#car and driver hire uk

[wellourgerdes]

As Directed Chauffeur Service

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[britwayairporttransfer]

Britway Airport Transfer – Your Trusted Partner for Reliable, Comfortable & Professional Private Hire Services Across the UK. With Our Fleet of Modern Vehicles and Experienced, Licensed Drivers, We Deliver Punctual Airport Transfers, Corporate Travel Solutions, and Luxury Chauffeur Services. Whether You Need a Quick Ride to Heathrow or Premium Transport for Special Occasions, We Make Every Journey Stress-Free. Book Your 5-Star Rated Transfer Today!

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[ur-mag]

‘World’s most dangerous job’ is HIRING as driver needed to steer 800mph Bloodhound supersonic car – will you apply? | In Trend Today

‘World’s most dangerous job’ is HIRING as driver needed to steer 800mph Bloodhound supersonic car – will you apply? Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[oddlydescriptive]

Reset, Chapter One

Series Masterlist

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December 26, 2022. Milton Keynes, UK.

As bad things often do, it starts with wine and sentimentality-at least on your part. You’re not sure Max Verstappen is capable of something so pedestrian as sentiment.

You’ve shared… many things with Max. Loathing, mostly. But also a track, stuffy marketing events, opposite ends of long conference tables at the factory. A handful of tense, clipped conversations that ended in rolled eyes and barely concealed contempt. But loathing- yes, that’s the main thing.

And yet, here you are.

“Well?” His voice is low, rough around the edges. There’s entirely too little space between you, lips parted, eyes dark as sin. “What’s the verdict?”

The verdict?

For a moment, you can’t even remember what you were thinking before he spoke. Something important, probably. Something rational.

Oh. Right. 

How the fuck did this happen?

Wine. Loneliness. A sick desire for some version of Christmas that doesn’t completely fucking suck. Maybe that’s how this- the hot, consuming press of his mouth against yours, the breathless heat still lingering between you- combusted into existence. But that’s not how all of this started.

No. That started months ago, on a pit wall across the Atlantic. 

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Five Months Before, August 20, 2022. Worldwide Technology Raceway.

There’s a reason they call it competitive suicide.

Dale Coyne Racing is where talent goes to die- where decent drivers get ground down into nothing, where you get ground down into nothing. There’s no faith, no investment, no future here. You’re not their driver. Not really. You’re a placeholder, a warm body they can shove into a car when the boss’s son wrecks one too many chassis. A novelty they can parade around when they need to pretend they’re modern and progressive- a woman in their car, see? How inspiring.

Their car is a joke. A Frankenstein’s monster of outdated concepts and desperate engineering, held together with duct tape, stubbornness, and wishful thinking. It handles like a shopping cart with a broken wheel, understeers into corners, and then suddenly- violently- snaps into oversteer when you least expect it. The power delivery is shit. The brakes are worse.

The engineers know it. They all know it.

And still, every time you fight tooth and nail just to drag the thing across the line, they act like you’re the problem. Like it’s you who’s asking too much from the car. Like you should be grateful for the opportunity to pilot this rolling embarrassment.

The worst part? You are grateful. Because there aren’t many other options.

Not many teams are lining up to hire a woman. That’s the real fucking truth, the one nobody likes to say out loud. You could be better than half the grid, but when it comes down to it, you’re not one of the boys. You don’t have an automatic in with the old-guard team bosses, the ex-drivers turned management who only see their past selves in the drivers they choose. So you grit your teeth, push the useless fucking thing as fast as it’ll go, and tell yourself that points are points, even if they’re scraped out of misery one at a time.

You’d rather be anywhere else.

But instead, you’re here- sitting in the tight, suffocating cockpit of your Dale Coyne IndyCar, fighting a machine that doesn’t want to cooperate. The steering feels like shit, the setup feels like shit, and the tires are giving up on you way too soon. You’re fighting with every muscle in your body just to wrangle the damn thing around the track, squeezing every last bit of pace out of a car that has no business being on this grid.

And then- impact.

A split-second warning, a flicker of movement in your mirrors, and then your own goddamn teammate- fucking idiot- clips your rear tire, sending you into a spin. Your stomach lurches as the car snaps around, momentum carrying you straight into the wall. The sickening crunch of carbon fiber shattering around you barely registers before you slam to a stop.

Silence. Then static in your ear.

"You alright?" Your engineer, not sounding particularly concerned. Not like this is surprising. You don’t answer. Not yet. You’re too busy breathing, swallowing down the molten rage rising in your throat.

Then you key the radio. "Yeah." Your voice is clipped, devoid of anything but the raw edge of exhaustion. You climb out of the car, shaking out your hands, flexing stiff fingers against the uselessness of it all. The safety crew checks you over, but you barely hear them. It takes everything in you to walk back to the pits instead of finding your dumbass teammate and tearing him apart with your bare hands.

You should have seen today’s disaster coming. Your teammate- if you can even call him that- has wrecked you before. It’s almost routine at this point. The team never does anything about it. No real reprimands, no apologies, no accountability. Just another shrug, another "racing incident," another round of well, if you had just backed off, maybe that wouldn’t have happened.

Back off.

As if you have the luxury of backing off when your entire fucking career is balanced on a knife’s edge.

And now here you are, standing in the garage, helmet in hand, jaw clenched so tightly it might snap. The garage is silent when you step in. Or maybe you just can’t hear past the blood roaring in your ears. The team- if you can call this pile of underqualified morons a team- is already moving on, treating you like an afterthought.

No one’s looking at you. No one’s talking to you. No one gives a shit. Your wrecked car is being wheeled back, and they’re already moving on, like you didn’t just get speared into the wall by your own goddamn teammate. You snatch your phone from your pile of things on the bench and jam it into the waistband of your fireproofs- retreat to a corner of the garage to seethe.

If you were on fire in the middle of the pit lane, these people wouldn’t piss on you to put it out.

Your seat was always temporary.

Your teeth grind so hard your skull aches. You’re two seconds from lighting someone up just to make them react to something, fucking anything, when your phone buzzes.

You pay it little mind, ready to ignore whatever fresh bullshit is waiting for you. Another racing journalist already circling for a soundbite? A patronizing text from your team about “unfortunate circumstances”? PR telling you to keep your answers positive in post-race interviews?

But when you wipe the sweat from the screen and squint, your frustration flickers into confusion.

Incoming Call — Unknown Number (Europe)

You stare at it. A telemarketer? A wrong number? A scam? The incoming call window closes, and you’re staring at your home screen again. (1) Missed Calls. 

You almost let it go. Almost toss your phone onto the table and keep pacing, keep seething. But something in you, some quiet, persistent part of your brain that still believes in Santa and unicorns, tells you to call back.

You hit the button. The line rings twice.

"LeChriste?" It’s crisp, clipped, professional. Male. Not familiar. But there’s something there- something sharp, something important.

Your grip tightens around your phone. "Yeah? Who’s this?"

"Franz Tost, team principal of Scuderia AlphaTauri." For half a second, you think you’ve imagined it. AlphaTauri. Formula 1. Franz Tost. The words don’t compute, don’t settle. It doesn’t make sense. Because why the fuck would someone from F1- someone from Red Bull’s junior team- be calling you?

"Right," you manage, forcing your voice to stay even. "And you’re looking for me?"

"I wouldn’t be calling otherwise." Fair enough.

You take a step back, pressing your fingers to your temple. Your heartbeat has changed- it’s not just pounding with anger now. It’s something else. Something sharper. "How’d you even get this number?"

"Christian Horner gave it to me."

Your stomach drops. Christian Horner. The team principal of Red Bull Racing. The guy running the best car on the grid, the one responsible for Seb Vettel’s dominance, for king-killer Max Verstappen, the guy at the helm of one of the biggest single seater operations in the world. That Christian Horner. 

You inhale through your nose, trying to keep your pulse steady, gripping your phone like a lifeline. Professional. Stay professional. "What can I do for you, Mr. Tost?"

There’s a slight pause before he speaks, like he’s already bracing himself. "I assume you’ve heard of Yuki Tsunoda?"

You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh before you can stop yourself. It’s too loud, too immediate. You wince at the sound of it, clearing your throat quickly to mask the awkwardness. "Uh, yeah," you say, forcing your voice back to neutral. "I watch Formula 1. Believe it or not."

There’s a long pause. Too long. Franz doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t react at all, really.

Jesus. Tough crowd.

"Good," he says finally, completely unfazed, his tone so dry it could ignite a brush fire. "He’s just undergone an emergency appendectomy. And we have a race in less than a week."

You freeze. Your heart picks up speed, but you force yourself to stay still. Stay neutral. Don’t react yet. "Right." You shift your weight. "And?"

"And I don’t have a lot of faith in our current reserve driver." Your lips part slightly. That’s… blunt. You weren’t expecting that level of honesty.

"So, what, you want me to- " you make a vague motion with your free hand, "-be the backup for the backup?"

"I want to see if you can be the backup," Franz corrects. Something cracks in your ribs. Not pain, not panic, but something more profound. The kind of break that feels like a door swinging open.

"Okay." The word comes out steadier than you expect, though your pulse is doing its best impression of a hummingbird’s wings. You square your shoulders, trying to sound measured and professional, like you totally understand what’s happening here and aren’t still two steps away from a full-blown existential crisis. "So you’re just… bringing me in? Throwing me in the car?"

"No." Franz’s voice is firm, edged with something that makes it very clear that whatever delusions you may have had need to be checked immediately. "You are being given a chance to earn a seat for the weekend. You will be tested. Evaluated. We have a reserve driver already- Liam Lawson. I assume you’ve heard of him?"

Your stomach clenches. Of course, you’ve heard of Liam. Red Bull’s academy prospect, the next in line, the logical heir to a temporary seat exactly like the one you’re being offered a chance to fight for. He’s been groomed for this, has the full weight of the Red Bull machine behind him, the kind of backing you don’t.

"Yeah," you say, and suddenly your mouth is dry.

"Good," Franz continues, tone unwavering. "You’ll both be in FP1. If you perform well enough- if you can out-pace him- we’ll consider putting you in the car for the full weekend. If you don’t, you’ll be on the next flight home, and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened."

The words hit like a bucket of ice water. You’d been holding onto this flickering belief- this idea that maybe, maybe, they had already decided you were good enough. That you were stepping into a race seat outright, even if just for a weekend. That someone, somewhere, had already chosen you.

They haven’t.

This is a gamble.

And you still have to win.

"So, just to be clear," you say slowly, dragging a hand down your face, "if I suck, I don’t go into quali?"

"Correct."

"And if I don’t suck?"

"Then we’ll talk about Saturday and Sunday."

You exhale sharply, jaw tightening. "Right. No pressure, then."

"There is pressure," Franz corrects. "You’ll also need to take media duties, regardless of how you perform. There’s already interest in the fact that a woman might be stepping into an F1 car for the first time in years. If we’re going to capitalize on that, we need you to be professional, presentable, and cooperative with PR."

The word capitalize sticks in your brain like gum on a shoe. "Ah." You blink, trying to process what he’s really saying. "So I’m a diversity hire?"

"No," he says flatly, no hesitation. "You are a marketing opportunity."

A sharp laugh leaves you before you can stop it, humorless and exasperated all at once. You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Fantastic."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, no," you say quickly, shaking your head. "I love being a prop.”

There’s a pause, and you definitely hear him sigh this time. Not annoyed- more like resigned, like he already knows exactly what he’s about to get himself into. "We can’t pay you much," he says, not like it’s an afterthought, but like it’s a formality, a line he already knows won’t matter.

The laugh that escapes you this time is real, sharp and immediate. "I don’t care about money." The words leave you fast, without hesitation, because they’re true.

There’s a small beat of silence, and when he speaks again, his voice is edged with something knowing, something wry.

"Figured," he says, almost to himself. "The ones that probably should care about money never do." You don’t know if that’s a compliment, an observation, or a warning, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t hesitate. Not now. Not when the door is cracked open and all you have to do is walk through it.

"Done."

"Pack your bags," Franz says, and there’s something final in his tone. Like a line has just been drawn in the sand. "We need you in Belgium as soon as possible."

You’re already moving, already grabbing your duffel, stuffing things inside with quick, frantic movements like this opportunity might vanish if you take too long.

"I can be at STL in thirty-five minutes."

Franz doesn’t reply, but the call clicks off.

That’s it.

No fanfare. No congratulations. Just a chance. Just the fight you’re about to throw yourself into. And fuck, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They don’t measure and weigh drivers by reaction times for nothing- you’re in motion before your phone has even gone back to the home screen. Every second you waste standing here is one more second someone else could be getting that call. That seat. That chance.

Your hands move on autopilot, shoving gear into your duffel with the frantic, uncoordinated speed of someone packing up their entire life in real-time. Fireproofs, helmet bag, travel essentials- you don’t stop to think, don’t stop to fold, don’t stop to make sense of what’s going where. It doesn’t matter. You need to go. You need to get on a fucking plane.

The zipper jams for half a second, and you nearly rip the damn thing off trying to get it closed.

Then you hear it. "Hey, 66! Reserve!" The voice echoes through the garage, sharp and accusatory. You don’t stop moving. "The fuck do you think you’re doing?"

Kevin.

Pit Boss. Team Manager. Professional asshole.

You should have expected this. Hell, you did expect this. You just thought you might have gotten out before he caught you. That was a mistake. You glance up, keeping your expression level, because no matter what comes out of his mouth next, you are not letting this guy see you rattled. "Packing."

His face is already turning red. It’s almost funny- like he’s been waiting for this exact moment just to finally unleash on you. The same man who never looked at you twice unless he needed something, unless the boss’s son had embarrassed himself one too many times and they needed you to come in and scrape together whatever dignity the team had left.

But now?

Now that you’re leaving?

Suddenly, you’re the most important fucking thing in the world.

"Packing? You think you can just fucking pack? Where the fuck do you think you’re going? We have a race happening, in case you forgot!"

You shoulder your bag, biting down hard on the instinct to snap back. You’re already halfway out the door. You do not need to burn every bridge on your way out. Racing is a small world. Even in a shithole like this, people talk.

"I appreciate the opportunity- "

"Appreciate the- " He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. "You’re really doing this? You’re just fucking walking out?"

"Yes."

The word lands between you, clean and final.

And that is what sets him off.

"Unbelievable," Kevin snarls, stepping in closer, voice rising. "Do you have any fucking clue what you’re doing? You think anyone else is going to take you? Give me a fucking break, kid. You’re here because no one else wanted you. You’re nothing without us."

You should ignore him. You should just keep walking. But something about the way he says it- the pure audacity- stops you cold. Because it’s not just an insult. It’s what they’ve always thought.

They never saw you as a driver. Not really.

Dale Coyne Racing has never been a real team, not in the way the others were. Their entire philosophy was built around pay drivers, the rich boys who bought their way in, who treated their race seats like VIP experiences- something their daddy’s money entitled them to. And because of that, the whole team functioned like a luxury service in kissing ass. The staff were there to cater to them, to make them feel like real race car drivers, even if they were absolute fucking shit.

And you?

You were not a customer.

You were the help.

The help that wasn’t even part of the boys’ club. A placeholder. A seat filler. Someone to throw in when their sweet, precious nepo baby couldn’t hack it. And they never let you forget it.

Ever.

But now that you’re leaving?

Now that the only driver who’s managed to score any points, the only driver keeping them from looking like an absolute joke, is walking away? Now it’s an emergency. Now it’s an insult.

Kevin takes a step closer, voice dropping into something venomous. "You know what? Go ahead. Get the fuck out. But when you crash and burn- when whatever bullshit gig you think you’re getting falls through- you better not fucking come back here expecting a seat. Because this? Right here? Was the only shot you were ever going to get."

You stare at him for a second, pulse steady, unreadable. Then you shake your head, more to yourself than to him.

"Then I guess I have no fucking choice but to make it work."

You don’t wait for his reaction. You turn on your heel, bag slung over your shoulder, and walk out of the garage without looking back.

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The fluorescent lights overhead hum with an unsettling buzz, casting an unforgiving glow over the airport bathroom. The mirror in front of you reflects the mess you already know is there- the damp strands of hair curling at your temples, the sheen of sweat still clinging to your skin, the streaks of dirt and grease smudged across your jaw where you wiped at your face with a gloved hand during the race. Your Dale Coyne racesuit, still zipped up to your collarbone, looks even worse in this lighting, the fabric stained with oil, rubber, and whatever remnants of the track had clung to you before you’d walked out of that godforsaken garage for the last time. The fireproofs underneath stick uncomfortably to your skin, trapping the warmth of a race that already feels a lifetime ago.

People have been staring since you walked into STL, their glances lingering just a little too long, their hushed whispers and quick double takes barely concealed. You saw a few curious expressions, some with the kind of recognition that comes from people who know just enough about motorsport to be intrigued. Others just saw something out of place- an exhausted driver in a sweaty, dirt-streaked racesuit wandering through an airport like she had nowhere better to be.

You don’t care.

You grip the sink, fingers pressing into the cold porcelain as you drop your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Your pulse is still high, not from exertion, not even from frustration anymore, but from the sheer weight of what you’ve just done. You tell yourself it was the right decision. That it was necessary. That this is the step you were meant to take. But right now, standing in this too-bright, too-sterile bathroom, still feeling the phantom grip of a steering wheel in your hands, all you can think is what the fuck did I just do?

This has to work.

It has to.

You’d felt the moment your parents got the news. You hadn’t needed to hear their voices to know. It was as if the air itself had thickened with their disappointment, their frustration, their fear for you. Their anger wasn’t loud, wasn’t furious- it never was. Your dad would sigh, rub a hand down his face, mutter something about you needing a goddamn plan for once in your life. Your mother’s voice would be quiet, measured, more pointed than anything your father could say.

"Honey, please tell me you didn’t just burn it all down for a gamble."

But you did. You gambled everything.

Dale Coyne might have been a dead end, a team you despised with every fiber of your being, but it was a seat. It was IndyCar. It was a career that your parents had spent their entire lives trying to give you. The penny-pinching, the loans, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices you could never repay- Indy was the shot it had all been for. And you just walked away from it.

You tighten your grip on the sink, forcing down the lump rising in your throat. This isn’t regret. It can’t be. You made your choice, and now you have to fucking own it.

No one is going to save you if this goes sideways. There is no safety net waiting to catch you. If you fail in Belgium, if you don’t perform, if you don’t impress them enough to keep you for the full weekend, you’ll be on the next flight home with nothing.

No seat. No team. No future.

But that’s not going to happen.

You lift your head, staring yourself down in the mirror, taking in every sharp, raw edge of your reflection. You see the exhaustion, the stubborn set of your jaw, the faint tremble in your fingers from too much adrenaline and too little certainty. But beneath all of that, beneath the chaos, there’s something else. Something that has always been there.

Determination.

This is going to work. You swear it to yourself.

You will learn faster. You will push harder. You will do whatever it takes to make sure that when Friday rolls around and you get in that car, you earn your place. You didn’t walk away from everything just to fail. You didn’t burn it all down just to stand in the ashes.

Your parents are pissed. Loving, always, but pissed.

They’ll forgive you when this works.

You push away from the sink, rolling your shoulders back, exhaling slow through your nose. You should change, should clean up, should at least try to look like someone worthy of an F1 seat. There’s a fresh set of clothes buried somewhere in your duffel- a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, something normal, something that wouldn’t make you stand out like a sore thumb walking through the airport. But the thought of peeling this racesuit off, of stripping away the evidence of where you’ve been before you’ve even arrived at where you’re going, feels… wrong.

The weight of the fabric clings to you, sweat and exhaustion pressing into the seams. The patches of oil, the streaks of dirt, the faint, acrid scent of burnt rubber still woven into the material- it all sticks, like a brand, like a mark of what you’re running from. This suit, this thing you’ve poured yourself into for the past year, isn’t just a uniform. It’s a living symbol of suffering. It’s the proof of every shit race, every pointless debrief, every time you sat in a meeting knowing you weren’t actually being heard, just humored. The soul-crushing effort you gave, the hours you spent studying data, giving feedback, clawing your way to mediocrity because that was all the car would ever allow you to be.

Dale Coyne Racing. The team that would never carry you, only use you. The team that wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, that never let you forget you were just the help, a temporary piece they plugged in when their real drivers- their customers- floundered too much.

You should take the suit off. Should strip yourself of the dead weight. Be done with it.

But it doesn’t feel right.

Instead, it feels like penance. Like a burden you should carry for a little longer. Maybe it’s some twisted sense of self-punishment, or maybe it’s something deeper- something driving you. If you wear this suit through the airport, if you sit with it for just a few more hours, maybe it’ll push you harder. Maybe it’ll remind you that you can never be here again. That you won’t be.

That you will shed this skin.

That the next time you take off a racesuit, it won’t be this one.

That when you peel off the next set of fireproofs, they won’t carry the weight of failure, of stagnation, of being someone’s last-minute fill-in. They’ll belong to a respectable driver. To someone who fought and won. To someone who proved she deserved to take this one off.

You glance at yourself in the mirror one last time, the reflection of the Dale Coyne logos, the Honda badge, the grime-streaked collar sitting heavy on your skin. You meet your own gaze, holding it steady, knowing- knowing- this is the last time you’ll ever wear this thing.

You swear it.

You’ll take it off when you’ve earned the right to.

Then, without another second of hesitation, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, still wearing the evidence of the past, still carrying the weight of it. The stares continue as you weave through the terminal, but you don’t even flinch. You know where you’re going.

The next flight to Spa-Francorchamps.

And the start of the rest of your fucking life.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

As hyped, as promised- here is the first chapter of Reset, my MV33 x reader fic that's been in the works for.... 9 months, more or less. A few things to understand:

1- This fic has been written in pieces, over the course of many months, in all sorts of mental states and writing skills. As I edit, I try to edit for consistency of tone and keeping the overarching themes, but I'm just one person. Constructive criticism is always welcomed but cut me some slack.

2- This will devolve into explicit content within a few chapters. For those who are here for that, please bear with me as we build up this sweet, sweet burn. I promise I'll make it worth the wait- we're going on a journey here, not just writing p0rn. For minors or those that don't wish to read that, it may be best not to get attached to a fic that will turn into something you don't want.

3- The reader is afab. I try to remain inclusive and ambiguous where I can, but the nature of the story sometimes is less so. I love all of my readers, and I hope you can find joy in this story regardless. <3 She also has a last name, but I try to keep references to it to a bare minimum.

[aziraphales-library]

Hey there!

Got any adult omens that are human au’s? I’ve read all the ones on here that I can find so any more suggestions would be greatly appreciated. The fluffy ones are the ones I enjoy most!

Thank you all so much for the work you’ve done. This library is amazing!

-A

Hello! Here are some fics to add to our #human au, #fluff, and #adult omens tags...

Rear Ended by Caedmon (E)

Crowley is already having a very bad day when he accidentally plows his new car into someone at a traffic stop. He's ready to rip the head off of the person - until an angel gets out of the car, and suddenly, he's in love.

The High Road and the Low Road by saretton (E)

It's been two years and, finally, it has happened. They're paired up again. Anthony Crowley, coach driver for Roadside Fire Coaches and Buses, and Aziraphale Fell, licensed member of Scotland's Tourists Guide Association. Maybe this time they can finally talk and figure out whatever has been going on between them for fifteen years. ----- A Good Omens Scotland Tour Human AU.

litany in which certain things are crossed out by Ayes (E)

A beaten-down Aziraphale opens a bakery in the small town of Tadfield, where he finds an all-night greasy spoon and one fallen Crowley, who is making amends through various and increasingly ridiculous means of community service. Features an inexperienced!Aziraphale, Crowley the town ne’er-do-well, and Crowley’s self-appointed protector, young Adam. Human AU. All quotations are from Richard Siken’s earth-shattering collections of poetry, Crush and War of the Foxes. cw/tw: brief mentions of fatphobia; homophobia; religious oppression; miscarriage; self-hatred; background character death; drug addiction; foster care; past animal abuse… all referenced and not actively happening in the story, but sad beginnings that are addressed in order to make room for happy endings.

Oddity by Tsyvia48 (E)

The Museum staff were shocked and annoyed when their incompetent director Gabriel hired a street performer to guest curate an original exhibit about David Bowie. Aziraphale was immediately put off by Anthony Crowley's rudeness and arrogance--how dare the man think he could just waltz in to a project like this! Aziraphale was determined to make Crowley regret underestimating the task. For his part, Crowley could hardly believe his good luck: some of the smartest people he'd ever met were paying him to think about Bowie. It was like a dream come true. If only he didn't have to work closely with the posh bastard who seemed to need to hold his nose just to be in the same room with him. Crowley was determined to make Aziraphale regret underestimating him.

Drive me to the Moon by CaptainBlou, Elenthya (E)

At GOMENS, world-renowned sports brand and sponsor, one takes pride in endorsing the UK’s most talented athletes. On the other hand, one would like to ignore the fact that their two top of the bill, Aziraphale and Crowley, have heartily hated each other since the day they met. But what should be expected, when one knows these two? Aziraphale is a professional dancer, Crowley a rally driver. While the former switches between fierce competitions and prestigious stages, the other goes from one track to another across the world, clearing out every prize from behind the wheel of his racing car. Two beings, two worlds, two universes that everything should keep apart. But an unprecedented charity event is getting set up at GOMENS, and quickly, their own athletes will have to compete with and assist each other in turns. Two worlds, two personalities. But if they want to run for a cause that matters to the both of them, Crowley and Aziraphale are going to have to find an Arrangement. 

Going Somewhere Slowly by curiouswriterkr (E)

Our bois are in Uni and meet in their last year. Aziraphale has sworn off dating and drinking for reasons, and of course, Crowley wants more. Of course, so does Aziraphale. It's a slice of life story. ~~ “Aziraphale, tomorrow at the pub, could I buy you a drink?” Crowley asked him, eyes earnest and hopeful. “I’m not your student anymore-” “Crowley, your invitation is so very kind and I must decline. You see, I don’t drink and I don’t date,” Aziraphale tipped his chin up a fraction of an inch and squared his shoulders.

- Mod D

[obitez]

Little Bo Peep

written for @bucktommywinterfest

Round 13: Meet cute and different jobs

Rating: G | Word Count: 1732

Additional Tags: No firefighters

Warnings: None

When Tommy got out of the Army, he could have moved anywhere in the United States and probably qualified for a wide assortment of jobs. Aircraft mechanic, car mechanic, supply manager, truck driver, and heavy equipment operator for various construction equipment. Tommy never got around to being certified on cranes though, shame. 

He ended up moving to a small beach town about two hours north of Los Angeles, when his uncle offered to let him take over his old bookstore - and it was probably one of the few jobs the Army didn’t train him for. 

Tommy didn’t know a thing about owning, running, and managing a bookstore. Had never even worked in one. Sure, he was a reader and read a lot of books, but the books he read were… not that popular with the general population. 

He doubted there were that many enjoyers of Napoleonic War dramas and biopics. At least in the states. Most of the online forums and reddit pages consisted of people in the UK. 

Although his uncle had told him that delivery services like Amazon and the like hadn’t moved into the town yet so the store was still the main supplier of books for the town, and if he listened to the book clubs that used the table in the back as their meeting location, they would give him the lists of up and coming books from all genres that he needed to keep in stock. 

And looking at the finances for his first official month as owner, he guessed his uncle had a point. 

That didn’t mean the whole thing was easy however, far from it. 

“I don’t think your parents will be that pleased if I sell this book to you,” Tommy told the nine year old girl as she placed the book on the sale counter. The book itself was a raunchy romance novel with a deceiving cover filled with cats and puppies. Tommy never expected to become a romance reader after moving here, but the book club that met Monday evenings pulled him into being one. 

“They said that I can read whatever books I want,” the girl countered. 

“And I think when they said that they implied any children’s book you want.”

“It’s called Puppy Love and has a bunch of puppies on it. How’s that not a children’s book?” the girl asked. 

“It’s not a children’s book because you got it from the adult section, that’s located all the way upstairs,” Tommy pointed to the stairwell that led to the upstairs bookcases. The bookcases Tommy specifically remembered restocking that book with that very morning. 

The girl huffed, a frown on her face and spun on her heel to go back to a shelf in the young adult section. Tommy picked up the book she had left and placed it on a shelf under the counter, filled with other books that he would need to restock once the customers left.

Then, ten seconds later, another person came up to the counter, setting down five books to purchase. So much for a short break. 

Halfway through the afternoon, there was a short spall when there were only five customers in the store. When Carlos, the highschooler he had hired to help around on his free afternoons came by, Tommy took the opportunity to leave the register to him and get started on the various tasks he needed to complete around the shop. 

“So you’re the new guy that Mr. Paul was talking about?” a voice sounded from behind him as he was restocking the shelves in the cookbook section. 

Tommy turned around and looked up. 

There stood a tall guy, maybe a half inch shorter than him, shirt curly hair gelled back, blue green eyes, and big muscles. 

“I take it you’re talking about my uncle?” Tommy asked. 

“Yeah,” The guy nodded, and Tommy spotted a small birthmark right above one of his eyebrows. It was cute. “He was telling me that he was about to retire and give the place to his nephew, I just didn’t…”

“Expect his nephew to look like me?” Tommy asked. The man was silent for a second, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Tommy laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re not the first person to say it.”

Half of the old ladies who came in the first week he was running the place said the same thing. What was a man with his looks and muscles doing running a bookstore out in this town? He should be down south in LA, hitting up all the bars and clubs down there.

“Y- yeah… oh… yeah, what you said,” the man continued, stammering over his own words, looking way out of his element. 

 📚  📚  📚  📚  📚

Buck looked at the small unassuming bookstore from where he stood in the cafe across the street. When he had been driving through the sleepy seaside town five years ago he had run low on cash, he had walked into the cafe and asked about the help wanted sign taped on the front window. Five years later and he was still there, and had made friends and a pseudo family with people throughout the town. 

One of the people he had come to regard as a friend was the owner and runner of the bookstore across the street, who had told him a couple of months ago that he was retiring and going to move to be closer to his sister in Oregon, and leaving the store to his nephew, who no one in the town had met before. 

Buck didn’t know how he should feel about it. Leaving one of the most popular shops in town to some stranger. 

“Have you met the guy who took over the bookstore, yet?” Buck asked as they were setting up one morning, pulling the outdoor tables outside. 

“Guy that took over the bookstore?” Eddie asked as he carried a set of chairs outside. 

“Yeah,” Buck nodded. “The old owner retired and moved out, gave the place to his nephew.” 

Eddie shrugged. “I only go there when Christopher needs to get a book for school,” he said. “Haven’t been there since like… last October or something like that.” 

Buck hummed to himself as he looked across the street at the store. It didn’t look any different, the same as it had since he moved to this town. He would have to go over there once he got off shift and meet the new man for himself. 

He and Eddie ended their shift around 2:30, and while Eddie drove down the street to the elementary school to pick his son up, Buck made his way to the bookstore across the street. 

Buck opened the door and heard the same bell chime that had sounded the numerous times he had come here over the previous years. The inside of the store looked the same as well. Same signs above the bookshelves, same sales counter, the only things that were really different were the books that were on the featured and new releases shelves. But those shelves always showed something different every time Buck came in. 

Buck spotted a disinterested guy who was clearly a teenager standing behind the counter, he vaguely recognized him from around town and guessed that he wasn’t the guy who had taken the store over. Then his gaze traveled upwards to the second story, seeing a man, probably a couple years older than him, unloading books from a box and setting them onto one of the bookshelves. 

Buck walked up the stairs and then studied the man for a second before going over to talk to him. He was kneeling on his knees, but Buck guessed he would probably be around his height if he stood up. He was also pretty muscular, a lot more than Buck would assume any bookstore owner would have any need to be. 

But then again, maybe he did? Books got heavy after a while, didn’t they? 

Buck cleared his throat as he walked up to the bookshelf and Buck saw the man’s shoulders perk up. “So… you must be the guy Mr. Paul was talking about?” Buck asked.  

The man turned his head and shoulders to look up at Buck, raising an eyebrow he asked, “I take it you’re talking about my uncle?” 

“Y- yeah,” Buck stammered, suddenly growing nervous as he felt the man study him. “H- he was telling me that he was about to retire and give the place to his nephew, I just- I didn’t…

“Expect his nephew to look like me?” the man said as he let out a soft laugh and stood up from where he was stocking the books. Buck got a better look at him now. And if possible, Buck thought he looked better than he had before. Buck stumbled over his words, and the man laughed again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re not the first person to say that.”

Oh, that made Buck feel slightly better, he thought. 

“Y- yeah… oh… yeah, what you said,” Buck said as he still stumbled over his words. 

The man then held out his hand to him. “Tommy Kinard,” he said as he introduced himself. 

Buck took it as he shook the man’s, Tommy’s, hand. “Evan Buckley,” he said. 

Tommy smiled then, and Buck thought it was a nice smile. Buck thought that he would like to see it more often. “Nice to meet you, Evan.”

Buck couldn’t even find it in himself to tell the man he didn’t go by Evan.

 📚  📚  📚  📚  📚

“So, Evan,” Tommy started as he walked up to the front counter of the cafe the following morning. Buck perked his head up from where he was cooking up an omelet behind the counter. “What would you recommend here?” 

Buck smiled as he turned his head to face Tommy. “Well, Bobby’s not here today, so I’m head chef.” 

Tommy’s face took on that soft smile it had yesterday. “So what would you recommend then?” he asked. 

Buck hummed in thought. “I thought up this apple waffle recipe yesterday, would you like to be my guinea pig?” 

“Why not?” Tommy said as he took a seat. “Let me see ‘em.” 

“He calls you Evan?” Eddie asked later as Tommy walked back across the street to the bookstore. 

Buck rolled his eyes. “So what?” he asked, only slightly blushing.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

See You At Sunset - a Lost Without You Drabble

Summary: You and Billy get lost on the way to Polzeath for a holiday, and decide to kill time by 'watching the sunset' | Word Count: 2.4k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Billy W Taglist

A/N: Can be read as a standalone or as part of the Lost Without You story as a prequel 💕

Warnings: semi-public sex, sex in a car, p in v, praise

Billy remembered the last holiday they went on together, in the late spring. They'd driven to Cornwall with a hired minivan. And before arriving into Port Isaac, they'd stopped on a country road in the late afternoon when the sun touched the sea. He'd made love to her in the driver's seat and admired the way the orange sunset kissed the colour of her hair. She looked gorgeous then, face flushed and legs astride him.

"Billy, I'm telling you for free, we are lost"

She says for what feels like the hundredth time.

Billy sighs, one hand clasped on the steering wheel and the other resting on the side, his fingers anxiously running through his sandy, blonde hair.

"We are not lost. The satnav is just on the piss" he grumbles, leaning forward to fiddle with the settings on it. Trying to type in 'Polzeath' again with one shaky finger while concentrating on the road with the other.

"Billy!"

"Shit!"

He slams on the brakes, seatbelts tugging at their chests, about to go straight through a level crossing as the gates are going down. The velocity of it makes her pull forwards in her seat, ripping the map she'd been looking at right in two.

Once he's caught his breath a bit and calmed the rapid beating of his heart, she snorts a laugh.

Billy looks over unamused.

"Didn't we do this whole 'having a holiday in the UK thing' because it was less stressful?" he asks, half-annoyed.

She hums, "Yeah it was supposed to be" she smiles, leaning over to put her hand on his leg, soothing his knee with her thumb.

He spares her a boyish smile, covering her hand with his and giving a loving squeeze, before moving it to the gearstick to move off again.

It's not such a bad place to be lost. The sun is slowly starting to set, the pink and orange sky beginning to bloom at the horizon. He drives quietly, the minivan a little clunkier than his usual Vauxhall, shifting between the gears clumsily, not used to the stiffness between them.

The sign to Port Isaac zips by quickly and when she looked over the windscreen, she could see how the sea reflected the warmth of the imminent sunset. The air was warm and cosy, with a slight nip to the skin as the evening approached. But all the same, it was tranquil and almost painfully serene.

The country roads were narrow and quiet. A weekday meaning there wasn't a soul about, and with the school holidays months away, it was pleasantly calm.

She looked over when Billy sighed and rubbed his eyes, just wanting to be in the Airbnb they'd booked to be in bed as soon as possible. His clutch foot was starting to kill and she could tell he was getting irritated, having driven for hours before this point.

She pressed her lips together, eyes glimmering with mischief.

"Pull over there" she said, pointing over the dashboard to a passing point.

Billy tapped the brakes, looking over, "Here?"

"Yeah, pull over"

The only sound was the click of his indicator as Billy pulled in, tugging the handbrake up.

Through the windscreen, the view of the sea was visible, stretching out past the greenery of the nearby empty fields. The blades of grass swayed gently in the breeze of the late afternoon.

She clicked off her seatbelt and sat forwards, leaning over to see the view better, "nice, isn't it?"

Billy looked confused at her, wondering why she'd asked him to park up just for a glance at the view they'd be seeing for the next few days anyway.

He shrugged, "Yeah, it's…nice"

She bit her lip lightly and shuffled over, flinging her leg over his lap to straddle him. For a moment, Billy didn't know what to do with his hands, as they hung in the air. But once she sat atop him, his hands rested at her hips, looking up at her questioningly.

Fairly quickly though, as her inner thighs brushed his bulge, his face lit up with a smile, tugging her hips down to circle against his pelvis.

"I like this view better though" he added, barely above a gruff whisper. She swatted his shoulder playfully to draw attention away from the way her cheeks were warming, earning a half-hearted chuckle from him.

Their relationship had always felt so natural. At the beginning, Billy had been a bit reserved, not wanting to take things any further than he felt she was comfortable with. He’d never classed himself as particularly good with women, nor at being able to tell what they wanted or were thinking.

He was one of those guys who thought that growing up, women somehow knew more about him than he did, and that when he met women of a similar age to him, that they were more mature than he was, knew more about the world, and were already so wise beyond their years.

She never held that against him.

In fact, she found it endearing that Billy would think of her so deeply in this way. That he took it slow, for himself as well as her, as neither of them had felt so close to a person like this romantically. And both of them didn’t want to ruin that by hurtling themselves headlong into it without thinking.

In the last few months though? Something just…happened.

When she held him, Billy felt as if she were holding his heart in her hands, cradling it like it was precious.

And it hurt in the most beautiful way.

Nobody had ever treated him with such sincerity and care. But she did.

He never wanted to let that go.

Their love was languid, like they had all the time in the world and felt they didn’t need to rush, allowing things to develop naturally.

He loved that about her.

She leaned forward to kiss him tenderly, the setting sun glowing on the right side of his face, illuminating the stubble that gathered at his jaw in blonde little wisps. As she smoothed her hands along it, the blunt, not-so-freshly shaven hair rubbed comfortingly along her palms. She watched his baby blue eyes slip shut, joining her efforts and pressing his mouth to hers, his tongue dipping against hers to slip into her mouth, tilting his head opposite to her.

His thumbs pressed into her hips, moving her in slow, careful motions on top of him as he kissed her like he wanted to devour her entirely. Every now and then, with the wet smack of their lips parting for air, his hands wandered to her bare thighs, beneath the thin material of her skirt. And when he gripped the flesh there hard, he reveled in her short, airy gasps into his mouth, and moaned lowly as she pressed herself harder onto his growing erection.

His large hands wandered up, and he pulled away for a second, his cheeks pink with both shock and excitement.

“Have you not been wearing knickers this whole time?”

She only smiled in reply, dipping her head to his jaw in little micro-kisses, “Maybe. Why? Is that a problem?”

A shuddered breath was the only thing that managed to slip from his lips, as one of her hands traced the hard length constrained within his jeans.

Somehow he managed to say something, “ - fuck - no, no, not a problem at all, baby -”

His hips began to chase her touch as she stroked him teasingly through the denim. She leaned back a little, having left a little love-bite on the sensitive skin of his neck, to watch his reaction to what little she was doing to him.

His eyes fluttered halfway open when he re-doubled her efforts to unzip his jeans, undoing the button and pulling the fabric apart, his mouth doing something similar, only half-open with a whisper of breaths pouring out.

He looked at her, the sunset casting warm rays either side of her, like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

It wasn’t quick, but there was hunger. And the longer either of them stretched it out, the more each of them wanted it, but daren’t not do anything fast or rash to ruin the precious moment they’d made together.

"Please babe, don't tease me -"

Billy's stomach muscles tense when she circles her hand around him, already half hard, and pulls his length free from his boxers, shuffling forward to straddle his lap a little closer.

He doesn't know what he prefers more, the way her hand pumps him, squeezing slightly at the tip where he's most sensitive, or the way her features and skin are illuminated by the soft sun, casting a soft gleam against the sea.

"So needy" she coos, stroking him entirely to full hardness.

She takes him in with her eyes like a meal, watching the way his skin reacts to her touch. The way his cockhead pokes out from her grip, red and alert, sweeping the arousal that leaks from it with her thumb, which serves to send a full body shiver through Billy's body.

"But I suppose you've been good" she smiles at him, her breath hot against his cheek. He tries to chase her lips with his, desperate for any contact, but he groans in disapproval when she keeps moving away.

She hovers over him, his length in her hand and guiding him to her centre, where she's been entirely ready for him since the moment they got in the car. Mischievously having had this idea the entire journey here.

She sighs in delight when his length disappears inside her, the stretch a welcome one, enveloping him completely in her wet warmth. His mouth hangs open, no sound coming out, his hands rising upwards to her waist and then her breasts in desperation to do something, anything to her as well.

Her breath hitches when his hips move and his cock throbs inside her when he bottoms out, briefly touching her cervix in what she can only describe is surprise. He's much longer than any partner she's had before, and whenever they fuck it's always paramount she's prepared, so that they don't have to hold back.

But she's been ready for hours.

"Billy-"

"Oh my god - babe - you're fucking perfect -"

It's all he's able to say.

Praising her. It just comes so naturally.

Because that's what she is to him.

Absolutely entirely perfect.

His hand grabs her bare hip beneath her skirt for leverage, using it to move her hips on top of him. The slightest fit of friction has both of them moan softly into their open mouths.

The sheer sound of her sex being thrusted into slowly is enough to fill the silence.

"Christ, you're so wet, baby -"

Any notion of dominance she felt over him is completely dissipating now with the micro-movements of his cock spearing her apart.

He feels dirty looking down and watching the way he disappears inside her, but it's just too tempting. Billy watches, pride rolling in his stomach as he breathes, as each time he pulls out of her she glazes him with her arousal, coating the inside of her thighs only slightly.

The inside of the car is hot, and with one of her hands on the window for stability, it's starting to fog up as well, her steady moans rising in volume with each snap of her buttocks against his thighs.

It's a good job it's a weekday, and the roads are quiet, so that nobody can see the erratic movement of the rented minivan.

"Fuck - Billy-"

He grins. He doesn't know if he will ever get tired of hearing her moan his name.

" - you need to stop saying my name like that, I'll cum too quickly, baby -" he whispers.

Her misty eyes meet his, her face contorted in pleasure as the coil winds impossibly tight in her belly.

Billy leans forward, briefly slipping deeper inside her, making her moan helplessly. He tightens his hold on her hips, moving her backwards and forwards as well as up and down on his length, watching as she tilts her head back and a melody of gasps and sighs slip from her mouth.

" - yeah, right there, baby? -" he whispers, "- fuck, you look so gorgeous like this - want to cum in you-"

"Yes, yes - Billy, fuck - please don't stop-"

His shuffling of her hips back and forth has the head of his cock bully that sweet spot inside, quickly fucking up into her with a wet smack that only seem to increase in speed and volume.

He can tell she's close, so his thumb trails down over her belly to rub her clit in tight, small circles, now slick with her arousal. She tightens around him, holding him inside her, until she falls off the edge with a strangled cry of his name.

True to his word, he doesn't stop, even as her pussy is fluttering around him in the throes of her intense orgasm. He fucks her through it, searching for his but also loving the way her face twists in sheer pleasure at the overstimulation.

Her heartbeat thrums through her, all to her bud, which Billy hasn't given up on, and he swears he can feel every beat through her as he fucks her.

Billy thrusts shallowly as he finishes deep inside her with a long, strained groan. She moans loudly feeling his warmth inside the deepest parts of her, moving her hips on him to gain that last bit of friction before he softens within her.

After he's caught his breath, feeling a sheen of sweat covering his skin, he looks up and feels that all he can do is smile at her.

The sun is barely visible above the sea anymore, and the pinkish tint of the days passed illuminates her form with a glow that seems almost heavenly. If his cock weren't deep inside her, he'd think she were a saint or an angel.

Looking down through hooded eyes, she smiles back at him lovingly, her breasts moving steadily as she calms the erratic beating of her heart.

"Think we'll get the deposit back?..." she laughs exhaustedly, earning the same reaction from Billy.

She was always funny.

Billy sighs, his palms now soothing where he'd gripped her so hard earlier.

"Not sure if I saw the clause about shagging in the hire van" he jokes back, happy that he got the same reaction.

Their foreheads, tacky from the effort, press together.

Her fingers run through his sandy hair, thumbs stroking his cheeks appreciatively.

Her mouth a whisper away from his.

"I quite like Port Isaac" he smiles boyishly against her lips.

"But, Christ, I fucking love you"

dividers by @saradika

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics | @watercolorskyy

Billy W Taglist: @fan-goddess @assortedseaglass @chainsawsangel

[kittyykattxoxo]

painted in fate (part 4)

pairing: finn balor x oc summary: niamh gallagher is a newly hired makeup artist for the wwe. born in cork, ireland, she grew up watching the indie wrestling scene in the uk, even after her parents moved the family to america when she was a teen. after working a few years as a makeup artist for tv and film, she felt the wwe would be a better fit for her to unleash her creativity. never did she imagine that it would lead to her bringing to life the demon, finn balor's alter ego, nor did she realize where things would go after meeting the superstar. word count: 1907 content warning: age gap (older male x younger female), sexual content later (will be marked as such)

credits: dividers by @bunnyrph on tumblr

Niamh hadn’t planned on putting in so much effort - really, she hadn’t. She didn’t want to appear like she was too into him, or that she was going to be too easy. Somehow, though, after a long day at the arena, she found herself rushing back to her hotel room earlier than expected to start getting ready. 

She wasn’t nervous, of course. Not at all. It was just a dinner. A dinner with Finn. A dinner with a lad she’d been texting and talking to nearly every day since they’d met. A lad with a dangerously charming smile who knew exactly how to use it. Nope, it was no big deal at all.

Rolling her eyes at her own overthinking, she quickly stripped out of her work clothes and hopped into the shower, letting the hot water soothe her muscles and run over her creamy skin. She shaved her legs, because of course, and fought back and forth with herself internally before deciding to shave between her legs as well. She wasn’t planning on giving herself up to him after the first date, but she also knew that sometimes things didn’t go according to plan and Finn would be the guy who made her break one of her cardinal rules.

After her shower she dried off and slid into the not-too-fancy dress that she’d picked out the night before. It was a rich emerald green color that made her blue eyes pop and looked good against the milky color of her skin. The dress ended a little past her mid-thigh and had a deep V-cut along her chest, showing off an amount of skin that she was comfortable with and didn’t think was too much. She’d always been confident in herself and she wanted to leave Finn wanting more. 

By the time Niamh finished her hair and makeup, her phone buzzed on the nightstand and she knew exactly who it was, but still moved to grab it anyways.

Finn: Outside whenever you’re ready, love

Niamh quickly slid on a pair of black heels before pausing to look at herself in the mirror. She took a steadying breath (though again, she wasn’t nervous), before grabbing her small purse and heading out.

Finn was leaning against his rental car when she stepped outside, his hands in his pockets and that signature smirk already in place. His gaze flicked over her, and though he didn’t say anything right away, the way his eyes darkened slightly told her everything she needed to know.

“Look at you,” he finally spoke, pushing off the car to open the passenger side door for her. “Green looks good on you.”

She rolled her eyes in reply, but couldn’t help but grin. “Flattery already? You tryin’ to win me over before we even get there?”

Finn chuckled. “Nah, just statin’ the obvious love.”

Her cheeks flared pink as he shut the door behind her and made his way around to the driver’s side, which had Niamh thankful that he hadn’t seemed to notice. As they pulled away from the hotel, she turned a curious look his way.

“Alright then, Where’re we goin?”

Finn kept his eyes on the road, but his lips twitched into a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Niamh couldn’t help but groan. “Oh feck off, Finn. You’re really not gunna tell me?”

“Where’s the fun in that, love?” He glanced her way for just a moment, a teasing glint in his eye, before focusing back on the road. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

She gave a little huff, obviously annoyed at being denied. “You’re insufferable, y’know that?”

“Aye, I do” he replied easily. “And yet, here ya are?”

Niamh wanted to retort, but couldn’t find the words to say - he wasn’t exactly wrong. 

A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of a cozy-looking building, warm lights glowing from within. As she read the sign, her brows lifted. “Grace O’Malley’s Irish Pub & Restaurant?”

Niamh turned to Finn, who looked properly smug.

“Thought you’d like it,” he spoke, parking the car on the street out front. “Came here last time we were in town for RAW. Good food, good Guinness. Reminded me a lot of home, which is pretty high praise comin’ from me.”

Niamh blinked, a feeling of warmth spreading to her stomach as a realization dawned upon her.

“And you wanted to remind me too?” she asked, her voice softer than she’d been with him yet. Usually she always was a little bit guarded, had a little bit of bite to it, but not this time.

Finn met her gaze, that usually cocky grin on his face surprisingly gentle. “Figured you might miss it as much as I do.”

For the second time that night, Finn left her without a smart remark. Instead, she simply smiled at him. 

“Alright then, Balor,” she murmured after a moment, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Let’s see if this place is any good then.” She stepped out of the car and as she waited for him to join her, Niamh realized that maybe, just maybe, she was in more trouble than she thought.

Because it seemed Finn Balor wasn’t just charming, but also thought, which was a far more dangerous combination than she’d been prepared for. 

A few moments later, the two were standing inside and Niamh took a look around as they waited to be seated. The pub-style restaurant was warm and lively, the low hum of conversation blending with the faint sound of traditional Irish music playing from the speakers. It smelled incredible, the rich and savory aromas of stews, fresh-baked bread and Guinness filling the air.

Niamh had to admit, Finn had definitely made a solid choice on paper. Whether it would hold up once she actually got to taste the food was another story, and she certainly wasn’t going to let him know just yet.

A hostess escorted them over to a cozy corner booth, away from most of the crowd. The dim lighting overhead cast a soft glow over Finn’s face as he leaned back against the seat. He looked comfortable, relaxed in a way that Niamh hadn’t really seen at work. There he always seemed so focused, so serious. It was a bit of a relief to see that there was more to him than met the eye.

“So,” Finn started, eyes glinting as he picked up his menu. “What’s yer verdict? Did I impress ya with the choice, or are ya still pretendin’ to be skeptical?”

Niamh scoffed a bit, picking up her own menu and letting her eyes scan over it. “Mmm, I dunno. I think you’re expectin’ too much praise too soon. We haven’t even gotten the food yet.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough, but I will be expectin’ an apology when you realize I was right.”

She arched a brow. “An apology? Feckin’ hell, you really do love strokin’ that ego of yours, don't ya?”

“Can ya blame me, love? It’s well-earned.” he shot back, a grin on his lips.

Niamh rolled her eyes, but her own grin lingered as she focused on deciding what to order. It had been so long since she’d had a good Irish meal - being on the road a lot meant she didn’t have much time to go home and experience her parents cooking, but it also meant she didn’t get a lot of time to cook herself. It was often that she found herself having cheap takeout and easy meals. 

After a few minutes, the waiter arrived to take their order. Finn opted for a Guinness and an Irish Bacon and Cabbage while Niamh chose a Smithwick’s and a plate of fish and chips, deciding to embrace the nostalgia. 

The waiter returned with their drafts quickly and as Finn wrapped a hand around his glass, he turned his attention back to Niamh. “So, we’ve been talkin’ for a few days now, but I still feel like there’s plenty I don’t know about ya.”

Niamh lifted a brow, taking a sip of her drink. “Well I’d hope I wouldn’t have revealed everything about myself in just a few days, but what kinda things are ya curious about?”

“Fair enough. I guess we’ll start simple. What made ya get into makeup and all that?”

She gave a light shrug, swirling her drink in her glass. “I always liked messin’ with it growin’ up, but I guess I started takin’ it more serious after we moved to the States. I missed home like hell and it was a nice creative outlet to distract myself. Not to mention its one of the few things I’m actually patient about - it doesn’t bother me spendin’ hours painting a face.”

Finn smirked. “Aye, patience for makeup but not for people, huh?”

“Feck off,” she replied instantly, giving him a light kick in the shin from under the table. He simply laughed it off, unaffected.

“I get it though,” he said, taking a swig of his Guinness. “It’s like wrestling for me - startin’ out, it was just somethin’ I enjoyed, but after a while, it turned into a whole career.” 

Niamh nodded her head slightly. “So I guess what you’re sayin is we’re both artists, in our own way.”

Finn raised his glass in response, offering a toast. “Aye, I’d say that’s accurate.”

The two clinked their glasses together before each taking a sip, a comfortable rhythm settling between them. 

As their food arrived, the conversation flowed just as easily. They talked mostly about home - the things they missed, the places they used to go, the ridiculousness of growing up Irish.

“Did your ma ever threaten ya with a wooden spoon?” Niamh asked him between bites of her fish and chips.

Finn snorted. “Are ya even Irish if she didn’t?”

“Fair point,” she laughed, shaking her head. “mine coulda won the feckin’ Olympics with how quick she was with it.”

“Sounds about right,” Finn grinned in reply. “Though I was a bit of a golden child growin’ up. Didn’t get into too much trouble.” Niamh narrowed her eyes. “Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

He smirked as he took another sip of his Guinness. “Alright, maybe I was a bit of a troublemaker, but I was charming enough to get away with it.”

“Ah, so that’s where ya get it from,” she teased, giving a little laugh.

The two continued trading stories back and forth, the playful banter mixed with genuine moments of shared experiences. Though Niamh wasn’t about to say it out loud, she was enjoying herself way more than even she had expected to. 

The food was amazing - warm and familiar in a way that made her chest ache a little as it reminded her of home. The atmosphere and company, especially the easy way in which Finn made her laugh, it all simply felt good.

Maybe too good.

As the night went on, Niamh began to realize something dangerous. She liked being around Finn. Which for most people, wouldn’t sound like an issue, but for Niamh, who had made it almost an oath to keep men at an arm’s length, it was a problem. Finn Balor was very good at what he did, at being charming and thoughtful and all the things that she had wanted in someone. She definitely knew that if she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall right into his hands, which would give him just the right ammunition to potentially break her.

[formula-1-otp]

Sleeping in the Sim

Summary: Fernando finds Lance sleeping in the racing sim, why is the Canadian overworking himself so much?

This fix is inspired from prompt 1097 from @creativepromptsforwriting

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you even hear what I’m saying to you?” Brown eyes looked up in panic to meet his dad’s eyes.

“You just don't understand, do you? Everything I've done, all the money I’ve spent on you and you can't even bring me home a top 10 finish,” Lawrence was pacing the room. Lance could see his face getting a dark red colour. Lance didn't have a good answer. How could he, he couldn't drive the car properly, his dad had the best-hired help to make the car the absolute best it could, but every week Lance was brought back up to his dad’s office where he would sit and get lectured for the next few hours until he either gave his dad an answer he approved of and if he didn't, Lance knew there would be consequences.

“I'm sorry Dad, I will do better next race,” Lance knew that was the worst thing he could’ve said but his brain hurt and he didn’t have a good answer.

“Better next time!? Lance, we have sponsors who want to see results not see you crash out half the field!” Lance couldn’t help but flinch slightly as Lawrence was leaning into his face. Lance didn’t even have time to react before his head was snapping sideways and his hands were flying up to his face, specifically his left eye. “You better podium next weekend or there’s a lot more where that came from,” Lawrence quickly shot daggers at his son before leaving the room leaving Lance sitting in the office by himself tears welling in his eyes as he was clutching his quickly bruising eye.

Lance quickly gained his composure he still had more meetings to attend. He took a couple of deep breaths before basically sprinting to his driver's room. When he arrived he quickly went to the bathroom and started applying any sort of makeup to hide the bruise. Lance was used to doing this, he had been doing it since he joined Formula 1 and even a few years before.

The week was quite uneventful Lance was doing everything he could to try to get his skill up. He was practicing in the sim anytime he wasn’t at the gym or in meetings. It was Thursday the team was to race in the UK the coming weekend so they didn’t have to travel and could get extra training in.

Fernando was just about to leave the factory after a long couple of days he was confident in the car for the weekend. His team had a great plan set up for him and he was pretty excited. It was late most people were heading home to get a good rest for the weekend to come. As he walked by the sim room he saw some lights on. Fernando decided to investigate, he slowly opened the door to see Lance’s head resting on the wheel of the sim, the Canadian fast asleep.

Fernando smiled to himself, he knew Lance had been putting in extra hours over the week. His boyfriend had been a little distant over the last week and Fernando was worried. They had been keeping some distance from each other over the last couple of days, both being incredibly busy.

Fernando slowly walked over to his sleeping boyfriend.

“Lance…. Lance,” Fernando slowly knelt beside his boyfriend placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Lance slowly opened his eyes, the left being a bit more painful, he saw Fernando in front of him, giving the older man a soft smile.

“Sorry am I in your spot,” Lance wasn’t even sure what time it was all he knew was he needed more training.

“No honey it’s time to go home,” Fernando slowly rubbed his hand up and down Lance’s back. Lance looked around as he gathered his bearings, his eyes drifting to the clock in the simulation room, it was well after 8 pm Lance sighed softly, he was running out of time to practice.

“I just gotta few more training sessions to do, I’ll meet you at home?” Lance gave the Spaniard a soft smile. Fernando took a minute to process. He had been dating Lance longer than a few minutes before he knew how his boyfriend worked. Fernando silently sighed, he had to tread carefully.

“Honey you’ve been training all day, why don’t we go get a good night's sleep and if you wake up early you can practice some more on the sim at home?” Fernando refused to remove his touch from Lance, he could feel the Canadian leaning into it knowing he was winning the fight. Lance processed for a moment, his body was tired and Fernando felt so warm, his bed sounded heavenly right now.

“Yeah, can we watch cars?” Tired brown eyes met concerned eyes. Fernando gave him a soft smile and nodded. Fernando helped the Canadian to his feet before shutting down the sim and guiding his sleepy boyfriend back to the car.

The drive home was quiet. It wasn’t long into the drive that Fernando glanced over to see his boyfriend sleeping peacefully. He was worried, he couldn’t help it. Lance had been so distant over the last week and him being so exhausted was not uncommon for him, but Fernando knew Lance could overwork himself if he wasn’t careful. Fernando knew Lawrence wasn’t the nicest human in the world, he had never had an issue with the man per se but he had seen Lance in more than a handful of meetings with the man to know they can’t all be good. When Fernando pulled into the driveway he couldn’t help but be grateful to be home.

“Lance honey we’re home,” Fernando placed a gentle kiss on his boyfriend’s temple as he slowly awoke the boy. “Let’s get you inside my boy,”

Fernando carried Lance up the stairs to their shared bedroom. Helping him sit on the bed before going over to the younger boy's dresser, and pulling him out a pair of sweatpants, Fernando was just about to grab one of Lance’s shirts before a small noise interrupted his process and he turned to look back at his boyfriend.

“Can I wear one of your shirts?” Lance quietly questioned. Fernando smiled before grabbing one of his Aston Martin long-sleeved shirts and bringing the stuff he collected to Lance. Once his boyfriend was changed Fernando got him situated in the bed, turned the TV on put on the first car movie before cuddling up to his boyfriend. It wasn’t long before Fernando looked down at his boyfriend to see his shirt had some brown splotched across it, he grabbed his phone to try to shine some light as it wasn't super bright. However, the light shines right onto Lance’s eye showing the dark purple and blue around Lance’s left eye.

“Mi amour, when did this happen?” Fernando gently traced the bruise, unfortunately, the contact made Lance retreat.

“Oh I just ran into a door by accident,” Lance knew it was an awful excuse, he was tired his brain wasn’t working properly anymore and he honestly forgot his eye was still bruised.

“Please don’t lie to me,” Fernando gave Lance a look. He slowly outreached his hand, he knew when Lance felt comfortable he would take it. Lance had never really told Fernando too much of his childhood, Fernando had heard all about racing but Lance never really spoke of anything else.

“My dad punched me….” Lance couldn’t hold the floodgates back. He curled in on himself. He didn’t know how Fernando would react. Fernando was shocked, he instantly pulled the Canadian into his arms trying to comfort the young the younger boy.

“Oh Cariño,” Fernando was furious with Lawrence but right now his only concern was his boyfriend. That night Lance told Fernando everything, how Lawrence had been this way since Lance was a child, always wanted a winning son. How black eyes were the least of the pain that he had endured over the years? Fernando listened, he kept his anger in check but he made sure Lance felt heard.

“Please don't do anything stupid, I can't have my dad come for you next,” Lance panicked, he couldn't imagine if Lawrence found out.

“I know honey, but I’m fine, you should know by now you don't have to worry about me,”

“And you should know by now I always will,”

[chussyracing]

what's been happening in motorsport lately?

(long overdue update from me so it's very long and therefore hidden under the cut)

F1 teams and drivers:

Williams (union jack) and Red Bull (red pattern) brought special liveries to Silverstone

Andy Cowell (previously Merc PU chief) joins Aston Martin as new CEO

Mick Schumacher will do a Pirelli tyre test for McLaren because no other reserve driver of thier has the criteria to drive the car and their F1 drivers are coming off a triple header (so their activated the option to use Merc juniors/reserves)

Matt Whyman is Publishing „Inside Mercedes F1: Life in te Fast Lane“ book

Mercedes will bring more upgrades to both Spa and Hungary

Checo will get the new Red Bull floor Max has been running in the next race as well although Helmut Marko said that upgrade was only worth 6 points of downforce

i am so sure that i wrote this down about a month ago but since everyone has been talking about it: Enrico Cardile left Ferrari and will serve gardening leave for the rest of the season before joining Aston Martin, so Fred will oversee the area himself before Loic Serra comes (and potentially Newey as according to rumour that’s main reason behind Enrico leaving)

Ferrari is also set to have a board meeting to discuss the current form

Ollie and Pietro Fittipaldi completed Pirelli tyre testing for Haas

Michael Broadhurst became Alpine’s chief aerodynamicist (previously in Red Bull and McLaren) and Vin Dhanani became their head of vehicle performance (previously in Red Bull) and finally Jacopo Fantoni is their new deputy chief engineer (in Ferrari last year)

Visa Cash App RB partnered with Warner Bros to promote Twisters in Silverstone

oh and after complaining about the tickets the N*rstappen ruffle in Austria helped them sell out the Silverstone weekend

Charles is Peroni’s world brand ambassador and an ad and the first part of short video series to promote the drink was posted

Adidas will be Merc’s official clothing partner

Lewis was reading CBeebies Bedtime Story on BBC on 3rd July called „Small’s Big Dream“ by Manjeet Mann

Charles expanded the export of his LEC ice cream so now you can get it in Italy (can confirm that one, had Chocolate Crunch from Unes and it was delicious), France and Monaco

Pierre extended with Alpine and Lance extended with Aston Martin for next year (and beyond)

oh lol i almost forgot Ollie Bearman is officially Haas 2025 F1 driver!!!

Williams announced 26 new employees joining this year with some big names from RBR, Merc, Ferrari and others (like Matt Harman joining after summer break)

Logan started his own app (i didn’t research more on it so far but apparently there are a few articles about him so far)

Ferrari asked for an explanation from FIA after RBR’s mid season RB18 test that led to performance upgrades which shouldn’t be allowed with tests

McLaren sent out thank you packages to other teams as they helped them out after their hospitality caught fire

Alex made (and almost sold out already) Albon Pets merch

Toto Wolff confirmed they included police to research the email that was sent to journalists and F1 figures concerning the sabotage of Lewis in the team

Mercedes will have a charity football match against Aston Martin today

and Levi’s partnered with McLaren to make special edition of merch

after Almave Ambar, Almave Blanco will be distributed in the UK as well

Andretti Cadillac hired Chris Green as IT director and Laura Sturland as finance director (both previously in Merc)

Future of F1:

6 sprint weekends in 2025 will be: China, Miami, Spa, Cota, Brazil and Qatar (there is one or maybe two locations that make sense otherwise it kills the weekend imo but ok)

Rolex ends their sponsorship of F1 after 10 years (11 if you count this one), instead LVMH will step up into their position starting in 2025 (it is also very much possible Tag Heuer will be their title sponsor since it falls under LVMH umbrella and occupies similar position in business as Rolex, side note: Rag Heuer is the current sponsor of Red Bull) – rumouredly this is about money like everything in F1, the new contract is supposed to be $ 150m, so about three times as much as Rolex gave them

besides this, F1 is also finalising deal with American Express as a global partner

Zandvoort is contemplating making gravel traps to avoid track limits like they did in Austria

Rumours of the paddock:

Zak Brown has been asking for a possibility of engine supply from RBPT instead of Mercedes due to fear of reliability if they start supplying Alpine as well (considering they will drop Aston who gets Honda’s engine and knowing how much he publicly criticizes Red Bull and the culture in the team i kinda doubt it)

Alpine is also exploring RBPT and Ferari as potential engine suppliers instead of Renault

Jos Verstappen still very much wants to get his son out of the Red Bull team and Mercedes could be the next destination, Jos said in Austria that Christian Horner is the one responsible for not allowing him to drive during legends parade during the weekend and they had a lil argument speaking to media, there is still the rumour about Merc engines in 2026 being strong and that being a good argument for Max

this is technically not a rumour but also not confirmed either but Fred Vasseur strongly indicated in an interview that Lewis‘ contract will be for three years (he said they want to be champions in 2025, 2026, 2027 or something along those lines basically)

Haas is about to announce the extending of engine supply from Ferrari (with stronger links as Ollie becomes their official driver while being a part of FDA), they might get some kind of parts from Toyota as well (along with their knowhow) with potential title sponsorship deal

also Gene Haas apparently wants to expand their facilities in the UK

racingnews365 believe that Esteban is going to announce his deal with Haas before summer break

i want to prelude this by saying that driver contracts are highly confidential and nobody knows what exactly is in them, because they simply do not talk about the legal stuff so it wouldn’t get out BUT there has been a lot of speculation about Checo and his contract including clauses of performance compared to Max, some of which he is currently not complying so there is a rumour if he doesn’t improve over the next two races, they can terminate his contract and replace him mid-season (with candidates being Daniel Ricciardo – Horner’s favourite + good for their marketing where Checo is strong, Liam Lawson – Marko’s favourite + has a close to look among other teams if he doesn’t get a RBR backed seat for 2025, and apparently also Yuki)

also Liam is doing a filming day (200 kms test) with RB20 in Silverstone today which is a similar move they did with Daniel Ricciardo last year before he replaced Nyck

and Joe Saward thinks he will replace Daniel in July

also some people freaked out about Mick doing a Pirelli test for McLaren and honestly he has bigger change in Alpine where he did kind of a shootout with Jack Doohan (we have no info about how it went besides Toto saying he was strong)

after Williams were ready to announce a contract with Carlos in Spain with Netflix ready to shoot the footage of it and after he pulled out of it with new offer from Alpine (or rather Flavio Briatore), they now focused on getting Valtteri Bottas as a stable driver to partner Alex

that leaves Carlos waiting if Max really leaves RBR (but Marko made it clear they don’t want him anyway), potentially Merc (Toto said they are not interested in him but after Kimi’s  results in F2 so far, he said maybe the door is not fully closed for him yet), Audi (where Liam Lawson was seen in Austria, but even after Carlos missed a deadline from them, they might be interested) or Alpine (and if he says no, they still have Jack and Mick lined up and ready)

meanwhile Guanyu has been exploring the option to get a seat in FE if he cannot find one in F1 (with Alpine, Haas and Sauber as possible options) or even being a reserve for an F1 team for 2025

Ted Kravitz mentioned paddock gossip of Estaban leaving earlier than planned to replace Logan mid season in Williams and make space for Jack Doohan in Alpine (the only thing supporting this right now is interview with James Vowles talking about this and mentioning potential changes event his season)

Will Buxton on the other hand mentioned Daniel Ricciardo is talking to Williams

and finally Blick reported that Drugovich might be on Williams‘ list after Carlos

as for Logan he is reportedly in talks with Prema to get their Indycar seat

Lewis Hamilton is rumoured to buy Gresini Racing motogp team

apparently Lewis also called Seb to ask about what Adami is like as a race engineer and Seb gave him positive feedback

Jeremy Clarkson said he can calm people down and say that Newey is not looking for houses in Italy but rather UK

the superlicence request in Miami was potentially meant for Arvid Linblad (if you don’t know who he is, he is rbr junior currently crushing it in F3)

Briatore wants to bring Binotto into Alpine (lol)

Other series and juniors:

Franco Colapinto, Ollie Bearman, Jack Doohan and Isack Hadjar got their FP1 junior drive in Silverstone

Roman Staněk will end in Trident after Monza, he terminated the contract due to the team not performing like expected and is currently looking for a possibility of another seat in F2 (when it’s on dry, the car lacks too much to others and only on wet like in Silverstone’s sprint, the differences are diminished and the driver can show what’s in them like he did going from p22 to p8)

British F4 race in Zandvoort will have SO many F1 Academy drivers: Abbi Pulling, Bianca Bustamante, Carrie Schreiner, Jessica Edgar (and of course Chloe Chong which is driving full season in British F4)

so Arrow McLaren cannot behave for a week, to sum it up: David Malukas (who got a full time seat after Alex Palou was sued for not driving for them) got injured, they got Callum Illot drove instead of him for some time, since David wasn’t healing, they fired him and hired Theo Pourchaire for the rest of the season, INSTEAD they fired him as well after he posted about how he can’t wait for another race, and now hired Nolan Siegel (and on top Rossi will leave the team and will get replaces by Lundgaard  in 2025)

freaking Nikita Mazepin was testing GT3 in Hungary after the EU sanctions were lifted (side note idk if i stated before but Haas has to pay off Ural Kali)

Other news:

Goodwood festival of speed is coming up with interesting names (like Frederik Vesti, whole of Williams team, RB team including Horner etc)

the F1 movie everyone has been in frenzy about will be called… F1 (i think there is some teaser too if you are interested, also Fernando did an interview after Silverstone which will be used for the movie as well as some other real life stuff, like Pierre’s onboards modified) OHHH also Hans Zimmer should compose music for it like he did for Hunt vs Lauda (however it is called in English)

there was a rumour that Danica Patrick is leaving Sky Sports but that fake (or rather AI generated)

the Silverstone trophy was made by ex-F1 mechanic Alastair Gibson from car parts (there are two trophies always but the Iconic golden one is returned)

i am putting this in other category because it’s simply too unhinged but there was an open letter from some fans that Leo Leclerc is not loved and cared for enough (be so serious he has better life than i do)

[wellourgerdes]

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[britwayairporttransfer]

[istherewifiinhell]

im reading comics. ive got a blog. ive got screenshots

[ID: panel of ravage thinking "Perfect! I cannot imagine a more ideal opportunity! END]

marveltf no.2, or 3&4 in the uk version, 1984.

[Deep breath] Plot: Bill Mantlo, Script: Jim Salicrup, Pencils: Frank Springer, Inks: Kim Demulder, Letters: Janice Chiang, Colour: Nelson Yomtov, Editor: Bob Buduansky, EiC: Jim Shooter

Digital re-master by digikore studios limited. collection edits by Justin Eisinger and Alonzo Simon. editorial notes and assistance by Mark. W. Bellomo

jeez again. well lets start of with the remaster hate, on top of the lettering miscorrections...

[ID: Comparing the same shot of Soundwave from two versions. 1. the us printing, his plating has been coloured in purple. 2. digital remaster, its been corrected to blue. (Also Megatron happens to be in frame and thinking "As always Starscream slyly seeks to undermine my command, but his advice is sound!") END]

BOOO, they hate his pussy. purplewave you will always be real to me....

(i also dont think the job of a remaster should be to correct originally present errors, or EVER. to 'bring inline visual brand cohesion'. Imagine if they remaster mirage comics with 87 turtle headband colours... riots in the STREETS.

They should simply restore to higher resolution quality lost from age/accessibility accessibility. like high def scans and faded colour correction... i wish we could keep the quality and texture from print u know) (this is not the fault of individuals doing the restore work, whose names i dont even know, just the company that idw hires to do this work)

ANYWAY. commencing with the bullshit.

[ID: Starscream scowling while Megatron is just behind him. Thinking "Megatron's deductions are most shrewd! I must be careful not to ever let my lust for power cause me to under- estimate his cunning! It is only a matter of time before Starscream commands the decepticons!" END]

ah there we go. im at baseline. im calibrated. locked in

[ID: Large panel of Bumblebee lifted up on a car mechanics hoist, in the Witwicky garage. Hes saying "Help me, please! I'm dying!" A puddle of fluid draing away underneath him. Sparkplug, in sleepwear, shoes and a cap says "Buster-- This isn't like you-- Playin' a dumb joke on your old man in the middle of the night!" Buster pleading "This is no joke, Dad! Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are! I know it sounds crazy, but I'm sure this car is alive! And unless you do whatever it takes to repair it-- it will die! END]

kjfngjhsddfg BUH. fucked up. if im honest

[ID: Two panels, Sparkplug looking up to Bee's undercarriage, finding the source of a leak he thinks "Here's the problem!" Off panel Buster explains excitedly "Four other cars then turned into giant robots and started blasting the jet fighters! "O" and Jessie must've split in all the confusion! I hopped into this car and steered it home!" Panel in silhouette, black on vibrant red, Buster gesticulates wildly, continuing "I mean it doesn't have an ignition or gas pedal or--" Sparkplug continues to look up, and interrupts "I don't know what they put in that popcorn at the drive-in, but i hope it s Not habit-forming!" END

KINDA GOES HARD..... if im honest.

[ID: 1. Buster in Bee's driver's seat, Sparkplug standing outside, speaking to them. Bee: Fear not, Sparkplug Witwicky, I merely plan to relay your generous offer-- Finding some way to convert earthly resources to fuel for Autobot use-- to my leader Optimus Prime! I shall safely return with your son! Sparkplug: Right! Buster: Isn't this the most incredible thing that's ever happened to us?!? Okay, Bumblebee, like, take me to your leader! 2. Two humans, Buster's friends, look at Bee. "Jess, Buster's car just talked!" Jess: "I noticed!" END]

Around here I was coming to understand the off kilter humour their going for, contrasting the bots speech patterns with humans. i dunno if its good reading, but i get it. and yeah they were using a lot of the watchman ass 9 panel layout... if it works eh?

speaking of bot dialogue

[ID: Three panels, Optimus rallying his troops and they change from bot to alt mode by saying "Autobots, convert to earth-modes! Let's move out!" END]

hmm. still work-shopping that one i see. you know. the classic thing autobots do.... convert and move out... what to catholicism or something??

[ID: Panel of an asymmetrical and scifi looking castle on a rocky peak. Caption box: Meanwhile, in the half-completed Decepticon base, constructed from various parts of the erstwhile Harrison Nuclear Plant… END]

Different style but apparently comics Megatron still likes himself a castle. Okay dracula. okay NOS-4-A2.

[ID: Optimus in bot mode, looming over the two humans, he says "I bring you Greetings from Cybertron!" Sparkplug: This one's even bigger than Bumblebee! Buster: Uh-- Hi! END]

He is bigger than Bumblebee... good scale tho, looks right to me anyway. there is a certain charm in this exchange. everyone's suitably and interestingly awkward.

[ID: Panel of Sunstreaker shooting towards the sky, as Sideswipe takes off with a jet pack. Side: If it's a fight they want, Sunstreaker, we can give it to them! Sun: My electron pulse gun shouldn't disappoint them! Side: While you get 'em in your sights, I'll go meet 'em up close and personal. Sun, thinking: Ever-eager for battle, my brother has rashly employed his energy-draining rocket backpack! END]

ah. so the brother thing is from comics. okay. everything always is isnt it? and yes. all the fight scenes have had dialogue like this.

[ID: Megatron stepping toward the viewer, menacingly. "Overconfident Fools! They entrusted the human to their weakest member!" He easily thumps Bee's head with one fist. The humans, small enough to be seen in the space between Megatron's legs. On says "He kayoed Bumblebee with just one shot!" END]

CRUSHED HIM LIKE A BUGGGG 🥁🔔

[ID: Two panels, Caption box: And acts-- Megatron holds Sparkplug in one hand, Optimus points his gun and says "Megatron-- surrender the human or suffer the consequences!" Megatron replies "In a word, Optimus-- He fires his canon, the blast engulfing Prime with a "Wawooom" Megatron finishes "--NO!" But meanwhile Sparkplug is free from his grip, shouting "Geronimo!" END]

honestly this whole page of exchanges was great.... its what i love to see them do... get him megs lol. girl ur so funny. beast warsian almost.

...well thats basically it. its a race to find a way to convert earths energies to their use, and The 'Con have kidnapped the one human who seems willing and able to do it. Low on fuel, and on hope, will our intrepid heroes prevail? As Sparkplug's fate hangs in the balance... tune in next time for...

[ID: Buster looking concerned thinking to himself "How will they be able to rescue Dad-- When it looks like they can't even help themselves?! Caption box: [small next arrow] And along came a... [title text] Spider-man! END]

EX-SQUEEZE ME?!

[rubysapphrald]

How is kylo connected to the insurance agency? I feel like thats a p important part of the movies so it'd have to be in real life, right?

The ceo's sugarbaby?

hold on a second i’ve given this some thought

first order financial is technically based out of london and is helmed by a weird reclusive founder that apparently never leaves england and only communicates with his acting CEO (hux, who is a british transplant miserably living in new york city and is clearly some form of nepo hire because no one gets promoted so high that young but he runs the place like the fucking navy so you can’t ever bring it up or he’ll make your life hell) through suspiciously grainy skype calls with spoofed IP signatures. a lot of people think he actually lives on some tropical island with no extradition policy just in case first order blows up but no one has proof of it

kylo cycles through a lot of jobs and places and circumstances between the ages of sixteen and twenty-six, including but not limited to; one single semester of college (web design), a year in an apartment in los angeles in which he did not pay rent once, two weeks of illegally living out of his car in a national park, a job at a gas station, a job at a subway, a job at a subway inside a gas station, a short stint in the marines (dishonorably discharged), a moment as a very peripheral member of a heist crew followed by three months in a canadian jail, a job as a taxi driver in brooklyn (fired for recklessness after one final unhappy customer), and a small period as a moderately employed construction worker

during a stretch of time which he still modestly refers to as a “gap year” but was actually like eight months of doing drugs in italian nightclubs when he was twenty-three kylo meets a girl who introduces him to a guy who introduces him to some other guys who encourage him to drop the twitch channel idea and go all in on the contract killer thing. not only is he willing to do it he also ends up being unexpectedly good at it. he learns a couple other languages and hones his skills and after a year or so he changes his name and heads to the UK to try to figure out how to advertise his service without getting like put in prison forever or some such thing

in the process of this first order is going through some complicated internal power struggles predicated on the fact that basically the entire business is one big insurance scam and the crux of this is that snoke’s business partners are trying to oust him. his solution to this is to hire the first person he can find that’s willing to take them out and offer them however much money they want for it. kylo makes like a million dollars in one go but snoke is so rich he doesn’t care. kylo does whatever for this guy because he pays more than anyone else; snoke becomes a repeat customer and gets used to having an attack dog that will take out anyone that threatens his schemes

the guy willing to commit misdemeanors to expose first order’s massive fraud operation is of course poe, who has gained kind of a reputation for very loud and disruptive investigative journalism and activism in multiple cities. he’s extremely persistent and determined but not very subtle about his efforts so basically everyone at first order that is high up enough to know about the fraud knows someone is on their trail. snoke assumes poe is being fed information from someone on the inside (he isn’t, he’s just good at looking for stuff in places no one else does) so he sends kylo to the US to stake the place out and see if he can’t 1. find out who the mole is and 2. eliminate poe, but poe gets arrested before kylo can finish the job, bringing us to the top of the movie. this last bit is mostly because i was laughing really hard at the idea of kylo showing up in new york after very few people were told he even existed only for hux to realize that his boss’ pet hit man is the terrible driver that he once pulled strings to get fired from a taxi job in brooklyn.

[escapist-of-fiction]

Not right now - Chapter 2

Song: Back to December by Taylor Swift

Summary: School reunion back in their hometown of Nowle. Fast forward to 2023 and Imogen and Daniel are now in their thirties.

Title: The Reunion

Reunions were strange, Imogen thought, almost like a torch being lit to call everyone home once more. She had done her best over the past few years to avoid the bubble of her hometown. No offence to any of her childhood friends but they had just grown apart. Her life was based in London now, after some soul searching Imogen had found a steady job working as a photographer for a local events management company. It earned her enough to rent a decent sized apartment within reach of the city centre and that was okay for Imogen, for now at least.

Evie was the only person she had really kept in touch with and the main reason Imogen had come back for the reunion. Her oldest friend had nagged her constantly for weeks as soon as the event had popped up on social media. Imogen's parents had retired and moved away to live permanently in the south of France a few years ago and with extended family members dotted all over the UK, there was no real reason for her to return to the town of her youth.

The organiser (a classmate Imogen vaguely remembered) had managed to hire the back room of a local bar in the centre of the town for the whole evening and Evie had persuaded her husband, Luke to drop them off.

"This is so EXCITING!" Evie squealed, squeezing Imogen's hand so tightly she winced, "Urgh, why are your hands so clammy?"

"I hate big events like these. Too many people at once, lots of awkward conversations. You know the drill," Imogen answered with a little shrug. Evie looked over at her in disbelief,

"Hun, your whole career is based on events like these. You're forever schmoozing with people."

"It's not the same. I find it a lot easier walking into a room full of strangers. Less...stressful."

"Whatever you say Immo," replied Evie, not entirely convinced.

"Leave her alone Eves," came the voice of reason from the driver's seat, "We can't all be social butterflies like you." Evie didn't say anything but blew her partner a dramatic kiss to his reflection in the rear view mirror.

"So...who is coming tonight?" Imogen asked, trying not to sound too curious. Evie pulled her phone out of her bag and began to scroll through the events page muttering a variety of names, many of which Imogen could not recall.

"Most of our old crew are coming...Tabitha can't because she's just had her second baby, or is that third? Anyway...Joe said he might be coming but it'll be late after his shift at the station has finished and...Daniel said he's filming a new series overseas somewhere." The last part of her sentence was rushed and most likely for Imogen's benefit, who didn't get a chance to respond (even if she'd wanted to) as they had arrived at their destination.

Once inside and the initial greetings had been made, Imogen had to admit it wasn't so bad. Their old friendship group seemed to gel just like old times, reminiscing about the past, updating each other on major life events. Shrugging away her previous doubts about, what could have been, a night full of awkward conversations, Imogen felt herself relaxing with each glass of prosecco she sipped on.

Having grabbed her towards the makeshift dance floor to dance to an Arctic Monkey's song they used to listen to on repeat in Imogen's car, Evie smiled smugly over at her friend,

"See, aren't you glad I made you came to this now?" She expected an admittance of defeat but the feeling of triumph was short-lived as Imogen suddenly gripped Evie's arm and looked towards the entrance of the bar, all colour draining from her face.

Daniel had just walked in, a quick glance around the room and he began to make his way over to the group of friends, greeting them all in turn. This situation seemed so natural to him. Daniel had always been a loved member of their group, popular, a good friend to rely on. He reached Imogen last, whether this was a subconscious choice or not, the sheer anticipation of it all sent her anxiety through the roof.

"You're here," she blurted out as he hugged her awkwardly. It was obvious that they could feel the whole room staring at their interaction but they wilfully ignored it. Daniel's body hummed in light laughter as he released her from his embrace, taking a little step back to look at Imogen properly. His body ached, almost in protest, at the fact that they had let go of each other.

"Why, was I not invited?" Daniel looked at Imogen with a bemused expression on his face as she shook her head quickly; a loose strand of hair escaped from her ponytail falling across her eyes and he resisted the urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.

"I didn't mean that." She stumbled over her words and became annoyed with herself for letting Daniel have this effect on her, "It's just, they said you weren't coming so it's a surprise to see you. That's all."

"A good surprise, I hope?" There was a teasing twinkle in his eye as he said this and he was rewarded with a blush from Imogen. A quick glance at her hand, he noticed she wore no ring. Daniel took that as a good sign. "You look really good, Immy," he then added quietly, with a sincerity that suggested so much more than what could seem like a simple compliment exchanged between friends.

Except this was Imogen and Daniel. Things were never this simple.

His blue eyes locked with hers and she felt the familiar tug of attraction stir from within, something she hadn't felt it in a long time. Not since the December all those years ago. What was this power that he held over her? It took all of her strength to look away,

"I need to go and find Evie," she murmured, "It was good seeing you Dan."

Daniel watched her walk away. Could she sense that he had his eyes on her as she made her way across the room? He couldn't be sure. He felt completely bewitched by her presence. God, he needed to get a grip...and a drink. Yep, a drink would definitely help.

"I thought you weren't coming tonight."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Daniel retorted with a little chuckle. His best friend, Ben, handed him a pint and they clinked glasses, before taking a sip.

"You're our local celebrity friend. You are our only source of gossip. I guess we all assumed you'd be busy filming?"

"Well..almost true," Daniel admitted, "I am currently filming near Oxford but I ended up having a bit of spare time and it seemed to coincide with this shindig. So here I am."

He took another glance around the room as he said this, his eyes lingering on Imogen for a little longer than intended. It didn't go unnoticed by Ben.

"What's the deal there with you two? Have you stayed in touch?" He was surprised when Daniel shook his head.

"We message here and there. We bumped into each other a couple of years ago. Then I heard nothing from her until now."

"I hear she has a steady boyfriend down in London." Daniel gripped his pint glass tightly as he processed this piece of information. It wasn't as if Daniel expected them to be happily reunited with no complications but knowing Imogen was with somebody else cut him deep. He downed his drink and ordered them both another.

The night passed by uneventfully, almost too quickly in Imogen's opinion. Evie was taking the child-free night to a whole new level and seemed absolutely wasted by midnight unfortunately.

Waiting for a taxi, Imogen propped her friend up on the wall outside of the bar, wondering how happy Luke was going to be when they returned to the house.

"Immo," Evie slurred, reaching out to grip her friend's arm, "We need to do this more often...you should be here, not in stupid London."

"As much as I'd love to give you my reasons for moving to London, Eves, the taxi's here now and we need to move." Placing Evie's arm around her neck, Imogen hoisted her friend up to a standing position, hoping her feet would do the walking automatically, however Evie seemed a lot more interested in sleeping on her friend's shoulder. The taxi driver looked impatiently at Imogen but didn't seem to make any move to help her either.

"Do you need a bit of help?" A familiar voice asked and Imogen felt Evie's weight being lifted off her as she watched Daniel, with one hand firmly around Evie's waist, lead her over to place her inside of the taxi with ease.

"Thanks Dan. Drunken Evie is heavier than I remember."

Daniel then held the passenger door open for Imogen to climb in, which she did as gracefully as she could with her mini dress on, hyper aware that Daniel was watching her every move. He resisted the urge to help her in but leant against the door casually as he continued to chat to her,

"Will you be alright getting her home?" Imogen glanced across to look at Evie who was fast asleep, face pressed up against the window. Not her most dignified moment but being a Mom was tough.

"I'll message Luke as we pull up to the house. He can come and help me get her out. Thanks for your help though."

They shared a little smile and the conversation seemed to come to an abrupt end.

The taxi driver revved his engine impatiently and Imogen rolled her eyes.

"Clearly somebody isn't that bothered about reviews on their taxi app." She shut the door carefully and smiled at Daniel, "It was good seeing you Dan."

"Get home safe Immy."

Daniel stood on the kerbside, watching the car drive off down the road and exhaled slowly.

Life had suddenly got very very complicated...

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