rolls his eyes. 

“Looks like you all made it up alive. Good on you!” Chris says. “While you were busy doing whatever, I went ahead and found a real challenge for you- ice fishing! A common pastime here in Greenland, the sport requires a fair bit of travel. The traditional method is dog sledding, but since we already did that in the original World Tour, you’ll be taking a different twist- building your own out of the materials provided!”

A large helicopter hovers overhead and dunks piles of junk on the top of the glacier, right before the teams. “After that, you’ll be choosing who gets to pull you! Meet you at the finish line!”

A ladder drops from the helicopter and Chris grabs it, waving goodbye as he flies off. 

Staci turns back to the team. “This should be easy enough! We just need something to move on, some rope, and a body,”

“I see cardboard and diapers,” Bonnie says, pointing to the trash pile. “Where’d Chris get this stuff, anyway?”

“I’d assume some kind of current carries trash in the Atlantic up here,” Max says, tossing a tin can behind him. “But what do I know? Let’s ask the genius.”

They all turn to Staci, who shrugs. “How would I know? It doesn’t matter, anyway- we’ve got everything we need. Max, start collecting those cardboard boxes. Bonnie, get me something metal. Kelly, you’re on shoelace duty,” they salute. Staci continues. “Everyone else, start looking for some kind of adhesive and some kind of grease. Let’s go!”

The team disperses, leaving the two others behind. Ass and Courtney watch them section off. “So, we’re screwed,” Ass says, unamused. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be dying of hypothermia.”

They walk off, leaving the team behind. “Can we please not fight?” Joner whimpers. 

Courtney sighs and nods. “Joner’s right, we need to stick together,” they scan the horizon. “Someone find some… wood, or something. There’s gotta be something we can do!”

Joner and Julia look at each other (the latter rolling her eyes) and both cautiously walk off into the garbage. 

---

COURTNEY: “Okay, so I’m not a perfect leader. So what? Someone has to keep this team together!”

---

“Look what I found, baby!” Austin glides back over to Team Mojo, who so far have only collected sheet metal. Michela looks at him, and the rest of the team raise their heads as he stops in front of them gracefully. 

“Ice skates! Way to go!” Albert says. “We can attach them to the bottom of our sled.”

“There’s a whole line of them over there, baby!” Austin jabs his thumb backwards, then begins taking off the skates. “But they make me look really shagadelic, don’t they?”

Everyone looks at Michela for comment. She rolls her eyes. “Whatever,”

---

MICHELA: “Why am I ‘the girl’? I mean, I know why, but come on! Patrick is right there!”

---

Kelly sifts through the large pile of abandoned boots in the old shoe sector of the trash heap, pulling out shoelaces and humming to themselves. They crawl on their knees, ducking under alcoves in the garbage island. Their pockets are stuffed full of laces, and as they continue along the depressing manmade horror, they bump their head against something. 

“Ow!” they exclaim, adjusting their vision after the bump knocked them dizzy. 

“Oops- sorry, baby, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Austin says. “Here, let me help with that.” he pulls off his blazer, wraps a chunk of ice in it, and presses it against Kelly’s forehead. They smile gratefully and hold it to their head. “Thank you,”

---

KELLY: “Despite everything, he’s still a gentleman,” they pause for a few moments, then sigh. “Sometimes… I really miss him.”

---

“How’ve you been holding up? Groovy, I hope?” Austin asks, pulling another ice skate out of the snow. 

Kelly shrugs. “Oh, you know. Good, bad, in between. Lonely, mostly,” they sigh. 

Austin places a gentle hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “Sorry to hear that, baby,”

The two look at each other for a moment, both crouching on the ground in their little cave of ice and garbage. Austin slowly begins leaning in, and Kelly takes the cue and does the same, closing their eyes. 

But Austin, instead of doing the expected, ducks to the left and nabs something behind Kelly. They fall forward and land face-first in the snow. “There you are, you little bugger,” he says, holding up another skate. “Well, fun chat! Later, baby!”

Austin gets up and walks off with his bundles of ice skates, leaving Kelly behind. They struggle for a moment before sitting up and backing out of the cave, their tongue attached to the blade of an ice skate that was embedded in the snow. 

“Uh-oh,” they say with a heavy lisp. 

Chris walks over to observe the scene. “Wow. What’re the chances,” he chuckles. The familiar ring of the musical bell sounds and Kelly mumbles. 

“Now?”

Chris nods. “Now. But, uh- let’s get some backup singers, shall we?” he chuckles. “You seem a little tongue-tied.”

Kelly’s brow furrows at the annoying joke while Chris laughs at himself. Michela, Ass, and Courtney are shoved over by Chef, much to their collective annoyance. 

“Ah, here we are. Take it away, ladies! And… things,” he squints before walking off. 

“What happened?” Michela asks. Kelly grumbles as the bell rings again, almost passive-aggressively this time. “The strings of my heart are a tangled mess!”

“Oh, I love this one,” Courtney says, elbowing Ass to join in. “Ooh, mess!”

“It’s beating so hard, it’s jumping out of my chest!”

Michela begrudgingly joins in this time. “Ooh, chest!”

“I tried to start with a clean slate!”

“Ooh, slate!”

“I ended up stuck to a skate!”

“They got stuck, tried their luck, sucks to suck- stuck, stuck to a skate!”

“I was a fool, thought nothing had changed!”

“Ooh, changed!”

“Now I realize that was totally strange!”

“Ooh, strange!”

“He’s moved on, I’m still stuck in the past!”

“Ooh, past!”

“I probably should’ve just asked!”

“They got stuck, tried their luck, sucks to suck- stuck, stuck to a skate! Stuck, stuck, stuck to a skate!”

“Are we done now?” Michela asks. No one responds and she walks off. 

“Um… help? Please?” Kelly asks. 

Ass rolls their eyes. “Maybe next time you should think before throwing your lips at anyone who looks your way,”

Courtney holds up a finger. “But-”

“Come on,” Ass grabs their wrist and drags them away from Kelly. 

---

ASS: “Strawberry Shortcake? Oh, please. They’re like a weird pet to me. I’ve got them completely wrapped around my finger,”

---

COURTNEY: “Ass is annoying, but they’re not a threat. Like a small, loud dog. I’ve got them under my thumb,”

---

“Um… what happened to you?” Max asks as Kelly walks back to the group, holding up the skate (still attached to their face). “You know what? I don't even want to know.”

“Oh my gosh, Kelly! Where did you find this?!” Staci says, holding the skate. “This is perfect!”

“Austhin,” they mumble. “They hath a bunch over there.” they jab their thumb back towards Team Mojo, who’s sheet metal sled is almost complete. 

“Well, nevermind that. I made something even better. You guys are gonna love this,” Staci says, pulling out their sled- a futuristic, yet simple design. “The runner is made out of tin can lids for traction, with an automatic feature that’ll cover them with this metal slip when we need to go smooth. I reinforced the cardboard, and these shoelaces will work perfectly to hold everything together and make up the reins.”

Max rolls his eyes. Bonnie elbows him. “It looks great, Staci,”

They shrug. “Oh, it’s nothing,”

Ass watches Team Friendship’s sled come together and looks back to the Yaois, who’s contraption looks more like an unfinished Ikea product. 

“We need to hurry things up,” they announce curtly. “We’re WAY behind.”

“Please, keep standing there and telling us how bad we’re doing. It’s SO helpful!” Courtney says, using a cable to tie together the miscellaneous wood and cardboard pieces they found. 

“Guys, can we please not argue?” Joner pipes up from behind them. “It’s really not helpful.”

Ass rolls their eyes and walks off. “Whatever. I’m going to find more wood,”

Courtney grumbles to themselves and angrily tightens the cable to a suffocating degree. Julia sits next to Joner and shakes her head. “What a crowd, huh? If you’d ask me, you’re the glue holding us together, Joner,”

She pats his back and he shivers. “Um… okay. I’m going to go sit by Mal,” 

Joner gets up and stiffly walks over to Mal, who’s busy trying to get a signal on her phone. 

---

“Attention, construction crews! You have five more minutes before the race begins!” Chris’ voice blares over his megaphone as his helicopter hovers overhead. 

“How’re we feeling?” Bonnie says, stepping back. “Do we need a steering function, or will our “sled dog” take that on?”

“Do we have time to add anything else?” Max asks. 

“There’s always time for finishing touches!” Staci squeals, running over and dumping a bucket of glitter over the sled. Max sighs and massages his temples. 

---

STACI: “What? Just because I’m an engineer doesn’t mean I can’t have fun,”

---

Team Friendship piles on the sled, getting covered in glitter in the process. Max looks like he’s about to kill someone, and Bonnie isn’t faring much better. 

The three sleds- each of varying quality- line up in front of the opposite end of the glacier, where Chris is waiting. 

“Um, someone’s going to come and clean all this extra trash up, right?” Albert asks, looking at the pile behind them. 

“Suuuuuuure,” Chris grins. “Just be grateful you’re reusing, buddy. Your next challenge is simple- your designated ‘sled dog’ will pull you down the glacier to the frozen lake, where you’ll cut into the ice and fish out one of these!” He holds up a handful of mugs, each a color coordinating to the teams. “Once you have your mug, you can cross the finish line and receive your reward-”

The crowd Oohs. 

“-Not going to the elimination ceremony!”

The crowd sulks again. 

“As soon as you choose your sled dogs, you’re free to go!” Chris fires a flare into the sky and chuckles to himself before walking off as the teams turn to each other. 

“I volunteer!” Phillip says. “My raw strength is deeper than what meets the eye…”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Max says. “How about Skate Face? Not like they’ve done a lot today besides frenching a shoe.”

Kelly protests, jabbing their finger, but their words are unintelligible. 

“I’ll do it if it means less glitter on me,” Bonnie says, climbing out of the back and circling around to the front, fastening the harness. “Don’t even think about whipping me.”

Across the ice, Michela fastens the harness around herself and gives a thumbs up to the team behind her. Ass and Courtney watch the other group fix themselves up and turn to theirs. 

“I’ll do it,” Courtney says, raising a hand. “It’s only fair after my terrible leadership today.”

“No kidding,” Ass grumbles. “But I don’t think you’re really up for the task, no offense. Wait, actually- offense!”

“Like you’d do any better,”

“Watch me!”

“Okay, then why doesn’t Mal do it? She hasn’t done a single thing all day!” Courtney shouts. 

“Um, not true! I’m Wattpadding,” Mal scoffs, offended. Ass rolls their eyes. 

“Enough!” Joner shouts, catching everyone’s attention. “I’ve had ENOUGH of your fighting! I’ll do it, okay!” He gets up and walks around to the front of the sled. “Now are you done acting like children, or do you want a juice box and a cookie with that?!”

Courtney, Ass, and Mal stare blankly, then slowly shake their heads. 

“That’s what I thought,” Joner says, fastening the harness around him. “If I hear a single peep out of you, I’m turning this whole sled around!”

Julia smiles and leans into Joner to whisper. “Imagine how much smoother we’d run if one of those guys were gone. Just saying!”

---

JULIA: “I need an ally. No way I’m trusting basket case 1, 2, or 3, plus- Joner is probably the weakest link on the team. He needs me,”

---

Joner looks away as he finishes fastening the ropes around his torso and shoulders. “Me and Sha-Mod are already kind of allies,”

“You have a cross-team alliance?” Julia says. “I’m impressed. But Sha-Mod can’t help you here, and trust me- if we lose, you’ll be next.”

He thinks for a moment, and then nods. “Fine, but just for today, and just in case we lose,”

“Whatever works for you!” Julia says merrily. 

Joner starts off, shortly ahead of Bonnie and far behind Michela (as Team Mojo’s vote for sled dog was unanimous). He dashes right off the side of the glacier and the crowd in the back scream in terror as they drop down. 

Bonnie watches the Yaois fall and turns back to Staci. “This better work!”

“Trust me!”

They sigh and start running, screaming as they go off the edge- as the serrated edges of the tin can runners dig into the ice, though, the fall is dramatically slowed and much safer. 

By the time they reach the ground below, they soar past Team Yaoi, who are all buried waist-deep in snow. 

“I can see Michela and the boys!” Bonnie yells. Staci starts up the mechanism to cover the runners, and they pick up speed, gliding past the Mojos. 

Kelly makes fleeting eye contact with Austin as they pass, and then quickly looks away. 

---

“Joner? JONER!” Julia shouts as the Yaois dig through the snow, searching for their missing sled dog. 

“Maybe he ran away?” Mal asks, using her phone flashlight to very slowly melt the snow underfoot. 

Julia rolls her eyes. “He’s not an actual dog,”

“Isn’t he, though?” Ass snickers. Courtney whacks them upside the head. 

A faint groaning catches everyone’s attention and they turn to a massive pile of snow and rocks up ahead. Courtney approaches and winces. “Oh, that’s… not good,” 

Joner is lying in the pile of rocks, bruised and battered. Courtney and Julia lift him up and carry him to the back of the sled, then turn to each other. “So… who’s gonna pull it now?”

---

“Come on, Bonnie!”

“You got it, Bonnie!” 

Bonnie rolls their eyes. “Okay, I get it!” and they speed up. 

“Mush, mush!” Patrick yells, using his blazer as a whip to goad on Michela, who’s looking less than amused. “Good doggie!”

“Can someone do something about him?” she yells. Albert looks cautiously at him, and he snickers. “Oh, I dare you,”

Albert curls his hand into a fist and punches Patrick’s lights out. 

---

ALBERT: “When you work in a field like mine, you have to learn how to defend yourself eventually. I’ve been threatened, attacked, attacked with bricks, attacked with pillowcases full of dead birds, and stoned at least five times,” he pauses. “And yet, they still built that dam.”

---

Bonnie slows down at the mouth of a frozen lake, Michela shortly after. Each respective team unloads and runs to the ice, where three sets of fishing rods and saws are sitting. 

“Anyone know how to fish?” 

On Mojo’s side, Albert begins sawing while Michela grabs the rod. “For the record,” he states. “I do not condone commercial fishing.”

“This isn’t commercial, nor is it fishing,” Michela says, dunking the fishing rod in the water the second the ice is cleared off. 

Minutes later, Team Yaoi finally arrives, everyone but Joner pulling the sled behind them. “Let’s go!” Courtney shouts, dropping the ropes. 

Ass grabs the saw and starts cutting the ice open while Julia readies the hook. Nearby, Michela shouts “Got something!” And pulls up an orange mug. “Let’s go!”

Team Mojo runs off, leaving behind Friendship and Yaoi, only one of which has gotten in the water yet. Max maneuvers the fishing rod around. “I’m not feeling anything,”

“You’re doing it wrong,” Phillip says. “I would know. I have a fishing encyclopedia.”

“So you know how to fish?” Staci asks. 

He looks away and avoids the question for a few moments. “...No,”

“Why would you have a fishing encyclopedia if you don’t fish?” Bonnie questions, raising an eyebrow. 

Phillip sighs. “You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be a man,”

“I got something!” Max yells, just as Courtney gets their lure in the water. He pulls out a lavender mug and Team Friendship cheers, getting up and running off. 

“Hurry!” Julia snaps at Courtney. 

“I can’t fish any faster!”

---

Team Mojo crosses the finish line and cheers. 

“And Team Mojo has won the challenge!” Chris announces. “Nice going, guys. Enjoy some complementary winners hot chocolate.” 

Chef rolls out a large metal beverage dispenser. 

“But we only have one mug!” Michela protests. 

“I know. Sharing is caring, guys!” Chris chuckles. The team groans. 

Team Friendship pulls up next, panting. “We-we made it! Not latht!” Kelly says. The team cheers, and only seconds later does Team Yaoi pull forward, holding their mug and panting. 

“No. NO!” Ass shouts, dropping to their knees as they see both teams have arrived before them. “NOOOOOOOOOO!”

Courtney wheezes and collapses in the snow and Mal rolls her eyes. Julia looks around. “I feel like we forgot something,”

---

Sha-Mod pushes Joner back to the finish line in the shoddily-made sled, shaking his head. 

---

“Team Yaoi, I’ll see you at the elimination ceremony tonight. The rest of you can enjoy a nice, toasty evening on the plane,” Chris grins. “Cause the engines are overheating and we can’t figure out why!”

---

Team Yaoi sits in the wooden bleachers at the elimination ceremony, wrapped in blankets and shivering.

“Team Yaoi- wow. You sucked. I can’t even think of a single nice thing to say about you!” Chris chuckles. “Your absolute hatred of each other led you to the pits- for some of you, literally!” he says, gesturing to Joner in a full-body cast. He groans. “But now it’s time to cast your votes and see who gets the boot for good,”

---

Courtney sits in the confessional and sighs. “As much as I want to get rid of Mal, and Ass… it’s cruel to keep Joner in the competition,”

---

Ass stamps out Courtney and flips their passport closed with a smile. 

---

Joner mumbles erratically as he sits in his cast, trying to stretch out to reach the passports.

---

Mal stamps out Joner without even looking up from her phone.

---

“I know we’re supposed to be allies, but what use is someone who can’t even move his fingers?” Julia says, crossing her arms. “Can just one person I bet on make it to merge?” She stamps out Joner. 

---

“Let’s see- Ass, Julia, and Mal- you’re safe,” Chris reads the votes aloud, tossing each player named a bag of pretzels. “And no surprise- Courtney, you’re safe, too. Sorry Joner. The good news is that there should be a hospital under us riiiiight about now.”

Chris tosses him a parachute, which Julia helps him put on. Ass rolls their eyes. 

Joner mumbles something loudly, glaring at the team as he stands at the door. And without another word, he jumps out. 

“Dramatic,” Chris chuckles. 

---

Kelly sighs as they hold their hair dryer to their tongue, trying to unfreeze it from the harsh metal of the skate blade in the confessional. The door opens and someone jumps. “Sorry, didn’t realize someone was in here,”

“It’th fine,” Kelly says. “I didn’t lock it.”

“Still stuck to that thing?” Albert says, turning on the water tap and letting it run warm before gesturing for Kelly to try it out. They do and the blade immediately separates from their mouth. 

“Finally!” They exclaim. “That could’ve saved me a few hours.”

He shrugs. “I do what I can. How’d you get stuck to that thing, anyway?”

“It’s a long story. Short version is that you should never assume someone’s going to kiss you,” Kelly sighs, shaking their head. 

“Um... I don’t think I would. I think you’re a little too optimistic for your own good,” Albert comments, then leaves the bathroom. 

Kelly sighs again, then closes the door to be alone.

[teen-cups-au]

@thatoneartistsblog

Doudy (mod): I can imagine Cuphead being passionate about it.

Thanks @castielsan for clearing this one up lol! (Idk much about FNAF.)

@drizzlemoth

Doudy (mod): *checks what this is*

Okay, I'm staying out of debate, not enough knowledge XD

@alice-the-kittycat-yt

Doudy (mod): LMAO that feels like personal experience XD

Elder Kettle: This used to happen often...

@bendy-the-dancing-demon

Mugman: That could totally be it sadly...

@lennaeternal

Cuphead: Wha-

Doudy (mod): MY FAV SO FAR 🤣 Choose your team, I'm pain au chocolat.

[tour-de-pants]

Guys, I did a thing...

Just a quick alt meet RPF of Watson and Holmes... You know I ship it, don't @ me! Let me know if I should do more :) -Pants

If he’d been paying any attention, Watson would’ve noticed the aggravated stare from the woman one table over. He’d been tapping a slim wooden stir stick against his mug for five minutes that must’ve felt to her like fifty. He wasn’t the sort to annoy strangers, or anyone, intentionally. Usually he didn’t even mind someone else running late to a meeting. But if Lestrade didn’t turn up soon he might just lose his mind.

Training diets were a hell he put himself through willingly, and after fifteen years, the strain was fairly easy to take. Without much of a sweet tooth to speak of, he had it better than many—especially poor Anderson, who harbored a desire for pain au chocolat to rival his want for a mountain win. Not a lot got to Watson anymore, but the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans in this place… damn if he wasn’t about to crack and down a massive hazelnut concoction worth half a day’s calories. 

“‘Ugh, honestly,”’ the woman one table over grunted, drawing Watson’s attention away from the door. He frowned as she met his eyes with a look of disgust. A lifetime in London wouldn’t be enough to understand these people. 

“‘Hey John, sorry ‘bout that. Perils of mass transport, you know how it goes.” ’Lestrade slid into the seat across the table, the bizarrely small size of which Watson was noticing for the first time. They really didn’t want folks to hang about, he guessed. 

“‘It’s alright, Coach,”’ Watson answered, gulping his unexpectedly still hot tea. 

“‘Aw, don’t you do that, mate. Makes me feel like an old man in charge of a bunch of teenagers.”’

“‘I know.” ’Watson smiled. Lestrade was a good guy—and a good coach. Maybe he was jumping the gun with this whole retirement thing. “‘So what are we doing here? Besides testing my resolve against the Kenyan roast of the day?”’

“‘Need to let you in on something before the Prologue, being team captain and all. I wish I could tell the whole group, but it’s a bit sensitive.”’ The clasping and unclasping of Lestrade’s fingers told Watson this wouldn’t be a time for jokes, regardless of what he was about to hear. Something distinctly non-chamomile turned in his stomach.

“‘What’s up? Is someone injured?”’ He leaned forward the few inches it took to bring their heads close. “‘Worse?”’ 

“‘Oh, no, no. Nothing like that, thank God. No, it’s…you’re getting…it’s a new teammate.”’

Watson leaned back in his chair. Of course it was a new teammate; it’d have to be, what with Sholto out. After that crash last year, the doctors said he would never mount a bike again. He’d managed to stay out of the media once he’d stabilized and been transferred to a rehabilitation facility. It’d been a big hit for the team in terms of the Tour and fears for their own safety out there. Few teams in recent years had been as cohesive as Speedy’s; the idea of bringing in someone new was hard enough, but—

“‘This close to the Prologue, though? Why can’t the other guys know? And why didn’t you just ring me about it?”’

“‘John, it’s…”’

Watson waited, stir stick tapping against his saucer now. He heard the woman next to him mutter a curse as she scooped up her laptop and walked off. Some people were just grumpy, he supposed. 

“‘John, it’s Sherlock Holmes.”’

It was Watson’s turn to curse under his breath. Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes who rode the Tour ten years ago? Sherlock Holmes who left the race and the cycling world in a cloud of cocaine use allegations and rumors about a tryst gone bad with his own teammate? Sherlock Holmes whom no one had heard from since?

“‘Sorry Greg.”’ Watson blinked hard in an attempt to make sense of the news. “‘I thought you said Sherlock Holmes.”’

“‘You can’t tell anyone, mate. And sorry for laying it on you like this. There are more things beyond my control than I’d like, but I can assure you he’ll be riding clean and is physically fit for the job. Listen, I hate surprises as much as the next guy, but my hands are really tied with this one. I’m letting you know now because I anticipate I’ll need your help.”’

Watson ran a hand through his hair, short and light despite it only being late June. He still couldn’t figure out why he’d had to come out all this way to hear about this, but Lestrade always had reasons for what he did and he was usually right.

“‘Ok. Yeah, alright. Thanks for the heads up. Whatever you need, I’ll back you.”’

“‘Great.”’ A relieved smile flashed across Lestrade’s face as he rapped his knuckles on the tabletop and stood to leave. “‘Now get yourself out of here before temptation wins the day.”’

“‘As if it ever could.”’ Watson nodded and returned the smile, waiting for the door to close behind Lestrade before moving to add his cup and saucer to the mounting pile of dirty china above the trash bin behind him.

“‘Ceramic,”’ intoned a deep voice behind him.

“‘Pardon?”’ Watson asked, furrowing his brow but not turning.

“‘The dining ware isn’t china. It’s ceramic.”’

Watson stepped toward the bin, tossing in his stir stick and paper napkin before precariously balancing his ceramic cup and saucer on the returns shelf. 

“‘Are you my conscience?” ’he asked, laughing lightly as his own joke and holding up pleading hands in front of his mug until he was fairly certain he wouldn’t be the one to send the whole lot tumbling to the floor.

“‘Unlikely. Though I suppose we’ll see how the early stages go.”’

Early stages? Watson turned slowly, eyebrows rising and jaw dropping as recognition dawned. Holy hell, you’re—

“‘Sherlock Holmes, yes. Kind of you to remember me, though perhaps the memory you’re recalling is not in itself so kind.”’

“‘What are you doing here?”’ Watson looked around suspiciously, feeling as though he ought to be paranoid though he didn’t know what he might be trying to spot. 

“‘Seeing as how it is a coffee shop, one might suppose I stopped in to purchase coffee. And as much as I do hate to be predictable, in this particular case, that supposition would be the correct one.”’

“‘Well yeah, ok, but I mean why are you here, in this coffee shop? Now?”’

“‘I take it an odd experience has befallen you in the past hour—no, half hour—and you haven’t yet processed whatever it is. News of some kind, I should imagine. However, blocking the bins with your jaw wagging like a goldfish, while apparently a natural choice for you, is in fact not typically the most productive one.”’

“‘Oh, sh—sorry, I’m very sorry,”’ Watson said to the miniature queue of patrons waiting to deposit their china.

“‘Ceramic,”’ Holmes noted impatiently. “‘Sit down at that set of chairs there. The place is emptying, I should return with my order in three minutes.”’ He cast a glance at the register. “‘Four, it’s the cashier’s first day.”’

Watson didn’t see him walk away, nor did he feel himself cross back to the small dining area and settle into a surprisingly uncomfortable armchair. It was impossible. Sherlock Holmes had been missing from the public eye, from the entire world as far as he knew, for nearly a decade. Now within minutes of being told the man had spontaneously resurrected to join Team Speedy’s/Sussex Honey, here he was in the flesh. Watson looked around the cafe. He didn’t believe in magic or kismet or any of those mystical type things. After forty years of life, he was sure he’d know by now if there were weird crystal-swinging forces at play. But what were the odds?

“Three thousand seven hundred and eighteen.” The tap of a paper cup on the low table by his elbow punctuated Holmes’s statement. “‘Of course that’s not the actual percentage chance of us encountering each other here and now, simply the approximate number of coffee shops available assuming we were both entering one at the same time.”’

“‘That’s one massive coincidence.”’ Watson eyed Holmes in the chair beside him, sipping slowly at his own paper cup’s contents. 

“‘The universe is rarely so lazy, or so Big Brother says.”’

“‘Big Brother?”’ Watson was now only ninety percent certain he wasn’t in a movie. Or a simulation. Or whatever the thing was you were supposedly inside of. 

“‘My big brother, Mycroft. Though if he had it his way, the capital letters would be spot on. The chances of us meeting here are slim indeed, but there’s something more…why is it you—oh. I see.”’

“‘You see?”’

“‘You’ve only just found out that we’re more than distant former colleagues of a sort. Quite the coincidence after all, then.”’ Holmes took another long sip of his drink. “‘Do make a start on that before it goes cold,”’ he instructed, pointing at Watson’s cup. “‘Wasting it would be a crime.”’

Heat radiated through Watson’s palm as he wrapped his hand around the cup. The scent of fresh coffee reached him halfway to his mouth, allowing him a moment to brace himself. He never was able to drink it black, but this was hardly the time to cause offense. He could almost hear Holmes smirking from a foot away. He can’t really read minds, I must have some rude look on my face. Wouldn’t have to if he’d only asked before he went ahead and ordered for me. Haven’t even properly introduced ourselves yet.

“‘You’ll have to trust me sometime. Might as well start with my impeccable taste in coffee.”’

“‘Right, yeah. Thanks. Cheers.”’ Watson took a careful sip. Then another. Whatever this was dancing across his tongue was like no coffee he’d ever tasted. He tipped his head back a moment, unsure whether he wanted to consume it all instantly or draw it out as long as it would last.

“‘You’re not being shipped to a desert island, it’s only the Tour de France. You can have another one of these in hand in a matter of weeks.”’

“‘This is the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life. This…what even is this?”’ He strained to see the board over his shoulder. “‘That Tanzania blend thing?”’

Holmes scoffed. “‘As if a blend of the day could produce such a depth of flavor. No, John—may I call you John?”’

Watson nodded. Day was already weird, why not. 

“‘No, John, this is not a blend. Look at the wall behind the baristas, over to the left.”’

“‘I didn’t even see that before,” ’Watson said, squinting at a large apparatus. 

“‘You do see, but you do not observe. That,”’ Holmes gestured with the cup in his hand, “‘produces this. Kyoto Slow, by name.”’

“‘How does all that even work?”’

“‘Perhaps if we both make it home from Paris,”’ Holmes said, sighing into another sip, “‘I’ll walk you through it.”’

------------- //irl author's note: Kyoto Slow is an awesome Mystrade fic, highly recommend. read on AO3.