#They really deserved and earned this championship

[marella-art]

Just had to take a few minutes to doodle this, it's so cool to be able to see them win their first cup ever! 🐀

[pucksandpower]

Hey Natalia, hope you’re doing good ❤️ Please could I request enemies to lovers with Max. You’re constantly at each other’s throats in front of everyone and Christian has had enough of your shit and demands to see you in the office. But when you continue to fight, he’s like nah I don’t wanna be involved, sort your shit out together and leaves. And you end up fucking on his desk and after you’re suddenly super friendly around eachother. Thank you lovely! xxx

Whiplash

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: You and Max discover that there is a thin line between lust and hate

Warnings: 18+ content

You storm into Christian’s office, scowling as Max follows right behind you. He slams the door shut and you both take a seat across from Christian, refusing to even look at each other.

“I’m sure you both know why I called you in here,” Christian says sternly. “The tension between you two has gone too far. It’s affecting the team and we can’t have that.”

You scoff and cross your arms. “Why don’t you talk to him about it then? I’m not the problem here.”

Max scowls. “Oh please, don’t pretend like you’re so innocent. You’ve been nothing but hostile towards me since the start of the season.”

“Only because you did the same!” You retort. “I was nothing but nice when I first joined the team. You’re the one with the attitude problem.”

“Enough!” Christian shouts, silencing you both. “I don’t care who started it. I’m ending it. We’re in the middle of a championship fight and I need my drivers to work together, not against each other.”

You sink lower in your chair, still refusing to look at Max. The animosity radiates off of him in waves.

“Now you’re going to stay in here until you work this out,” Christian says firmly. “I don’t care if it takes all night. Fix this mess or both of your seats are on the line.”

He heads for the door and you spring up from your chair. “You can’t be serious!”

“Deadly,” Christian replies before shutting the door. You hear the lock click into place from the outside.

You jiggle the handle and pound on the door. “Let us out!”

No response.

He’s really done it, that bastard. Locked you in a room alone with your most hated rival.

You take a deep breath before turning around. Max sits there glaring at you, jaw clenched. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

“For once we agree on something,” you snap.

His glare hardens. “Don’t pretend you’re blameless. You’ve been nasty since you got here.”

You storm over to him. “Because you decided to hate me from day one! I tried to be nice but you were so damn hostile. What’s your problem with me anyway?”

Max stands up abruptly, getting in your face. “My problem is you waltzing in here like you own the place when I’m the number one driver.”

You shove him in the chest. “Get over yourself! I earned my spot here.”

He shoves you back. “You don’t deserve to be here.”

Your blood boils as you stare him down. God he’s infuriating. And stubborn as hell. You doubt you’ll ever get him to admit any fault in this situation.

“Well I’m not going anywhere so I guess you’ll just have to get used to it,” you snap.

Max steps even closer, eyes blazing. Your noses nearly touch from how close he stands. “Is that so?” His voice comes out low, almost husky.

A shiver runs down your spine but you keep glaring at him. “Yeah, that’s so.”

You expect him to shoot back some nasty retort. Instead his eyes flick down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your heated gaze again.

Suddenly the energy shifts between you. The anger and tension remains but it transforms into something more primal. More dangerous.

Your breaths come heavier as electricity crackles in the nonexistent space left between you. Max’s pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as your own.

“I ...” Your voice comes out hoarse. “We should ...”

But neither of you make any move to step away. Without thinking your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips. Max tracks the movement with his intense stare.

“Fuck it,” he growls before crashing his mouth onto yours.

You gasp into the kiss and he takes advantage, deepening it. His hands grasp your hips roughly as he walks you backwards until your back hits the wall.

You barely process what’s happening. One second you were at each other’s throats, the next his body is pressing urgently against yours.

A moan escapes you when his lips move to your neck. He nips at the sensitive skin there and you thread your fingers into his hair.

“This is insane,” you pant out even as you tug him closer.

“I know,” Max breathes against your neck. His hands skim up your sides, pushing up your shirt. “I hate you.”

“I hate you more.” You crash your lips together again, tasting blood when you nip at him.

Max groans into your mouth as your tongues slide together. He hitches one of your legs around his hip, grinding against you.

You break the kiss to tip your head back, moaning at the feeling. Fuck, you despise this man, but right now you need him more than anything.

His hips keep up that delicious friction as he mouths at your collarbone. “I’m still going to beat you,” he rasps out.

You smirk, nails digging into his shoulders. “In your dreams.”

Max’s eyes darken at your taunt. Without warning, he grips your thighs and lifts you onto Christian’s desk. You gasp as he pushes between your legs, his growing arousal obvious.

“Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs before crushing his mouth to yours once more.

You moan into the frenzied kiss, tongues tangling as you tug at his hair. His hands slide up your thighs, fumbling with the button of your jeans to push them down around your ankles. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him against your heated core.

Even through the layers of clothing you can feel how hard he is. You rock your hips, desperate for more friction. Max groans and moves his lips to your neck, nipping down to your collarbone.

Your head tips back as his fingers dance up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “God, I hate you so much,” you moan.

“I know.” His voice comes out rough, filled with lust.

Impatient, you reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head, tossing it aside. Your eyes rake over his muscular chest and arms. Unable to resist, you lean in and scrape your teeth over his nipple.

Max hisses in a breath, hands clenching on your hips. “Fuck ...”

You grin, laving your tongue over the sensitive nub as your fingers move to his belt buckle. With shaky hands you get it open and reach into his boxers, fingers wrapping around his thick length.

He shudders against you. “Shit, Y/N ...”

You stroke him firmly, reveling in the moans and curses falling from his lips. His own hands move under your shirt, palming your breasts through your bra.

It’s not enough. You strip off your shirt and reach back to unclasp your bra. Max wastes no time dipping his head to capture one of your nipples between his lips.

“Oh god ...” you gasp, back arching into him. His teeth and tongue work over your sensitive peaks until you’re writhing beneath him.

The sound of voices outside the door makes you both freeze. Fuck. The race weekend is still going on around you. Anyone could walk by and hear what’s happening.

You meet Max’s heated gaze. “We should stop,” you pant out half-heartedly.

His eyes blaze with defiance and lust. “No fucking way.”

Before you can react he drops to his knees, grasping your hips to pull you towards the edge of the desk.

Max tugs strongly on your lacy underwear until it gives way at the seams, baring you to him. He pauses to appreciate the view, eyes roaming hungrily over your glistening folds.

“I’m still going to beat you tomorrow,” he rasps.

You tug on his hair impatiently. “Just get on with it before we get caught.”

With a wicked grin he dives in, mouth latching onto your throbbing clit. You cry out, quickly slapping a hand over your own mouth.

You fumble with his belt, desperate to feel him. Max groans as you wrap your hand around his length.

“Fuck, just like that,” he groans against your skin, increasing the rhythm of his tongue in response. The desk rocks dangerously beneath you but neither of you slow your ministrations.

You whimper his name, pleasure building steadily under his expert touch. The fingers of one hand twist in his hair while you keep your other hand moving up and down in measured strokes as you near the edge.

“Look at me,” Max commands raggedly. You open your eyes to meet his wild gaze. The connection between you crackles.

“Max ...” you gasp as your climax crashes over you. You slap a hand over your lips, muffling your cries.

As you float back down, Max withdraws his mouth. You keen at the loss but then he’s lining himself up at your entrance. Gripping your hip tightly, he pushes inside in one smooth motion.

You cling to his shoulders, nails digging in as you adjust around him. Max trembles with restraint, giving you a moment before he starts to move.

Then he sets a relentless pace, the desk slamming against the wall with each powerful snap of his hips. You wrap your legs around him, spurring him even deeper.

Max pounds into you relentlessly, wrenching desperate moans from your lips. You’re vaguely aware of picture frames and papers tumbling to the floor around you but the chaos only adds to the thrill.

You’re close, the pressure building deep inside. With a few more well-angled thrusts you topple over the edge, coming hard around him. Your breasts bounce as your back arches sharply off the desk.

“There you go, princess,” Max rasps. He continues driving into your spasming center until his rhythm turns choppy and erratic.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Max grits out. You clench around him, greedy for his release. His hips stutter and then he spills inside you with a guttural groan. The sensation pushes you over the edge again, your vision whiting out from the intensity.

Breathing raggedly, Max collapses on top of you, pinning you to the desk. You’re both slick with sweat and utterly spent, your heart rates slowly returning to normal. You run your fingers through his damp waves soothingly.

The room is silent save for your heavy breathing. As the haze of lust clears, the ramifications of what just happened settle over you.

You just slept with your sworn rival on your team principal’s desk.

After a long moment Max pulls out of you and steps back, tucking himself away. On shaky legs you slide off the desk, stumbling slightly as you find your feet, and rush to put on your clothes.

Max grabs his shirt off the floor and shrugs back into it. His hair is mussed wildly and his lips are kiss-swollen. You’re sure you look much the same.

You and Max spring apart at the sound of the lock clicking open. Christian strides back into his office, oblivious to the disheveled state that both of his drivers are in.

“Well, have you two worked out your differences?” He looks between you expectantly.

You smooth down your rumpled shirt and attempt to tuck your wild hair back into place. Your cheeks flame as you meet Christian’s gaze.

“I think we’ve come to an ... understanding,” Max says evenly, though you notice a hint of color in his cheeks as well.

Christian surveys his office, taking in the askew trophies and books scattered across the floor. You hold your breath, certain he’s going to put two and two together.

“It seems you had a disagreement about reorganizing my office during your chat,” Christian says wryly.

You nearly choke in surprise. Does he really not realize what just transpired on his desk? You chance a glance at Max and have to suppress a hysterical giggle at the disbelief on his face.

“I apologize for the mess, we got a bit ... heated,” you say, biting your lip to keep from laughing at the double meaning.

“Yes, clearly things escalated between you two.” Christian frowns at a photo of him and Dietrich Mateschitz now lying cracked on the floor. You resist the urge to shrink under his disappointed dad stare.

“However, the important thing is you’ve worked through this animosity once and for all, correct?” He looks between you expectantly.

You and Max nod in unison. “Water under the bridge,” Max assures him. You’re impressed by how steady he manages to keep his voice even as you can see the barely contained mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Excellent. I’ll inform the team that tensions are resolved and they can stop walking on eggshells around the both of you.” Christian claps his hands together, apparently satisfied. “Now get out of here and get ready for free practice.”

You and Max don’t need telling twice. As soon as the door shuts behind you, the laughter you’ve been holding in bubbles out.

“I can’t believe he actually bought that,” Max says between chuckles.

“We literally destroyed his office and he thinks we just had a minor spat,” you giggle, shaking your head incredulously.

Your laughter trails off as the reality of what happened sinks in. You just had crazy hot sex with Max Verstappen. Where do you go from here?

Before you can overthink it, Max presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Meet me at the hotel tonight? We should continue this conversation somewhere more private,” he murmurs suggestively.

You bite your lip but find yourself nodding. As complicated and ill-advised as this may be, you can’t find it in yourself to deny your attraction to Max now that you’ve given in to it.

“It’s a date,” you whisper back.

Max grins and steals another quick kiss before you part ways to get changed.

[nats--sw]

Orange Juice | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x reader Where Leah finds you again after a while and decides to help you out This is based on this request Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, alcohol addiction my masterlist

Football was incredible. Ever since you were a kid, kicking the ball around always made you happy. Your parents thought it was just a phase, that by the time you hit your teens, you'd move on to something else. But that never happened.You earned a scholarship in the US and you only returned to England after establishing yourself as a future star in the NWSL. You had a bright future there, but when Arsenal showed interest, you couldn’t say no to the club that made you fall in love with the game. 

By then, you’d already faced your first injury, you ruptured your ACL at 19. 

But that was already in the past, now you were in your new club. 

Leah was the same age as you when you joined the team, so you two clicked right away as the youngest on the team. Then, at 21, you both made your senior debuts for England, Leah as a defender and you as a forward. But shortly after that camp, you tore your hamstring, leaving you out again. 

And the thing with Leah… It wasn’t until you were 23 that, after months of innocent flirting and endless scenes of jealousy, you both finally admitted there was something more between you. It was one of the best moments of your life, you were playing great, Leah was playing great too, you’d just confessed how in love you were, and Arsenal was in the race for the league title. But then your body betrayed you again. 

It happened during a game against Aston Villa in 2021. You were subbed in after 63 minutes, and by the 70th minute, you had to be stretchered off after a bad fall from a collision with one of the players. 

“Y/n!” Leah rushed to see you after the game, her heart racing when she saw you crying in your cubby. “What happened?” she asked, a bit calmer when she noticed the ice bandage was on your ankle and not on your knee. 

“Just a sprain, but a bad one” you said, trying to hold back your tears. With the adrenaline now wearing off, the pain was really hitting you. “I’ll be out for at least six weeks”

“You’ll miss the rest of the season,” Leah blurted out. When she saw you hide your face with your shirt and start crying, she realized her mistake. “Love, I’m sorry” she said, kneeling beside you, trying to comfort you. “You’ll get through this, I promise,” she whispered, taking your hand and kissing it. 

You did get through it, but the following season brought another setback, a meniscus injury this time. 

“England striker, Y/n L/n, will undergo surgery and will miss the next  European Women's Championship.”

The reporter’s voice echoed in Leah’s head, she still remembered it clearly. It has crushed her, but it hurt even more seeing you on the hospital bed, turning your back on her.

Leah was set to captain the Lionesses while you were stuck on the sidelines, unable to play. It wasn’t her fault, but you couldn’t help feeling that pang of envy.

You thought you’d seen the worst of it, but when you watched Leah and the rest of your old teammates lift a trophy in a packed Wembley, it broke you. 

“Y/n! Where’d you go darling?!” Leah’s voice was ecstatic over the phone, with the sound of the girls celebrating in the background. “I tried to find you. You’ve got to come and celebrate with us!”

Leah had no idea you were already back at the house you two shared, the England shirt you wore during the match now lying on the bathroom floor. 

“I wasn’t feeling well” you replied, your voice tired.

“Huh? Is it your knee? Want me to bring something for the pain?”

You felt like a selfish jerk for resenting the person you were supposed to love, but you wouldn’t take away Leah’s moment. You knew she wouldn’t do that to you either. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry” you lied. “Just go enjoy yourself with the girls, you all deserve it.” you said, fighting back tears. But as soon as Leah said goodbye, you lost it. You cried all night and the next morning, watching them celebrate on tv. You were supposed to be there. You cried so much that your eyes were swollen, making it impossible to hide from Leah that you’d been crying. But, lucky for you (if that’s what you call it), Leah didn’t call you for two days, still celebrating. 

Her face was everywhere, on tv morning, noon and night. 

Then, Leah’s sudden fame messed with your relationship. It felt like you were drifting further apart. Interviews, radio shows, tv appearances, her Insta blowing up, it was all too much too fast. She didn’t have time to be with you during your recovery, and you weren’t up for a holiday in Ibiza with her and the rest of your teammates. 

The breaking point came during that time, while she was partying in Ibiza. You two had a huge argument when Leah found out you’d skipped your recovery session. Leah could argue for hours when she was convinced she was right, but with a hangover the size of Europe, your upset voice was the last thing she wanted to hear. 

“Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?!” Leah was yelling into the phone, while Keira sat nearby, clearly uncomfortable listening to the argument. 

“I just needed to stay home, away from everything and get some rest” you explained, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. 

“If you were going to skip the sessions, you could’ve at least come with me” Leah snapped, pacing back and forth. 

That really got under your skin. Leah wasn’t just upset about you missing the sessions, she was more annoyed that you turned her down. 

“I miss you,” Leah said, but even Keira could hear how empty that sounded.

Things had been off between you two since before the Euro camp even started.

“You miss partying with me, which isn’t the same,” you shot back. Leah had days off before the trip and could’ve spent time with you, but instead, she kept finding excuses to hang out with the girls.

“Are you seriously saying that?” Leah almost shouted. Keira’s eyes widened, thinking Leah must still be a bit drunk to be going off like this.

“You could be here if you missed me. You could’ve come to my sessions, which you know are a nightmare, but instead, you’re partying in Ibiza.”

“Fuck, Y/n. I just won the Euros! Of course I want to celebrate. If you knew how great it felt, you wouldn’t be saying this shit. It’s not my fault your stupid knee decided to mess up.”

That was the last straw for Keira, who quickly grabbed the phone from Leah’s hand.

“Y/n, Leah’s drunk. She doesn’t mean what she’s saying,” Keira said, giving Leah a stern look.

“Tell Leah to go fuck herself,” you snapped.

Leah took that to heart. Twitter was quick to pick up on the videos from that night, showing Leah getting pretty drunk. But what no one knew was that in one of the group chats with the girls, someone had shared a video where Alessia and Ella were laughing, it was silly, and in the background, Leah was dancing way too close with another girl. At first glance, it might not have been obvious, but you knew Leah well enough to recognize her, even in the dark.

When Leah came home from Ibiza, your stuff was gone.

The next season was awkward. Everyone on the team knew there’d been some drama, but they didn’t know the details. It was clear that you and Leah had been together for ages, then suddenly broken up after Ibiza. And some of them knew you had renewed your contract for just one more year.

One day, Lia joined you for lunch, ignoring Leah. “You know she didn’t cheat on me, right?” you said, trying to set the record straight.

There’d been rumors flying around that Leah had cheated, but that wasn’t true. After seeing that video, you confronted Leah when she called asking why you weren’t home. She’d sworn on her mother’s life that even though she’d been with that woman all night, nothing more than a few dances had happened. Leah wasn’t a good liar, so you believed her.

“Yeah,” Lia said, “but Keira spilled some stuff, so I know Leah was kind of an idiot with you.”

“I feel like I messed up everyone’s holiday,” you said with a sigh. You hadn’t talked much to the other girls either, and they’d picked up on your indifference to their Euro win.

“It’s not always easy to celebrate someone else’s big moment,” Lia said, taking another bite.

The next season didn’t get any better for you. Your performance was tanking because of how you were feeling, both physically and mentally, so Leah wasn’t shocked to see your name missing from the England squad list again. 

Leah had already missed the World Cup due to her ACL injury, and while she was in Australia, watching from the stands as her teammates made it to the final, she finally got a taste of how tough it was for you during the Euros. And it hit her, she realized it was probably even harder for you. She was a defender, but you were a striker, the star everyone was watching, the one who scored all the goals. When you got sidelined, replaced by the season’s top scorer and other younger players, it was like you’d been forgotten overnight. That hit hard.

You both messed up, that was clear. Leah knew she could have handled things better, and she was determined to make it right as soon as she got back to England. But fixing things wasn’t going to be easy.

Leah was hanging out with the team, getting ready for the pre-season meeting, when she noticed something odd. You weren’t there, and Jonas had this sad look on his face. Just as she was about to ask where you were, you walked in with crutches and wearing a knee brace. 

“Morning,” you said as you made your way to the center of the room, with Jonas helping you along.

Leah did a double take. You were in sportswear, but not in the Arsenal kit.

“I don’t know if you all heard, but a few weeks ago I blew up my knee,” you said, glancing at Leah with a sad smile. 

Leah’s heart dropped. That meant you’d torn your ACL and meniscus again, plus your MCL.

“And I’d made it clear that I’d only renewed for one more season... last season. So...” you said, taking a deep breath and avoiding eye contact with Leah. “I’m retiring, I mean, professionally… from football. I won’t be renewing.” You fought back tears, quickly wiping your cheeks with your jersey sleeve. “I just came to say goodbye.”

Leah stayed in her chair while the other girls got up to give you hugs and say their goodbyes. Kim and Jonas noticed what was going on and told everyone to give you and Leah some space.

“How bad is it?” Leah asked, still sitting, arms crossed, eyes locked on your knee brace. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t heard about this sooner. She was clearly shocked.

“Well, it’s the second time I’ve messed up this knee,” you said, sinking into a chair a little away from Leah. “The doctor says I’ll never get back to even 60% of my old self. I don’t want to play if I can’t give it my all.”

“You can still do it,” Leah said, her voice firm.

“No, I can’t. My record’s already bad. What club’s gonna want a player who’s always at risk of injury?” you said, rolling your eyes.

“We’ll pay,” Leah insisted.

“You’re not the club,” you replied with a sarcastic smile. “They offered me one more season, but they’ll cut my salary. And I don’t want to be a burden, not anymore.”

“Y/n, an injury doesn’t mean your career’s over,” Leah said, raising her voice a bit. “You just need to get through this and move on. Just like last time.”

“It’s not that simple,” you snapped, annoyed that Leah wasn’t getting it. “Do you really think I can compete with Alessia or Stina? I can barely score more than one goal a month, I can't even run like before, Leah. And that’s my job!”

“But-”

“No!” you cut her off, dropping your crutches in anger. “Just leave me alone. If I want to retire now, that’s my choice. I’m not you!” You cried harder. “Nobody misses me on the team! I’m not you!” 

Leah bit her lip, struggling to hold back her tears.

“I do miss you,” she admitted, wishing she could find the guts to stand up, walk over, and kiss you to show how she felt. But ironically, the fear of losing you forever left her feeling paralyzed.

“I can’t do this,” you said, struggling to stand up. “If you start talking about us, I’ll take back my decision, and I don’t want that. Good luck,” you said, wiping away your tears as you left the room.

That was the last Leah saw of you. Your retirement was lowkey, just an announcement and a few social media posts. Leah found out later that you’d gone back to the States as if you’d never been there at all.

You ended up in the US on a whim, just wanting to forget Leah, Arsenal, England, and football. That had been two years ago. No one knew where you were or cared that you were spending everyday drunk in some bar. 

You were okay with that. 

If it weren’t for a family matter, you’d still be hiding out there.

Your plan was simple: wrap up your stuff, grab some cash to continue your drinking habits of shitty american beer, and then return. But as soon as you landed, you hit the first bar you saw and pretty much stayed there.

It wasn't uncommon for former (failed) footballers to turn into addicts, and you were no different. Although you had attempted to quit drinking a year ago, when your money was running out, but without any support system in the US you couldn’t stay sober for more than a month before heading back to that familiar bar.

You were so drunk you didn’t even worry about running into anyone you knew now back in London. The only detail you vaguely recalled, though you were unsure of its significance, was avoiding blonde women. But you didn’t think twice about the men.

“Jacob,” Leah said, still in shock. She’d been sleeping when her brother called, saying he was sure he’d seen you drinking heavily in a bar he’d just arrived at with his friends.

“Glad you’re here,” Jacob said, guiding her to where you were. “She didn’t see me, I wasn’t sure how she’d react, so I wanted to wait until you got here.” He glanced at you as he spoke.

Leah’s heart sank when she saw you. It was definitely you, but you looked totally different, completely out of it and about to pass out on the bar.

“I’ll take her home,” Leah said quietly, making her way towards you. “Y/n,” she called softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. When you didn’t respond, Leah shook you gently and called your name again. “Y/n.”

You barely opened your eyes, but you recognized her immediately. “Lee,” you mumbled, and tears started rolling down your cheeks, though you didn’t really know why.

It wasn’t the first time you’d cried while being drunk, and it wasn’t the first time you’d cried for Leah while being drunk either.

“Hey,” Leah said, gently wiping the tears from your face with her thumbs. She didn’t remove her hands, as you were barely able to hold your head up. “Let me help you.”

Leah signaled to Jacob with a nod to help lift you from the other side. As they carried you to the car, Leah couldn’t wrap her head around what was going on. She’d never seen you this drunk before, not even when you used to drink occasionally during your time together.

With Jacob’s help, Leah got you into the back seat of the car and drove quickly to her home, which had also been yours a few years back.

Leah was totally stuck on what to do now. If it were up to her, she’d have tossed you in a hot bath to get rid of the alcohol smell, but she didn’t want to risk you passing out in the tub.

So, she just put you in the guest room. She placed a towel on your pillow, took off your jacket and shoes, and got you settled in bed. She also left a glass of water and some painkillers for when you woke up.

Next morning, when Leah woke up, the first thing she did was check on you, but she was surprised to find the room empty. The water and pills were still there, She freaked out a little, she couldn’t let you slip away again, not this time. She rushed downstairs and, while searching for her car keys, she noticed the kitchen was a mess. All the cupboard doors were open, and there was broken glass on the floor. Then she saw that the door to the backyard was wide open.

Trying to be quiet, she headed outside and found you sitting on the small terrace you’d set up years ago, holding a bottle of wine with your eyes shut.

“I’m awake,” you mumbled without bothering to open your eyes when you heard the door.

“It’s… 9 am” Leah said, pulling out her phone, her voice tinged with worry. “Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking?”

“It’s for the hangover,” you replied, taking a swig straight from the bottle. Leah looked around, noticing there was no glass or cup in sight. “Sorry, the glass broke when I grabbed it”

Leah stood there with her hands on her hips, looking worried. She had no idea where to start.

“Do you even remember how you ended up here?” Leah asked, stepping closer. She noticed you were shivering, probably from the morning chill. Without hesitation, she took off her hoodie and draped it over your shoulders, relieved when you didn’t push her away.

“Ah… I don’t really remember,” you said, trying to force a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“What’s going on with you?” Leah asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

You shrugged and took another swig from the bottle. Leah was taken aback by how sober you looked despite the drinking. It seemed your tolerance was crazy high.

“Why did you leave?” Leah asked, gently placing her hand on your knee. At the touch, you jumped up, but the dizziness hit you hard, almost making you fall over. Leah quickly helped you back into your seat. “I won’t touch you again,” she said, holding up both hands as if to show she meant no harm. “I’m just asking you not to run away.”

You stared at Leah for a few seconds, noticing her glazed eyes and the slight tremble in her lower lip. You wanted to get out of there and avoid the whole sad scene, but you knew you wouldn’t get far and you didn’t even have any money left.

“I don’t want to answer any questions,” you muttered, staring at the ground.

“I need to ask a few things,” Leah said, almost reaching out to take your hand but stopping herself just in time. “I haven’t seen you in two years. Haven’t heard a thing from you.”

“That was the point. You had enough going on with your stuff. I didn’t want to add to it,” you said, trying to avoid her eyes.

“Damn it, Y/n, I never stopped caring about you. Not when we broke up, and not when you disappeared,” Leah said, quickly wiping away a tear. “Yeah, we messed up, but we could have fixed things back then, and we still can-”

“No, Leah.”

“Yes, we can-”

“Don’t say that. I’m not sober enough to deal with this,” you said, feeling frustration creeping in.

“Then go take a shower, and we’ll talk,” Leah said, her frustration matching yours. Why did you have to be so stubborn all the time?

“I’m not sober,” you repeated, stressing each word and holding her gaze, hoping she’d get it.

Leah swallowed hard, taking in the mess you were. Your hands were still shaking, and even though she thought your pale skin might just be from the morning, your flushed cheeks and the redness on your nose told a different story. The dark circles under your eyes were deep, making you look worse than she’d imagined.

Leah always thought she was the heavy drinker between the two of you. Her cabinet was stocked with all kinds of alcohol, and she’d always found it odd how you’d cringe whenever she brought home a new bottle. She remembered you mentioning a relative with addiction problems back when you weren’t even together, but she never thought it would hit you too.

“Have you… have you tried to quit?” Leah asked, her voice cracking as she grasped the seriousness of the situation. You nodded slowly, looking down, clearly embarrassed. “Could you try again?” she asked.

This time, you shook your head. “I can’t.”

“I can help you,” Leah said, determined.

“I don’t want your help,” you said frustrated, trying to get up again but failing.

“Y/n, look at yourself,” Leah said, exasperated. “You can’t even stand. Please, let me help you.”

You reluctantly agreed to let her help, mostly to get her to stop pushing. You figured that if you said yes and she saw how messed up you were, she’d leave you alone. What you didn’t remember was how stubborn Leah could be when she was set on something.

Leah couldn’t believe she actually managed to get you to go to rehab, but it seemed like it was working after a while. According to the doctor, you were doing great, really putting in the effort in your sessions and activities. So, it didn’t take long for you to get the green light for a day out, and of course, Leah was the one you’d spend it with.

“Good morning,” Leah said softly when she saw you. It was wild how you were starting to look more like yourself again.

“Morning,” you replied. It was weird to think that just a few months ago you were alone in the States, drinking day and night. And now Leah was here, smiling at you again. It was something you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Leah said when you two were in her car. “I checked with the doctor because it might be a... sensitive topic for you.” Instantly, your heart raced in panic. Leah noticed your breathing quicken and gently placed her hand on your knee while steering with the other. You placed your hand over hers, and she didn’t hesitate to intertwine your fingers. “Just relax,” she said. “I think you’ll like it. And if I’m wrong, just let me know, and we’ll forget about it. No big deal.” She stopped at a red light, bringing your hand to her lips and giving it a gentle kiss.

It was something that had always helped you chill out. Even though you weren’t together anymore (not physically, at least. Both of you knew those feelings were still there, just waiting for the right time), it still felt good.

When Leah parked the car and you looked out the window, your heart raced again. You were right in front of a football pitch. Leah knew how much your struggles with the end of your career were a trigger for your addiction, so being here wasn’t exactly ideal.

“Leah, I don’t think-”

“Shh,” she said, gently taking your hand to help you out of the car. “Just give it a few minutes, okay? If it’s too much, we’ll head back.” She cupped your face, locking eyes with you.

You nodded, holding her hand tightly. Leah didn’t say anything, but she could feel the tension in your grip.

You walked together to the middle of the field. It wasn’t as big as the one you used to play on, but seeing it made you smile a bit, remembering the good times you had there with Leah.

“I should’ve been more supportive, you know,” Leah said as you both settled on the grass, still damp from the morning dew. “After my injury and the World Cup, I finally realized how lonely you must’ve felt. Part of it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you replied. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

“You were my girlfriend. I should’ve been there for you, giving you the support you needed,” Leah said, her tears starting to fall. You hated seeing her cry; it always made you feel awful.

“I was tough to deal with too. I didn’t make it easy for you,” you admitted, resting your head on Leah’s shoulder.  She turned and kissed your forehead without hesitation.

“Do you think we can get through this?” She whispered.

“I think we’re on the right track.”

Leah nodded and after a few minutes of silence, she stood up. “Don’t move,” she said, running back to the car. She came back with a mini football, the kind you can hold in one hand. “Wanna play?” she asked with a small, hopeful smile.

You laughed, shaking your head, but took her hand to stand up. The feel of the ball in your hands was weird but you couldn’t say no to Leah.

“Let’s warm up before my friends get here,” she said with a smirk. You didn’t get what she meant at first, but the excitement of kicking a ball again had you too pumped to question it.

Leah’s friends turned out to be a bunch of 12 year olds who had joined her every week to play football together. There were about seven girls, with the oldest being 13. She was the one who kept glancing at you the whole time.

“Excuse me,” the oldest girl said as they were about to leave after the game ended. “You’re Y/n L/n, right?” she asked, eyes locked on you.

“Jackie!” Leah hurried over and tried to cover the girl’s mouth. “What did I say about the questions?”

Leah kept talking to the girl, but you couldn’t catch what she was saying. Jackie was 13 now, but she was only 11 when you retired, and probably no older than 7 when you were at your peak. It touched you that she recognized you.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you said, holding Leah’s hand for support. “What’s up?”

“Your hair is longer and darker now,” Jackie said, eyeing you closely. “And your face is a bit different, but I remember when you kicked that penalty into the goal. I saw it in person!”

“Jackie,” Leah said again, but you pulled on her arm.

“Do you really remember?” you asked.

“I do! I saw you play. My sister took me to that game. Even though Arsenal lost, your penalty was the best.” Jackie said, her eyes shining.

Leah watched silently, a big smile on her face as she saw you light up with that familiar spark you’d lost over the years. She let you have a moment with Jackie, impressed by how you were reconnecting with your past. It made her even more certain about the idea she’d been planning to share with you.

The next weekend, you both were back out on the field with the girls. You spent some time teaching Jackie a few tricks. Your stamina wasn’t what it used to be, so Leah gave you a break. 

“I wish I had the energy of a 12 year old,” Leah said, flopping down next to you on the grass and handing you a bottle of water, but you shook your head.

“I’m good,” you said, pulling out a bottle of orange juice from your bag. Leah looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“But you don’t like orange juice,” she said, wrinkling her nose as you popped the cap and the citrus scent hit the air.

“You don’t like it,” you said with a grin. “I never hated it.”

“You never bought it when we lived together,” Leah pointed out.

“That’s because you didn’t like kissing me with juice on my lips,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at her. “You were always so picky, even with that.”

Leah shook her head, remembering how she’d pull away in the middle of a kiss if she tasted something like orange juice on your lips.

“I’ve been drinking a lot of orange juice lately because plain water gets boring,” you said, putting the bottle away and sitting up straight. You glanced at Leah, who seemed like she wanted to say something.

"Your doctor mentioned you're about to be discharged," Leah said, glancing at you with a curious look.

"Yeah," you replied, a bit embarrassed. "I wanted to talk to you about that too." Leah raised an eyebrow, curious. "I don't have anywhere to stay, and my family's all moved away from London. And I need to keep up with the weekly therapy."

"You can stay with me," Leah said before you could even ask. 

"Thank you," you said with a relieved smile, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

"Can I confess something?" Leah asked, fiddling with the bottle in her hands.

"Sure."

"I'm afraid you'll leave again," she admitted, biting her lip. "You have no reason to stay, and I don’t want you to be alone again," she added, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers. "That’s why I've been thinking about something..."

You felt a bit panicked, knowing what Leah could be thinking.

"I’m not going to play again-" you started, but Leah cut you off.

"I know, honey," she said, stroking your hand with her thumb. "But I've been thinking...these girls need someone to teach them," she said, nodding toward the group of girls who were too busy fighting over the ball to rest.

"No, Leah-"

"Shh, let me finish," Leah said with a laugh. "It won’t be professional. It'll start as an amateur academy. We just need to build a dressing room, add a few more seats, and recruit some more girls."

"Leah, I'm not a coach," you said, shaking your head. "And running an academy, even an amateur one, costs money."

"I’ve got the money," she assured you. "I'm already talking to some local sponsors. And you’re great with the girls, you’ve got experience, and it’ll keep you busy doing something you still care about, even if you won’t admit it right now."

"I don’t know..."

"Just give it a shot," Leah said, bringing your hand to her lips and giving it a gentle kiss. "If you don’t like it, we’ll figure out something else."

You took a deep breath, feeling unsure but finally nodded. "Alright, I'll give it a try."

Leah was feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. After all the hard work, the tough times, and a few relapses along the way, today might be the day you could finally move back to her place. But she’d spent the night taking away every trace of alcohol from the house. Pouring out all those liquor bottles, which had cost her a fortune, felt a bit like a sacrifice, but knowing she was doing it for you made it almost satisfying. She’d also packed up all the wine glasses and stashed them in the attic, figuring they’d be better off out of sight for a while. 

She’d gone a bit overboard with the shopping too, piles of chocolate, different coffee flavors, and gallons of orange juice to cover any cravings you might have. And she’d moved her medals, trophies, and awards into her bedroom. She figured it would be better to ease you back into things slowly, rather than hitting you with the full weight of her football career all at once. 

“Good morning,” Leah said as soon as she saw you dragging your suitcase in.

You greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, and she offered to put your suitcase in the car while you settled into the passenger seat.

“I’m really nervous,” you admitted, shifting uncomfortably in the seat.

Leah didn’t say much, just reached out her hand. You took it without hesitation, intertwining your fingers with hers for comfort.

“I think it’s best if we skip the game with the girls today,” Leah suggested, seeing you nod in agreement. “Alright then, let’s go home.”

The drive to the house was quiet, neither of you saying a word. Leah held your hand the whole time, even after you two stepped inside.

"I got the guest room ready for you," Leah said, setting your suitcase on the floor.

"Will you come with me?" you asked. Leah nodded immediately, following you to the room. She smiled as you flopped onto the bed. "God, I missed sleeping in a good bed," you said, then looked at Leah, who was leaning against the door frame. "Come here," you said, patting the bed.

Leah kicked off her shoes and lay down next to you. She was a little surprised when you rested your head on her chest, but her hand instinctively went to your hair, stroking it gently. Throughout your rehab, you had been close, but Leah always worried about moving too fast, unsure about what the future held for both of you.

"You've changed a lot," you murmured, closing your eyes and smiling at the scent of Leah's shirt. "I like this side of you."

"What side?" Leah whispered.

"The side that takes care of me. I like you taking care of me."

Leah bit her lip, feeling it tremble a little. "I should have taken better care of you before. Maybe then you wouldn't have left."

"I didn't give you the chance. I didn't want to hear from you."

You both stayed silent for a few minutes, Leah holding you tighter.

"And now? Will you give me a chance to take care of you?"

"I’m doing that already," you said, lifting yourself up a little to look at her. "Thank you for not letting me leave again." You gave her a soft, short kiss on the lips.

Leah didn't ask for more, didn't move her hands or deepen the kiss. That small contact was enough for her. Trying again would be a slow process, and she didn't want to go back to what you had before. She wanted to start fresh, avoiding the mistakes of the past.

After almost two months, things were looking up. 

When you woke up, Leah wasn't in bed. You weren’t sharing a room yet, but she spent most nights with you, and last night had been one of those.

After showering, you headed to the kitchen and found Leah putting things away in the fridge. 

"Morning," you said, startling her. She quickly shut the fridge door and looked at you with wide eyes. "Everything okay?" you asked, walking towards her curiously.

"Uh, yeah, everything's fine," she said, taking a step back and letting out a curse as she bumped into the fridge.

"What are you hiding?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

"N-nothing," she said, trying to squirm out of the situation, but you were quicker. You cornered her against the fridge. "Shouldn’t you be going? It's your first day of training with the girls," she reminded you.

"I can’t leave without my good morning kiss," you said, watching her features soften a little.

"I haven’t brushed my teeth," she lied, standing on her tiptoes to keep you from kissing her. She was definitely hiding something.

For a moment, you thought it might be something with alcohol. You'd noticed that all the alcohol in the house was gone, even the liquor filled candy Leah used to eat. But it was early in the morning, and Leah wouldn't be drinking anything with alcohol at that time. You trusted her, she was fully committed to your recovery. On the rare occasions she had a drink, she’d brush her teeth multiple times before kissing you. 

Leah thought she'd kept it a secret, but you'd caught her almost drinking the extra mint mouthwash.

So, it was highly unlikely that was the reason she didn’t want to kiss you.

"I'll be mad if you don't kiss me," you said, playing your last card.

Leah rolled her eyes but leaned in, brushing her nose against yours before giving you a short kiss. When she felt your tongue graze her lip, she knew she was caught.

"Leah!" you exclaimed, patting her shoulder. "You were drinking my orange juice!"

"I was thirsty," Leah laughed. "I'll grab some more juice for you, I promise," she said, wrapping her arms around your waist. She tried to kiss you again, but you turned your face away, causing her lips to land on your cheek. "Hey, there's no more juice left. Your only chance to have some is kissing me," she said, still holding your waist.

"I hate you," you said, shaking your head before finally kissing her. "You're not supposed to like that juice."

"I think I got so used to tasting it when I kiss you that I've started to like it," Leah said with a grin.

"Did you really drink all my juice?" you asked, almost sadly, resting your head on Leah's shoulder.

"Of course not, love," she said, stroking your back. "I think I bought all the orange juice in London. I can't have my girl without her daily glass of juice."

"Thank you," you murmured, kissing her again.

"I should say that," Leah whispered back.

[f1mariee]

Just saw a comment that if Lando wins WDC it will be undeserved and not earned… that’s one of the most stupid things I have ever read.

If Lando wins the WDC of course it’s earned. No one ever before could catch up such a big gap. The chances are also not that high for Lando, but they are there. And if he really does that it’s fully deserved. No championship was won without mistakes (we don’t talk about max his dominance). He knows very very well that he made mistakes which cost him points BUT as well as McLaren cost him points AND the first 5 races where the car wasn’t really on top. No one, literally no one, expects Oscar so move to the side for Lando. That’s not what Lando wants. It’s more about that the team will work together better and don’t battle each other on track. Simple as that. Oscar will get his podiums and if he is fast enough wins this season.

Lando completely earned all his points this season… why talking it down just because he is doing a good job ?

The driver with the most points wins and therefore is completely earned and deserved. No matter if it is Max, Lando or Charles…

People tend to forget that F1 is still a team sport. The team comes first.

[driveitlikesebastianvettelwould]

Funniest thing is Oscar would have had a big enough gap for the team to pit Lando first to "cover Hamilton" and still come out ahead had he not gone into the gravel before pitting .... and then immediately ruined his fresh tyres going into the gravel after pitting.

That race was 71 laps. Not 48. If he didn't have the pace in the last stint, he didn't earn the win. A race isn't won in the first corner, it's won when you cross the line.

Regardless, between the strategy and McLaren already having OP1 merch on hand (which they didn't have for the driver who's been with them in a reserve or active driver role since 2018 ... nobody else finds that suspicious?), they knew who they were gifting that win to before that race even started. And if that happens again and Lando is serious about competing for a championship someday, he's going to have to start looking for a new team where the favoritism isn't so blatant.

I agree. That is exactly the point. You don’t win a race in the first corner. It is ridiculous for a team to expect their faster driver to stay behind their teammate the entire race, and using strategy to do it is just crooked.

They never pitted Lando to undercut, they made that very clear on his radio, they planned to keep him behind to cover Lewis(so absolutely ridiculous), so Piastri could stay ahead. It was McLaren and Piastri that messed that up. McLaren by even having the audacity to try to keep Lando behind for most of the race and Piastri for making mistakes. Lando made a choice to stick it to them because of what they were doing to his race. He is giving them everything and they continue to blunder his efforts with shitty strategy and yesterday they just straight up stole a race from him.

They put him on the back burner with absolutely no logical reason to do so. He needs the points they just made him give to his teammate. It really does stink. They sent him a message yesterday by prioritizing Piastri even though he was better all weekend, including during the race, and he answered back during the race.

They need to actually get their shit together and support Lando. He is their better driver. The one who is bringing the fight to Max, despite his team screwing up his strategy every race. They need to prioritize Lando, especially when he out qualifies Piastri and gets pole position to boot. I’m not saying they need to sacrifice Piastri season, that would be unfair and unethical, but they can not win a championship if they put him before Lando during races where Lando is faster and can beat Piastri by battling. I think racing should be fair. What they did on Sunday to Lando was unethical and so far from fair. It was the opposite. They have no reason to put Piastri’s race in front of Lando’s, especially when he is faster and deserves to fight for his position and not be held back.

Speculation here, but I feel this was one of those turning points for Lando. I feel he will never see them the same. I hope he stands up for himself against what they did. They have a lot to talk about in regards to how they are gonna go forward the rest of the season.

So yeah I agree, thanks for the message☺️.

[snakejar]

the whole williams thing is so bizzare and i am sure absolutely nobody wins from it.

i get that alex is the objectively better driver. i get how important points or even positions are in the bigger picture of the constructors championship and finance wise, and i get that alex has a far better shot of doing better. but this leaves such a sour taste in everyone's mouth that im not sure its worth it.

if you look at the current scene on social media, its a shitshow. williams' comments sections are filled with disapproval, and people are hating both alex and logan with vigour. this is horrible moment for williams.

and what if alex gets into the points? what if he actually does deliver and bumps williams up the rankings? its not a good look anyway. people are going to say he hasnt earned it, he doesnt deserve it, and they're going to be annoyed. the f1 crowds love drama and they love it when drivers fail. they come into the race with expectations that alex is going to fail and fumble the second chance that williams has given him in the form of logan's car, and if he doesnt, then they're going to be pissed that their expectations haven't been fulfilled.

but what if alex doesnt get any points? people are going to point and laugh and they are going to turn their backs on alex and williams more than they have on friday and saturday. again, people love mocking mistakes and disappointment. worse yet, what if alex crashes again? sends it into the wall in turn 8 the same way he did in fp1? he and williams will never hear the end of it.

i cannot imagine the hit this will do to logan's confidence. he was the last driver to get resigned in 2023, but by signing him, williams have put faith in him. they have put trust in his development and his performance for 2024. the level of disrespect this is to logan is genuinely crazy. logan has done nothing but do his best and play for the team, but he has to pay for alex's mistake, and now it is another missed opportunity for him to prove himself. if you look at free practice results from the aus gp, logan and alex's times weren't even separated by a massive margin. there's a huge probability that logan is not going to get resigned for the 2025 season, and there are very few chances for him to prove himself this season. by doing this, williams is telling logan that they have no faith in him, they don't believe he'll perform when they need him to. im afraid this might be the start to the end of logan's f1 career.

what's worse is that williams has lately been the team that appealed to the fans. even if they consistently drove around in the back of the field, fans still loved them for their team dynamic and their drivers and being a small team. they need fan support, because if they dont have the best drivers or a decent cars, then they need to at least have people backing them. but this is just so cold and so un-williamslike, and is going to take a hit on the amount of support they have going forward.

at the end of the day, f1 will always be a game of money. time and time again formula 1 has proved that it cares more about profit than the careers of their drivers. teams will obviously do what will get them the most points, positions, and ultimately prize money. but unless alex pulls off a goddamn miracle in the race tomorrow, i really do not think that any of this is worth it in the end.

[mirrorball-writings]

Watch Me.

Isabelle Clarichet is a racing prodigy. She is beyond talented and has won countless races and championships, but she still faces doubt and criticism simply because she is a woman. Thankfully, one team believes in her, and gives her the opportunity she deserves to move up the ranks and ultimately earn a seat in Formula 1.

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: sexism

I’ve heard the cheers after every race, and they never sound like they do when I’m the one standing on the podium. When I hold the trophy over my head and spray the champagne, I don’t hear roaring applause. It’s quieter; there’s more whispering, and I can always hear the one guy in the back making some inappropriate comment, asking me to take off the race suit and show off my fireproofs, show off my body. Or something like that. It doesn’t matter how close the race was, or how far ahead I was from the next car, it’s always the same. I’m used to it now — it’s been this way even since I was karting. I’m used to the hush over the crowd when they realize that a girl won the race, and I’m used to the awkward conversations when people say, “Really, Isabelle? Why would you want to be a racing driver? You could do something more… conventional.” They’ve never figured out the right word to use. I’m used to all the judgment and doubts, but most of all, I’m used to the rejections.

I’ve always been a talented driver. My parents hammered that in early: If I’m going to do something, I had better do it right. If I’m going to try something, I had better be successful. Since my early karting days, I’ve been a fair rival to even the prodigies on the track, and my competitors learned early on to respect me as one of their own. Unfortunately, not everyone got that memo. I was barely a teenager when I realized that. While all my friends were getting their first sponsorships and team offers, I was still sitting with my blank kart, not a brand to be seen. At first, I thought it was luck of the draw, but I knew my place, and I knew that I was better than many of my competitors, who were flooded with offers to join training programs. The obvious difference between us was the unavoidable fact that I was a girl. I was only thirteen when I came to terms with the fact that my journey in racing will not get easier. I will always have to fight to be taken seriously, and I will have to drive twice as fast to get the same respect in this sport. It isn’t fair, but that’s how it is. Talent alone was not enough for me.

F4 starts at fifteen, so teams usually like to give offers for their training programs when drivers are still fourteen. For me, thirteen and fourteen passed by with no contacts, and fifteen didn’t seem to be going any better. When I asked the man who ran my local karting league, he recommended going to the teams myself, and asking to be considered for a seat. He told me, “Isabelle, you’re talented. You deserve a seat, at least as much as these other drivers do. You have to understand that teams are nervous to give you a seat, because they’ve never had a girl drive for them. I know that you can handle it, but you have to show them that you have what it takes. They won’t realize it on their own.” It’s unfair. It’s beyond unfair. I knew that at fifteen, and a fifteen-year-old girl should never be facing the realization that she will always be at a disadvantage, just because she’s a girl. But, ultimately, I knew he was right. I had already seen it firsthand: No teams were going to come to me, so if I wanted an offer, I would have to go to them myself.

I wanted to drive for ART. They were in France, so they wouldn’t be too far away, and they were an incredible racing team where I would really have the opportunity to improve and work towards a Formula 1 seat. I flew out to France, and I made my case. I showed them my records, and all the awards and championships I had won with my racing. They seemed impressed, but when the time came for them to decide whether I’d get an offer, all they said was, “We don’t think you’re the right fit for our team.” I was shocked, and I was embarrassed, but I was not hopeless. I went to DAMS, and I gave them the same presentation. I received the same answer.

“You’re just not the right fit for our team.”

“We’re not sure you’re ready for this next step in your career.”

“Maybe take a few more years in karting, and then we can reconsider.”

“We just want to make sure our drivers are ready for the pressure of F4.”

I went home. I trained, and I raced, and I won, again and again and again. I proved myself, again and again and again. I put myself out there, and I made records, and I kept winning. And yet, all remained silent — no offers, no contact. No team would sign a girl to a seat.

I was sixteen when I finally got an offer. It was from PREMA. They wanted me to come to their headquarters for training, to hopefully put me into an F3 seat for next season. I couldn’t pass it up, and a few weeks later, I had packed my things and moved to Italy, to what would end up being my home for almost three years.

I thought being signed to a team would be the end of it, but the whispers remained. PREMA itself was supportive, and I wasn’t even the only girl in their program. Being around other female drivers, and being in a program that believed that we could perform just as well as boys, was a welcome change, and plenty of the other F3 teams and drivers had the same respect for me as PREMA did. Still, we saw it in the news, and we heard the comments at the races. Any mistake I made, and we were bound to hear questions of whether a girl was really cut out for an intense sport like racing. No matter how much I assured them I had what it takes, they always wanted to ask my teammate what he thought about it. He must know better.

I started F3 at sixteen, and F2 at seventeen. I raced harder than ever, and the original skeptics shut up after long. I raced just as well as my teammate, and I had more podiums than many of my competitors. I didn’t win the championship, but I was close behind. I won sixth in F3, a far better placement than most rookies, and I couldn’t ask for much better, since I knew I wouldn’t beat the records of Piastri, Sargeant, Vesti, and the like. My first year in F2, I ended up in sixth. My second year, I won second place. I still heard the criticism and the doubts, and I couldn’t escape the negative comments on social media, but things were much quieter. I was proud of my results, and I was proud of how well I had proved that I had what it takes, but I expected nothing of it, at least for a few years to come. Much to my surprise, though, less than a month after the end of the F2 season, I got an offer for a Formula 1 seat. All of my hard work had paid off, and it was time to prove once and for all that I deserved to be a driver just as much as anybody else.

Pre-season training flew by in an F1 car, literally and metaphorically. Being surrounded by the drivers I had watched growing up, and being a rookie alongside some of my best friends from the past few years, made the experience just that much more of a dream, although it certainly all felt unreal to finally be here, living out the daydream I had had since the day I started karting so many years ago. After all the rejections, all the doubts, I had certainly had many days where I thought this would never come to me, and yet I was here, driving a real F1 car, preparing to take my place on a real F1 team for the upcoming season. My arm was bruised from being pinched.

I had made it. I thought to myself,  “This is the end of the naysayers. This is the end of the skepticism and the judgment. This is the beginning of a career of respect, where I will finally be seen as equal to the other drivers.” That was my assumption, and I was sure it would be the truth, but my contract had still not been announced. There was speculation, to be sure, about who would take the seat this year, and about whether I or any other F2 drivers would end up as reserve drivers or in actual seats this year in F1, but no formal announcements had been made, so I was only working on assumption when I assured myself that this season would be different. I could never have imagined how wrong I could have been.

I woke up on January 18 like I did any other day. Alarm goes off, I roll out of bed, I brush my teeth, I eat breakfast. It was almost an hour before I opened my phone — almost an hour that I was awake and unaware of what was going on. When I did check my phone, though, I saw hundreds, maybe thousands, of notifications waiting for me on every social media platform I owned. Tags, reposts, follows, comments; something must have happened for this many people to be taking this much notice of me. Upon opening Instagram, I was met with a bright graphic from one of the many F1 news accounts I follow. I couldn’t miss the bold text: “F2 runner-up Isabelle Clarichet to join F1 this season?!”

How could they have found out? We hadn’t made the announcement, and I knew we weren’t going to for a few more weeks, as we were still getting everything sorted. When I looked in the caption, I found my answer: They didn’t know if this was true, but they had heard rumours from an “anonymous source within the F1 community” that I had been doing training with one of the teams. I decided not to address any of the innumerable questions about whether this was true, because I wasn’t supposed to let anyone outside of my immediate family and closest friends know that I had signed a contract until the team made their own official announcement. My own silence, though, didn’t stop the comments and messages from flooding in. I received countless DMs and mentions in posts and comments telling me the same things I had heard so many times before in my career.

“Women don’t belong in motorsport.”

“Go back to ballet class.”

“She won’t be able to handle the pressure of real racing.”

“What happened to hiring athletes?”

It isn’t fair. Again and again I’ve proved my worth and shown the world that I could handle pressure and competition, that I could win, and still people doubt whether I deserve to be here. Thankfully, having done well in F2 and F3, I had gained a following over the years of people excited to see a woman excelling in a male-dominated sport like racing, and they were happy to support me every time one of these ignorant comments appeared. And, thankfully, the opinions of some random guy on the internet doesn’t really matter, because I’d already signed a contract with a team, and whatever people thought about it wouldn’t change the fact that I would be racing. I tried to encourage myself with that idea, that their opinions couldn’t change reality. But it still hurt. It hurt so much to know that I would probably never be enough for them, just because I was a girl.

Three weeks is a long time to wait when your inbox is constantly flooded with questions and speculations about where you’re racing next year. Three weeks is a long time to continuously see hateful messages and be unable to defend yourself against them. But three weeks was how long I would have to wait before an official statement could be put out revealing my contract with the team. Those three weeks were filled with training, track practice, and silent tears of frustration. They went by quickly.

I could almost hear the uproar when the news went out. I could almost feel the tension in the air as people would be reading about where I had signed, as people would be making up their minds about whether or not they would support me this year. I knew the moment I opened my phone, I would see thousands of congratulations clashed against thousands of hateful worlds, but I was prepared, and I knew that this was what was in store for me for the rest of my career. I wasn’t worried. I had my team on my side, and I had the support and respect of all the other drivers on the grid. I had proved myself before, and I was prepared to do it again, and again, and again, every day for the rest of my life. And, indeed, when I opened up my phone, I saw the announcement there. I saw the comments. I saw the excitement and the disappointment and the anger all mingled together, right there in front of me, for myself and the world to see. But overshadowing it all was the fact that this was real, and this contract had been signed and the seat had been taken and the person who had done so was me. And that announcement said a name, and it was my name. My name.

“Nineteen-year-old Isabelle Clarichet to join Mercedes F1 team 2023.”

This is the first part of my F1 "series" Baby Driver (yes, I know Baby Driver is also a movie title, but I just love the sound of it so that's the series name). I put "series" in quotes because it won't be a series in the traditional sense, meaning it won't follow one constant plotline, but it will instead be a number of different scenarios and stories of the same character and in the same universe, if that makes sense. So all of the stories will be about Isabelle and her experiences in F1 and interactions with other drivers. I should point out as a disclaimer that obviously I had to switch around some drivers so that Isabelle could race at Mercedes, so I apologize if I mention someone racing at a different team than they actually do. Feel free to request any story, F1 or not, and you can also request stories for Baby Driver as well if you have any ideas!

[saintmagx]

I Knew you were Trouble ❤️‍🔥

In which y/n joins the WWE as a female competitor and is thrown into the crazy world of the Usos. Friendship, love , betrayal and mutual pining awaits.

AN: Literally making this for myself, might publish more of it, might not - enjoy I guess? 😳😂

in this reality, Trinity is still with WWE

Pairing: Jimmy uso x reader, Jey uso x reader (platonic)

w/c: 766

⚠️ Warnings: 18+ , swearing, violence (this is the WWE after all) slight smut, infidelity, jealous Jimmy, bad writing, cringe story telling, the Usos (because they are a warning in themselves) ⚠️

I was in your sights, you got me alone, you found me❤️‍🔥

“And the challenger, being accompanied by the Usos, from y/h/t, y/r/n”

I was on top of the world. My life couldn’t be much better. I had my boys walking me down to the ring to face off against Charlotte for the Woman’s championship. I had been busting my ass for the past 8 months and finally earned my shot at the title. Nothing could ruin this moment for me - right?

“What the - ”

THUD

Then there was darkness.

Ok, so we may be getting a little bit ahead of ourselves, let’s take it back to 8 months ago, when it was your first day on Smackdown.

8 months ago

I was finally getting my opportunity after years of busting my ass in the independent circuit. I guess you could say I had made a name for myself and the WWE just had to have me.

Tonight I was making my debut on Smackdown, I was teaming up with Naomi to face off against Carmella and Mandy Rose. Carmella and Mandy where the current Woman’s tag team champions and Naomi had been teaming with Natalya - however she had been injured and I was asked to step in. This match could make or break me - I HAD to impress.

Standing backstage doing my pre-match stretched I’m broken from my trance

“Hey girl, I’m honestly so excited to be partnering with you tonight”

“Trinity hey, honestly same - though I’m a little disappointed we have to lose the match.”

“Yeah it bummed me out abit too at first, but all we have to do is put on one hell of a show”

“Good luck tonight baby” my eyes switch from Trinity to the handsome as hell man who approached her. His smile was infections, enough to make me weak at the knees. Wait…..baby?

“Y/n, this is my husband Jon, Jon this is y/n”

As if time stopped, his attention was on me, I could feel his eyes bore into me, slowly dragging up my body, my cheeks HAD to be red, oh god please don’t let anyone notice. Jon smirked at me - safe to say he noticed.

“Pleasure to meet you y/n”

Before I could reply, another equally as handsome man joined his side.

“Josh, this is y/n, y/n this is Josh, Jon's brother” Trinity said as she was stretching out for our match.

“I’m the handsome brother” Josh says, with a wink

“You do remember we are twins right?” Jon retorts

“Obviously uce, but I’m still the better looking brother”

Josh stood there with a shit eating grin plastered on his face. He had ruffled his brothers feathers once more and he was proud of himself.

These boy are going to be trouble.

• ❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Our match was set up for us to lose, but we put on one hell of a show - main event material. Back at the gorilla Hunter were there to chat with me after my debut.

“Think of the bigger picture y/n” Hunter says

“You can’t always win. Remember when you go through that curtain you are telling a story, selling it with you matches and promos. Anyway, this sets it up perfectly for you guys to go for the titles”

“What?” I look up at him in disbelief

“The titles?”

“Y/n your hard work and determination shows off. The tag titles is a fantastic opportunity to kick start your time here.”

Not really sure what came over me but next thing I knew I had my arms wrapped around hunter squeezing him tight.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, thank you, thank you, thank you - I won’t let you down”

“You deserve it kid, now go show everyone what you are made of”

Leaving the gorilla my eyes glance to Trinity and the boys walking towards catering.

“TRIN DID YOU HEAR” I scream, jumping her from behind.

“HUNTER IS GIVING US THE TAG TITLES”

“What?”

A twinge of jealousy spreads across me as I watch Jon dip his head down and place a kiss on Trinity's forehead - wait, I shouldn’t even be feeling like this - I give myself a shake and turn my attention to Josh.

“We have to celebrate”

“Josh, we haven’t actually won the titles yet, let’s save the celebrations till then huh?” I laugh

“Wait that’s a great idea, let’s do drinks, come on y/n let’s go get ready” Trin says as she drags me off.

Guess we are celebrating tonight.

If I’d have know how the night would turn out, I’d have headed straight back to the hotel.

[slutouttanowhere]

Pairing: Damian Priest x Zharia Starr (oc)

Warnings: self doubt, gaslighting/manipulation, violence

a/n: unlike my other fics, I’ve decided to make this a little more kayfabe than behind the curtain. This idea has been rolling around in my head for a while, and now that the other stories have taken a mental back burner it was easier to create for a different thing…ya know? Any who hope y’all enjoy this, there may or may more be more to this story, or I may for a series of one shots for Damien and Zharia. I’ll be making an character intro for her so make sure you follow me to see more 🫶🏽

I laid in the middle of the ring, frustrated by yet another loss, it's been almost a month of me struggling to pick up a victory. Almost a month of me getting screwed out of championship title opportunities, I was sick of it, but I felt helpless. The crowd was in a frenzy, a mix of reactions, their emotions mirrored my own.‘This is my brutality’ The Judgment Day’s music played throughout the arena. I rolled my eyes, but I didn't bother picking myself up. The mood I was in, if they planned on jumping me, I wouldn't fight them off. The five of them climbed the apron like a pack of starving wolves, and I were their first meal in days. I hung my head hung, eyes staring at my palms, the crowd roaring. I could hear Rhea’s devious chuckle from behind me, her presence felt like a looming, oncoming storm as she stood behind me. Her knees touching my back, Damian mumbled, “I got it.” Before speaking in the microphone, and addressing me directly.

“Zharria Starr…you’re too pretty to be looking this sad, stand up. Come on, up, up.” Damian grabbed me by my arm, him being much more physically strong than I, it was no point to fight against him. From this close distance, I had to tilt my head to see his face, he wore a playful grin on his lips, and his eyes sparkled underneath the bright arena lights. I couldn't hold his stare because it was too intense, I could feel my face heat up, so I moved to JD next. He stood with his arms folded over his chest, and his posture straight. He too had a small grin stretched across his lips, but it didn't affect me the way Damian’s did. Rhea’s muscular bicep warped around the back of my neck, her hand coming to rest at the base of my throat. The combination of her muscles reminded me how easy it would be for her to sling me down into the mat, and Damian watched how Rhea’s hand caressed my skin, sending a sinful heat in the pit of my stomach right between my thighs.

“Sweetie, didn't we warn you? It was only a matter of time before you hit bottom, it was only a matter of time before you got tired of the wwe making you chase your tail, and it was only a matter of time before you realized, the same opportunities that you know you deserve will just be handed to those that did nothing to earn them.” Her voice snaked right into my ear, sending a chill down my spine, her fingers slowly slid up the base of my neck to grip my chin forcing me to look up at Finn.

“It’s a shame really, you’re hands down one of the most talented women in th WWE, but here you are, bottom of the barrel, and there Becky Lynch is…off to Wrestlemania. Main Eventing, your spot, in your spotlight.” He tisked, shaking his head pitifully, then Rhea, turned my head to Damian, and that sensation from earlier magnified, it was indescribable. He took a step forward, bending at the waste to meet me at my height. My breathing was heavy, my eyes stung from tears threatening to spill. Right when one began to slip, he reached a hand up to my face, and caught it on his finger. Bringing his finger to his lips, he licked my salty tears, and smiled all the while.

“Didn’t we tell you, right when you reach that threshold of didsapointment, The Judgement Day would be right there to pick up the pieces, and give you something new. The offer still stands mija, got you a special seat at the table, right next to me.” He takes my hand, gently pulling me from underneath Rhea, and she lets me go. When I turned to look at her, she held a dark smile on her blackened lips, her eyes held promises of something knee weakening. Damian’s finger hooked under my chin, brought my face to his, and stared right into my soul. He held the mic to his lips, “So, what will it be? Roll with the most feared, and powerful faction in the WWE today, and sit right on the lap of the High Priest. Or…parish.” I parted my lips, thinking I had the right answer, but Rhea chimed in again before I could say anything.

“Choose, wisely.” She warned, my heart jumped from the unexpected proximity of her voice, I swallowed the lump in my throat, but spoke bravely, gripping onto Damian’s hand. His smile spreading wider, he held the mic up so they could hear me clearly, he watched me with anticipation.

“Yes…I’ll join Judgement Day.” I spoke with clarity, knowing this would be the end of my cookie cutter persona, and without a second thought I let the darkness consume me. Damian brought my hand up to his lips, kissing my knuckles, but it didn't last long before Rhea snatched me from him, her arms pulling me into a bear hug, then roughly kissing me on the cheek. I just barely blinked before she put me over her shoulder, and slammed me into the matt on my back.

“Welcome to The Judgment Day babe.” Rhea chuckled into the mic as she straddled the top of me, though it was physically painful, looking up at her was a beautiful sight really. I don't regret my decision at all.

[sukunasun]

any drafts or thoughts u want an excuse to post ..?

spearheading the 'geto is good at games' campaign until he gets the recognition he deserves. losing one game of street fighter isn't fair evidence when he's literally an all-time taiko no tatsujin great at eighteen. just look at the marks and ridges on his worn-out game-branded drumsticks tucked under his bed, yes he has them for optimal performance. tossed next to the—just as worn—converse chucks. he always manages to score a 'perfect' in DDR, and owes it to the shoes. the staff knows he's here when they hear beethoven virus booming through the speakers, shoulder-length hair pushed back with a metal-wired headband while the group of local kids stand around the console with sparkling eyes, admiring the master himself.

but he doesn't brag. modest and so tight-lipped about it, face cringing the moment you ask about the shiny holographic trophy sitting in his dorm closet. he's busy with pulling your panties off under your skirt, pleated and pressed to perfection as he sinks his fingertips into soft flesh. ask him about anything else, anything but his starcraft II championship trophy.

all the things he could do when left alone with you on a hot summer's day like this but he pouts and sulks over a lost bet. exacerbated by the fact that his best friend won't shut up about it. brings it up every time they pass by the arcade or a mcdonalds. "remember that time you—" gojo doesn't even get to finish his sentence, laughing at the way geto's eye twitches involuntarily.

geto swears he's over it. forget that he still has that same urge to revisit old fighting games, his face scrunched up in concentration as the selection breezes past every character but ryu and his brawny muscles. he doesn't have a reason why, only that it's the one he remembers choosing that very day.

fuck it, he thinks. there are worse things, but the fact that gojo's got his hands on his own ps5 the moment it drops makes his blood boil. ready to snatch the console for himself when the man can barely steer or walk in a straight line. everyone assumes gojo satoru is great at everything, praises him for it, honoured one or whatever. pfft. geto knows effort is exactly what he lacks. "this is so hard!" gojo whines, already bored when he's yet to get past the tutorials of final fantasy vii. because he doesn't have the knack for it, this is where talent or bloodlines won't help, arcade games and their simple mechanics won't do now that he's left to traverse rpgs and action-adventures. it's why he gives the controller over to geto, leaving his hands free to clap and smack his broad back in excitement when he finishes the game in two days.

and he isn't always this competitive. geto likes when there isn't so much of a challenge too, when he can take his time decorating his island with the twins, their inputs are of utmost importance. loves that you sit in his lap as he patiently breezes through different maps in mario kart. feeling your kiss on his cheek as he crosses that checkered finish line in first place.

one kiss turns into two, then three and more. soon after he's found a new challenge in the form of making you come undone as many times as he can. pleasure dom is not a label he gives himself, it's one he has to earn. oh how you feed his ego, he feels so terrible. this isn't about winning, this was about loving you, making you feel good, but he's too selfish of a lover.

arch your back, strike a pose, preferably in a bayonetta costume. he takes his time, he relishes in the feel of leather, pulling the zipper down the middle with his teeth, and tries his best to resist ripping it apart. you've really outdone yourself, so thoughtful. he peels it off your body slowly, sensually. enough of a gentleman to appreciate the finer things, although not as much that he wouldn't pull out before he jerks himself off over your face. rectangular glasses that sit askew now painted with his seed.

loves making you shake and tremble, acting like he's unaware of how expertly his fingers play with you, his touch had been curious the first time, now he inches closer with familiarity, settling into a steady rubbing rhythm over your slickened cunt, teasing your clit each time he skims it before plunging his fingers inside. probing against a spot that has you leaking all over his sheets. it's not stars in your eyes but tears, hot and streaming down your face when he won't stop despite your garbled pleas. how you whine and dig your fingernails into his biceps, a little scared but so very excited, ecstatic even when he pulls out a bad dragon and you swear he's your soulmate.

[toyota-supra]

i have no idea what's going on with this racing stuff but i'm fascinated. can i get an explanation of it all?

I'm sure actual F1 tumblr would explain this better than me but basically besides like, 15 other topics of drama that had been brewing up in the sport because of course, today's race was very interesting because of the following

McLaren drivers Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri were ahead at the start of the race, Lando having gotten the pole position yesterday and Oscar right behind. Because Lando is quite slow at starts, Oscar and Max Verstappen of Red Bull quickly overtook him, but Max had to give second place back to Lando because he was forced off of the road and gained advantage. So for like 15-20 laps or so, it was Oscar in front with Lando behind.

Then when it's time to pit for tire changes, of course because you can't pit both cars in the same team at once because there's only one pit, you have to choose who goes first. For some reason, McLaren decides that Lando should go first, thus getting fresher tires (i.e. an advantage) before Oscar, who was ahead, could. Then, when Oscar has to pit, Lando passes him already with this advantage. This strategy of getting fresh tires before someone else so that you can get an advantage over them when it's their turn to go is called undercutting.

By the time both McLarens had pitted and Oscar caught up to second position (which I believe wasn't very difficult, because Max had to pit after Oscar I think?), Lando's radio was beeping all the fucking time about how the team strategy is that Lando has to give the first position back to Oscar.

But like... why? There's no rule that makes Lando have to give the position, it is JUST team strategy. The team realized that they had given Lando a winning advantage when Oscar had been ahead for a while at the start. But of course, Lando doesn't want to give the position away because every racer is racing to win, and there was also the concern that, if Oscar was too much slower than Lando, then Lando having to give the position back would give too much opportunity to whoever was behind Oscar (I believe it was Lewis Hamilton then) to pass them both.

But that wasn't really a concern, because nobody was close enough to the McLarens for that to happen

This radio fight went on for so fucking long, because Lando's gap (i.e. the number of seconds between when a driver and another cross the same part of the course) kept increasing, indicating that Lando was correct about the fact that Oscar isn't going as fast as him. Lando's idea was that, since he is faster, of course he deserves the win, especially since him undercutting Oscar was completely on the team's fault, and not on the drivers.

However, orders are orders, so 3 laps from the finish, Lando just slams the brakes and lets Oscar pass, and then tries to catch up on his own terms but can't. Oscar Piastri, 23 year old Australian driver, had his first victory in F1 under team orders instead of a real dispute. It's a sad thing to see in the sport, but not the first time this has happened. When Oscar's radio turned on, his victory celebration seemed... Not very enthusiastic

McLaren kind of. Ruined both their drivers' races for basically no fault except their own orders, and then pushed the blame on Lando. It really doesn't make sense. This strategy doesn't benefit the championship either, because if they want to win the drivers championship, Lando is already ahead so giving him the points would have been better. This entire thing could have been easily avoided, and it's a shame to see this situation in a team that is probably the fastest car right now.

Oscar is a good driver and deserves victories, especially when he was faster than Lando at the start and earned a victory from then even... But I hate to see any fast driver have to give up a race because of team incompetence

[aduckinpain]

I was tagged by the amazing @paint-it-red-and-black for this and I found it so adorable I had to do it!

Use this link to make your own F1 Wrapped!

DRIVERS:

1. Charles Leclerc

The world may be unraveled and built again and I will still choose this man as my top driver. While admittedly at first I was captivated by his looks, I soon started genuinely enjoying this sport. Doing so allowed me to look into his story and by God is it something straight out of a book. His mentality to learn and remember everyone he's lost and fight for them while selflessly sacrificing himself for their wishes is something I couldn't fathom in a lifetime. And yet he does fight for himself and he does it viciously. He is one of the best, one of the only who I think with a competitive car could give Max a fight and win, and I need to see him spread his full potential. I am convinced that if this man doesn't win a World Championship then F1 is unachievable and Ferrari will destroy their own legend. You cannot just find another Charles Leclerc.

Also his dichotomy is insane. He's so chaotic it makes him incredibly entertaining.

If Charles Leclerc has one fan, it's me.

If Charles Leclerc has no fans, I'm dead.

2. Lando Norris

Admittedly I completely overlooked this man for about 2 months. Absolutely no second glance he wasn't interesting enough for me.

I repent for my mistake as he's consumed my waking days and nights. An absolute talent that stemmed from hard work. His second part of the season was to die for, I believe he as well, is one of the people that could fight Max for a championship. So young as well, and even if he managed to get there slowly because of his father, he tried to make it as realistic as he could. Staying a year just getting coffee orders while he's shaking in his boots for every interviews. A genuine sweetheart that deserves every good thing. I hate how self-critical he seems to be . He needs that win, he CAN win. In 2024 maiden victory for Lando Norris come on.

3. Max Verstappen

Everything, and I mean everything that this man has achieved, is deserved. Every win, every record broken, every championship was his. Because he is a generational talent, he is someone worthy. His past absolutely destroys me, especially seeing that he is in contact with his father still, but I can understand the way he thinks. Still what he went through in childhood is no excuse for the success he has now. This man is the sweetest, kindest person I've seen. He's grown so much over the years from what I can tell and he treats everyone so equally. From past temporary teammates, to rivals. A genuine joy to be around I want to give him a hug every day and tell him that he is special. Red Bull's second golden boy but also mine.

4. Oscar Piastri

At first glance, according to people I know, I look like this man. The bangs don't help, neither does the fact that I act similarly. However I will never complain if it means I can work hard and earn the success he's had in his first year in F1. When I say wow for him, I mean it. Showstopping performance. This man will be a Champion one day he has to. Absolute down to earth guy as well but I love when I see his competitive spirit shove its head between the calm walls. It's always the quiet ones and I'd know as I am one.

5. Alexander Albon

For fifth place I could've chosen a lot of people as I genuinely really like the current grid (with a few exceptions). But Alex is amazing. Truly believe that if you put him in a competitive car he'd bring miracles. He's put that Williams in places it never dreamed of driving around. One of the most talented drivers on the grid and his personality is to die for. So so nice and lovely genuinely.

RACES:

1. Las Vegas

I hated Las Vegas. Honestly still kinda do in a lot of aspects. But the race was the best. Charles definitely deserved that win and Max's penalty was too little, but a race is a race, it doesn't matter how you win it as long as you do. Charles' driving however was absolutely phenomenal. That overtake on Checo was borderline the most exhilarating thing I could ever feel. I was so shocked when I saw it, it took me a good 5 min to collect myself.

2. Singapore

While Carlos may not be on my list, the win he had in Singapore was well-deserved and amazingly iconic. I don't think I'll ever get over my confusion of hearing this mf say it's on purpose corresponding to Lando's DRS. that's the sexiest thing this man has done. That Carlando podium added extra years to my life. Their hugs and the champagne were the sweetest things ever. And Lando's pics from the podium were very um.......👁️👁️

3. Mexico

Very simple. Lando P17 to P5. Phenomenal driving. After the Austin GP disqualification. Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton on the podium? Exactly what I wished for. Brought my boy back from the slump that's called the 2023 F1 season.

4. Qatar

Now to be clear, I hated Qatar. I will hate Qatar and I hate Qatar. It was absolutely inhumane and there should've been different precautions or the race time should've changed because I don't care that these drivers are trained, that was actual torture. So when I say Qatar as my 4th favorite, I mean the sprint race.

Oscar Piastri the man that you are and the man that you will be. Rookie season and won a Sprint race. I know you will be great and I cannot wait for your future.

I do dislike how they overshadowed his win with Max's championship. While I understand the celebration, he was going to celebrate at the end of the season as well. All in all, I'm happy for both of them.

5. Suzuka

My reasoning for this is even simpler. If you ever need to know my weak point, just look at the number of reoccurring driver things I have in my room. You will find an outstanding amount of Sebastian Vettels everywhere. On a shirt, in my phone, on my phone, on my wall and more to come. My reason for this is just his little bee project and how much I adored seeing him in his little corner waving his flags and the bee activity he did the day before. Everybody loves Sebastian Vettel. As they should.

RACES WATCHED: 12/22

Now I got into F1 during the summer break, which is the reason I wasn't able to see half of the races. However I am grateful purely because I don't think I could've experienced Charles Leclerc losing his grasp over the championship and Sebastian Vettel's retirement in 2022. That would've been my actual breaking point. And I saw a Max dominant season yes, however I saw half of it and most of the races were very entertaining still. I love Max too so.

TOP TEAM:

My genuine choices for this were McLaren, Red Bull and Williams.

I went for McLaren because of their amazing driver lineup, improvement over the second part of the season and really cool pit stops.

Red Bull however has been unbeatable and I will give them all the credit. The strategies, the pit stops, the wins, everything. Phenomenal

Williams grew on me quickly after Qatar. While the car may be frankly, shit, the team seems incredibly put together and I adore that they gave Logan a second chance. Also that they put the well being of their drivers first. James Vowles adopt me.

Thank you so so much for this, it was incredibly entertaining!!

If you want pushki do the same @h4mmert1me . I know most of your opinions tho <3

[sebscore]

it helps me sleep at night thinking that over the last however many years since GZD joined F1 (i’m gonna say 6 because i think i remember you saying she joined in 2018) she’s earned a lot of respect from the fan base and done what she wanted to do and prove she is F1 material. there’s still sexist pricks and people who have sexist opinions but it calms me to think that she’s gained a fair amount of respect that she deserves.

same! her first seasons were just… horrible, in terms of how she was treated by not only fans, but the f1 media as well (and it didn’t help that *certain* key figures in the sport fueled that hatred).

the support of her fellow drivers obviously helped a lot, cause most of them would just shoot sexist questions down, but the last two seasons have just been really great for her and it just showed everyone that she’s a serious contender for a world championship once her car catches up to the rbr’s!

can I just say that these kinds of asks really help me with inspiration for gzd + help with my passion and devotion for this series 🥹🥹 y’all are amazing!

[sweetladymoon]

Hey there 🥰 honestly, i don't remember what I originally followed you for, but rn it makes me happy to see how much you're enjoying Oscar and Lando (?) even though I dont have a single clue who they are 🌠 if you have the energy & r up for it, will you tell me why you like them together and what their whole deal is? If you dont feel like it, that's also totally cool! Hope they will continue to spark lots of joy for you!!

Hi there! 🤗 I’m not entirely sure from when this ask is considering that tumblr didn’t alert me to the fact that I had something in my ask box but if you’re still interested I’m always happy to chat about my interests.

Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri are Formula 1 drivers and also teammates. They both drive for McLaren. Lando has been in F1 and with the team since 2019, Oscar only joined the grid last year. They are both still pretty young (Lando is 24, Oscar is 23) and are incredibly talented drivers.

Their dynamic can be described as “opposites attract”. Lando is known for being chatty, outgoing and a little silly. He’s also pretty open about his emotions. When he’s frustrated or upset you can definitely tell which is something he’s gotten a lot of backlash for (especially recently) because people feel like he’s acting childish/ungrateful but personally I’ve always liked that he doesn’t try to hide how he feels. He’s also quite open about his struggles with his mental health and as someone who’s dealing with similar issues I can relate to him quite a bit. I am also happy that someone in his position is so open about his struggles.

Oscar on the other hand is kind of deadpan and acts incredibly mature in every situation. He never argues with other drivers and even if his race goes catastrophically wrong he just kind of shrugs it off and moves on to the next week. People sometimes act as if he has no emotions which is obviously not true. He’s just an introvert but you can tell that he has definitely gotten more comfortable on the grid/with media etc. over the past year. He’s actually really funny in a sort of lowkey, sarcastic kind of way (especially on social media).When he’s around Lando he turns into a giggling mess. I’m talking bending over in laughter at any little thing Lando says. And while I do like Lando a lot I can tell you he is not THAT funny.

Their personalities just work really well together. Oscar is patient and calm where Lando is not and Oscar is always ready to indulge him. Oscar has even earned the nickname Oscar ‘heart-eyes’ Piastri because of the way he always looks at Lando as if he hung the moon, but to be fair Lando is no better in that regard. They also have massive respect for each other and are never shy to highlight the other’s strengths and compliment them on a job well done.

McLaren has been doing really well this year. For the first time in forever they actually have competitive car and both Lando and Oscar achieved their maiden wins this year which is obviously a pretty big deal. Mclaren is also in the fight for the Constructors Championship and Lando himself is fighting for the Drivers Championship title. And while that is really exciting, McLaren has unfortunately made some questionable strategic decision in the las few races which definitely cost both Lando and Oscar a few more wins. Lando and Oscar fans have been at each other’s throat lately because Lando fans think he should be prioritised considering that he’s in the fight for the title, while Oscar fans don’t want to see their driver being side lined. But tbh I think the main fault lies with the team and neither of the drivers should be getting hate for doing their job.

There have been a few tense situations throughout the year. The most prominent one being Hungary, Oscar’s maiden win. While definitely deserved, McLaren messed up the strategy once again and kind of tainted that moment. A lot of people feared that the team’s incompetence might strain Lando and Oscar’s relationship as teammates, but luckily no matter how unsatisfied they seem after a race, they never seem to have a problem with each other and Lando himself even said that Hungary made their relationship even stronger.

I could honestly rant for ages about F1 and these two in particular but I don’t want to bore you. This has already gotten so much longer than I intended it to be. 😅I still hope I was able to give you a rough idea of who these two are and if you ever want to see their dynamic in action you should check out McLaren’s social media accounts (their YouTube videos in particular).

[excludedmiddle]

Thoughts on the Candidates? The final round? Alireza?

Absolutely insane situation! I watched the last couple hours of the games today (specifically Fabi and Gukesh). Easily the most intense and fun chess we've had in a long time. It's crazy that we have four potential winners tomorrow.

In terms of how I rate the outcomes:

Fabi wins. I'm a huge Fabi fan and I think he deserves to be world champion as the number two player of the Magnus era.

Gukesh wins. I like Gukesh a lot and having a teenage world championship challenger would be really exciting. No doubt in my mind that he's earned it.

Hikaru wins. I find Hikaru a bit insufferable but it would be phenomenal content.

Nepo wins. Please god not again.

In terms of Alireza's performance, well. I think he'd previously been anointed as the leading light of the post-Magnus generation, especially after he hit 2800, but he hasn't lived up to that since then. I think maybe that was an unfair amount of pressure to put on him. I don't know if his problems are psychological or if he's hit a wall, but he certainly seems far weaker than he was just a couple years ago. He was rank 2 in the world not so long ago, and he's fallen to rank 16 in the live ratings.

The result is still up in the air, but Gukesh is making a very strong case for himself as the strongest player of the new generation, at least at the moment. If he can seal the deal and triumph first over Fabi, Nepo, and Hikaru and then over Ding, it'll be a real changing of the guard. Easier said than done, though.

[envolvenuances]

Unofficial Translation of 'A Força de Uma Mulher [A Woman's Strenght]',

Edinanci wonders to herself: 'Did I really deserve to go through that?'

Edinanci Silva, in testimony to Demétrio Vecchioli. For the Sports News series "Minha História / My History". Please check the original;

I was bored and still getting notes on that addition I made to @f1ghtsoftly's post metioning the case with a brazilian judo athlete. So this is a quick work of translating it with probably too many translators notes.

Published at the Newspaper UOL, in São Paulo.  Publication Date May 24 of 2024.

In order to get on a bus in the city of Campina Grande (Paraíba), which was heading towards São Paulo, more than 30 years ago, I told my mother I would return. But the journey that would allow me to earn a living fighting judo was a one-way trip.

Months later, I told her a harsh truth, about how I was thinking of ending my life. All our lives were already too filled with suffering, filled with pain, to be subjected to all that public scrutinity on top of things.

I alone know the strenght it cost me to remain standing. Do you know these social media haters? I dealed with them on the streets. Every day. Good press? Solidarity? There was none.

After what I experienced between 1995 and 1996, I closed myself off, so I could protect myself and heal the many wounds that were inflicted onto me. I carried on practicing judo, I competed in four Olympics, I won two medals at the World Championships, but my resentment towards journalists remained, my fear of exposure.

Now, I have accepted the offer to tell my story.

I was born in 1976, when the Military Dictatorship (1964-1986) was strong, into a very humble family from a city named Sousa, located in the outback of Paraíba, where everyone suffered with hunger and drought. (TN: the brazilian outback, or Sertão Nordestino, located in th Northeast, is a region heavily associated with its drought, poverty and the violence exercised by both bandits and "colonels" - latifiundium owners with great political influence. Due to this social imagery, when the rural habitants move to the Capitals or the South-Southest region of Brazil, they typically face a lot of prejudice, comparable to stigmatized immigration. To this day, the city of Sousa has around 70.000 citzens).  The memories hurt so badly that from the year I turned 20, I have only returned to that place through the Internet, searching for news or seeing our old house in the André Gadelha neighborhood on Google Maps.

Until I turned 11 years old, I only had the chance to study for a sum of eight months.

Schools, leisure areas/third spaces, somewhere to play sports, all of that were fairytales for us. In my periphery, there was no water, no nourishment, there wasn't even a way out of crime. It's different from big cities. Only the ones who have experienced it know what it's like.

Besides that, I had family matters.  My father was extremely violent. He didn't accept the reality we lived in, and so he would lash out, take it out on us. I'm from a time when any politcal expression would put you at risk. My mother would often panic, because I repeated all the time: 'This Brazil is a shithole'

In Campina Grande, we had better living conditions. (TN: Campina Grande is the second largest city in the state of Paraíba, losing only to the capital, with around 420.000 citzens and an important industrial sector). There were five of us, counting my two sisters, living in an "embryo", a house built by the bank Caixa Econômica, which had a living room and a bathrrom. (TN: the embryo [portuguese: casa embrião] is a 15m² property commonly built as social projects in the periphery). Even so, quite precarious.

I helped as much as I could, but there came a point when I had to follow my own way. I was already training in judo and, when I was on competitons, I had to eat salad and not the usual rice and beans. But salad was a luxury we couldn't afford. I was a burden to my family.

I never had any kind of vanity. Things like doing my nails, cutting my hair, putting on makeup, you know? I grew up in a very rustic environment, where children ran around around barefoot. I had my first birthday cake at the age of 15.

So my arrival in Guarulhos, in 1994, when I was 17 years old, was a cultural shock. (NT: Guarulhos, with over 1.000.000 habitants, is an autonomous prefecture that integrates the metropolitan area known as Greater São Paulo). People were bothered by my accent, the way I behaved, the way I dressed. 'Edi, put on some lipstick', they would say. But I don't like it, that is not a part of me. I felt like a fish out of water, but turning back, returning home, was not an option for me.

With the intensity of the training, the masculine characteristics became more visible, in a physiological sense. I had that crab-like gait of muscular people, you know?

That's when the talk began. Until then, this had only come to light for me through a friend of my trainer back in Paraíba, who had told him to take me to a doctor in order to investigate it. But I, oh the tomboy I was, I never paid it much attention.

[EDITOR'S NOTE: Edinanci has been intersex since birth. She had internal testicles and presented an abnormal amount of male hormones. In April 1996, she underwent an orchiectomy, the surgery to remove these testes. Without the operation, Edinanci would not have passed the so-called "femininity test", in which women were made to stand naked in front of a "committee", a requirement for competting in the Olympic Games. The test was banned in 1998.]

The exams, which I was only able to undergo when I moved to São Paulo, showed that I was somewhat benefiting from the production of the male hormone, but that in 15 to 20 years this would turn into a cancer. When they told me this, I said: 'What? Let's do it right now!'

The surgical procedure and hormonal treatment were not for competting in the Games, they were for my health. Sport was giving me an oportunity to discover a matter that, if I had stayed in Paraíba, I would never have discovered. I used this opportunity to take care of myself.

Between 1995 and 1996, my life became hell. I couldn't go out on the streets because I was constantly attacked. Not physically, but with words. In Guarulhos, when people recognized me, they would say: 'That thing is a man!', use slurs to attack me.

Much of this behaviour was the fault of the brazilian press, which had exposed the situation in a very sensionalistic manner. 'Is it a man or a woman, what do you think?' They turned it into almost an episode of 'Você Decide'. (NT: Você Decide/It's Your Call (1992-2000) was an interactive television program broadcasted by Globo, in which every episode presented a 'special case', and the ending was decided by the audience through phone votes. It has been accused of functioning as a 'thermometer' for public view of sensible subjects, from finding a bag full of money to abortion and female homosexuality.)

That got to me. Deeply. There was that thought in my head: 'Do I have a right to be this way? Is there a chance they are right about me? Everbody is saying the same thing, repeating it... maybe it's the truth'. It reached a point when, in a call I had made to my family, I told my mother: 'I'm giving up on everything'.

I seriously thought of suicide. The social media hater hurts this generation. But the real life hater is even more difficult to cope with. It hurts, you have no idea.

We keep on recalling things we've experienced, remembering the moments we lived, and before you know it, you are experiecing once again the same pain that you felt the first time. It hurts, and it's hard to talk about. So you keep it to yourself. There is no one to share the burden with.

I often used it to build results in the tatami. I would turn into the devil, filled with so much hatred, so much anger. But that causes you a lot of harm. You end up becoming someone you're not, some angry person who doesn't trust anyone.

It's not like I don't have scars, you know? I've tried to understand, but it's hard. Is it the grief? But it's not really grief. It's those things you remember and that make you wonder: 'Did I really deserve to go through that?'

My beginning in judo was for survival, after I was diagnosed with labyrinthitis, which was already caused by the hormonal issues. I was 1,70m [5'6 feet] and at some point I weighted 38kg [84 pounds]. It reached a point when I couldn't hold myself on my feet. My musculature was reduced to the bare tendons, and even my fingers had atrophied.

So my family sought treatment and psychological support. My mother, who was a member of SESC, searched for a modality of sport there. (TN: SESC is a private inniative from the trade sector. The project aimed to improve living conditions for their employees and their families, and counts with social services, health profesionals, art projects and sports training). Influed by the movies that were popular at the time, I wanted to do karate, but the only spot availiable was for judo.

In the end, judo was the only sport that embraced me.

I started training at the age of 14, and my recovery was quite fast. Soon, my sensei started to place me in competitions, and that gave me something I never had before: dreams for the future (lit= life perspective).

I would wake up at 5A.M. and jump over the fence of the UFPB (Federal University of Paraíba) to run on a sand track they had. My physical conditioning was lifting bricks with my bare hands. A gym? Not even in my dreams. To perform the judo techniche repetitions, I would tie a rubber band on an avocaddo tree we had in front of my house.

One time, we travelled for a competition in Canoas (Rio Grande do Sul-South). I needed to lose weight, and I didn't have money to buy something to eat. So I combined business with pleasure and spent the three days of the bus trip only drinking water.

That's why weight loss was never a suffering for me. Once, I even lost 10 kg in one week, via two days without food and water. People would ask me how I managed and I would say that, in my head, it was easy, because I already knew how it was like. When I didn't want to lose weight anymore, I could open the fridge and I would have a Coke there, I could buy myself a pizza, buy water.

In my childhood, hunger and thirst offered no other options.

This banning me from fighting tale began in 1995, when the prefecture of São Caetano do Sul, a city that couldn't beat us, tried to prevent me from representing Guarulhos on the Jogos Abertos. (NT: The Jogos Abertos do Interior [lit=Open Games of the Countryside] is a tournament between cities in the São Paulo state held since 1936, now with 192 prefectures and 28 sports, including judo)

My team said: 'Edi, if you want, we won't go in without you. We don't care about being disqualified'. I didn't want to hold them back, so all I asked of the girls was for them to bring the house down.

Guarulhos won. And the team of São Caetano was changed. In the following year, they invited me to join. But I said if they wanted me there, they would have to bring all of us. They accepted the deal so we all went.

Since then, I have defended the team of São Caetano do Sul in the Jogos Abertos for almost 25 years. I retired from the national team in 2008, but in the year 2019 I was still winning a gold medal for the city that tried to ban me. (TN: São Caetano is also located in the Greater São Paulo, with around 160.000 citzens)

I've always been realistic. When I got the support of the [Olympic Brazilian] Confederation, of the COB, to fight in the Olympics, it wasn't because they were pitying me, just because it was the right thing to do. It was because I was a real chance of winning a medal for Brazil.

Throughout my career, I've always had a certain resentment towards the brazilian press.  All the issue regarding my hormonal tests was exposed in a very sensationalist way.

They took a delicate matter just to reach numbers, to hold the attetion of the public not for the judo event, but for the controversy.

That made me walk away. Everything I've done within the sport has always been away from the spotlight. I've lost many sponsorships because of this personality I developed.

When I compare my situation with that of Caster Semeya, the south african runner, I find the whole country was on her side. The entire country cheering for her, and damn the rest of the wolrd. You just go there and bring that medal back to us.

That was something I didn't have here. I had to fight against the brazilian people, against the prejudice, I had to fight in search of answers about myself in order to take them back to the press, and I had to fight inside the tatami as well.

In the end, I won.