#Tyre Conversion Guide

[goodoldbandit]

Choose the Right Tyres for Your Motorcycle: Tube vs. Tubeless.

https://gob.stayingalive.in/unleashing-the-thrills-of/choose-the-right-tyres-for.html Selecting the perfect tyres for your motorcycle can dramatically impact your riding experience. Whether you’re a commuter, tourer, or off-road enthusiast, understanding the differences between #TubeTyres and #TubelessTyres will guide you to the best choice for your riding style. Let’s delve into the details and…

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

hii, i love yours stories

I would like to make a request. melissa/reader.

Where the reader is in a toxic relationship with a guy, but she and Melissa are visibly in love with each other, but only they don't see it.

The reader had tried to break up with him many times but never succeeded, so one day Melissa decides to work it out.

That's it, thank you, I hope you understood♡

Thank you! So kind of you to ask for more of my writing (I know I've said it before but it will never not surprise me!)

Okay...so I hope I understood what you were looking for? This took me a while and wasn't an easy write, but I hope it comes close to what you were hoping for!

~*~

Melissa isn’t trying to eavesdrop.  She’s actively trying not to, actually, but when she hears the strained tone to your voice, she can’t just walk away.  She’s seen you with your guy before.  Seen the way he treats you, always wanting you at his beck and call, too busy spouting off his own opinions to listen to anything you ever had to say.  To say she’s never liked him would be an understatement.

“I just…I don’t like who I am when I’m with you,” you say honestly, your gaze firmly fixed on your feet.  You don’t dare look up.  You know he’s not going to like those words.  You hadn’t asked for him to come here today.  But then again you hadn’t messaged to say you were staying late to set up a few things for your lessons on Monday, so his appearance shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

“But I like who you are with me.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath.  “That’s not the same thing,” you breathe, shaking your head.

“So what are you saying?”

There’s a hardness to his tone that scares you.  You’ve been here before.  You’ve had this conversation before.  You can’t have it again.  You need to do this.  To see it through.  “I’m saying I’m done.”

“We’re not done!”

You look up at his raised voice in time to see him reach out to grab your arm.  The next thing you see is a blaze of red.  Melissa, you realise.

“Hey!” she snaps, coming to stand by you, a half step ahead so you’re partially hidden behind her shoulder.  “She’s saying she’s done, so you’re done.  You wanna walk away now.”

“Or what?”

At the threat in his tone Melissa steps fully in front of you, creating a physical barrier between you and him.  “You don’t want me to answer that.”

He scoffs, shaking his head.  “You’re gonna regret this,” he snarls at you over the red head’s shoulder before storming off across the car park. 

You watch him go, the car door slamming behind him before he takes off with enough speed to leave tyre marks.  You don’t realise you’re trembling until Melissa places a gentle hand on your arm.  Turning to look at her, you find your vision slightly blurred by the tears in your eyes.  “Sorry,” you manage in a whisper.  “I didn’t mean to make such a scene.  I just...I wanted out.”

The red head gently guides you into her arms, holding you firmly against her as your breath comes in stuttered hiccups.  “He’s gone,” she says softly, her hands rubbing up and down your back.  “You’re safe.”

She must feel you stiffen in her arms, as she pulls back, looking at you with concern.

“What if he tries to come over,” you admit.  You want to believe her words.  That he’s really gone and that you’re safe, but you know it’s not that simple.  Not with him.

“He got keys to your place?” she asks, a frown developing on her features as you nod.  “Okay, then the first thing we do is go get those locks changed, then you pick up some stuff and you stay at my place tonight.”

You immediately shake your head.  “No, I can’t ask that.”

“You’re not askin’,” she says softly, her hands rubbing up and down your arms.  “I’m tellin’ ya,” she smiles.  “Come on, I’ll drive.”

You feel like such an incapable idiot.  You can’t even break up with your shitty boyfriend on your own and now she’s helping you clear up the mess you’ve made.  The hand that takes your own feels too much like a lifeline to let go, though. 

You keep trying to apologise on the drive over to your apartment, but Melissa is having none of it.  She tells you there is nothing to apologise for, but you’re pretty sure she has better things to be doing than sorting out your mess.  Still, she acts as if it’s nothing as she calls a locksmith, waiting with you while he changes the locks.  She waves off your attempt to pay the guy, telling you he owed her a favour anyway.

There’s a huge part of you that wants to tell her that she’s done enough.  That everything she’s already done is too much, even.  The other part of you, the selfish part, you fear, however, doesn’t want to be here if he comes back.  With the locks changed you know he can’t get in, but you also know how persistent he can be. 

As you disappear into your bedroom to pack a bag, Melissa finds herself restless.  She doesn’t want to snoop, but she figures she’s allowed to wander through to your kitchen.  She frowns as her eyes land on the photos on your fridge.  There are plenty of them, some clearly of you and your friends and family.  There are a few too many, however, for her liking of the asshole from the car park.  Glancing over her shoulder to make sure you’re still busy, she quickly removes those from the fridge, tossing them into the trash. 

Pleased with her work, she returns to the living room, her eyes scanning for any more pictures she might need to get rid of.  The pictures she finds here, however, are all in frames and it seems more time and thought has gone into choosing them.  She finds herself smiling as she takes in the images of places you’ve visited, pets you’ve clearly loved, friends you look happy and comfortable with, family gatherings, and to her surprise, a recent photograph of the two of you.

The last staff night out, she realises, recognising her outfit.  You’re grinning at her as she looks to the camera that she’s clearly holding.  You look happy, she thinks.  Happier than you did in the photos with him. 

*

“You hungry?”

You shake your head.  You don’t think you could stomach anything right now.  That and you don’t want her to go to any more trouble than she already has. 

Melissa pauses for a moment.  She’s heard your stomach growling so he knows you’re lying. “Well I could do with something, so I’m just gonna put a few bits together.”

It’s when she’s in the kitchen that your phone starts ringing.  You know without looking it’s going to be him.  You ignore it.  And the next one.  And the one after that.  When your phone rings again, you turn it to silent. 

You don’t want to speak to him.  You know if you do he’ll only either be angry or try to persuade you you’ve made the wrong decision. A few moments later your phone screen as it lights up with another call.  You look away from the screen, taking a moment to appreciate the soft sounds of Melissa moving around in her kitchen.  To be thankful for the fact that you’re not home at your apartment where he’s probably making a scene and hammering on the door. 

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Melissa is making quick work of putting together a plate of nibbles she hopes she can entice you to share.  She jumps when her phone rings, cursing as she sees Barb’s name flash up on the display.  She had meant to call to cancel her plans with the other woman at your apartment.

Barb, ever gracious, quickly accepts the red head’s apology, reassuring her that she had barely even begun to get ready.  There were always other evenings. 

“Yeah, shit went down in the car park,” offers by way of an explanation.  “That guy she’s been seeing was outside waiting for her.  She finally broke it off with him.  Well, sorta, with a little help.”

“Let me guess,” says Barb, the smirk audible down the phone line.  “You were the knight to her damsel in distress?”

“What?” scoffs Melissa.  “No!  I just did what anyone would do.”

The older woman lets it drop.  “Well, I’m glad you did.  I never did like that man, or the way he treated her.”

“Yeah, me neither,” grumbles Melissa.  “Good riddance to him.  Anyway, she’s staying here tonight.  She didn’t want to be at home in case he came over.”

“Schemmenti to the rescue,” smiles Barb. 

“What was I meant to do?  Let her stay at her apartment terrified he was gonna come kick the door in?”

“Like you ever would,” says the Kindergarten teacher softly.  “I hope she’s okay.”

“She will be,” nods Melissa, her tone certain, even as she looks through the open doorway to see you sitting with a sullen expression.  “I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’m sure you will.”

There’s something in Barb’s tone that makes Melissa blush.  “Anyway,” she says quickly.  “I’m in the middle of putting together something to eat.  I’ll call soon though, we can rearrange?” 

Quickly ending the call she tucks her phone away and picks up the plate she’s made.  It’s nothing fancy, just tasty little bits and pieces she hopes you might find the appetite to pick away at.  Entering the living room, she finds you with your phone in your hand, a male voice blaring through the speaker even though it’s clear you haven’t set the device to speakerphone. 

“Maybe we’d still be a thing if you weren’t so in love with fucking Jolene!  You know what?  I hope the two of you are fucking happy together, you little bitch!  Better off without you!”

You knew he’d be vicious.  There’s probably worse to come.  You sniffle, wiping at the tears in your eyes.

“You okay, hon?” asks Melissa as she sits on the sofa next to you, placing the plate on the table. 

“Yeah,” you answer honestly.  “I’m not even sad,” you admit.  “Just…angry it took so long.  That it took you being involved.”  Letting out a long sigh, you turn to the red head.  “I guess you heard that, huh?”

“Kinda hard not to,” she shrugs.

“He used to call you Jolene.”

That takes a moment to sink in.  For both of you.

“I’m never going to be able to pay you back for this,” you say finally.  “All of it. Any of it.  Breaking up with him when it’s all I’ve wanted to do for months.  I kept trying but I just…I couldn’t…I wanted out and I just couldn’t make it happen.  Thank you for helping make it happen.  For making me feel safe.”

You don’t resist as she slips an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her side.  “You don’t need to thank me.  I’m just glad I was there to help send that idiot packing.”

*

“Nope!”

“But-“

“Not a chance!”

You sigh.  You’d asked Melissa to take your phone the night before, not wanting to succumb to a moment of weakness and reply to one of his increasingly saccharine messages.  He’d moved on from the angry voicemails around midnight.  She was now refusing to give you it back.  It was perhaps not surprising now she knew what she knew. 

You hadn’t really told anyone the truth of your relationship.  Had been too embarrassed.  Too scared he’d find out and punish you for it.  Tucked into Melissa’s side, however, her arm wrapped around you, you’d finally found the courage to admit it out loud.  She had stayed silent, held you close and when you were done, calmly told you that if he ever came within six feet of you ever again he was a dead man.  Apparently some crimes were worth the time.

“You know you really should password protect this thing.”

Looking up you see her waving your phone in her hand, a devilish smirk on her face.  “You didn’t!”  You’re not entirely sure what there was to find on your phone, but it made your cheeks flame scarlet regardless.

She doesn’t reply for a moment, instead devoting her attention to flipping a pancake.  “I didn’t.  Not really…I just deleted all his messages and voicemails.  Oh, and blocked his number.  And gave you a better screensaver.” 

You watch as she places your phone on the counter in front of you, her hand still holding the device. 

“We’re still going out and getting you a new number today,” she tells you.  “But I’m sure you have other people worried about you so…”  She lets go of your phone, turning back to the stove.  “You try to message him though and I swear I’m throwing that thing in the blender.”

Tapping the screen, you can’t help but smile as Melissa’s face greets you, blowing you a kiss from the screen.  A huge improvement on the awkward selfie of you and him he’d always complain if you changed. 

*

“I’m telling you, it looks great,” grins Melissa from across the table.  “You look amazing!”

It seemed the red head was intent on keeping a blush on your cheeks permanently.  She’d barely left your side the whole day and your smile had barely left your lips as a result. 

Looking down at the new dress you’d bought today in celebration of your newfound freedom, you let yourself believe her words.  It’s something he’d never have let you wear.  You love it. 

*

You lie in bed that night in Melissa’s spare room, the smile still on your face.  You could barely recall the last time you’d had quite so much fun.  Saturday plans were not usually yours to make.  After working all week, he had always wanted you to spend the day with him.  Inevitably, this meant doing precisely what he wanted.  Today, however, the red head had insisted you were to choose. 

You’d never quite realised how little freedom you’d had before Melissa set you free. 

*

“Fancy meeting you two here.”

You turn at the familiar voice, smiling up at Barb.  After Melissa had made you breakfast the day before you had insisted on taking her out today in thanks.  She had protested that no such thank you was required, but after much pouting and puppy dog eyes you had managed to persuade her. 

“Hey!” smiles Melissa.  “I didn’t realise you’d be here.  You should come and sit.”

“Oh no!” Barb shakes her head.  “I wouldn’t want to interrupt.  I’m just here picking up a little treat for Gerald and I.  We’re going on a little drive, get out of the city for a while.”

“You’d hardly be interrupting!” you reassure her. 

“Yeah, go get Ger,” agrees Melissa.

Barb holds up her hands.  “It’s very kind of you to offer, but I already ordered to go.  Besides, you should enjoy this,” she smiles, gesturing at the two of you. 

She looks up as the server calls her order.  “That’ll be me.  I’ll see you both tomorrow!”

You both watch as she collects her order and leaves with an odd little wave at the two of you. 

“I don’t know what she thinks she’s interrupting,” you shrug.  “It’s breakfast.”

Melissa shakes her head.  “Honestly, she’s too polite for her own good sometimes.”

*

By the time Monday morning rolls around it almost feels normal to share your morning routine with Melissa.  It’s not that you weren’t friends before the events of Friday, but spending a solid 48 in her company, it’s served to make you more comfortable in each other’s presence than you ever were before.  There’s a deeper understanding, an ease in each other’s personal space. 

After checking your car is indeed still in the car park, and that it remains intact, you both walk to the break room.  You’ve barely had a chance to make a cup of tea before Ava comes charging in the door.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” you ask. 

“Yeah, what’s got you in so early?”

“Well somebody gotta clear this up,” she exclaims, gesturing between you and Melissa.  “Because I am hearing things.  Girl, you were single for all of ten minutes?”

“What?” you ask, frowning.  “No.  I am single,” you tell her, pleased with the fact.  “Have been since Friday after school.”

“So you?” asks Ava, gesturing at the red head.

Melissa shrugs.  “I was just there.  Helped sort a few things out, made sure she wasn’t moping around in her apartment all weekend in case he came over.”

“So when Janine saw you two out for dinner you weren’t flirting?”

You and Melissa frown at each other, earning an exaggerated eye roll from Ava.  Neither of you even realised Janine had seen you out for dinner, never mind understand how she’s been able to apparently tell everyone before the bell has even rung.

“Girl, from what I heard you were dressed to kill, and you,” she turns to Melissa.  “Were dying for a piece of it.”

“So I paid her a compliment?” says Melissa.  “You would too if you saw her!”

*

“Hey.”

You look up to find Melissa leaning in the doorway of your classroom.  “Hey you,” you smile.  “What’s up?”

“Funny thing,” she says, slowly making her way to your desks, her hands tucked in her pockets.  “I keep hearing from people that apparently we’re in love with each other.”

She doesn’t look repulsed by the idea.  “Yeah, I heard that rumour too.”  You’d been hearing it all day, in fact.  It had come to light that there was a rather gossipy group chat that neither you nor Melissa were part of, and yet seemed to be the subject of more frequently than either of you could have guessed. 

Standing in front of your desk, she shrugs.  “You maybe wanna, I don’t know, grab dinner?”  She plucks up the courage to look up at you, the apprehension on her face clear.  “Maybe you could wear that dress again?  And I’ll try more than a friendly compliment?”

You feel the blush creep up your cheeks, aware you’re grinning like an idiot, your heart hammering in your chest.  “That…sounds great,” you finally manage.  You want to say more, but your brain can’t seem to organise the thoughts in your head enough to let your tongue put them into words.  Instead, you gaze up at her in wonder.    

“You know, I usually think this lot are a buncha idiots.  But maybe they got this one right?”

[myfandomrealitea]

this isn't really fandom related but i like a lot of the points you make and was wondering your opinion on something i see a decent amount of people saying that asking for easily googleable information is weaponized incompetence and while I understand the rest of weaponized incompetence and why it's bad this part has never made sense to me, like i get it if someone is pretending not to know or has asked each time they are asked to do it, but i mean if someone was never taught how to do something and they ask someone instead of googling it its seen as putting more responsibility on the person they are asking? when i feel like calling up your parents when you can on how to like boil an egg is a pretty accepted thing but if you don't have a good relationship with or any parents at all it seems like asking your community unless its a vague reddit that anyone can answer its seen as bad? like you can't ask the people in your life and socialize anymore because you can just get google to tell you when idk it just feels lonely? having to go to a search web instead of just talking to your social circle about how to do something? sorry if im overexplaining or don't make sense it just feels like some people follow the line of thought oh they asked me how to do something = they want me to do it because they don't know how even when they genuinely want to know how to do a thing so they can do it

Its because we live in an era where everyone is obsessed with the idea of not owing anybody anything and where asking anything of other people is considered selfish.

Honestly, I blame Reddit and TikTok for that, but that's a conversation all its own.

There are circumstances where its... Somewhat lazy or inconvenient to rely on other people to do things for you or coach you through something, and honestly I don't see how its better to call someone to ask how to boil an egg when you can YouTube it and get a visual and audio step-by-step that you can follow in real time, but each to their own.

Personally for me, it depends on the effort value of what I'm trying to do. Per your example for boiling an egg, to me, its not worth disturbing another person when realistically I can buy a carton of eggs, spend some time looking up cooking times and videos and give it a go myself. In the time it takes me to call someone up or type out a Reddit post I could've just gone to Google or Youtube and already started learning, and I don't have to risk potentially disturbing someone's relaxation time or work time over something that is, all in all, pretty trivial.

But let's say I'm trying to learn how to change a tyre or use a drill or something. I'd prefer to actually have someone there with me demonstrating and guiding me in real time and helping me to learn while also ensuring the job is done correctly because someone knowledgeable is actually right there too.

I think there's also a lot of other factors involved when deciding whether or not to ask another person for help. For example if your partner is busy trying to feed the newborn baby, do you really need to ask them how much washing powder to use or can you just look at the packaging for guidelines?

That said, as always, things like this are down to the individual people and are circumstantial. While I personally believe everyone should have some level of initiative and self-sufficiency, I also think there's nothing wrong in asking for help when you need it or wanting to learn new things with people.

If calling up your parents to ask them is how you want to learn to boil an egg, call them. Life is short. I love calling up my friends and saying "hey, wanna come learn this thing with me?" because its spending time with them, learning new experiences and doing something with someone you care about.

I might not call my parents up to ask them how to boil an egg, but there's still plenty of other things I can learn from them.

[redfurrycat]

Hey! Have you made a master list of Ice being Jake’s dad? (I absolutely love, appreciate and frequently use your master lists)

Just as I’m writing the Ron is Jake’s dad au I’ve been trying to read all the Ice is Jake’s dad and I’m sure I’m missing some??

Hey Mac! 😊

This is slightly different than how I usually do rec lists. In this case, I searched through the Top Gun (Movies) fics tagged as Tom "Iceman" Kazansky & Jake "Hangman" Seresin and then proceeded with the collecting of all fics mentioning any paternal-filial bond between the two, regardless of the pairings.

Meaning I don't think I know most of them, but I hope you can find stuff to read nonetheless.

(I'll probably -absolutely- do a Hangster & Icepops-Hangson recs list though, at some point in the future! 😊)

I invite anyone to add fics fitting the request if you have more! 💖

Tumblr Posts

The Hangman's Guide to Winning Over Your Disapproving Admiral-In-Law – Part 1 – 2 – 3 (@amostexcellentblog)

Also see these:

nonbinary-jakeseresin post

weewoobrainrot post

whohasthecards post

AO3 Fics

(All have Jake as Ice's biological or adopted son, unless mentioned otherwise.)

See You Again by sleeping_maple {T}

Just when Hangman thinks that the day can't get any worse, he finds out that his father died. His father, Admiral Tom "Iceman" Kazansky. And he doesn't take it well. Luckily, Sarah Kazansky and Maverick are there to help.

Mini Man by SpringPetunia {T}

Hangman is Iceman's son. He never tells anyone anymore because of how they always react. But his dad is coming for a visit

Golden Boy by Earthangel_44 {E}

“Say it.” Jake says smiling. His face is so close to Bradley’s that Bradley has to duck his chin to look at him. “You’re a bird, Jake.” Bradley replies and Jake beams. “I already have the wings.” Jake says happily as he presses short quick kisses to Bradley’s lips. Bradley smiles and Jake kisses that too. “Now say you’re a bird.” Bradley laughs and he smiles until his eyes crinkle. “Well if you’re a bird, I’m a bird.” A Notebook AU because Glen Powell ships Hangster

Touch Starved by LeonDesdichard {M}

(Ice acting like a dad)

Jake shows up at Ice and Mav's house and he's completely out of it because he's sick and Maverick and Bradley are out of the house so it ends up being Ice who is the one that is taking care of Jake. Jake is completely out of it because he's feverish and he's really touch starved which has Ice angry for a ton of different reasons.

Military Amalgamate by rem_png {G}

(Icemav’s son)

Back in the 80s, the government wanted to make a new generation of super pilots. So, they turned to science and mixed the DNA of their best fighter pilots. None of the pilots knew about this project. Fast forward to 2020 and the truth comes out, rattling many families.

Take me home by Target_rich_environment {G}

Jake takes Bob home after the bird strike

IcePops and HangSon Series by UFOxMulder {T}{E}

Hangman snippets Series by Fantasy2739 {T}

Even worse idea! by LemonsAndSugarMakeLemonade {T}

(Ice acting like a dad)

“Bradley, Ice just texted me to come to “hang out”, is this a threat?” “Jake you’ve known him for almost five years now, it is definitely just Ice wanting you to do some work around the house.” “Okay but-” “Baby, this exact conversation happened last week, you know Ice is so different at home than he is at work.” “But is he?” “Jake, please,” “Okay yeah, I’ll go over.”

Midnight Hour Mixtape by Bubblegumchaos {T}

Hangman runs; he always been much too good at that sort of thing. Jake would give anything to find his father except his clues are half a dozen letters in a shoebox and his late mother's drunken rambles of a man who wasn't her husband.

I don't know how to change a tyre by blazingstar29 {G}

(Son-Fatherly Feels)

Jake gives his first father's day at 30.

Top Gun: Kazansky Twins by Tazlady691 {T}

A cannon divergence AU: The story of a pair of twins and their life up to 2023

The Mitchell-Kazanskys Series by WhisperingNights {T}{M}

Flowers for my grave by TheReadingWriter {T}

When a study on the genetics of Hanahaki disease brings forth the revelation that Jake "Hangman" Seresin is in fact Tom "Iceman" Kazansky's son, their lives take a dramatic turn, as they for the first time in their lives have someone to other than the ones who cursed them to live for. Their times are both running out, but they will be damned if they will let the other die without at least trying to save them. When the mission of a lifetime arrives, one thing is certain: It will either mean happiness for the rest of their lives, or certain death before the year has passed. How far will they go to protect the secret they know will kill them?

A Choice by Ren_Anders {_}

(Son-Fatherly Feels)

After everything, when everything is suppose to be smooth sailing, Jake gets a call. His dad has just died. But it doesn’t matter, right? He was an asshole and he refuses to give him his grief. OR Ice and Jake have a heart to heart about shitty dads and how to overcome their deaths

Family Ties by CryoCait {_}

Jake knows what policies there are in place to avoid familial conflict of interest, he's lived it for years. He knows how sacred those policies are to keeping his family sane. So logically it follows that he understands how dangerous this mission must be for the Navy to look aside and allow the entire Mitchell-Kazansky family to be a part of it. Now he just needed to make sure they all made it home in one piece. Or Jake is a Kazansky just as much as Bradley is a Mitchell, and Mav never pulled Bradley's papers. Now, the close-knit but under the radar family all must work together for the first time during the Uranium Plant mission and keep their relationships to each other under wraps while trying to make sure everyone survives this suicide mission.

Bikes and Bruises by WhisperingNights {M}

(Icemav’s son)

"You aren’t taking one of my bikes to the HR Drag Strip, Jacob, end of story,” Mav responded, crossing his arms over his chest. “I won’t be racing, it's just a show,” Jake protested. Mav snorted “Yeah, right.” “I won’t! The show starts at 9-” “How many times are you going to make me say no, son?” Mav asked.

Heartbeats & Bird Nests Series by SamHeartfilia {T}{E}

Two Men and a Baby by multifangirl11 {_}

(Mav’s son & Icemav)

Jake is Pete's son, Tom is a good friend who hopes to become more.

Keeping Dreams Alive, 1999 Hero's (I Ain't Worried Right Now) by Luxu1230 {_}

(Icemav’s son)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin is the biological son of Pete "Maverick" Mitchell and Tom "Iceman" Kazasky but was kidnapped not that long after being born all he has of them is a small f-14 Tomcat silver necklace which he keeps hidden. He knows his "parents" are his real "Parents" though they don't exactly know that but when he overhears a certain conversation between three people he starts suspecting of who his true parents maybe and from the sounds of it they definitely didn't abandon him.

Been searching for a(n Ice)man by crowstakeflight {G}

Jake did not really look like either of his parents. Sure, he could see some of his mom in his features when he looked in the mirror, but the majority of them are from someone he’s never seen before. It didn’t take much to bring the question up to his parents and they answered honestly. Or, Jake's biological father is Iceman and this is what happens after he finds out.

Living after midnight, loving 'til the morning, then I'm gone. by WaffleToaster {E}

Nobody thought their actions back in the winter of '85 and beyond would end up having these consequences. A story woven from past mistakes, indecisions and loss that eventually helped shape his world and upbringing. But despite all the hardships one thing was for certain, Jake Seresin was destined to fly and he knew the Navy was where he belonged. A slightly altered kind of retelling that includes Jake 'Hangman' Seresin being Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky’s lost son, a story about revelations, love, loss, friendship and most importantly family. Where two rivals find out they may not be so different from one another and their journey to understanding, unity, serenity and eventually love. First by hating, then by loving and finally understanding and helping one another find a place they both deserve. Just not in the same order.

A Kazansky Redemption by WhisperingNights {E}

This is a Kazansky love story. Can one win back the love of their life? Can the other find love in a storm of hate? **** “Sarah, that’s been over for 26 years, besides your my wife, remember? It wouldn’t be good to go tell a man I love him now would it?” Ice grinning playfully at her. She gave a small laugh that quickly turned into a cough, causing him to lean toward her in concern. “I’m alright, I’m alright, sit down,” she rasped, waving him off, then she looked at him “I love you Tom, but we both know our love was foraged in partnership nothing else. We did what was necessary for the safety of ourselves and your career. But it’s 2017, it's easier now. Sexuality rights are better, people are more open. I’ll never get to have a wife, but you Tom, you deserve to have a husband.” ***** Jake’s eyes landed on a figure in an awful Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses. His irritation instantly grew, the universe really must hate him.

Suburban Heaven by slyther_ing {T}

“I’m in love with a man who wears jorts,” Jake deadpans, “I can’t sink any lower.” “You saw your dad’s frosted tips, right?” Mav snorts. I heard that pings on both their phones, and then You loved my hair, honey. “Please don’t flirt in the group chat,” Jake groans and he escapes to make dinner. He’ll do better tomorrow.

[storm-leviosa-fanfics]

Just One More Row

Here we go! My contribution to this year's @batfam-big-bang!

Huge thanks to my brilliant beta @apriljoy97 and my incredible artists @jennguyen-draws and @oluka-art for working with me on this - you're amazing, the lot of you.

Summary: From the bag, Alfred pulled a ball of yarn and two long straight knitting needles. Inwardly, Bruce groaned. He knew what Alfred was about to try and teach him and solemnly bade goodbye to his dignity. He'd had a good run, really, but even he could not escape the proliferation of 'old people hobbies'. or, After suffering a serious injury on patrol, Batman is grounded for the foreseeable future. Bruce, bored out of his mind, is in desperate need of something to do and so, in a fit of genius, Alfred teaches him to knit. And so begins Bruce’s journey of self-discovery and gift-giving… and also yarn. There is so much yarn in Wayne Manor now. Send help.

Chapter 1: *K1P1 repeat from *

It was 1am on a dismal Friday night, and Batman was not enjoying the fight.

Not that he normally enjoyed fighting, of course, it was merely a means to an end, but every movement felt a little slower on this night, a little more lethargic, more reluctant. It did not worry him too much: Batman was still far and away the better fighter than at least 90% of the idiots out on the street. Instead, he focussed on the tug of his muscles, the thump of his heart in his chest, the whooshing of the breath in his lungs, and fought with all he had. This was how Batman always fought, even when he was not enjoying it.

Half an hour ago, he had sent Robin home, the crusade against his son's sleep deprivation complete. Red Robin had stayed out in the field, but only because the next day was Saturday and everyone who was anyone knew not to expect Tim Drake to be up and about before noon on a weekend. With Nightwing in Bludhaven for the time being, and Red Hood taking a rare night away from the streets to focus on issues closer to home, the night was quiet. Oracle kept up a steady stream of ambient background noise in his earpiece, clacking keys and the occasional beep as a scan hit a match, but rarely spoke. Red Robin had his own cases to follow up on, but every so often he would strike up a conversation with Batman about something inane, like he was suddenly remembering that there were other human people around to be human people with. Unfortunately for him, Batman rarely responded.

With the night drawing to a close, Batman began to wrap up his patrol. He kept a careful eye on the narrow alleyways and dark underpasses as he loped his way back to the backstreet he had stashed the Batmobile on. It had not, unlike that night all those years before, been vandalised or scrapped for parts, for which Batman was undyingly grateful. When he turned the key in the ignition, however, it was to the helium-fueled monstrosity that was the Alvin and the Chipmunks version of 'We are Family'.

This was definitely a Dick prank. It had his dirty fingerprints all over it.

Grumbling to himself, Batman turned off the speakers, put the car in drive, and enjoyed the roar of the engine as he turned toward the bridge.

This late at night, there was no traffic. The streets, after hours of Batman and his allies clearing them, were quiet. All Batman could hear as he roared through the city was the engine, the occasional squeak of brakes, the clang of manhole covers under his wheels, grit on his tyres. It was not an unpleasant symphony to guide him home, and as he passed under the highway en route to Bristol, he began to relax.

It would prove to be a grave error of judgement.

The first time he woke, he was floating. A cloud perhaps? No. That made no sense. The sea? He hoped he wasn't floating in Gotham Harbour. He was getting too old for that amount of grime in his body. He floated, and drifted until he drifted back off to sleep.

"I got him, Bruce," a voice said the second time he woke. Did he know the voice? It sounded familiar. The way the vowels rolled off the tongue, and the cadence of the tone, they struck the precise part of his memory that (he assumed) dealt with that kind of thing. Like the reflex hammer test. "You don't have to worry about the case, or Gotham, or hunting anyone down. We've got it covered. Just focus on getting better." He could do that.

The third time he woke up, the cave was empty. He stared up at the ceiling, listened to the bats chittering and the inevitable pounding of his heart, and wiggled his toes. It hurt, but in that dull sort of way that implied he was on the heavy painkillers.

Bruce did not like the heavy painkillers. They made him stupid.

He did not try to move - despite the painkillers' best efforts he wasn't quite that stupid - but he did turn his head. At his side was a table with a jug of ice water, a pair of discarded nitrile gloves, and an empty plate. Someone had been here recently, then. He wondered who. Not Alfred, who would never leave dishes uncleaned; not Dick who was in Bludhaven, or Damian who did not eat sandwiches. Tim then? He remembered Tim's voice, he thought, when he was deeper under. But Tim would never leave him unsupervised while unconscious. Unless there was an emergency? That would explain the general silence. A sense of foreboding came over him like a the shadow of a cloud passing in front of the sun. Was that why there was no one here? What was happening? Was anyone hurt? Dead? What had happened while he was out?

Before he could struggle upright, a voice boomed from across the cave "Master Bruce, stay still!"

He stayed still. Froze, in fact, like a statue.

Batman, it was revealed, had sustained several broken bones, many bruises, some internal bleeding, and the kind of concussion that meant no screens for a week. This was... inconvenient. Batman had a relatively low caseload at that moment, but Bruce Wayne did in fact have reports and emails to write and documents to sign that could not wait but must, in the face of his injuries, be put to one side. It would not do for him to be seen working through injuries; he had a secret identity to keep, after all. Alfred, ever dutiful, called the office for him, told them an elaborate cover story that befitted the lifestyle of Bruce Wayne, and thus he was free of all responsibility until he was recovered.

He was going to go crazy.

For the first few days, Bruce was only barely aware of what was going on around him. Alfred had decided, against Bruce's protests, to keep him on painkillers that made everything just a little fuzzy around the edges, and when he wasn't it was because the dose was wearing off and the pain itself had a similar effect. He was not so stubborn that he could not admit, in the quiet of his own mind, that it hurt.

He slept a lot, in those first few days.

After that, he became aware of movement around him: Alfred popping in and out with medical supplies or food or water; Tim curled in the corner around his laptop, the screen lighting his face a pale white-blue; Dick in the hallway, shunting a protesting Damian down the hallway to bed at an hour Bruce hoped was reasonable; Damian himself, prowling in on silent leopard cub feet to perch at the end of his bed when he thought Bruce was sleeping. There were voices always in the corridor, but always they quieted before they reached his door. He began to wish they wouldn't. He wanted to hear everything, wanted to know what was going on in the world he couldn't go out into at the moment, wanted someone to report back to him. All his children were traitors who would rather follow Alfred's orders than his own (and he knew that it was Alfred who kept them from speaking to him in their vigils, who kept them quiet as they passed his door. He wasn't stupid). It began to chafe at him, the silence and the separation. He understood the need for calm and quiet convalescence - he was a realist and he had read multiple studies on this, hoping to find an alternative - but he increasingly found it did not help him. On the contrary, he was more worried, more tense, more (dare he say it) stressed, than he would have been had Dick just made a detour to his bedside every night and given him the rundown of what had happened on patrol. Instead, he had the occasional question from Tim relating to a case, always cold cases when outside the cave, never active ones, and his observations that the dark circles beneath Dick's eyes were growing darker, that Alfred's frown lines were growing deeper than his smile lines again, that Damian complained less every time he was ushered away from home.

His family were suffering, and he was stuck in bed.

It was enough to drive anyone mad. And Bruce, for all his acquaintance with aliens and demi-gods and otherworldly beings, was only human.

It was then, when he was about to drag himself down to the cave and suit himself up just to spare Dick the pain, that Alfred brought him something to do.

He had several weeks of recovery still to go, but he could read a screen now and could sit up in bed without too much pain, and Alfred had brought with him a jigsaw puzzle. Bruce did not enjoy jigsaw puzzles, and Alfred should have remembered this, but Bruce could forgive his lapse in memory after all the stress of the previous weeks. He suffered through one puzzle with Alfred and then begged him to bring something else.

Alfred next deposited Damian in his room with a request that they entertain each other for a few hours. They made stilted conversation for a short while, Damian performed a short piece on the violin, and then left him to his own devices. That stung a little.

For some reason that was beyond Bruce's comprehension, Jason stopped by with a book one afternoon while everyone else was out in the late autumn sunshine. He read in silence for a while until Bruce, tentatively, asked him a question about it. For ten minutes or more, they had a civil conversation - possibly their only civil conversation for a good few months - before Bruce messed it up by saying something that offended him, some faulty character analysis or positive remark about a terrible film adaptation, and suddenly their pleasant afternoon turned into a fight. When Jason left, he took the book with him and could not be enticed back by even Alfred's pleas.

Alfred allowed Tim to entertain him only once. Tim brought active case notes from downstairs and used Bruce as his rubber duck. They solved two cases in an afternoon and Bruce was feeling pretty good about himself. Using his brain had always helped when malaise or [fidgety-ness] kicked in and solving cases helped him feel useful. Alfred disagreed. Alfred despised their downstairs lives seeping into their upstairs lives, and besides, Bruce was meant to be resting. Tim was thus banned from Bruce's bedside until he could prove he could be responsible.

Dick stopped by every day, but not to do more than talk about nothing. It was normally in the ten minutes or so before Damian needed to be picked up, or just after dinner while everyone was busy before patrol. They talked about anything that wasn't Batman, because they could not talk like normal people about Batman. It was pleasant, but it did little to stop the itch beneath Bruce's skin or the way he could see Dick bottling all of his worry and hurt and anger and sadness deep inside. It helped, but only on the surface, and afterwards they were both a little the worst for it.

It was not until Steph had spent an afternoon doing spa treatments on his unprotesting form that Bruce put his foot down.

"No more," he told Alfred. "I understand what you are trying to do, and I appreciate it, but this isn't helping. I need something to do that is useful and productive and sending in the kids one at a time to entertain me is not either of those things." Except Tim he thought, but Tim got banned. Alfred considered his request with his usual grave look, hummed thoughtfully to himself, and then left to do whatever Alfred Pennyworths do when they are not imprisoning injured Bruce Waynes.

At half past three in the afternoon, as the sun began its slow slant towards the horizon and away from Bruce's window, Alfred returned. With him, he had a cloth canvas bag - visibly full but with no defined shape - and a binder full of papers. It was not a canvas bag Bruce recognised, although considering how infrequently he accompanied Alfred on errands this was unsurprising. From the bag, Alfred pulled a ball of yarn and two long straight knitting needles. Inwardly, Bruce groaned. He knew what Alfred was about to try and teach him and solemnly bade goodbye to his dignity. He'd had a good run, really, but even he could not escape the proliferation of 'old people hobbies'. Alfred set the yarn on his lap and stabbed the needles nearly all the way through, before diving back into the bag for another ball of yarn and another pair of needles.

"We'll start you off with something simple," Alfred told him, in a voice that implied he knew exactly what Bruce had just been thinking, "but it won't be long before you can knit any number of useful things. I hear young Master Damian was complaining about the bitter Gotham wind on his ears last night."

Picking up just the ball of yarn, Alfred gestured for Bruce to do the same. It was soft in his hands, slightly staticky in that way that acrylic fabrics often were, and Bruce held it like a baby bird, unsure of what to do next. Alfred unwound some of his ball, and clicked his tongue impatiently.

"We'll start with a slip knot, then long-tail cast on. Once you can manage that, we'll do some garter stitch until you're comfortable with your needles." Those were certainly words. Bruce turned them over in his brain, recognised their sounds but not their meaning, and furrowed his brow.

"You'll see," Alfred told him, instead of explaining what on earth he was talking about. "First you are going to take up your yarn a little way from the bottom, like this, and then make a loop like so," he demonstrated as he spoke, with sure, steady movements that spoke of years of practice. Bruce copied, feeling unsure and heavy handed.

"Exactly, Alfred praised. "Now take your working yarn and thread a loop of it through." Bruce stared at him in horror. Working yarn? Just another word he could not even guess the meaning of. He said as much to Alfred.

"That's the yarn attached to your skein Master Bruce, do keep up. Now you need to pull it all nice and tight and there you go. A slip knot." Alfred had a slip knot, to be sure. Bruce had...a mess. He tried again: made a loop, threaded some yarn through, pulled tight, made a knot that did not look like Alfred's. He sighed. Already, this skill was not for him.

After a few more failed attempts, Alfred simply took Bruce's hands in his and moved them to make the knot. Then, much to Bruce's protestations, he untied it and told Bruce to try it again. So that Bruce could do it for himself rather than relying on Alfred every time, he said. To his surprise, Bruce found it easier this time, and knew sort of where to put his hands and where each strand of yarn went. Alfred hummed approvingly and began to explain casting on.

Bruce was lost again within moments. He wondered when knitting would start making sense.

By the time Bruce was casting on correctly, the sun was dipping below the window sill and dimming light had Alfred looking at the clock.

"Goodness, is that the time?" he exclaimed in horror. "Master Bruce, I am sorry to leave you but I must prepare supper. Please continue to practice your casting on. When you think you can, cast on forty stitches and leave them on your needle. We'll begin with knit stitch tomorrow." With that, he swept out of the room, leaving Bruce with a ball of yarn, two needles, and only a vague idea of what he was doing. He shrugged, seeing nothing better to do with his time, and wrapped some yarn around his thumb to cast on another stitch.

True to his word, Alfred returned the next day with breakfast, coffee, and his yarn and needles. He did not come in politely, rather strode in and pulled back the curtains so the morning sun would stream into the room and rouse Bruce from his relaxing doze. After the coffee had been drunk and breakfast eaten, Alfred picked up his needles, deftly cast on a number of stitches, and began the arduous task of teaching Bruce knit stitch.

"Always keep your knitting in your left hand and your yarn in your right," he told Bruce as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

"But yesterday you told me to hold the yarn in my left hand and my needle in my right?" Bruce lamented. Alfred was not amused by his complaints.

"That was for casting on, now we are doing knit stitch. Now the needle in your right hand you insert through the stitch from front to back..."

Bruce tried to follow it, he really did, but it just could not penetrate the fog of the early morning, and he stared dazedly down at the neat row of cast on stitches on his needle. He picked it up, with a hand that felt clumsy and disjointed, and held the other needle and the yarn in the other. It was a little like using chop sticks for the first time, he decided: fiddly and unnatural to him, but perhaps would one day become muscle memory. He poked at the yarn with the needle. Alfred definitely said from the front to the back, right? But what side of the stitch? Or did he mean something else entirely? He glanced over at Alfred, who was merrily knitting row after row of neat, quick stitches. Should he ask him to slow down? But that would mean admitting defeat. He refused to be defeated by some yarn and a needle.

He pushed the needle through the stitch. That hadn't been so hard. What came next?

He wrapped the yarn around the needle, made sure to lock it in tight where the needles crossed. It... didn't look too incorrect at the moment. Perhaps he was doing something right after all.

He pulled the needle out...

The stitch unravelled.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, and immediately flushed scarlet when Alfred admonished him for it. It did cause Alfred to pay closer attention to Bruce's struggle, however, which he was grateful for.

"You were almost there," he said, "you just need to bring the right-hand needle to the front before slipping the stitch off the left-hand needle." It sounded so simple when he said it like that. "Try again. I'll help you."

Alfred did help him, again and again, until Bruce could manage a whole row of knit stitch on his own without dropping any of the stitches. At this point, Alfred left him in favour of housework and errands, but not without first instructing him to 'call upon me should you need anything, Master Bruce.' Bruce was determined not to need him. He turned the needle in his hand, inserted the other into the first stitch, and started another row. Then, when he got to the end of the row, he began another. And then another. Finally, after almost an hour and ten entire rows of knit stitch, he stopped. This was what Alfred had told him to do, but Alfred had left and could not tell him the next step. It grated on him, that he could make no more progress, but he swallowed it down, and instead picked up his phone. One of his boys would surely be willing to entertain him for a short while, or perhaps Cass or Stephanie. Failing that, one of them would no doubt collect a book for him from the library. Alfred would hate him straining his eyes so soon after a concussion, but needs must. There was precious little else to do trapped in his room, and at least a book was not a bright screen.

Just as he was about to press send, Alfred returned, a platter with cookies, a tea pot, and a pair of mugs in his hands. Settling himself back in place, he smilled at Bruce's progress.

"Well done, Master Bruce," he told him, then picked up his own needles. "Time for purl stitch, I think."

Purl stitch was Bruce's nemesis, he decided very quickly. Where knit stitch had come comparatively quickly, once he got used to the motions, purl stitch felt unnatural. It did not matter how many times Alfred told him, in that smooth and calm voice of his, that "it is just knit stitch but opposite," he just could not wrap his head, or his hands, around it. Time after time, he messed it up, dropped the stitch, wrapped the yarn around too many times, or didn't wrap it at all. Alfred showed him again, every time, though he must have been getting bored and frustrated, and even moved Bruce's hands for him a time or two. It did not help. It took over an hour for Bruce to correctly do a row of purl stitch, only to be told by Alfred that the next row muct be knitted instead.

"But I was just getting the hang of it," he groaned, about ready to put the whole thing away and give up.

"You see how your rows of knit stitch have made this wavy pattern?" Alfred told him, gesturing with his needle to the solid rectangle of knitting Bruce had already created. He nodded. "That is called garter stitch. Alternating rows of knit and purl are called stockinette and it looks more like your typical knitwear." That made a little more sense, he supposed. "After a row of knit stitch, you can do another row of purl and so on and so forth."

Bruce sighed, and picked up the needles for another row of knit stitch.

By the time they had repeated this three or four times, Bruce was more comfortable with purl stitch and could see what Alfred meant by his explanation of garter stitch and stockinette. It fascinated him, how simple yarn could make something like this, how wrapping and looping and pulling on a needle could make such sturdy fabric, how different variations, putting stitches in a different order, could make a completely new texture or pattern. Alfred instructed him to continue in stockinette until he had about ten inches of it, and showed him how to use the first knuckle of his finger to measure. That was another thing Bruce had never known or considered. He knew, of course, that there were certain proportions of the body that remained immutable, but he had always assumed that they were ratios, not precise measurements. If Alfred had not shown him how to measure inches using only his fingers, he would never have considered trying it. Inwardly, his mind was already churning, considering how this could be useful as Batman, but outwardly, he continued with his knitting, squinting in concentration until the movements became muscle memory.

Alfred had turned on the radio and, between ads, old songs played that Bruce remembered from his youth.  Between that and the cookies and tea, his afternoon felt golden, the kind of memory that he would squirrel away in his brain for the days when mustering up his courage and drive was a chore. After the weather forecast, the radio presenter softly introduced a rerun of an old radio drama, and Bruce was quickly sucked in, forgetting to concentrate on the movement of his hands. It did not matter overmuch: Bruce had always been adept at learning to use his body in new and unusual ways and this was no different. He blocked out the noise from outside the room, the distant sirens from the city, the clatter and chaos of his children enjoying their time in the sun, and savoured an afternoon knitting with Alfred.

He finished his ten inches just as Alfred had to leave to organise dinner, but Jason had curled up in the window seat sometime in the mid afternoon, so Bruce was not without company once everything had been packed away. They discussed Jason's latest read, a movie that Dick wanted to take Damian to see at the movie theatre downtown, a new recipe Jason intended to try, and nothing related to their masked personas. It was the only way, with Jason, to remain civil. When Alfred brought Bruce a tray with his dinner on, he requested Jason join the rest of the family at the dinner table, and Bruce tried not to ache in his absence.

After dinner, Tim materialised by his bedside, laptop tucked under his arm. He was not patrolling that night, he claimed, because he'd traded a patrol with Steph in exchange for covering her next week when she had an exam. Instead, he sat near Bruce and tapped away at an expenses report for WE. Occasionally he asked Bruce questions, although they both knew Tim knew the answers, so he'd feel included. Neither of them mentioned the knitting on the bedside table, or the bandages still wrapped around Bruce's body.

The next morning, Alfred brought him breakfast and showed him how to decrease the number of stitches on his needles.

"You knit two together," he explained, and guided Bruce's hand to do just that. It was easy, Bruce decided, and so it did not take so long for him to do some evenly spaced decreases every few rows until he only had a fraction of his original stitches on his needle. With every row, he could knit faster, and not just because he was growing better at it.

"What do I do now?" he asked when he had only 4 stitches left on his needle.

"Now," said Alfred, with a smile he did not normally let loose, "you bind off."

It was terrifying to watch and more terrifying to do, but once it was over, Bruce had something resembling a wonky, flattened, stretched out hat. Alfred, upon seeing Bruce's confusion, handed him a thick needle and gestured to the trailing yarn at the bottom. Oh, Bruce realised, and was relieved because this was something he could do without being shown.

The final product, Bruce could see, was in fact a hat, and it did not look quite so bad as Bruce had expected from his first ever piece of knitwear. It was lumpy and mishappen, loose in some places and tight in others, but it was hat-shaped and bulky and perfect for the coming winter. But it wasn't for him.

"Alfred," Bruce called, as the man in question got up to leave, "I want you to have this."

Alfred's voice was choked as he replied, though he did not acknowledge it.

"Thank you, Master Bruce. That is very kind of you." It was what Alfred used to say to him when he brought him drawings from school or cuttings from the garden to liven up his living quarters. It was what he had said when Bruce offered him a pay rise, after Batman took over so much of his life, though he had not accepted it. It was simply what he said whenever Bruce offered him something he loved dearly, but did not feel he deserved.

Bruce wanted him to feel he deserved it.

Even after Bruce had recovered from his concussion, Alfred wanted to keep him away from vigilantism and his kids, traitorous revolting children that they were, had betrayed Bruce in supporting him. He could leave the manor, could go to work at WE, could venture into the cave to work on cases or on the batcomputer, but no further. He could not don the cape and cowl just yet.

Bruce remained bored.

Except, he had something to do now didn't he? Something to occupy his hands and his thoughts, something productive to do that had nothing to do with Batman. He recalled the sensation of soft yarn beneath the pads of his fingers, the furrow of his brow as he concentrated on getting the right stitches in the right order, and resolved to knit something else. Just to tide him over until he was fully recovered. But what to knit? The easy answer would be to knit another hat - he already knew exactly how to do it after all - but that felt lazy. It felt impersonal and pointless. He mulled it over for so long he appeared distracted in his afternoon meetings. Tim noticed and told the others so they could spend the afternoon and evening mocking him for it. Fuck.

He kept considering it, but moved the thought to the back of his mind where it would be out of the way. That evening, Dick and Damian appeared in good spirits over dinner, discussing a stakeout they had planned, and the ice cream they had planned for after, but Bruce heard them return disheartened in the early hours of the morning, and through the gap he opened, he could see Damian shuddering with cold in the hallway. It had been a cold night, but not unseasonably so, except for the bitter north wind. Damian's cape had a hood, but it rarely stayed up and did little to protect his face from the elements...

Bruce was going to knit Damian the warmest, cosiest scarf he had ever seen.

Contrary to common belief, there were areas of Gotham that were relatively safe, even among the poor neighbourhoods people spent a lifetime trying to leave. There were parts of the city where the streets were wide enough not to brush against someone walking the other way, where the buildings were diligently looked after and the grafiti washed away as soon as it was put up. It was one of these streets that Bruce Wayne strolled down on a clear autumn day, face obscured by the brim of a baseball cap for a team he didn't even remember the name of. It was not the Gotham Knights, of that he was certain. The bell over the door jingled cheerfully as he slipped inside and made any attempt at subtlety useless, but Bruce didn't mind. He was here without Alfred and therefore required assistance. All around him was a kaleidoscope of colours, some bright, some pastel, some dark, some sparkly, some not colours at all. And above it all the lights were bright enough to blind. At least the noise of the city was fainter here.

"Can I help you sir?" the voice was surprisingly young, he thought. But why should a shop worker be old just because of the shop they worked in? It was a silly thought, and Bruce flicked it from his mind with the disdain he would show a speck of lint on his best suit jacket.

"I need to buy some yarn," he told the shop worker. Their name tag read 'Carly' in a clear, no-nonsense font. Carly smiled crookedly, the way Narrows kids smiled, and asked,

"What kind? We've got a selection." Bruce drew a complete blank. He knew the colours he wanted, certainly, but this implied that yarn could be more complicated than just colours. Seeing the look on his face, Carly continued, "do you know what weight you need? Colours? Do you have a specific fibre in mind?"

Colours. Bruce could tell her the colours.

"Red," he said, "and yellow, and black. Like Robin's uniform."

"Okay," she said, drawing out the last syllable. "Anything else? What project is it for?"

"A scarf," he told her shortly. "A big one." She blinked and seemed to realise that he was not being short with her on purpose, he just didn't have a clue what he was doing.

"Oh! Well for a thick winter scarf you'll probably want some chunky yarn, worsted at the lightest. I personally love alpaca for a scarf, but wool is also super warm. If you're looking for something cheaper we've got some nice acrylics though?" At the end of all this she took in a huge breath, as if saving air to answer another inane question.

"The money is no problem. The scarf is a gift. Whatever you think is best." Carly closed her eyes and Bruce could imagine her mentally wondering what she had done to deserve this. If it was torturous for him, he could only imagine what it was like for her.

"Okay. Alpaca, maybe a wool blend. Chunky. Yellow, red and black, like the Robin uniform. Shall we go look? I can show you where it is, in case you need more," Carly said. She was mostly talking to herself, so Bruce almost missed the question. He nodded and she turned towards the back of the shop.

It did not take them long to find some suitable yarn for Bruce's project. He had vastly underestimated how much he would need, suddenly juggling ten balls of yarn in three different colours. "You might need more later," Carly had said, "but this should be enough to give you a good start." Everything about this excursion was intimidating. The terminology Carly threw around was completely new to him; the walls filled with yarn were overstimulating; the choices were overwhelming. By the time they reached the counter, he was in a daze, barely aware of his surroundings.

"Do you have a pattern for this?" Carly asked on their way, and Bruce started. He had forgotten, somehow, that she was next to him.

"No?" he said, as if it were a question not a statement of fact.

"Ah. Well. You probably should. It would make your project a lot easier." And they were off again on another hunt, this time for a piece of paper that Bruce was sure he could find online.

Well over an hour after he first entered the yarn shop, Bruce stumbled back onto the street, squinting slightly at the afternoon light and clutching several plastic bags in his fists. He had acquired yarn. He had even bought some new needles and a pattern that he could barely parse. Time to go home and knit.

[fumcpastor]

Disagreeing and The Spirit

When I went to seminary in the mid-to-late 1980’s, there was no class in conflict management. I am surprised because it is no secret that congregations have conflicts. Any time you have two breathing people in the same room for some period of time there will eventually be conflict. I truly hope that conflict management is part of the seminary curriculum today.

Conflicts in churches are nothing new. The early church, as described by Luke in his book we call “Acts”, describes several conflicts in the early church. This really shouldn’t be a surprise either; the infant church was on a learning curve that has lasted two millennia. The interesting thing about how the early church resolved their conflicts is that no two conflicts were settled in the exact same way. There was no one-formula-fits-all way of settling the disputes. What the early church DID try to do was discern what God was doing. And, after the dust had settled, sometimes everyone agreed and sometimes they did not.

There was one conflict, seemingly minor, that happens in Acts upon which I want to invite us to reflect. It happens in Acts 21:1-6. Paul is one his way to Jerusalem, convinced that the Holy Spirit is sending him there to further his mission – though he knows this will likely lead to his death. His boat docks in Tyre, a large city on the coast of the Mediterranean. While he is there, he meets with the church there. They know what Paul is doing and they urge him to not go to Jerusalem. Luke writes, “Through the Spirit they told Paul not to go.” (Acts 21:4, italics mine)

Through the Spirit – the same Holy Spirit Paul was convinced told him to go to Jerusalem. Is someone not hearing the Spirit? Are they both hearing the Spirit? Can both be right?

I don’t want to make too much of this, except to say that both parties were trying to listen to and obey the same Holy Spirit. Though they come at it from different perspective and different interpretations of the Spirit’s guidance, both parties arrived at their conclusions in good faith. There is no name-calling. No demonizing the other. No one accusing the other of heresy or disobedience. What they do is, when Paul’s ship is ready to set sail, there are hugs and they “knelt down on the beach and prayed.” (Acts 21:6)

Fenton United Methodist Church will soon come to a crossroads where we will decide our future to either remain United Methodist or disaffiliate from the United Methodist Church and join the Global Methodist Church. I am glad that our conversations have been respectful and gracious even as we disagree with each other. I believe that each of us has come to our convictions in good faith, even though it is the same God and the same Scripture that has guided us. We have asked ourselves, “Who are we as a church and who do we believe God wants us to be?” I am glad that we have been more interested in kneeling in prayer with and for one another on the beach rather than trying to dominate one another with vitriol and vilification. May we be an inspiration to the churches around us on how to love one another in the midst of disagreement.

We are in our forty days of prayer in regards to our decision. Let us pray for God’s guidance. For wisdom and discernment. Let us pray for a spirit of love, peace and respect. And, when we have made our decision, let us kneel with one another and pray.

And as always, I am proud to be…

With you on the journey,

Jeffrey L Jaggers

Pastor

[tyresfornissansuvs]

Choosing Cost-Effective Tyres for Nissan SUVs: Quality without the High Price

Finding the best tyres for your Nissan SUV doesn’t have to involve high costs. Affordable tyres in Perth are those that offer value without sacrificing safety, durability, or performance. This guide will explore tyre specifications for different Nissan SUV models and offer essential maintenance tips, covering areas like wheel alignment, correct tyre pressure, and when to replace tyres.

Recommended Tyres for Nissan SUVs

Nissan X-Trail

Tyre Size: 225/65 R17 or 225/60 R18

Load Index & Speed Rating: 102H for 17” / 100H for 18”

Recommended Pressure: 35 PSI

Suggested Brands: Bridgestone, Michelin, Pirelli

Nissan Qashqai

Tyre Size: 215/60 R17 or 215/55 R18

Load Index & Speed Rating: 96H for 17” / 95H for 18”

Recommended Pressure: 33 PSI

Suggested Brands: Continental, Goodyear, Dunlop

Nissan Juke

Tyre Size: 215/60 R17 or 225/45 R18

Load Index & Speed Rating: 96H for 17” / 91W for 18”

Recommended Pressure: 33 PSI

Suggested Brands: Falken, Yokohama, Nexen

Nissan Patrol

Tyre Size: 275/65 R18 or 275/60 R20

Load Index & Speed Rating: 114S for 18” / 115S for 20”

Recommended Pressure: 36 PSI

Suggested Brands: BFGoodrich, Toyo, Cooper

Nissan Pathfinder

Tyre Size: 255/60 R18 or 235/55 R20

Load Index & Speed Rating: 108H for 18” / 102H for 20”

Recommended Pressure: 35 PSI

Suggested Brands: Pirelli, Hankook, Michelin

Nissan Murano

Tyre Size: 235/65 R18 or 235/55 R20

Load Index & Speed Rating: 104T for 18” / 102T for 20”

Recommended Pressure: 33 PSI

Suggested Brands: Bridgestone, Firestone, Yokohama

The Importance of Wheel Alignment

Proper wheel alignment is crucial for maintaining tyre life and ensuring a comfortable driving experience. Misaligned wheels can result in uneven tyre wear, diminishing their lifespan and affecting vehicle handling. It's advisable to check your alignment every 10,000 km or after any major impact, such as hitting a pothole or kerb. Correct alignment promotes even tyre wear, enhancing both safety and longevity.

Tyre Pressure: Why It Matters

Keeping your tyres inflated to the recommended pressure is essential for vehicle safety, efficiency, and tyre lifespan. Low tyre pressure can cause quicker wear, reduce fuel efficiency, and increase the risk of tyre failure. Conversely, excessive pressure can decrease traction and handling effectiveness. Each Nissan SUV model has specific tyre pressure guidelines (as outlined above), which should be checked monthly and before longer journeys. Many service stations in Perth provide complimentary air pumps for this purpose.

Signs It's Time to Replace Your Tyres

All tyres have a limited service life, even affordable high-quality ones. Recognising when they need to be replaced is key to maintaining safety. Look for these indicators:

Tread Depth: The minimum legal tread depth is 1.6mm. If your tyres are below this threshold, replacement is necessary.

Visible Damage: Keep an eye out for bulges, cracks, or punctures, which may indicate the need for a new tyre.

Age: Tyres generally last 5 to 6 years, even if not heavily used, as rubber can degrade over time, reducing its effectiveness.

Frequent tyre inspections and regular rotation every 10,000 km help ensure even wear and prolong the tyre's lifespan.

Value in Affordable Tyres in Perth

Affordable tyres can still meet stringent safety and performance standards. Many well-known brands, including Bridgestone, Michelin, and Pirelli, provide budget-friendly tyres without compromising on quality. For the best deals, consider reputable tyre suppliers in Perth who frequently offer discounts and seasonal promotions on top brands.

Benefits of Regular Tyre Rotation

Rotating your tyres regularly is a key strategy to extend their lifespan. It ensures even wear, which is particularly important for SUVs, where the front tyres tend to wear out faster. A rotation every 10,000 km, or as per the manufacturer’s guidelines, can significantly increase tyre durability and maintain optimal performance.

Conclusion: Affordable Tyres without Sacrificing Safety

When it comes to Nissan SUVs, choosing the right tyres involves more than just cost—it’s about finding options that deliver performance, durability, and safety. Affordable tyres don’t equate to inferior quality; they can still meet all the necessary specifications for size, load index, and speed rating. By performing regular maintenance tasks like wheel alignment, checking tyre pressure, and replacing tyres when needed, you can make the most of your investment. Whether you drive a Nissan X-Trail, Qashqai, Juke, Patrol, Pathfinder, or Murano, numerous cost-effective, reliable tyre options are available in Perth, allowing you to enjoy safe and comfortable driving.

https://www.associatedtyreandwheel.com.au/blog.php

[guestpostblogger1]

A Brief Guide to Tire Choices and Car Tyre Prices in Saudi Arabia 

You are cruising through the expansive landscapes of Saudi Arabia, modern roads stretching out before you, and the thrill of adventure in the air. Now, imagine your tires not just as rubber circles but as the unsung heroes of your journey, shaping your driving experience in ways you might not have thought about. Whether you are a seasoned road-tripper or just starting your Saudi adventure, diving into the world of tires and understanding car tire prices is not just practical—it is your ticket to safer roads and a smoother ride. 

Saudi Arabia's roads are not just ribbons of tarmac; they are the storytellers of ancient and modern tales and your tires. They are the storytellers' tools. In a landscape where tradition dances with innovation, picking the right set of tires is not just a choice; it is an art. So, let us take a leisurely drive through the diverse choices and car tire prices that add the brushstrokes to your canvas of driving experiences in Saudi Arabia. 

The Market Is Wide Open 

Dive into Saudi Arabia's thriving tire business, and you will find yourself in a showroom full of unlimited choices. Consider this: a vast array of possibilities, a tire heaven in which every driving desire and situation is satisfied and appreciated. 

It is difficult to ignore the automotive symphony surrounding you as you negotiate the crowded streets of big cities like Riyadh, Jeddah, and Dammam. Numerous tire retailers and service centers are gatekeepers to a treasure mine of options, providing consumers with a thrilling shopping experience. 

Tips For Buying Tires 

Purchasing tires in Saudi Arabia necessitates careful consideration of the various driving conditions and tire alternatives available on the market. Here are some comprehensive pointers to help you along the way: 

Recognize Your Driving Requirements 

Consider the normal driving circumstances you will face—whether you are usually commuting within the city, going on off-road adventures, or engaging in high-speed interstate drives. 

Tires are classified according to their intended use, such as all-seasonals, all-terrain, performance, or winter tires. Understanding your driving requirements is the first step toward making an educated selection. 

Investigate Tyre Brands and Models 

Look at specific models that meet your driving needs. Reviews from others who drive can give useful information about a tire's real-world performance. 

Explore reputable tire brands that are known for their durability and reliability. Bridgestone, Michelin, Goodyear, and Pirelli are all dependable brands. 

Study About the Size and Type 

Review the manufacturer's guidelines for your vehicle's recommended tire type and measurement. Typically, this information can be found in the owner's handbook or on the label inside the driver's door. 

Ensure that the tire size and type chosen to correspond to the suggestions, as incorrect specifications can impact performance and security. 

Price of the Tyres 

Numerous variables might affect the car tyre price in KSA and cause your budget to fluctuate. The brand and model you choose are crucial, primarily. Premium brands might be more expensive because they include more sophisticated features and state-of-the-art technologies. This is an investment in the performance and safety of your car, not just a brand choice. 

The size and tires your car needs are another crucial factor in the price game. One size fails to fit all when it comes to the shoes on your automobile; larger or specialty tires might increase the cost. When accounting for the seasonal fluctuations, you may see a shift in the pricing environment. For example, the need for winter tires might lead to a discernible increase in price as winter approaches. 

Wrap Up 

Conversely, there are many ways to save money while shopping for tires. Tyre dealers sometimes run promotions, discounts, and other exceptional deals, so watch out for them. These may be your key to several priced options in addition to dependable rubber. Furthermore, some dealerships include installation, balancing, and rotation services to sweeten the pot. Although these extras raise the total cost, they also improve your tires' performance and long-term strength. Therefore, the expenditure is justified. Therefore, it pays to be astute and clever while navigating the landscape of automobile tire pricing in Saudi Arabia. 

[johnalexcooper]

The Ultimate Guide to Choosing the Best Car Tyre Garage in Galashiels

Discovering the correct car tyre garage in Galashiels can greatly influence the performance and safety of your vehicle. With various options available, it’s essential to choose a garage that offers quality services, expert advice, and reliable products. This guide will help you understand what to look for in a car tyre garage and why it matters.

Importance of Quality Tyres

Tyres are one of the most critical components of your car, directly affecting your driving experience, fuel efficiency, and safety. High-quality tyres ensure better grip on the road, enhanced braking performance, and improved handling. Conversely, worn-out or poor-quality tyres can lead to accidents and increased fuel consumption.

What to Look for in a Car Tyre Garage in Galashiels

 1. Expertise and Experience

An experienced car tyre garage in Galashiels will have a team of skilled technicians who can provide accurate advice and high-quality service. Look for garages with a solid reputation and positive customer reviews. Experienced technicians can quickly identify and fix issues, ensuring your car is safe to drive.

 2. Range of Tyres

A good tyre garage should offer a wide range of tyres to suit different vehicles and driving needs. Whether you need tyres for a family car, a sports vehicle, or a commercial van, having multiple options ensures you can find the perfect fit. Ensure the garage stocks tyres from various manufacturers, providing you with choices that match your budget and requirements.

 3. Advanced Equipment

Modern tyre fitting and balancing require advanced equipment. Ensure the car tyre garage in Galashiels uses the latest technology for precise fitting, alignment, and balancing. Advanced equipment ensures the job is done right the first time, minimizing the risk of future issues.

 4. Comprehensive Services

Apart from tyre fitting, a reputable garage should offer comprehensive services, including wheel alignment, balancing, and puncture repairs. Some garages also provide additional services like MOT testing, brake inspections, and oil changes. Opting for a garage that offers a range of services can save you time and hassle.

 5. Customer Service

Customer service is a crucial factor when choosing a car tyre garage. Friendly, knowledgeable staff who can answer your questions and provide clear explanations are invaluable. Providing exceptional customer service also entails the garage's willingness to go above and beyond to guarantee your contentment.

Benefits of Regular Tyre Maintenance

Proper tyre upkeep is crucial for a variety of reasons:

 1. Safety

Properly maintained tyres ensure better road grip and handling, reducing the risk of accidents. Regular checks for tyre pressure, tread depth, and any signs of damage can prevent potential issues.

 2. Longevity

Properly caring for your tyres can increase their longevity, ultimately leading to cost savings over time. Consistent rotation, alignment, and balancing are essential to evenly distribute wear, ultimately extending the lifespan of your tyres.

 3. Fuel Efficiency

Correct tyre pressure and alignment can improve your vehicle’s fuel efficiency. Under-inflated or misaligned tyres can cause your car to use more fuel, increasing your overall running costs.

 4. Performance

High-quality, well-maintained tyres enhance your car's performance, providing a smoother, more comfortable ride. Good tyres improve braking and cornering, making your driving experience safer and more enjoyable.

How to Maintain Your Tyres

 1. Check Tyre Pressure Regularly

Under-inflated tyres can cause increased wear and tear, reduce fuel efficiency, and compromise safety. It is important to regularly check your tyre pressure, ideally once a month and especially before embarking on long trips. Consult your car's manual to find the recommended tyre pressure levels.

 2. Inspect Tread Depth

Adequate tread depth is essential for ensuring traction on the road, particularly when driving in wet weather. Use a tread depth gauge to ensure your tyres meet the legal requirements. When the tread depth falls below the minimum requirement, it is necessary to replace your tyres.

 3. Rotate Your Tyres

Regularly rotating your tyres can help ensure that wear is evenly distributed among all four tyres, ultimately prolonging their lifespan. Adhere to the rotation schedule advised by the manufacturer of your vehicle.

 4. Balance and Align Tyres

Unbalanced or misaligned tyres can cause uneven wear, vibrations, and poor handling. Have your tyres balanced and aligned regularly, especially if you notice uneven tread wear or your car pulling to one side.

 5. Inspect for Damage

Regularly inspect your tyres for any signs of damage, such as cuts, punctures, or bulges. If you notice any issues, visit a car tyre garage in Galashiels immediately for professional advice and repairs.

Conclusion

Choosing the right car tyre garage in Galashiels is crucial for maintaining your vehicle's safety, performance, and efficiency. Look for a garage with experienced technicians, a wide range of tyres, advanced equipment, comprehensive services, and excellent customer service. Regular tyre maintenance, including pressure checks, tread inspections, and rotations, can extend your tyres' lifespan and enhance your driving experience. By following these guidelines, you can ensure your car remains safe and reliable on the road.

Remember, your tyres are the only contact point between your car and the road, making their maintenance and quality paramount. Don’t compromise on your safety—choose a reputable car tyre garage in Galashiels for all your tyre needs.

[musclecarwheels12]

Upgrading Your Muscle Car Wheels: A Step-by-Step Guide

Ready to elevate your muscle car's performance and style? Discover the essential steps for upgrading your wheels in this guide.

From selecting the perfect rims to ensuring precise fitment, each step is crucial in enhancing both the look and handling of your prized vehicle.

No matter where you are in Australia, Purnell Tyres is committed to bringing our products to your doorstep. We offer fast and reliable delivery services nationwide, ensuring that your wheels and tyres arrive promptly and in pristine condition. Our streamlined shipping process is designed to minimize delays and inconvenience, allowing you to enjoy your new upgrades sooner rather than later.

Whether aiming for a classic or modern design, upgrading your wheels can transform your ride into a head-turner.

Buckle up and unleash the full potential of your beloved automotive beast with our step-by-step guide.

Choosing the Right Wheel Size

When upgrading your muscle car wheels, you should carefully consider and select the right wheel size to enhance both performance and aesthetics. The wheel size directly impacts your car's handling and overall look.

Opting for larger wheels can improve cornering stability but may compromise ride comfort. Conversely, smaller wheels offer a smoother ride but may not fill out the wheel arches for that aggressive stance.

To maintain optimal performance, ensure the new wheel size matches the original tire diameter as closely as possible. This prevents speedometer inaccuracies and maintains proper gear ratios.

Additionally, consider the width of the wheels as wider wheels can accommodate wider tires for increased grip. Ultimately, choosing the right wheel size involves balancing performance needs with visual appeal for your muscle car.

Selecting the Best Tire Type

To optimize the performance of your muscle car, start by selecting tires that match your driving style and desired handling characteristics. Consider factors such as tire width, aspect ratio, and construction type.

For muscle cars, wider tires provide better traction and handling during acceleration and cornering. Lower aspect ratios enhance steering response and overall stability. High-performance summer tires offer excellent grip in dry conditions, ideal for aggressive driving. All-season tires provide versatility for varied weather conditions.

For track use, consider slick or semi-slick tires for maximum grip. Choose a tire type that complements your driving habits and the conditions you typically encounter to maximize the performance of your upgraded muscle car wheels.

Upgrading to High-Performance Brakes

Upgrade your muscle car wheels with high-performance brakes to enhance stopping power and improve overall driving safety. High-performance brake systems typically include larger rotors, calipers with multiple pistons, and performance brake pads. These components work together to provide better heat dissipation and reduced brake fade under heavy use.

Upgrading to high-performance brakes can significantly decrease stopping distances, allowing you to react more quickly in emergency situations. Additionally, the improved braking performance can enhance your driving experience, providing better control and confidence when navigating challenging road conditions or spirited driving scenarios.

When upgrading to high-performance brakes, ensure compatibility with your wheel and tire setup to optimize performance and safety.

Installing Wheel Spacers or Adapters

Enhance the handling and stance of your muscle car by installing wheel spacers or adapters for improved performance and aesthetics.

Wheel spacers increase the distance between the wheel hub assembly and the wheel, widening the track of your car. This adjustment provides better stability and cornering by reducing body roll. When installing wheel spacers, ensure they're of high quality and made from durable materials to maintain safety standards.

Adapters, on the other hand, allow you to fit wheels with a different bolt pattern onto your car's hub. It's crucial to select adapters that match the hub and wheel bolt patterns precisely to prevent any issues with fitment. Always follow manufacturer recommendations and torque specifications during installation to guarantee proper functionality and safety.

Balancing and Aligning Your New Wheels

When upgrading your muscle car wheels, ensure that your new wheels are balanced and aligned correctly for optimal performance and safety.

Proper wheel balancing involves adjusting the weight distribution around the wheel to eliminate vibrations and ensure smooth driving. This process helps prevent premature wear on your tires and suspension components.

Wheel alignment, on the other hand, ensures that your wheels are perpendicular to the ground and parallel to each other. This adjustment optimizes handling, steering response, and tire wear. It's crucial to have a professional perform these tasks using specialized equipment to guarantee accuracy.

Incorrectly balanced or misaligned wheels can lead to uneven tire wear, decreased fuel efficiency, and compromised safety on the road.

[turpin8h]

Choosing the Right Tyres for Your Ride: A Guide to Motocross and Adventure Bike Tyres

In the world of motorcycle riding, the choice of tyres significantly influences the riding experience and safety. This article delves into the nuances of Motocross and Adventure Bike Tyres, guiding enthusiasts on how to select the best option for their specific needs. Understanding Tyre Types Motocross Tyres are designed for off-road racing on varied terrain types, from soft soil and mud to hard-packed surfaces. These tyres typically feature aggressive tread patterns to grip loose dirt and are often not suitable for highway use. Conversely, Adventure bike tyres are built for both on-road stability and off-road capability, offering a balance that caters to riders who enjoy long-distance journeys that may include unpaved routes. Road Legal vs. NHS Tyres • Road Legal Tyres: These tyres meet specific safety standards for highway use, featuring tread patterns and rubber compounds suited for both wet and dry asphalt conditions. • NHS (Not Highway Suitable) Tyres: Marked with 'NHS', these tyres are built for competitive racing and are not permitted on public roads due to their specialized tread patterns and softer compounds. Selecting the Right Tyre for Your Riding Style Choosing the correct tyre involves considering several factors such as the type of terrain, the frequency of rides, and specific performance needs. Tyre Compounds • Soft Terrain Tyres: Best for muddy and sandy conditions, these tyres have large, wide-spaced knobs to eject mud and sand. • Hard Terrain Tyres: Suited for rocky and hard-packed surfaces, these tyres feature smaller, closer-spaced knobs for better surface contact and grip. Popular Tyre Choices for Different Terrains • Michelin Anakee Adventure: Known for its durability and excellent grip on both wet and dry surfaces, ideal for riders who face diverse conditions. • Shinko 705: Offers a great balance of price and performance, particularly praised for its effectiveness on dry tarmac and light off-road conditions. Tyre Maintenance and Longevity Regular maintenance is crucial to extending the life of your tyres. This includes regular pressure checks, inspections for wear and tear, and understanding when to replace them based on tread wear indicators. Legal and Safety Considerations Riders should ensure they choose tyres that comply with local regulations, particularly when it involves NHS tyres. Safety tips for different terrains include adjusting riding style and tyre pressure according to the surface type to maximize tyre performance and safety. Conclusion Selecting the right tyre for Motocross or Adventure riding is about understanding the specific demands of your preferred terrains and riding style. With the right tyres, riders can enhance both their performance and safety, making every journey more enjoyable. 

For a comprehensive selection of Motocross Tyres and Adventure Bike Tyres, visit Mitas for expert advice and quality products tailored to your riding needs.

[aussiecaravans]

An Overview of Buying and Travelling in Caravans in Australia

Let's have a conversation about how awesome caravans in Australia are. Amazing in every way, these mobile houses have won over the hearts of the world's most daring explorers. They provide a versatile and interesting method to see the vast and beautiful areas of our wonderful nation. A road trip around Australia is the finest way to see the country, uncover unique items, and discover new things about yourself. You can travel in style in a luxurious caravan. They are quite comfortable, practical, and liberating while out on the open road. What a blast it is to have caravan vacations in Australia! 

Here in this post, you can go on a journey into the wonderful world of caravans in Australia. Prepare to be fascinated as we reveal the definitive guide that will have you yearning for the open road and a sense of liberation.

Caravans in Australia: types to consider

Australia has a huge selection of trailers, so get ready to be amazed by how many choices you have. From the simple pop-tops to the awe-inspiring luxury models, there is an amazing range that will suit the tastes and preferences of any adventurous soul. All the caravans in Australia have a unique set of benefits. And this makes it even more important to carefully consider your own wants and tastes before making the important choice of which type to buy.

1. Off-road caravans 

Off-road caravans are the ideal vehicles to take on outdoor excursions. These sturdy vehicles can endure rugged terrain and inclement weather thanks to their sturdy chassis, dynamic components, large tyres, and powerful brakes. When travelling off the established route, an off-road caravan is up to the challenge. 

These caravans in Australia are built to last and are very sturdy and resilient. This way, you may experience the thrill of off-roading without sacrificing your comfort. 

2. Pop-top caravans in Australia 

Pop-top caravans are an interesting kind of motorhome because their roofs can be quickly and easily raised or lowered. Because of this, you may easily adjust the caravan's height anytime you choose. This ingenious layout provides additional flexibility to adapt to individual requirements. The roof can be raised with the push of a button or the turn of a crank. This allows for an abundance of headroom and ventilation within. It's an ideal starting point for thrilling journeys.

However, the roof can be readily lowered if you ever need to make the caravan shorter. Because of this, transport and movement are simplified. You can't beat them if you're in the market for a compact, lightweight, and easily transportable caravan.

3. Motorhomes in Australia 

Motorhomes, often known as recreational vehicles (RVs), are fantastic vehicles that can make every trip an unforgettable experience. These innovative vehicles combine the conveniences of a home and an automobile. They are suitable for living and transportation throughout the country. These Australian caravans are like super-awesome cars, equipped with everything you could need for a relaxing road trip. They're made to be multifunctional, so you can take them anywhere and feel right at home.

Motorhomes are an excellent mode of transportation for those who like to embark on an extended road trip, investigate the outdoors, or just travel in luxury. They're fantastic for campers who want a lightweight, versatile trailer that won't take forever to pull or assemble.

4. Expander caravans

Campers have a lot of fun with expander caravans, also known as expandable caravans. The caravan's interior significantly expands with the help of special fold-out components. These stylish fold-out panels intend to provide more room for lounging, dining, or sleeping. One can fit a whole family in one, or just a group of individuals that value comfort and convenience on the road.

Camper manufacturers often find the foldable sections that can be expanded at the front and rear of the vehicle. The user can open or close them quickly and simply at their will. If you're in the market for a large, luxurious RV, consider them your best bet. This option is fantastic if you need space for a large group.

What important factors should you consider?

Make sure you consider the following factors when shopping for caravans in Australia: 

1. The layout and design

Caravan layout and design are two important considerations when making a purchase. And this is because you want to make sure they work well with your own personal preferences and way of life. Therefore, you must give careful thought to these factors. You can then choose a caravan that not only serves your functional demands but also provides you with a pleasant place to live that is tailored to your own preferences.

2. The features and amenities of the caravan

If you're in the market for a caravan, it's important to give careful consideration to every aspect of it to make sure it suits your requirements. The caravan's cooking facilities are an important consideration. Make sure the kitchen is big enough and has enough counter space, cabinets, and drawers. 

It's also crucial to evaluate the caravan's sanitary facilities. Check the bathroom for essentials like a toilet, shower, and sink, and make sure it's a decent size and that everything works. Think about how well the bathroom's design and arrangement suit your needs.

3. The price and value of caravans in Australia 

Consider the caravan's price and whether or not it's a good investment. Verify that it satisfies your needs and is within your price range. By comparing the caravan's price and features with your needs and wants, you may choose an option that works within your price range and satisfies your requirements.

When looking for caravans in Australia, it pays to check out the competition. Consider whether you'd like a brand-new or pre-owned caravan. Consider the possibility of any wear and tear from prior usage. Doing so will allow you to make an informed decision that is tailored to your needs.

[reasoningdaily]

Tyre Nichols bodycam shows ‘systemic racism’ in non-White people, Black activists say | Fox News

The Tyre Nichols bodycam footage has led to discussions among Black activists about how systemic racism can guide the actions and attitudes of non-White people.

Authorities in Memphis, Tennessee have released four videos from a Jan. 7 traffic stop that preceded the death of 29-year-old Nichols, who spent three days in the hospital before succumbing to his injuries.

The brutal encounter led to the firing of five Memphis police officers, all of whom are Black and now face numerous charges, including murder.

The race of the officers has led to complex and challenging conversations among Black activists on police reform and claims of pervasive intuitional racism in policing, according to new reports from The New York Times and The Washington Post.

Flanked by Rodney Wells (C) and RowVaughn Wells, the stepfather and mother of Tyre Nichols, civil rights attorney Ben Crump speaks during a press conference on January 27, 2023 in Memphis, Tennessee.  (Scott Olson/Getty Images)

"The widely viewed videos of the Nichols beating provided fodder for right-wing media ecosystems that routinely blame Black America's maladies on Black America and spawned nuanced conversations among Black activists about how systemic racism can manifest in the actions of non-White people," Robert Klemko, Silvia Foster-Frau and Emily Davies of the Post wrote.

The piece cited several studies that showed how Black police officers use force less frequently against Black civilians versus White officers but only to a "marginal" degree.

Samuel Sinyangwe, the President of Mapping Police Violence, said that initiatives to diversify law enforcement would not solve the issue of police violence. He noted that various factors, including directives to work in neighborhoods of color and internal biases, also lead to a disproportionate response against Black Americans.

Ayanna Robinson, a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant manager, drove nearly seven hours from Indianapolis to Memphis to attend protests following Nichols' death. She was shocked to find dozens, not thousands of protesters calmly voicing their outrage. She attributed the subdued reaction to the race of the officers.

If the officers had been White, "…all hell would have broken loose. The city would have been in war," she said.

RowVaughn Wells, mother of Tyre Nichols, who died after being beaten by Memphis police officers, is comforted by Tyre's stepfather Rodney Wells, at a news conference with civil rights Attorney Ben Crump in Memphis, Tenn., Friday, Jan. 27, 2023. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)

In early 2020, William Green was shot to death while handcuffed by a Black officer in Maryland. His cousin, Nikki Owens, said she felt a similar frustration to Robinson following the incident, which prompted her activism and teaching of institutional racism.

"When I was out in the community and I would talk to people, I could see their reaction when I told them the officer was Black," she said. "And some people would ask what color the officer was, which is another indication of that lack of understanding."

The Times also highlighted Black voices, who said that uses of race and policing are a "function of an entrenched police culture of aggression and dehumanization of Black people" rather than "impersonal racism" among Black and White people.

Robert M. Sausedo, a Los Angeles nonprofit leader, told the paper that it was not racism driving the death of young Black men like Nichols but rather "culturalism."

The screen at the Smoothie King Center honors Tyre Nichols before an NBA basketball game between the New Orleans Pelicans and the Washington Wizards in New Orleans, Saturday, Jan. 28, 2023.  (AP Photo/Matthew Hinton)

One of the activists and organizers working alongside the Nichols family to make policy changes in the Memphis Police Department said that officers of all races are "indoctrinated" into viewing Black and Brown people as "less than." She added that racism is a "clear factor" in police work based on the victims of police violence rather than the race of the perpetrators.

The paper did note that many police reform activists say diversifying police forces have made a difference and "remains a worthy goal." According to a friend, Nichols once considered becoming a police officer to change the system from the inside.

The city's police department last week fired the five officers involved in the incident: Demetrius Haley, Tadarrius Bean, Emmitt Martin III, Desmond Mills and Justin Smith.

Each of them faces more than a half-dozen charges, including second-degree murder, according to the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. All five surrendered to state authorities Thursday and later posted bond.

Sheriff Bonner, whose county encompasses the Memphis area, also announced that he had relieved two deputies of duty hours after the videos became public.

[jamminvroomvroom]

these quiet moments

CL x fem!reader 

read part 2: a fruit basket and a ferrari ✨here✨

right so here is my first sharl fic. you do not realise how hard it was to type ‘charles’ lmao. so this was inspired by the events of barcelona and then, of course, the absolute shambles of the monaco gp. hey, at least it gave me a plot lmao. anyways, enjoy!! feedback is always welcome, hmu <33

songs that guided the vibes: ivy by frank ocean, woman by harry styles, north by clairo

in which charles feels things for his best friends, ahem, fuck buddy.

warnings: 18+!! angst, smut in a ✨shower✨, fluff kinda i guess, swearing, pierre gasly (affectionate... ish), alcohol, the curse of the monaco gp lol. 

6.8k words

the car came to a halt in the pit box, red men frantically changing his tyres and then waving him on his way. the stop was quick, almost perfect, not that it needed to be. he had a lead that didn’t put him in danger of being overtaken coming out of the box. he wouldn’t need to scramble to regain a position under the spanish sunshine that was beating down relentlessly on the crowd, he just needed to get through the next forty odd laps and he’d be on top of the podium. he’d spray the champagne and get a pat on the back and go back to the hotel. it seemed so easily in his grasp. 

he needed the win. he needed the distraction. he needed to not think of you. 

the longer the good times lasted, the less he had to think of you. he’d be able to bear the torment of watching pierre’s hand linger on your waist if he won the race, because it would mean that millions loved him, even if you didn’t. but if he lost, or came second or third, which was the same thing in his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to cope. he wouldn’t be able to cope when he watched you leave with pierre. he wouldn’t be able to handle it when he saw you at breakfast in the hotel the next morning, knowing exactly how you’d spent your evening. he wouldn’t be able to endure watching pierre saunter into the dining hall ten minutes later, acting nonchalant, as if no one had eyes or the faintest clue that pierre had spent the night on top of you. or beneath you. pierre wasn’t fussy like that. 

charles knew that you and pierre were just friends. best friends even. such good friends that sleeping together was like going for a cup of coffee, or going to the movies. your arms were open for pierre on a good day, a bad day, and every kind of day in between and charles had never envied another man more. he loved pierre like a brother but, god, he hated him too. it didn’t matter that pierre didn’t want you like charles did, he still had most of your time and attention. all charles got was conversations over breakfast after your rendezvous with his best friend, or a weirdly deep conversation when you got drunk with him and the other drivers after a long race weekend. it wasn’t enough. 

charles continued to fly across the track, light on the curbs but pace simply unmatched. no one on the track was as fast as him. no one could fucking touch him. this was his race to win. and so naturally, his engine decided to call it a day. of course. he heard himself shouting, white noise filling the air as he trundled back to the pit lane, where they’d already cleared a neat and tidy space in the garage for him. the rage just about dispersed and he finally got out of the car. the helmet came off, a quick wave to the crowd, a ruffle of the hair from mattia. he wanted to be alone. he had a good thirty or so laps to wallow. 

eventually, he made his way through the garage and back to the ferrari hospitality building. just as he stepped through the door, he heard a voice that sent a pathetic shiver down his spine. he turned around slowly, not quite ready to believe it was you. shouldn’t you be tucked away quietly in the back of the alpha tauri garage so that no one got the wrong idea? so that pierre’s fans didn’t find you on social media and ruin your life, for absolutely no reason at all? it turned out that his tired mind was not playing tricks on him, because there you stood. a weak smile on your face, hair blowing in the same breeze that had put his teammate in the gravel.

“oh. hi.” oh hi? he wanted to punch himself in the face. 

“i’m sorry about your engine.” you offered, tilting your head apologetically. he still didn’t understand why you were stood here talking to him, instead of watching the race. 

“yeah, so am i.” charles muttered, barely audible. he just wanted to go inside. as much as he would have loved to stay and talk to you forever and ever, he gathered that you’d need to conserve your energy to console pierre later on. he accidentally rolled his eyes at his own thoughts, and then watched on like an idiot when you furrowed your eyebrows and took a step back. 

“um, i’m gonna go, i just wanted to make sure you were okay.” just as you were about to turn on your heel, he couldn’t help himself and called out to you. 

“no! i’m sorry. i just, i’m not having a great day.” he laughed humourlessly, eyes lighting up when you joined in. 

“i should go anyway.” you waved your hand casually, brushing him off. 

“you don’t need to.” he spoke a bit to quickly, over eager to get you to stay. he felt his cheeks heat up. he didn’t miss the way your lips quirked up. 

“i can’t exactly come and hang out in the ferrari suite.” you challenged.

“you can with me.” he almost recoiled at the way that he sounded, far too arrogant for a guy who’s engine just passed away, but he chose not to care, standing up straighter and letting himself smirk. 

you shrugged, following him into the ferrari hospitality through the door that he held open for you. he could feel your eyes on his back, basking delightfully in the fact that you were here with him. you were in his territory now, somewhere pierre couldn’t get to you. as the door to his drivers room slowly shut, that feeling of momentary pride came to an unfortunate end. what the hell did he do now? 

“so-“ 

“so-“ you both spoke at the same time. it was awkward. there was no denying that. you were sat next to him on the small sofa, half a space between you. 

“go ahead.” he encouraged, blushing again and averting his eyes. 

stop fucking blushing!

“are you okay?” the sincerity behind your words made charles look at you again. 

“honestly? no.” 

“i appreciate your honesty.” you scoffed. 

something about the way you said that, as if you had a bitter taste in your mouth, made charles wonder. what made you appreciate his honesty? more importantly, who had made you appreciate his honesty? nonetheless, he couldn’t stop his heart from hammering away in his chest; you appreciated him, in that moment at least.

“are you okay?” charles asked. you’d piqued his curiosity now. 

“fine, thank you.” your smile, although breathtaking, was completely and utterly fake. 

you let out a sigh when you saw how he was looking at you. a look that said i call bullshit. 

the most notable thing about charles’ relationship with you was the strangely intricate conversations that you’d shared throughout the years. days full of chaos would be broken up by these quiet moments that you shared that held more substance than most interactions that charles had to endure. you weren’t best friends, not even close, but these moments of stillness and clarity meant a great deal to both of you. they usually happened when pierre was ordering another round of drinks, or when pierre went to get the car, or when pierre’s media obligations overran. basically, charles could only have you to himself when pierre was occupied. he had never been so happy to dnf before, as awful as it was. while pierre was driving in meaningless circles, charles was watching you collect your thoughts, watching the way your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes changed. charles certainly knew what he’d rather be doing. 

“it doesn’t really matter.” you said quietly. 

“yes it does. matters to me.” he couldn’t not say it. it did matter to him. anything bothering you mattered to him a great deal, an embarrassingly great deal. you just stared at him for a second, charles suddenly realising that you were both turned in to face one another, knees touching. 

“why?” 

well, that was a good question. 

“well we’re friends aren’t we?” he didn’t like the way the word ‘friends’ tasted on his tongue, nor did he like the way your eyes changed as he said it. almost as if you knew.

“sure we are,” you smirked, “but i won’t burden you.” 

“please do.” why could he not think before he spoke today? you raised your eyebrows at him. he shrugged.

“shouldn’t i be comforting you?” you looked mischievous. he almost felt like you were mocking him, but for some reason he was revelling in it. 

“your presence is more than enough.” he didn’t know where he found the nerve to flirt with you but nevertheless, he was. “so, please, what’s wrong?” he ignored the light dusting of pink across your cheekbones, refusing to get his hopes up, and tried his best to move the conversation along. 

“i just,” you were fiddling with your skirt, staring down at your hands. charles was practically on the edge of his seat, desperate to know what was going through your mind. “i don’t think i can keep doing… this thing. i know you know about me and pierre.” you averted eye contact. charles had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. anyone with eyes knew about you and pierre. “we don’t exactly want the same things.” 

if charles knew pierre, and he knew him very well, he knew that pierre wanted to live his life as he pleased, no strings attached, no obligations. after all, that’s why he maintained the relationship that he did with you. and if you and pierre didn’t want the same things, that meant that you wanted more than a place in pierre’s bed. or that’s what charles had deduced, at least. the room was silent as charles’ heart shattered in his chest. 

“oh. i see.” 

“do you?”

“i’m sorry?” he was taken aback. 

“do you see what i mean? i’m not sure that you do.” you clarified, voice a lot calmer than charles’. you gave nothing away. 

“well, i think i do. pierre doesn’t want a relationship. you do.” charles stated simply, growing frustrated. maybe he didn’t want to know what was bothering you, after all.

“i suppose-“ you started, only to be cut short by the monegasque driver.  

“then why are you questioning me?” he didn’t mean to sound so irritated. 

“who said i wanted a relationship with pierre?” you bit back quickly.

great. so there was someone else?

“actually, i need to do some media. i’m sorry.” he stood up. he instantly missed the contact of your knee against his. you looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“no, i’m sorry. of course, i’ll go.” he hated that you apologised to him when it was him that had absolutely annihilated the moment. it was rude of him, negligent. he’d offered to be your shoulder to cry on and as soon as he heard something he didn’t like, he was kicking you out. you left the room in a hurry, looking as flustered as charles felt. the door closed, a visual reminder that he had let you slip away. 

the day could not get much worse. 

-

apparently, the day could, in fact, get worse. 

charles cursed under his breath as he helped you manoeuvre pierre through the dimly lit hallway of the hotel. charles was bearing most of pierre’s weight while you guided them both back to pierre’s hotel room, a look on your face that charles could not quite distinguish. you looked exasperated. the frenchman was blackout drunk after a more than unsatisfactory race, slurring something about how much helmut marko sucked and how life was unfair. charles couldn’t help but agree with both of those statements. 

eventually, you made it to the room, pierre’s body being flung perhaps a bit carelessly onto his bed. you and charles both stood over him like disappointed parents. your arms were crossed, grimacing down at him, while charles stood with his hands on his hips, glaring down at his friend. charles hadn’t wanted to spend the evening with you and pierre but of course, the frenchman roped him in and then got himself so drunk that charles had to practically carry him back to his room. and to make matters worse, you were there too, along for every second of the tragic ride. you’d probably expected a different outcome for the evening, probably assuming that yes, pierre would end up in bed but you’d be there too. alas, that was not the case. 

“i don’t know if you’re staying here but i’m going to go. you can call me if you need anything.” charles spoke, not giving pierre the courtesy of whispering. pierre would be asleep for a while.

“no.” you said softly, but with a conviction that told charles that you meant business. 

“no?”

“no, i’m not staying here.” you sighed. 

“okay. in that case, do you want me to walk you to your room?” charles offered, wanting nothing more than to spend the remainder of his evening with you, whilst also wanting to make sure you got back safely. you smiled. he smiled back. it was hard not to.

“would you?” 

“my pleasure.” he said, as if it was nothing. it was everything. 

you poured a glass of water for pierre, while charles retrieved the small bin from the bathroom and placed it on the floor by pierre’s bed. what are friends for? you both spared the other driver once last look, before you left the hotel room. you both made the trip to the elevator, which was much shorter without pierre’s deadweight, letting charles push the button. 

you waited there together, hands at your sides. when he felt your knuckles brush against his, he almost jumped in the air. if that tiny, minuscule contact was enough to take him down, he could only imagine what kind of reaction your body against his would evoke. he tried to subtly look down, take in the sight of your hand against his. he wanted to hold your hand more than he wanted to win the championship. you seemed to be watching him from the corner of your eye, enjoying the flustered state of the ferrari driver.

the elevator doors opened and you stepped forward first, breaking charles out of his trance. he stepped in next to you, the both of you standing in a silence that lingered somewhere between comfortable and awkward. he wanted to know what you were thinking, dying to know what was going through your head. when he’d first laid eyes on you earlier on in the evening, he hadn’t been able to resist raking them up and down your body, no better than every other man in the bar who was undoubtedly doing the same. he felt guilty, but you were a sight to behold.

whilst pierre had been set on having a wild night, charles was content in the huge booth pierre had rented out for the evening, not up for interacting with anyone who’d seen his shambolic race. you seemed to be on the same wavelength, staying put and nursing a drink. as the night progressed, charles found himself gravitating towards you, and you to him, until you were both sat next to each other. one of your legs was crossed over the other and your knees brushed under the table. charles didn’t even know what the topic of your conversation was, all he could focus on was the shape of your lips when you spoke. he’d been on his way to leaning in when pierre had magically reappeared, whining because someone said he looked like nico rosberg in his white trousers. the annoyance that flashed across your face for a split second at pierre’s not so epic return gave charles hope. 

“charles?” your voice cut through the memories of the evening. 

“hmm?” he replied, turning his head to look down at you beside him. 

his eyes locked on yours for a split second before you were cupping his face and pulling him in towards you. when your lips met his, charles didn’t know what to do for a second. he was so utterly shocked that he just stood there. but it really was only a second, because he quickly realised that he had been waiting several years to kiss you and he could not let a second go to waste in such an important moment. he kissed you back urgently, hands gripping at your waist to pull you in closer. as you kissed him, one hand grazed his jaw and the other one trailed down his neck until it was laced through the hair at the nape of his neck. charles groaned into the kiss, unable to help himself. you unleashed something animalistic within him, something desperate, lustful, pathetic. he didn’t understand how he’d be able to let you go tonight. as his kisses trailed down your cheek and onto the flushed skin of your neck, the elevator slowed. you whimpered. 

“charles,” you breathed, “this is my stop.” he groaned in annoyance, pressing an open mouthed kiss right in the crook of your neck. as the doors slowly opened, he watched you saunter out of the lift, turning around as you walked away to bid him adieu.  

“i’ll see you in monaco.” you winked at him. he thought he was going to pass out. 

he fell back against the back wall of the elevator as the doors shut tantalisingly slowly, finally removing you from his sight. he smiled lazily, just about making out the image of himself in the metallic doors. his smile was contorted in the silvery surface. his hair was an untameable mess. his white dress shirt stood out to him in the reflection, able to see the way it had creased when you’d been pressed against him. 

as charles approached his floor, he tried not to think about pierre, and all of his shirts that you’d creased in elevators just like this one. all he could think about was what you’d said. 

i’ll see you in monaco.

-

i’ll see you in monaco.

i’ll see you in monaco.

would you? would you really? it was saturday and charles hadn’t laid eyes on you once. you lurked at the corner of his every single thought and he hadn’t even seen you yet. he held out hope all week that pierre would bring you along to dinner but you never showed. it was distracting, he needed to talk to you, needed to just be near you at the very least. there was something strange lingering in the air that charles couldn’t quite put his finger on. all he knew was that pierre’s eyes seemed to narrow when he thought charles wasn’t looking. 

he paced beside his car, getting himself into the correct headspace for qualifying. the noise of the crowd couldn’t quite be drowned out, the way they called his name, restlessly chanting for him. he craved the pole position, craved the honour of standing on the top of the podium tomorrow, almost as much as he wanted you beside him. his balaclava went on, followed by his helmet, a new design to commemorate a weekend at home. he settled into the cockpit, completely clearing his mind. almost. 

the laps around his hometown always meant more. it was a nostalgic route around the principality, one that took him back to his childhood, sat on the bus as a child who wanted to drive the red car. he owed that kid a good race, perhaps even a win. at this point, a race finish would do. charles pulled out of the garage and into the pit lane.

he topped q1. he topped q2. he topped q3. 

pole position. 

he pulled into parc ferme, ignoring the feeling of uneasiness. things were yet to go wrong for him, how long would this last? he gave his interview, deciding to lean into the elation of the situation. pole fucking position on home soil, and he didn’t even crash out. it felt too good to deny himself the opportunity to celebrate. the fastest man in the world. the interviews went by like a blur for once, the media circus usually dragging on. not today. he was distracted the entire time by the crowd. they loved him. he loved them too. it felt good to be loved. 

with a spring in his step, he bounded though the paddock, stopping every few steps to take pictures and shake hands. it always felt good to come home. charles watched a young boy run back to his mother, eyes bright as he took in the signature that now adorned his ferrari cap.  moments like those made all of the noise worth it. he made it into the ferrari building, exchanging a few more congratulatory hugs and handshakes. he finally made it through the suite, seeking a moment of quiet to make it all seem real, a moment to process that he’d done it. he shut the door to his drivers room, turning around, to be given the fright of his life. 

“fuck, you scared me.” he slapped his hand over his heart, feeling the way it raced within his chest. it wasn’t just fear. 

“i didn’t mean to.” the sound of your voice was like a break in the clouds, sunshine, the most beautiful song he’d ever heard before. he was already on a high, but the sight of you, hearing your voice, somehow elevated him even further. 

“how did you even get in here?” he was puzzled, unsure of how you’d actually made it onto ferrari turf without being swiftly escorted back to the alpha tauri suite. 

“that doesn’t matter right now.” you said urgently, crossing the short distance between you. 

he felt himself smiling as he kissed you. everything felt better. the stagnant week that had passed by without you seemed to melt into nothing as you pressed yourself against him as close as you could get, hands desperately fisting the material of his race suit, as if you’d missed him as much as he’d missed you. 

“congratulations.” you mumbled against his lips. he’d heard it a thousand times today but hearing you say it somehow meant more. you’d sought him out, potentially breaking into the ferrari suite to be here with him, to kiss him and congratulate him. that definitely meant more to him that bumping into a random stranger who just wanted a picture. 

he used the opportunity of you breaking the kiss to pepper kisses down your neck, enjoying the way your head instantly fell back to give him access. he wished he could stay in here, locked away with you, but he had a briefing to get to and a strategy to discuss. it pained him to pull away from you, instantly missing the way you were panting under his touch.

“mon amour, i need to go.” he whispered. you looked at him with wide eyes. that was the first time he’d called you that and it was obvious that you’d both realised the same thing. 

“don’t.” your smile was teasing but you were very serious. 

“where will i find you later?” he watched your face drop, suddenly breaking eye contact. he quickly realised why. guilt. 

“i, um, well i’m staying with pierre.” you said weakly, telling charles everything you needed to. the question was, which of the drivers made you feel guilty? 

“i see.” charles’ reply lacked any emotion. he didn’t want you to know how much it hurt. instead, he found a solution to the problem, “i’ll pick you up, take you back to my place.” he said, eyes quickly widening when he realised just how suggestive it sounded. yes, he wanted you, but god, he didn’t need to make it quite so blatant. “sorry, er, i didn’t mean-“ 

you cut him off with your laughter, caressing his jaw with one hand. you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips which you both instantly wanted to take further, but you were both aware of how time constricted you. 

“it’s okay. i’ll see you later.” you let yourself out of the room, trying to remain incognito as charles watched you exit the hospitality from the doorway of his room. he hoped that he wouldn’t have to keep watching you walk away from him, no matter how much he enjoyed the view. 

-

sunday morning in monaco was always chaos. there were hoards of people who thought they were important blocking every which way, as if charles wasn’t already frustrated enough. he hadn’t seen you last night. no, all he’d seen was a text from you, telling him that oh no, poor pierre had his strategy fucked and he needs me now! charles was quietly seething, slumped in the seat of his ferrari outside pierre’s apartment complex when he’d received your message. maybe his race weekends in monaco were a little bit cursed. 

he’d been trying to steer clear of pierre all morning, quite frankly sick of the sight of him. the only thing that he had today that pierre didn’t was pole position and it didn’t seem like enough. charles boarded the lorry for the drivers parade, trying to keep as much space between him and the alpha tauri driver as possible, which probably looked strange, considering they usually spent such ventures glued to each other. his plan to avoid pierre for the rest of his life quickly came crashing down when the frenchman made a beeline for charles, leaving yuki behind. 

“are you avoiding me?” great. pierre’s blatant directness was infuriating at the best of times, but today it managed to get on charles’ last nerve. 

“why would i do that? just trying to keep the focus.” it didn’t even sound true. pierre started blankly at the monegasque. 

“bullshit. were you ever going to tell me?” pierre narrowed his eyes, just as he had been doing all week, except this time, he made no attempt to try and hide it. charles gulped, feeling the blood drain from his face. 

“tell you what?” play dumb, it works with the media, it might also work with pierre. pierre scoffed. 

“i’m not mad.” pierre offered. well, he sure looked it. “she’s a great person, i don’t blame you for being interested in her. i just don’t think she’s looking for a relationship.” wait, what? 

“i’m sorry?” charles was truly confused. 

“listen, i see the way you look at her but i wouldn’t go there. she’s been distant lately, i think she’s interested in someone. won’t tell me who, though.” pierre tutted. what the fuck?

“pierre, i need to tell-“ charles started, only to be interrupted. 

“it’s fine, i get it. she’s amazing. i’m just giving you a heads up.” and then he was gone, pulled away into a conversation with daniel. 

charles stood there by himself for a second, dumbfounded. pierre had no idea what was going on, yet somehow he’d convinced himself that he knew the entire picture. maybe he should have felt bad. maybe he should have felt awful for the way he felt about you behind pierre’s back, but instead, a feeling of pride blossomed in charles’ chest. 

it was him. he was the reason for your distance, he was the person you were interested, he is was the person you wanted. charles had gotten it wrong when you’d said you needed to be there for pierre last night. at the end of the day, you were still pierre’s best friend, of course you’d be there when pierre needed you. finally, your relationship with the frenchman had changed. charles felt triumphant, and the race hadn’t even started yet. 

he ended the race weekend wishing that it never had. 

he was absolutely mortified, furious. it was a loss, as far as he was concerned, an utterly gut wrenching one. p4 meant absolutely fucking nothing to him. he left the track as soon as he could, trying not to have too much of a pity party. he was still seeing red, literally too, unable to escape the swathes of fans that had come to watch him win. it made him feel sick. he finally seemed able to breath when he’d slammed the door to his apartment, chucking his keys somewhere and his bag down onto the floor.

he wanted another shower, the hurried one he’d had at the track post race leaving him unrelaxed and somehow even more irritated than he already was. he stepped into the large en-suite, turning the water on as hot as it would go, letting the steam fill the bathroom. he stepped back out to get his phone, when he heard a knock on the door. he wondered who would dare bother him now. he grunted, quickly making his way over to the door, ready to tell whoever it was on the other side to fuck off, politely of course. but when he saw you standing there, playing nervously with your rings, a hopeful look in your eyes, he couldn’t find the strength to ask you to leave, no matter how much he wanted to be left alone by everyone. you included. 

“i can’t talk right now.” charles was straight to the point, talking a leaf out of pierre’s book. 

“i didn’t come here to talk.” you affirmed, standing your ground, your darkened eyes telling him exactly what you were here for. 

“then why are you here?” he wanted you to say it. he needed to hear it. 

“to see if i can make you feel better.” the way the words rolled off of your tongue dissolved several years worth of self control. 

he reached out for you and you met him halfway, lips meeting for the third time. charles managed to pull you inside his apartment, blindly shutting his front door behind him as he guided you over to the nearest wall he could find, holding you against it. your hands were in his hair, tugging deliciously at the short strands and he was groaning unabashedly into your mouth. his hands snaked down your body grasping your waist firmly as he deepened the kiss, fingertips gripping your flesh. he wanted you out of the short dress as quick as humanly possible, after all, the shower was waiting. 

charles let his hands wander further, fiddling with the hem of your dress, hands skimming your thighs, before he was picking you up. you almost squealed, throwing your arms around his neck and wrapping your legs around him tightly. he could happily get used to the feeling of you wrapped around him. charles moved you both away from the wall and into his bedroom, not stopping there. he carried you into the en-suite, steam pouring out of the walk in shower, the water hitting the marbled floor in a way that beckoned for you both to get under the stream. 

“care to join me?” his voice was low, gravelly, a clear signpost that he’d had a long, hard day. you smirked. 

“it would be my pleasure.” you whispered in his ear, hands moving to get your dress off as soon as he let your feet touch the ground. charles tried not to completely lose himself in you already, but it was hard not to. he’d wanted this for far too long not to appreciate every second of you on display for him. all for him. he somehow managed to undress himself, spurred along by your increasing nakedness, desperately needing to catch up. he felt less bad about his obvious gawking at you when he noticed you trailing your eyes hungrily over his skin, in a way that told him that you’d needed this for a while, too. 

you turned away to walk towards the shower, slowly making your way underneath the hot water. he watched you go, knowing that he could enjoy the moment, because for once, he’d be able to follow after you. he watched the way the water moved over your skin, leaving you glistening, waiting for him. your hair was slicked back, pushed out of your face, sending tiny droplets of water down your collarbone and over the curve of your breasts. charles watched you for a moment too long, simply trying to convince himself that you were real, that this was actually happening. he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, but he wasn’t about to complain. 

he stepped into the shower, joining you finally. his arms wrapped around your waist, your back flush against his chest, your body feeling everything he had to offer you, and it felt like a lot. he moved your soaked hair over one of your shoulders, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. he nipped at the skin, soothing the bites with his tongue, slowly trailing his hands that had been wrapped around your waist up your body. you threw your head back as he continued to kiss at your neck, whilst his hands moved to cup your breasts. he pinched your nipples, teasing the hardened buds with his fingertips, your quiet moans hitting his ears directly as your head rested against his shoulder. 

charles was growing impatient, and so were you, rolling your hips to grind your ass against him. he moaned at the pressure, placing his hands back on your waist to turn you around to face him. you pulled him in for a kiss as he walked you both further into the shower, until your back was pressed against the wall. it was cold against your heated skin, causing you to shiver, arching further into him. your chests were pushed together, hands back in his hair as you gasped into his mouth.

“what do you want, mon ange?” 

“want you to feel good.” charles was sure he felt all of the blood in his body rush towards his cock. you were quite literally a wet dream. 

“is that all you want, baby? don’t you want me to make you feel good?” charles would have loved some attention for himself, but knew he wouldn’t last if you gave it to him. besides, nothing would have gotten him off as much as seeing you writhing against the shower wall, all because of him. 

he kept one hand on your waist, the other one travelling down your body. he ran his fingers slowly from the top of your thigh down until he was caressing the soft skin of your inner thigh. you were looking at him so desperately, so intensely, that it almost made him dizzy, your eyes never leaving his. one of his fingers ran through your folds, making you hiss, hips instantly bucking at the contact. your reaction spurred him on, two fingers now tracing the seam of your pussy, both digits instantly soaked. he could have cum right then and there, painfully hard at the sight of you, the feel of you on his fingers. the same fingers he used to race around the streets of his hometown. suddenly he didn’t care at all about losing the race. he felt powerful. you made him feel powerful. 

he rubbed his fingers over your clit, slowly at first, until you were needy for him, his name tumbling from your lips in the form of a beg. he replaced his fingers with his thumb, sliding two of his fingers inside of you. you were moaning helplessly at the sensation, taking everything he gave you, without your eyes ever leaving his. it was like you’d both somehow entranced one other, neither of you able to look away, no matter how desperate you were to let your eyes flutter shut as the pleasure overwhelmed you. 

charles continued to fuck you with his fingers, his actions leaving your inner thighs soaking, nothing to do with the hot water pouring over you both. he traced patterns into your clit with the pad of his thumb, toying with his rhythm to keep you on your toes. charles could feel you tightening, inching closer and closer to your orgasm and it drove him insane, desperate to send you over the edge, spiralling for him. soon enough, you were there, panting and whining as you came, trying to pull him closer. 

you kissed him ferociously while he slowed down his ministrations. he pulled his hand away from your wet heat, using it to grab at your thigh and hoist it up over his waist. his body was quickly back against yours, hand splayed across your thigh as he held you against the wall. his nose brushed yours, as he guided his cock through your folds, both your breaths catching as he finally, finally, thrusted into you. as he bottomed out, you melted even further into one another, breath mingling as one of his hands held your thigh that rested on his waist, and the other locked with yours. the hand that held yours raised your clasped hands up and over your head, keeping you pinned against the wall, spread out delectably for him. your free hand was wrapped around his water soaked body, keeping him close as you dug your nails into the muscles of his toned back. 

he rocked into you, over and over, both of your moans meeting between your parted lips, electrifying the air between you. you were insatiable, never faltering, making charles feel better than any other person had to his recollection. you were perfectly in tune with him, body moving with his as if this was the way it was always supposed to be. you must have agreed with that, the way your sounds of pleasure were ricochetting off of the bathroom walls, fuelling charles’ ego in the way a race win never could. just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, you started to clench around him, the hand on his back finding it’s way back into his damp hair, as his hips snapped into yours. he let go of your thigh, bringing his hand between your slick bodies to rub your clit, coaxing you right to the edge. the feeling of your body reacting to him sent his eyes rolling back in his skull. 

“charles, fuck, i’m so close.” you whimpered. he was in ecstasy. 

“yeah? you gonna cum for me, mon ange? hmm?” he managed to get his words out, noting how exhausted, how desperate he sounded. 

charles didn’t get a verbal response from you, only a broken, earth shattering moan that set his entire body on fire. you let yourself go, falling to pieces in his arms and all he could do was watch, quickly meeting his own end. everything was white and hot and every single one of his nerve endings were wired all of the sudden, the hairs on his body standing on end. you shook in his arms, crying out his name one last time as you came back down to earth. 

charles pulled out of you, fucked out smile lazily creeping onto his face. the entirety of monaco chanting his name didn’t even come close to how good you made him feel. you really had meant it when you’d said you wanted to make him feel better. your eyes met and you looked at him shyly, a coy smile on your face that made him want to kiss you forever and ever.

you both stayed underneath the warm water a little while longer, gently washing each other as you relaxed. once you were both done, charles stepped out first, braving the cold air to hand you a fluffy white towel, smiling to himself as you wrapped yourself up in it. this was what he wanted. quiet moments with you that dulled out the background noise. he didn’t just want them in dark booths in clubs and in the back of taxis while pierre rambled to the driver, he wanted them all of the time. he craved this kind of intimacy with you, the domesticity of seeing you in a towel that he owned. 

once you’d both dried off, he found a t-shirt that you could wear, taking your worn dress and placing it with his laundry. he watched your absentmindedly towel dry your hair, the t-shirt hitting your mid thighs as you carded your fingers through the tangles. it was quiet in his bedroom, peaceful. he pulled the covers back on his bed, folding back the covers on the other side of the mattress too. your smile at the gesture told him that you’d stay, that you’d accept his silent offer and join him in the bed. you settled in comfortably beside him, head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you protectively, lovingly. a buzz from the bedside table caused you both to look over, quickly choosing to put your attention back on one another. 

you both ignored the name that lit up your phone, blissfully pretending like neither of you noticed. 

pierre would have to get through this solemn night without you. 

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppetangelika @wmaximoffz @starlightoctavia @japanesekel @stardustinggold @vinvantae @chaoticallypan @ashleyo1611 @ggaslyp1 @poofy-baby-unicorns @dr3lover @smiithys  @turningxstrange @lees0015 @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @1missglum1 @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @shinydragondelusion @alexk2002 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @f-1-fan

long story short, the taglist got a bit broken and now looks like this lol. hmu if you wanna be added or removed <33

[vamossainz55]

Moonlight Ch. 9 | Carlos Sainz Jr. x Reader

hey guys!! so chapter nine is here. not my proudest moment but i think it's cause it's mainly filler except the end. i wanted to include more about carlos' perspective and how he feels about y/n (lmk if you liked it!). if i'm being honest this is the first time i am writing something long so i'm still trying to figure out continuity, timelines, etc. i am usually a one shot gal. i hope you all enjoy though!! the next chapters will be more interesting <333.

warnings: a bit of toxic reader and toxic carlos, and swearing, but apart from that pretty tame (esp. in comparison to the last chapter oops).

moonlight masterlist here.

link to chapter eight here <3.

Chapter 9 (5.3k)

Carlos would describe himself as a man of logic, always taking a step back and looking at the facts before making a decision. He loves breaking every little thing into parts to understand it all, loving the way he could know something from the inside and out. 

He prided himself on how level headed he could be, how even in racing he would get into the nitty gritty. The balance of the car, the temperature, the thickness of the tyre. He loved how every single thing had an explanation, giving him a sense of security that in fact, he knew what was going on and why things unfolded the way they did. Whether he was performing extra well, or why he was losing pace, everything had a reason. 

And that's how he carried himself in every aspect of his life, looking at everything logically and making sense of it before making a decision. 

Everything except for you.

Most times Carlos is with you it’s like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He would almost say he’s on auto drive but instead of his mind guiding him he’s following every single pull his heart gets. It’s like he’s a puppet on strings but instead of a puppeteer it’s you. But it’s also so easy with you that he doesn’t need to think, always taking a step forward without planning out the path before him. 

Logic never failed him, but no matter how hard he tried, logic just never exists when you’re around. He can’t think, every single important fact thrown out the window. 

Did it make sense to invite you drunk into his room in Barcelona? No. 

Did it make sense to sleep with you knowing you were staying with Bastien? No. 

But nothing ever made sense when it came to you. 

He’s gripping the steering wheel tight, so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. The sight of you down on your knees for him is still imprinted in his mind, and to make matters worse, the sounds you were letting out were still ringing in your ears. He’s chewing at his bottom lip so hard that he can swear he almost tastes blood. The memory of you both is relentlessly replaying as he keeps on driving. It almost felt like a punishment. 

He’s not even home yet, still driving from your apartment with the shirt you had given back to him sitting on the passenger seat. 

He knows he shouldn’t have done it, regardless of how big of an asshole your boyfriend was it was still wrong. There’s no ounce of guilt in his being though, the sense of satisfaction of having you in front of him, ready to do anything defeats any possible remorse he had.

Call him selfish but if that was the last time he ever had you he would do it a thousand times over. 

It’s only when he’s back at the apartment that the conversation you both had in the car settles. He’s holding onto the shirt you’ve given back, and he’s about to throw it to the wash when he realises it smells like you. He hesitates for a second, wondering whether he really wanted to wash it or not. He gives the pile of dirty clothes a look before he’s turning on his heel, deciding to put the shirt to the side for now. 

He tries to distract himself from thinking too much, even sets up the simulator and texts Lando in hopes that the younger driver was available for a quick session. He’s already seated on the chair, leaning his head back but he’s impatient, scrolling through his and Lando’s texts as if it was going to get Lando to reply faster. His thumb hovers over the call button for a second before he lets out a soft sigh. 

He was getting antsy and he needed to calm himself down, but he couldn't stop thinking about your words. He never knew the break up affected you that much. Or maybe he never wanted to admit that to himself.

The memory of the morning you both broke up is still crystal clear. Despite it already being two years Carlos still remembers the moment perfectly. 

You were laying on his chest, cheek pressed against his torso as you were fast asleep, taking deep and tired breaths. Carlos as always was the one to wake up first, always being a better morning person than you. His fingers trace your bare back and he can’t help but shift a bit to give your head a gentle kiss. 

It didn’t go according to plan. He had wanted to end things at your door, to rip off the band-aid as quickly as possible but he couldn’t refuse you with the way you had looked at him when he had turned up unannounced. 

It’s not that things were going bad back then, they were just not going great. No matter how hard you both tried to make things better and to work things out you would both go into small petty arguments that had you both upset for a far bit too long. 

Frankly you both weren’t ready yet to be so far apart, and the busy schedules were only making things harder. More than anything Carlos couldn’t stand seeing you wear yourself thin. You were staying up late for him, making sure to adjust to his timezone, his schedule, anything to get you both to still talk. It’s not like Carlos wasn’t trying, but deep down he knew you were trying harder, and he couldn’t give you his one hundred percent when in reality you were giving him your one hundred and five percent. 

He didn’t see how it was fair. 

Which is why when you were both having breakfast that morning Carlos gave the final push. 

“Y/n, listen.” He had started off, and he remembers the way you had wrapped your arms around his waist, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. 

You hadn’t expected it at all.

“What?” You had asked, stepping away from him quickly, he remembered reaching for you but the only thing that did was get you to move further away. “You want to break up?” 

And looking back, Carlos should have heard it in your voice, seen it in your face. The way your entire body tensed, tight lipped and suddenly cold. 

“Look, I just think we need some space.” Carlos says and he’s leaning back on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just think we’ve been having a rough patch- and it’s been going for a bit too long no?” Carlos asks, looking over at you. 

“Aren’t you tired y/n?” It’s a question that he thinks would be easy for you to answer but instead you’re staring at him. There’s a beat of silence in between and for a second Carlos doesn’t think you’re going to answer. 

“Yeah, I guess.” You mumble once you’ve looked away and Carlos doesn’t question the way you turn a bit from him. 

“I’m tired too, and I just need to focus on my racing, you know?” Carlos says and again you just nod. The air in the room is thick and Carlos needs to clear his throat a bit. You’re suddenly unreadable and he doesn’t know what to say.

“But we can still be friends.” is what he tries next and he remembers waiting for you to respond. You finally turn after a moment and there’s a small smile on your lips but the longer he remembers it the more he realises it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Okay, yeah. That sounds good.” Your voice is shorter than he’s used to but he’s soon wrapping his arms around you when you reach for a hug. 

The hug felt weird and distant and he remembers that as soon as you both pulled away you were going to grab the plates for breakfast, ending the conversation all together. Breakfast went by eerily normally- to the point that Carlos thought yeah, it was all going to be fine and that was that.

You both didn’t really talk after that, the communication between you two being cut off on the get go. He wasn’t going to lie, there were a few drunk calls here and there, where one of you was sputtering about missing the other but apart from that he barely heard from you and you barely heard from him. 

Stupidly enough he thought- well he told himself that you needed space. That maybe you just needed some time to just figure out how your dynamics could return back to normal, when you were both just friends. 

He wasn’t ready to admit to himself that he had probably hurt you- and he couldn’t bring himself to face you. It was best for you after all for you two to break up. 

He’s staring at the main screen of his simulator, mind wrapped around the memory of you two breaking up. Had he really made the right decision back then? Why hadn’t you put up a fight?

He’s soon brought back to reality when his phone buzzes on his thigh, Lando’s text coming in and saying that he was turning on his system. Carlos lets out a sigh before turning his settings to multiplayer. 

_______________

Melbourne is weird. It’s like you’re not on bad terms- but you’re both not on good terms either. You all arrive early within the week in hopes to adjust to the time zone difference. From the moment you were both at the airport Carlos’ eyes were searching for you and to his disappointment from the second you arrived you were busy talking to others. 

It wasn’t different to what he expected though, he remembered you telling him that you needed the space, that you both shouldn’t- no, couldn’t be friends, but his fingers are aching to touch your skin. He feels a bit insatiated, but you look so busy and there are so many people around that he knows better than to approach you. 

Maybe not in the airport he decides, but he definitely hopes to catch you in the hotel.

It only becomes worse because seeing you around the hotel was nearly impossible. The airport still had allowed him to catch short glimpses of you and he had managed to approach you once or twice, although you had managed to slip away before he could really catch you. 

The hotel is a different story though as he doesn’t even manage to catch you once. It’s driving him mad knowing that you’re so close but somehow still out of reach. He still manages to catch Tom every now and then, and he tries his best to sneak in a curious question or two about you but you’re always out and doing something. He even considers just asking for your room number but he realises that’s too much and that he in fact needed to respect the boundaries. 

Before he knows it the media day is starting and he’s busier than ever, jumping in between interviews with Lando, and trying his best to stay focused on the race ahead of him. If he was being honest- he was never really the biggest fan of media days, but he found himself relaxing a bit more around Lando, unable to hold his laugh whenever the younger guy made a joke. He also found himself messing around more, relaxing and having fun with his teammate. He was thankful that regardless of what was going on he was still buzzing, ready to get in the car. 

He finally sees you after a long media day, having run around the track for the last hour or so, recording some content for the McLaren youtube channel. You’re with Tom in the newly set garage, clipboard on your hand. 

Carlos greets a few of the engineers, looking over the car and letting out a nervous yet excited sigh. He really couldn’t wait to kick off the season. 

He can faintly hear your conversation with Tom, talking about how practice was going to go the next day. He’s trying his best not to look over to not catch your attention, but he can feel your eyes already on him.

“Carlos,” It’s Tom that calls him over and gets him to turn. You’re still standing next to Tom when he walks over and he’s nodding at you both. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” Carlos asks and he forces himself to look at Tom instead of you. 

“It’s going well, we're just planning the strategy on how to run practice. You’re done with the media hm?” Tom asks and you’re all soon walking over to sit down and discuss what the day would look like tomorrow. 

As soon as you all sit you speak up, asking Carlos if he was comfortable with testing on the hard tyres first. Your voice almost startles him and he wonders whether you knew the effect you had on him.

Apparently the set up is still extremely similar to Barcelona but with the difference in temperatures there were a few things that you all had to take into account coming into the practice. 

Carlos listens intently, chipping in some suggestions here and there on what to change in the car if needed along with Tom who mostly agrees. 

“Y/n, can you summarise all the points and send it out to the team before the end of the day? Just so everyone has everything on hand and ready for the briefing.”  Tom suggests as he gets up. 

“Okay, okay, will do.” You say before Tom is walking away. You’re going to get up when Carlos nudges your foot, getting you to pause and look at him instead. 

“How was the flight?” Carlos asks and he almost cringes at how formal the question sounds. It’s a pretty awful way of trying chit-chat but he just wants to talk to you. 

You give him a small smile, and Carlos doesn’t know if it’s forced or if it’s a pitiful look you’re giving him. At this point he’ll take anything.

“It was good.” You answer, “how was yours?” 

“It was nice. Lando did annoy me the whole flight though, but I guess I need to get used to that.” Carlos jokes and you let out a small laugh. 

“I can imagine.” You say before smiling again and this time Carlos really looks at you and he realises something. You look exhausted. 

“If you need some help with some recapping of what we discussed with Tom I can help.” Carlos offers and to his surprise you’re nodding, getting up. He gets up with you, soon following you to the meeting room. 

“I should send it in at least an hour before the briefing hm?” You ask him as you sit yourself down, opening your laptop that you had gotten along the way there. Carlos gives you a nod, resting his hand on his chin as he watches you open a blank document. 

It feels eerily normal, the way you both are just discussing the strategy, going through numbers, codes, it almost makes him forget how you were both three days ago. He’s getting distracted though as he sees you move your hair to the back, and his eyes can’t help but look over your neck, soon catching a small glimpse of the mark he had left behind, creeping so beautifully under your collar. He wonders if they were all still there. 

“Carlos,” You call out and he realises he’s zoned out. 

“What? Sorry.” He says and you’re nodding at the clipboard, asking him to read something for you. He picks it up quickly, reading your writing out loud. 

“Uhm- that should be it.” He says once you’ve both proofread the document. He lets you send out the email, shifting a bit to better face you once you’re done.

As soon as you press send he’s clearing his throat. “So, are we really not going to talk about what happened,” He says and you’re already shaking your head. 

“Carlos, I told you what I had to say about that already.” You murmur already closing your laptop. “Let’s not rehash it.” He’s about to argue but you’re already getting up. 

“I need to help some people around before the meeting, so I’ll see you later, yeah?” You say and Carlos lets out a heavy sigh, feeling himself get frustrated. 

“Fine.” Carlos murmurs, getting up as well. He doesn’t know what he expected, you had been clear with what you wanted, but a part of him still hoped differently. You both head out of the meeting room silently before splitting ways. 

Free practice goes well, the car feels good and Carlos feels confident throughout all three practices. The balance is just right, and despite the slight understeer Carlos knew he could push with the car. The midfield looks competitive, and he hopes that he and Lando can climb up the times. 

He barely talks to you, keeping his conversations with you brief and short, limiting it to what was needed for work. It’s not like he likes the arrangement- but you had made it clear that that’s what you wanted and he was starting to feel tired of being the one to try harder. 

It’s fine, it’s not like he didn’t have other things to worry about. He’s training every morning, pushing himself to his limits as he tries to keep his mind focused on qualifying and the race in front of him. He finds some time to mess around with Lando too, the both of them doing some workouts together before Carlos does his pre-qualifying training with Rupert. 

“Come on Carlos, focus.” Rupert says, raising his mitted hands for Carlos to punch. Boxing had become a quick warm up and training that Carlos had grown fond of, focusing his mind on throwing the punches as well as he could before quickly dodging the swings Rupert returned. His eyes and mind are zoned into Rupert, following his instructions as he tries to control his breathing. It’s all fine until an unexpected voice. 

“Carlos?” Your voice startles him and he almost misses the dodge from Rupert’s swing. He’s panting, hunching himself over with his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. 

“That was close,” Rupert says, looking over at you this time before nodding at you to continue. 

You look at Ruper apologetically, “Sorry- we just realised a few things with the car and we need to make a change or two and I know it’s right before qualifying but- we think it’ll help.” You state, looking at Carlos who is slowly standing up straight. He’s in his racing suit, and his fireproofs are clinging a bit more onto his body from the warm weather Melbourne was gifting them with. His outer is tied on his waist, and your eyes are discreetly looking over him. 

Carlos notices but he doesn’t mention it. 

“Give me a second yeah? Can you tell Tom I’ll be there in a bit.” He says and you’re nodding, quickly thanking him before turning on your heels before you’re heading back to the garage. You were always a bit nervous around Rupert, knowing he knew about you and Carlos’ pre-existing relationship. Rupert had been with Carlos the year you two had broken it off, and although he had been very welcoming to you you still liked to keep your distance. 

“What are you two up to?” Rupert asks as Carlos is slowly undoing his boxing gloves. Carlos rolls his eyes at Rupert’s question. If he was being honest, he was quite surprised that he had taken Rupert this long to bring it up. The older lad had asked him once about you and when Carlos had stated that you two just wanted to keep your history to yourself, Rupert had agreed and dropped the conversation.

“What do you mean?” Carlos asks, trying to act clueless but if anything, Carlos Sainz did not know how to act. 

“You think I’m stupid?” Rupert chuckles. “You think I didn’t piece one and two together?” Rupert asks and Carlos scoffs a bit defensively. 

“Just because we dated before doesn’t mean there’s something going on.” He says, handing Rupert his boxing gloves. 

“So nothing is going on between you both now?” Rupert asks and Carlos shakes his head. 

“We’re just working together. All professional.” Carlos says, giving Rupert a shrug but Rupert has a sceptical look on his face. “Seriously,” Carlos says, “She has a boyfriend.” 

Rupert shrugs, as if that meant nothing to him. “So what I’m hearing is that the only thing that’s stopping you is her boyfriend?” Rupert asks. 

Carlos looks over at Rupert, stumped. He hadn’t thought about it. Until now all he wanted was to get closer to you again- but he hadn’t thought that far.  “No, I don’t see her that way anymore. We’re not even friends really,” Carlos says and Rupert rolls his eyes. 

“It looked like you two were getting along there for a few weeks.” He says and Carlos shrugs. 

“Yeah, and?” Carlos responds. He looks at Rupert for a bit and when Rupert doesn’t answer he just turns to the garage. 

“I’ll see you later, thanks mate!” 

_______

Qualifying turns out to be awful. He finds himself fighting the car at every corner and despite how much he was pushing the car it just wasn’t fast enough. He’s frustrated, eyes zoned towards the finish line as he tries to put his time up. 

“Tom, where are we?” He asks just after he crosses the finish line. There’s a small moment of silence before Tom buzzes in. 

“As for now P12.” Tom says and Carlos can’t help but grit his teeth before letting out a frustrated sigh. It was high enough to be out of Q1 but he knew there were many cars following close behind. It’s when he’s almost at the pits that Tom dials in with another update. 

“P18 Carlos, we are P18.” Tom says and Carlos holds himself back from swearing, letting out a deep breath instead as he slowly parks the car towards the crew. 

“Sorry- ah- sorry guys. I really tried.” He says as the team slowly pulls the car. “And Lando?” Carlos asks.

“P8, we will talk after.” Tom says and Carlos can’t help but clench his jaw at that.

He’s happy for his teammate, he really is, but a part of him is frustrated with his own performance. What was he doing wrong? Why did the car feel so off? 

As soon as he’s getting out of the car he’s letting out a sigh. He’s taking off his helmet, letting out a frustrated breath as he goes around the garage with an apology before he goes to the pitwall. He catches a glimpse of you from the corner of his eyes but he doesn’t stop, deciding to sit at the pitwall, giving everyone a quick side hug before settling down and putting on the headphones. He spends his time there until the end, watching Lando climb up and into Q3 and lets out a breath when he watches it happen. He’s not jealous, but disappointed in himself.

It’s only later in the debrief that he sees you again, and this time he notices that you are wearing a small frown yourself. As always you were the first one there, having set up most of the meetings. Your eyes are focused on your screen typing some things out as you pinch your bottom lip in concentration. 

He doesn’t plan to sit next to you, still slightly annoyed at how you had cut the conversation short but before he notices the rest of the team is piling in and taking seats. He shuffles around before he realises the closest empty chair is the one next to you so he decides to pull it out before sitting down. 

“Hey,” He says softly, sighing as he leans back. There is still chatter amongst all the team and Carlos expects you to just give him a short answer back. But to his surprise you’re turning a bit towards him.

“You okay?” You ask, and he looks over to you before nodding. He feels the tension in his shoulders relax slightly. 

“It was a shitty qualifying.” Carlos murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

It’s your soft laugh that has him furrowing his brows. “It was yeah, but hey at least we know there’s something wrong now than in the race hm?” You say with a small smile. “It was rough but I’m sure we can manage to fix it by tomorrow.” 

Carlos huffs a bit at how nonchalant you’re being but he finds himself smiling as well, letting out a small breath. 

“Yeah yeah, you’re right.” Carlos smiles back at you, soon looking over Tom who was also taking his seat. 

The debriefing goes a bit too long for his liking, but he knows it’s necessary. All the changes that were made in the car somehow felt worse but after some digging around you all manage to figure out what to do to fix it. If he was being honest it was highly discouraging to start from the back, but he knew that this only meant one thing: it was time to climb up the grid. 

Oddly enough, throughout the meeting Carlos could feel you stealing glances at him, and whenever he tried to catch your eyes you were looking away. He doesn’t question you, not until you’re both leaving the briefing room and he catches you by your elbow. 

“Why were you looking at me all the time?” Carlos asks and it’s almost adorable the way your cheeks turn a bit red, creeping all the way down your neck.

“Nothing, I was just worried and wanted to make sure you were good.” You say before shrugging. “I need to go before the team leaves without me.” You say but Carlos can’t help but stop you from walking, shifting to block your way. 

“I can always drive you home.” He says and he rolls his eyes when you let out a soft laugh. 

“Carlos,” You say and despite you shaking your head the answer isn’t enough for him. 

“Y/n,” He jokes back and this time it’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

“No matter how many times you ask, the answer is still no. And with the media and all the fans here? No way.” You say before you reach over to him to get him to move. Instead he pulls you to his driver’s room, shutting the door behind him. 

“I hate this.” Carlos says and you’re looking over at him, now frowning yourself. 

“Hate what?” You ask and Carlos lets out a sigh. 

“This, how we are.” He murmurs. “I want us to be okay- I know what we did was wrong and I understand Bastien not wanting us to hang out or whatever. I wouldn’t like it either if I was him. But I hate it.” Carlos says and he’s not entirely sure why he’s telling you all of this, but the words are already out, floating in the space between you. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to do about it” You sound a bit annoyed. 

“That’s it?” He asks but he’s met with silence from your end. “Look- I don’t know what to do or how to act around you.” He continues. “We’re acting like everything is normal- but we’re not friends either- but you know we’re not just colleagues. I don’t want to just be colleagues.” Carlos says in slight frustration. 

You look tired too, and he doesn’t understand why you’re doing this not only to him but to yourself. If you had told him to fuck off, to turn around and not look back he would listen to you, but you didn’t, and he knows you won’t. 

“Can we just have a conversation without this needing to be brought up?” You ask again and this time you sound exasperated. Carlos wants to tell you no he doesn’t want to stop bringing this up, he’s sick of you both acting like nothing was going on. Before he speaks though, your phone is ringing and you’re quick to check your screen. You spare him a quick glance. 

“It’s Bastien.” You say and you’re pressing your phone to your cheek. The way you call him darling has Carlos rolling his eyes.

“I’m still on track but I’ll be back in the hotel soon.” You say into the phone and you’re turning your back to Carlos, covering your other ear to hear Bastien properly. Carlos has to piece your conversation together, but he hears his name thrown into the conversation. 

“I’m going home with a colleague from the media team,” You say and Carlos doesn’t know what comes over him. Whether it’s how annoyed he is at the car, qualifying, at you, or just so downright jealous that he finds himself leaning over. At first he thinks about whispering it into your ear, but he’s soon leaning towards the phone instead. It would be funny, no? 

“Hm? I thought you were going back with me.” He says and before he knows it he’s feeling a hard shove to his chest. He stumbles back this time but he catches himself on his feet only catching the sight of your back. 

“Babe- that wasn’t him. It’s just a friend that was messing with me.” He hears you say as you’re leaving his room, slamming the door behind you. 

He can hear you talk right outside the door and he lets out a sharp breath, running his fingers through his hair. There’s a part of him that feels satisfied, and he knows it’s wrong, but if he cared about Bastien’s feelings he wouldn’t have put himself in this situation in the first place. 

There’s a bit more arguing coming from you before it just becomes silent and for a second he thinks you might have just walked away to talk to him somewhere else. 

He opens the door to peek out and instead he finds you in front of the door, and he swallows thickly at the sight. 

“It was a joke,” Carlos murmurs when he sees you holding your head in one of your hands. He can hear you let out a small sniffle and he reaches for your arm. 

“Is there actually something wrong with you?” Your voice is laced with venom and it’s so cold that he needs to take a step back, surprised at your tone. “That wasn’t fucking funny Carlos. Jokes are meant to be funny.” You’re livid and as soon as your eyes meet his Carlos knows he’s really messed up. 

“Look- he shouldn’t have gotten pissed at a joke like that.” Carlos scoffs defensively. 

“Fuck you Carlos, honestly.” You say before stepping closer towards him. The words you say next stick with him. “Just cause you fucked up your own weekend doesn’t mean you should fuck up others hm? Try not to make others miserable too.” You say and it hits too close to home for Carlos not to say anything back. 

“Well, if you cared so much about your relationship you shouldn’t have let me fuck you no?” Carlos bites back and he doesn’t know where the words are coming from, but he has all this pent up anger that he just needs to let out. “You’re miserable already! I can’t believe you’re going around blaming me for your relationship problems. Get a hold of yourself.” 

“Just fucking stay away okay? Unless its about work I don’t want to fucking hear it. I mean it this time. Fuck you.” You say before you’re turning back around, already pressing your phone against your ear to what Carlos assumed to be calling Bastien again. 

You leave him alone in the room and as much as he tries to clear his head he can’t. He’s pissed. 

And the next day when you both cross paths without uttering a single word to each other after his power unit failure, Carlos really wonders if it was really worth it.

fin.

link to chapter 10 here

a/n: hope y'all enjoyed and i would love some input !!! didn't like the chapter, but i wanted to add a bit more of the other perspective but maybe that's why i struggled a bit hehe. hope it was nice to also include a bit more of their breakup. i am planning to add more snippets from the past as it progresses more (courtesy of the idea to @ihearttheoriginals)

as always i would love to hear what you think <33.

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[standing-restart]

multiple drivers sharing... like maybe a grid gangb-- (GUNSHOTS)

Don’t you dare make those sounds, because if we go down, we go down together (pun intended? maybe? who knows -)

I’ve written about a grid gangbang once before (find it here) but you know I’m always down to write more about that, so here we go!

If I’m honest, I just think it would be mostly giggly, rather than just straight up porn hot. These men are always competing with one another, always trying to end up on top, so they are bound to make slight fools of themselves in a situation like this. At least one person fumbles while trying to take their pants off, another hits their head against the headboard. It’s simply the way things are, but that doesn’t mean that those guys don’t know how to make you moan and beg.

I’m going to be thinking of this as some sort of free use scenario, where you’re quite literally passed around from one cock to another. Fernando would lift you off Lewis’ lap only to bend you over the couch, and Esteban, being a little shit the man’s understudy in crime would waste no time when it comes to getting his dick inside your mouth.

Are they using all your holes? Oh, yeah, absolutely. Kevin bites the skin of your shoulder, while Mick just plays with your chest. I genuinely think that they would have conversations around you, when they’re not busy using you, they’re talking about tyre degradation or something equally boring.

The ‘older’ drivers would love to show the younger ones how it’s done. Lewis and Sebastian sandwiching you between the two of them? Both fucking into you at a brutal pace? Hello?!

Lance ties your hands behind your back. Checo wraps his belt around your neck to guide you while he fucks your throat. Genuinely, before all of them are done, you’re going to be properly fucked and used. Alex makes a mess out of the spilled cum at least one of them has spilled on your chest. Max makes you lick his fingers clean after he’s fingered you.

Lando brings out the toys, and Yuki is an absolute demon with them as he holds a vibrator against your clit while Pierre fucks you slow and steady. Daniel got his hands on chocolate somehow, and will absolutely lick it off your stomach. Charles simply does a bodyshot off you. It’s a good thing every last one of them can afford the prices for the hotel mini bar because I just know they’re plundering it each and every time.