#couldn’t be interested in christianity any less

[butterflybloodbarf]

i get that most people ~liked~ the righteous gemstones, but do you listen to “misbehavin’” and “there will come a payday” at least once a week … or are you normal?

[psychotrenny]

It’s fucking insane to me how normal Yankee Liberals are about Hawaii. As in like the way they just treat it as an unremarkable fact that their nation controls the island. Like the annexation of Hawaii wasn’t just any old example of Settler-Colonialism, the subjugation of a decentralised non-urbanised people that could be just dismissed as mere “tribes” or what have you. Not to say that such forms of “typical” Settler Colonialism are any less abhorrent or disgusting, just easier to justify from a Liberal point of view. Easier to claim that they weren’t *really* using the land properly or that they were an hopelessly and eternally backwards who only really benefitted from their conquest or that they were doomed and dying anyway and their fate was a mere tragic inevitability not worth dwelling on or… Point is all these arguments are all wrong and stupid and cruel but they can serve well enough to downplay or justify such atrocities in the eyes of Imperial Core Liberals.

But like with Hawaii you don’t have that. The Kingdom of Hawai’i was a sovereign state that was internationally recognised as such by the Great Powers of Europe even at the very height of Western Imperialism. Literacy rates were high and compulsory education was introduced in 1841 (pre-dating the US by 77 years), healthcare was given to all Hawai’ian subjects free of charge, Christianity was dominant (so even the most ardent Imperialist couldn’t claim that the people were in the thrall of some “barbaric superstition” that necessitated the “civilising influence” of empire) and it had a well-developed Capitalist economy dominated by Sugar production.  Like even if we take the Western model of statehood as the be all end all of what separates the civilised from the savage (to be clear hear you really fucking shouldn’t, but many people do so for a second that’s the frame of reference we’ll employ) then Hawai’i was very much unambiguously the former.  But that didn’t stop the US from shamelessly interfering it’s politics Indeed those aformentioned markers of Western-Style “civilisation” and “development” came with the price of allow US missionaries and investors to settler in the islands and become very wealthy and influential. For decades the US used the threat of force to influence the policy decisions of the kingdom, going as far as to regularly send warships in a classic display of “gunboat diplomacy”. In 1887 a US settler militia called the First Honolulu Rifles staged a coup where they forced Kalākaua to accept a new Constitution that heavily favoured the interests of USamerican settlers who had grown very wealthy through their investment in sugar production on the island.  It stripped the Monarchy of much of its power and introducing requirements for voting that heavily favoured US settlers; re-introducing wealth/property requirements that were now higher than even, allowing resident aliens to vote and just outright banning any Asian immigrants from voting (which at that point had as much to do with plain racial hatred as it did to any acting threat they might have posed). This wasn’t enough for the Yanks and 6 years later a group of 13 US settlers known as the “Committee of Safety” outright overthrew the newly crowned Queen Liliʻuokalani when she refused to co-operate. It existed briefly as an “Independent” USamerican dominated republic before the US government decided to official annex it in 1898 (similar to what you saw with Texas or California).

While incredibly controversial at the time due to both strategic concerns with the annexation of ultramarine territories and some level of outrage at the shameless take-over of a sovereign nation (hence the time gap between the coup and the actual annexation), nowadays Yanks enjoy their control over the island without the slightest care in the world. They even turned it into a tourist destination, a heavily romanticised one that not only receives many millions of visitors every year but is constantly mentioned in the popular culture the US then proceeds to export all over the world, literally revelling in their land that is by literally any definition (even the most nakedly pro-imperialist) stolen. The land itself is severely exploited to the point of significant ecological damage, the indigenous peoples too are exploited as many of them live in poverty while US investors grow wealthy from their land and labour. Even their very culture is stolen and monetised, the most marketable parts bastardised into cheap kitsch and the rest of it left to rot, only kept alive through over a century of continued resistance from the indigenous peoples. It’s a very common story of course, but I think it stands out with how utterly ghoulish it is even under the most Liberal of consistently applied worldviews. It would be like if in say 2007 someone set up Disneyland in Bagdad. And yet by the vast majority of the US (and by extension the vassals states whose view of the situation is filtered through the lens of US media and propaganda) it isn’t seen that way. Hawaii is just the 50th state, the only state outside North America and in the tropics (hahaha ain’t that a neat little fact. Geography is so fun J), an island paradise perfect to visit with the whole family and yet still as American as Apple Pie. Even many self-described “progressives” talk about it in this way, at most mentioning the plight of the indigenous Hawaiians with minimal though as to how this situation came about. Like while the story of Hawaii is far from unique; even in terms of the US doing colonialism to Westernised peoples you examples such as the ethnic cleansing of the Five Civilised Tribes from the Eastern USA, it still stands out to me with the sheer level of international recognition and Western-style development that the Kingdom of Hawai’i possessed. Like it’s just such an obvious example of the naked greed at the heart of the USamerican empire, and how utterly bullshit talk of a “civilising mission” and “spreading democracy” is. No matter what they may claim, no matter what excuses they may trot out, Imperialist rapacity has no limits.

[melancholicbutterflies]

You Don’t Own Me

Summary: You’re tired of Elvis always telling you what you can and cannot do as his wife. You decide to pushback. He puts you in your place.

Warnings: underage, smut, dubious consent, bdsm themes (dd/lg), cursing, yandere!Elvis themes, breeding kink, 18+ (cannot stress this enough!) 

Word Count: 4,046

It was a decision you would come to regret, but you were young and naive, and dreaming of a better life. 

You met him at your high school. Elvis, up and coming rock ‘n roll sensation, had just returned from two years in the service and had successfully reformed his bad boy image in the eyes of parents everywhere. As such, he was permitted in venues since objected to (and the ones of teenage girls’ wet dreams). 

Elvis the Pelvis was coming to your school, and students and teachers alike were all abuzz. Growing up in a very Christian family, you weren’t allowed to watch his performances, and knew only what you heard from friends of less strict upbringings, and the odd radio programming when you snuck into the teacher’s lounge. 

Nothing could prepare you for what he looked like up close. Thick, dark hair that was somewhat cartoonish framed a devilishly handsome, tanned face with high cheekbones, sultry eyes, and a snarling smile that beckoned you. And he was tall, taller than any of the boys in class (although they were much younger, you had to concede). Still, he looked dapper in his suit, his well-loved acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, devil hips cocked to one side. 

He was a stunner, all right, and you were as good as gone. 

You watched as he gave each and every person his undivided attention, all smiles and bashful head ducks. You wouldn’t have pegged him for humble, couldn’t imagine him being so with the amount of talent and charm and good looks he’d been endowed with, but he surpassed your every expectation. He was here to teach some scripture, and at some point he wove in some music, too. His voice was like a siren’s, no business singing such innocently devout lyrics. 

At the end everyone clapped, and he went to signing autographs; the line took up the whole classroom and wrapped around the hallway as other students from classes that broke out joined in. 

When it was your turn, he started, “who should I make it out to?” Pen poised, eyes tired as he lifted them to look at you with a waning smile, and he stopped. Nearly dropped the pad of paper then and there as he stared at you. You stared back, entranced, and found you were the first to break eye contact. “Well, it’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N, huh” he snapped out of his reverie, eyes alight with... something, as he licked his lips. “What a pretty name for a pretty gal,” he scribbled something on the pad of paper, barely legible, but finished with a heart. His next words you couldn’t predict in your most wondrous of fantasies: 

“Say, you wouldn’t wanna grab a burger and shake with me one o’ these days, would ya? Or am I gettin’ ahead of myself?” 

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, in shock. He laughed, hair flopping as his head tossed back. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

You nodded vigorously, finally finding your words, albeit breathily. “Yes!” 

“It’s a date,” he said lowly, gaze now stuck on your lips. 

It was nothing short of sweet. You avoided your coworkers interested looks as you sat down with Elvis, who’d held your purse as you slid in the booth opposite. You were hungry and he vocalized he liked a girl who ate and set down a tip that was more than you made in a shift. Ice cream followed, a nice walk in the park, and he drove you home, politely not commenting on the sort of neighborhood you lived in. “I had a nice time,” he said in the low light of the fading sun, leaning in real close. “I did, too.” You said it as you looked down in your lap until he picked your chin up, forcing your gaze to his. You thought he looked sinful for someone so religious. 

“Good, because I really wanna kiss you, Y/N.”

You stopped him with a hand at his clavicle. “I can’t.” Looking backward, he saw a figure by the window, felt your sudden nervousness. It was about more than just want, and thankfully he understood. “Sure, baby, I get it. You’re unspoiled, aren’t you?” His eyes implored you. 

Reticently, you nodded, not fully understanding his meaning but knowing enough. 

It should have concerned you how happy he looked at that. 

Pretty soon he showed up everywhere. At the local diner, your ballet lessons, even one late night you were out walking your dog, Marnie. You could have sworn you saw a car at the end of the street, eyes watching under darkness. It was unnerving, it was exciting; you hadn’t experienced the weight of someone’s entire attention on you before now.

If you were less naive, you might have questioned why a grown man who had plenty else to do was expending so much effort getting to know you. It all became clear one day when he took you out to dinner, not just at any restaurant, but the fanciest one in town, followed by a romantic moon-lit walk at the beach and kneeled before you in the sand asking you to marry him. 

You said yes, of course, and he looked like the happiest man alive as he wrapped you up in a breathtaking kiss. You two couldn’t wait to get to his hotel, and made love right then and there, the sounds of the ocean waves lapping in the distance. 

He wanted to marry at once, and only a few days later you were at the courthouse exchanging vows. None of your friends could come (they were all in school), and only a few of his came, including his father, who hadn’t exactly looked favorably on you, but knew his son couldn’t be reasoned with once he set his mind to something. The colonel scowled in the corner, smoking his pipe up a storm. Your mom and dad wanted nothing to do with the whole affair and had all too happily washed their hands of you, signing paperwork to allow you to wed before your eighteenth birthday. 

When it was time to say, ‘I do’, you did so enthusiastically, and a beautiful smile broke out on his handsome face. He pulled you in, thumbing your bridal veil, and kissed you like a man possessed. You were forever changed in that moment. 

Mrs. Elvis Presley. It was like a dream come true.

And for a while, it was. 

Elvis was attentive, doting, a true joy to be around. He took care of everything for you. You wanted for nothing. You were happy, happier than you ever thought possible in your short and, up till now, wretched life. Elvis changed everything for you, and you were eternally grateful. 

But, like all dreams, there came a time when reality set in. The bubble burst. Oh, boy, did it ever. 

It started with little things, at first. 

Before he’d met you, you worked at a diner waiting tables. Now that you were married, he claimed there was no reason to keep waitressing. “Waste of time,” he remarked, “’sides, who’d wanna keep on their feet like that all day long when you don’t have’ta? Nuh-uh, didn’t think so. You’ll put in your notice tomorrah’.” 

You thought to object, but he had a point. It was enjoyable enough to you, sure, passed the time all right, and gave you some pocket change to buy things for yourself that your parents never would. But now with Elvis occupying your days, and making just about a hundred times what you ever did after a full day’s work just sitting around, what was the point? Your coworkers, as nice as they were, were hardly reason enough. 

So you promptly shut your mouth and smiled, giving him a big hug, and that was that. 

Then it was your hair: 

“Oh, doll,” he crooned one night after a heavy bout of lovemaking, running his meaty paw through your thick, wavy hair. “Wouldn’t you look good with straightened hair?” 

You turned to him in mild surprise, still blissed out. “You never said a thing about my hair before. Don’t you like it?”

“Oh, ‘course I do, baby. I just thought you might like to keep up with the fashion is all. All them girls have their hair straight these days.” 

“I guess that’s true.” You admitted. “And, say, maybe you ‘oughta darken it while you’re at it. Might be nice to have us match, you know.” You touched a hand to your hair, furrowing your brows as he leaned in to nuzzle your neck, applying light, sweet kisses there. It was awfully distracting, your hand falling limp on the bed as you gasped. 

“Promise me you’ll think ‘bout it, at least...” He murmured low between kisses that went ever lower. “Oh, sure.” 

“Good girl,” he growled, and he said something about “...have Jer make an appointment at that salon o’ Sandy’s.” And he proceeded to eat you out. 

As time went on, that charming, subtle needling to shift your behaviors in his favor turned meaner:

Once before a press conference, he stopped you in the hallway, seizing your arm. “Hey, what’s wrong—” you winced as he twisted it around harshly in an effort to inspect your hand. “Quit it, E, that hurts.” 

“What is this?” He looked at you angrily, disappointed, even. 

“What is what?” You didn’t see anything other than your ring, which was where it should be, on your ring finger without anything out of the ordinary. When you saw where his eyes were directed, you realized he meant your nail polish. 

“So it’s a little chipped. Who cares?”

“Who cares?” He seethed. “I care, and if you had any sense in ya you would too! Everything you do reflects on me, little girl, so when you look like a cheap hussy, you make me look bad. Make ‘em think I can’t take care of my baby. Get it?” 

He wasn’t shouting, he wasn’t even raising his voice, but the venom dripping from his quiet wrath was so much worse. 

Tears built at the corner of your eyes and you ducked your head, turning on your heel to run back toward the bedroom before he caught you by the arm again. You thought he’d apologize, say he overreacted. He didn’t. Instead he said: “Dry those eyes, girl, and put on a smile. I don’t care if it ain’t real, but I won’t have ya embarrassin’ me.” 

It only snowballed from there.

Your whole wardrobe was thrown out, and a new one replaced to match with Elvis’. You didn’t finish school, didn’t do ballet anymore. You still cooked and baked now and then, but only on special occasions. Mary did all the real cooking in the house, and she already knew what Elvis liked and she did it well. Drinking, although technically not even legal, was forbidden (“a lady shouldn’t drink, you’ll get sloppy and less chivalrous men than myself’ll take advantage. Don’t want that, do ya?”)

Want to go to the movie with some friends? Think again. Boys weren’t allowed anywhere in your vicinity: he barely let Red, trusted bodyguard of the Memphis Mafia, guard you. He said he didn’t like his wandering eye one time. Personally, you thought he was delusional, but didn’t bother arguing since you hadn’t exactly taken a liking to the man. 

Your friends were more acquaintances now, and when you saw them, you didn’t know what to say. They’d moved on, had new friends or new boyfriends. They felt you abandoned them (you did, although not intentionally). You never felt more alone in your life, and yet you were never alone; Elvis made sure of that, always having someone stay behind to watch you when he couldn’t.

Eventually it was the summer, your first summer as a married couple in fact, and you were invited to your cousin’s wedding. It was her high school sweetheart; they got the bug from you and wanted to get hitched as soon as they graduated high school. You were hellbent on making it to that wedding, come hell or high water. Elvis, as your husband, was of course also invited and expected as your plus one. They were renting out a small venue in Nashville, and the bride-to-be wanted you as her bridesmaid if not the maid-of-honor (a role you suspected in the back of your mind would have easily been yours pre-Elvis, but post-Elvis you was less reliable, and you couldn’t fault her for making that decision). 

Elvis’ first reaction to it surprised you. After all, he’d hardly wanted you to leave his side and had grown increasingly controlling. So when he said, “Sure, hunny,” you almost questioned if you’d imagined it.

You were ecstatic. “Oh, thank you, Elvis. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Each word of gratitude was punctured by a kiss all over his face and any other bare patch of skin you could reach. He laughed that booming laugh of his and pulled you in to give you a proper one. “Well, if that’s the way you were gonna thank me I ‘oughta have more o’ your friends get married!” 

This was Fall. Now that it was summertime, and the wedding weekend was upon you, he put his foot down. 

“No,” he said simply, not even sparing you a glance as he casually strummed his acoustic guitar, legs spread apart on the couch. Your mouth nearly fell to the floor, and you felt a distinct ringing in your ears, your heartbeat speeding up. Blinking, you saw a few of his Mafia crew milling about, pretending they’d gone deaf and blind as your temper rose. 

“What?” You screeched. 

You did. 

You almost forgot what it sounded like, your defiance. It was spectacular, and you thought you had never felt so angry in your life. 

And you had a right to, damn it. You did everything this man said and more. You dyed your hair black, you straightened it to his liking, you always had a fresh paint of nails, you wore the dresses he picked out for you, even the ones with the ruffles that you couldn’t stand, and wanted to make you tear your eyes out of your sockets. You stopped working because he said so (although that was not entirely something worth fighting). But you left school, and you stopped talking to your friends for months until they stopped trying so hard and all you had was him and his damn Mafia. The girlfriends and wives didn’t even hardly talk to you. You were too young and there was very little in common. 

You think you spewed all this out to him in your rage, not thinking it even made sense, but you wanted him to feel what he put you through, and being his wasn’t enough if you didn’t have a life outside of his wants and desires. 

Finally, chest heaving, out of words to say in your tirade, you saw him through blurry, teary eyes. He’d frozen, shoulders hunched, body tensed for a fight. He looked around the room, but he needn’t — his Mafia was nowhere to be seen now. His eyes cut to you, dark and stormy, as he rose to his full height and strode towards your panting figure. 

It was a sight to behold, your husband so angry. He’d been cross with you — lord knew he’d been annoyed on many an occasion — but enraged was new. It felt like the point of no return. Like he’d really hurt you this time, all those words about never laying a hand on a woman falling by the wayside.

“Now, Elvis, hold on now—”

“Long past time for that, baby. You been backsassin’ me and I won’t stand for it.”

Your eyes cut to the side, seeing a crack in the doorway.

“Don’t you even think about it, lil’ girl.” Elvis growled. You yelped as he took you in his arms, forcefully tugging you to the couch where he fell back against it, the momentum leaving you to fall across his lap in a rather unlady-like manner. 

“Elvis, please, I’m sorry,” you began, attempting in vain to rise from the precarious position he had you in. His arm only tightened its hold around your waist much like a boa constrictor around its prey. “Should’a thought ‘a that before you went off like that. Now, sit tight and take your punishment.” 

He hit you, then. He actually did it. But it wasn’t across your face or strangling your neck like you’d heard some women claiming of their husbands. He’d pulled up your dress so that it hung your belly and pulled down your lace underwear so that you were bare-bottomed and smacked your butt with his open palm, rings and all. 

You gasped first, shocked that it had happened, and that it felt like it did; the contrast of his warm skin and the cold metal rings was a contrast you hadn’t known you needed. Then as one became two, and two became three, and four and five, and so on... you’d lost track, a strange feeling built up in your lower abdomen that felt familiar yet also foreign. 

Were you... enjoying this absurd, perverted version of punishment?  Surely you weren’t getting turned on by your husband beating you like an errant child? 

And yet... you couldn’t deny the flare of hot want flowing through you, and you certainly couldn’t deny the wet stickiness that started collecting in your bared cunt. You had to bite your lip from making your desire audible; you were angry, aghast that your husband would go to such lengths for simply voicing your very legitimate frustrations to him. 

When a slap fell slightly lower, just catching the bottom of your pussy lips, you couldn’t contain your excitement. A moan slipped past your lips. 

Elvis froze, cock hardening in his pants some.

Your eyes widened, cursing yourself internally. The last thing you wanted was for the bastard to know some part of you was enjoying yourself. You wouldn’t look at him, burying your head in the side of his thigh, even as you felt that hot and searing gaze of his on you. You were humiliated, something you hadn’t thought possible after what he’d already done. 

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice deeper, thick with lust. “Seems my baby likes this more than she should.” 

“Please, Elvis, let me go,” you begged.” You’ve had your fun, being humiliated like this is punishment enough.” 

He laughed, barrel chest vibrating against you. “Oh, hunny, I ain’t nearly done with you. In fact,” he circled your ass with his palm, your slick wetting his fingers now. “The fun’s just begun.” 

“What—” You interjected, only to cry out loudly (or perhaps moan, it was some contrived version of the two), as he promptly pushed his fingers deep into your crevice, the warm, wet walls hugging his long digits with gusto. 

He hissed, “oh, baby girl, that vice of yours just about does my head in. I need to be inside you now.” He started fumbling with his slacks, the belt coming undone in record time as he pulled his rock-hard cock out of his boxers. He gave it a good tug, grimacing at the action. The tip was red and weeping, practically twitching with need. 

“C’mere,” he said, positioning you where he wanted you like a doll. “On all fours, that’s right, just like that hunny.” Your knees met the carpeted floor, hair falling around you like a curtain as your head bent. You know he could go deep like this, but usually you had sex facing one another. He could piss you off to no end, but sex was always a sacred thing between you two. This felt cold, unfeeling. Fucking was what it was; he could care less to see you, he only wanted to possess you. You felt cheap, a plaything — and yet your cunt continued to thud with need. 

“Jesus, you’re a pretty sight,” he rubbed his cock over your pussy lips, grab at your ass, take another smack of it and delighting in the jiggle of it. “Please, Elvis, just...” You pleaded, and he cut a look at you. “Don’t think you’re much in the position to be makin’ any sorta demands, doll.” 

You hung your head, sighing, waiting for him to get his fill. “Oh, hell,” he said, “you’re lucky I can’t hardly wait anymore either.” And with that he pushed into you, causing a surprised yelp to leave your throat. Pulling on your hair, causing your back to arch towards him, he set a punishing, brutal pace, one that hard you seeing stars. In this position, he could hit your g-spot dead on, and hit it he did. 

“Oh, godddd,” you groaned, scraping a hand back to hold onto his arm holding onto you. He huffed a laugh that turned strangled toward the end. “Not God, darlin’, but close.” 

You would have snorted at the cheesy line if you weren’t full of his cock. 

“Nothin’ to say?” He taunted. “That’s a real shame. To think you just needed some good dick to quiet down. Bet you ain’t never had one good as me.” 

It wasn’t a statement, he expected an answer, but you were too far gone in the blissed-out feeling to recognize it.

Smacking your sore ass harshly, he repeated his words. “Ain’t you? Say it, or I swear to God I’ll stop right now and won’t let you come.” 

“Yes, E, yes! You’re the best I’ve had,” you cried as the building sensation waned. “That ain’t my name, try again.” 

“Daddy,” you whispered, feeling some shame about it. You always felt weird about calling him that even though your relationship with you father had never been close, but he demanded you refer to him in that way. 

“Daddy what?”

“Daddy you’re the best I’ve ever had,” you admitted. He smiled; really, you would have said anything to have him keep fucking you the way he was.

“That’s right,” he pet your head, slipping his cock back into your tight hole as your eyes rolled back in your head. “You’re my good girl when you’re like this, almost forgotten you was bad earlier. Throwin’ a temper tantrum back there after all I done for you. Ungrateful. And for what? Some weddin’ you felt you needed to go to?” He tutted you, each word punctured by a punishing stab at your cervix; the pain intermingled with pleasure to create a heady concoction leaving you at a loss of words. Intelligible ones, anyhow. 

“Ye-ah...” you moaned. 

“What was that?” Elvis goaded, pinching your swinging titties between his hands. 

“A-agree, I w-was bein’ bad.” 

“Right. ‘Cause the only person you should be worryin’ about is me. Your husband.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed deeply. “Need you just as much, more than ‘em. Can’t have you halfway ‘cross the state if somethin’ came up.” 

He soothed your head, running his fingers through your dampening hair. “Need my yittle baby by my side, and she needs her daddy,” he cooed in the baby-talk language he loved so much. 

You nodded, more so due to the buildup in your pelvic region. He groaned, feeling the tighening in his balls as your walls started fluttering around him. 

“Shit, hunny, you got me ready to burst. You gon’ take it? Take all my lovin’?” 

“Yes, Daddy! I’ll take it all.” 

“Gonna fill you up,” he mumbled, hips moving erratically now. “Fill you up with my babies ‘till your big and swollen with my seed. Shi-itt—!” 

You cried out at the sensation of his warmth shooting into you, triggering your orgasm. 

“Agh!” He yelled, falling over you, hips slowly still moving as if to fuck more into you. You collapsed on the floor, and he was right behind you. You two laid on the floor in the fading light that spilled through the French windows. 

Turning so that he was looking at you, he pulled your face to his in a deep, slow kiss. “You gonna let Daddy take care of you?” 

You hesitated, knowing what he wanted of you. “Yes, Daddy. I’ll make the call tonight.” 

He grinned, looking every bit the angel and devil as he hovered over you. “Good girl.” 

[mackenzielovee]

letters to you: graduation day - rafe cameron

summary: you think you know him too well. he surprises you yet again.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, intoxication

wc: 3.4k

a/n: hi hello happy sunday <3 i've had this in the drafts for so long and have yet to post it so i hope you guys like it. eeeeek. i've missed them. please leave me some love! reblogs are very appreciated!

series masterlist

     The shot Emma holds out in front of you seems to be the only thing promising to dull the ache in your chest. It’s graduation day; specifically, morning, and you’re already dressed, makeup on, hair done. Ethan lounges against the countertop with his own shot glass, and Christian stands directly beside him with one as well. You accept the shot and cheer with the group, plastering a smile on your face for their sakes as you down it. 

UNC, in all their great wisdom, scheduled your graduation on a Thursday. Rafe, ever so apologetic and regretful, couldn’t take two full days from work, given that May is their busiest time of the year. He’d promised to watch the livestream, to call you every hour before you go and every hour after, and apologized profusely over multiple days. You’d told him it was okay; that it wasn’t even that big of a deal and you were going to be busy anyway. 

That, you realize, was a lie. You want him here more than anything in the world; to see you in your white dress that you’d agonized over and watch you walk across that stage to receive the thing you’ve worked toward for the last four years. 

Emma nudges you with her elbow, drawing you out of your silent pity party. You give her a forced smile, then hold your shot glass out for her to refill. 

“Nope,” she mutters, “You’re a lightweight. Can’t have you falling over on that stage.”

“Em,” you press, “He’s not here. Give me another.”

You say it quietly, keeping it from Ethan and Christian. When they had come in, surprised not to see Rafe, they gave you the look. The one that silently questions if the two of you were through, and that’s why he’s not here. Quickly, you’d defended Rafe’s absence and they’d accepted the reasoning, but their expressions still hold up in your head. 

“Y/N, maybe–”

“Emma,” you groan, “I swear–”

“Fine,” she shrugs, “Fine. I’ll just laugh when you fall.”

You smile and shake your head at her, downing the shot quickly. You watch as Emma checks her phone, firing off two texts and locking it before you can strain your neck to see who she’s texting. Ethan’s here, so is Chris, and so are you. 

“Who–”

“Caroline,” she says quickly, shoving her phone away, “She wants to meet up for drinks later.”

You swallow, “Oh. That will be fun.”

Fun for Emma. Not for you. Caroline hadn’t so much as looked your way ever since she hit on Rafe and he couldn’t have acted less interested, and suddenly, the invitation she used to extend out to you seemed to disappear. Not that you minded, but the thought of Emma going out tonight and leaving you here alone makes your chest grow even heavier. 

“Y/N…” she trails off, obviously not sure what to say. 

“Em, it’s fine. It’s graduation day. You deserve to celebrate,” you give her a smile that almost feels genuine, “We all do.”

She just nods slowly, her eyes wide with an emotion you can’t seem to place. Ethan steps over to her before you two can discuss it any further, and when Christian calls out for your attention, you give it to him.

Just as you grow comfortable in your conversation with him, being drunk enough to ramble without thinking much about what you’re saying, there’s a knock at your front door. You look over at Emma and furrow your eyebrows, but she just shrugs and points to it. 

“You get it,” she says, pulling Ethan closer to her. 

“Why should I get it?” you argue, blinking rapidly when you notice how unsteady you are. 

“Shit, Y/N, I told you not to drink–”

The knock sounds again, and more so out of irritation for the consistent knocking than curiosity about who it is, you rush to the door. You grab the wall for support, yanking on the door handle. Ready to tell off whoever is on the other side, you feel your knees buckle when you see him.

The sight of Rafe Cameron in a dress shirt and tie, holding a bouquet of peonies and sporting a wide grin is enough to bring tears to your eyes.

He chuckles as he takes you in, but barely has time to step forward before you dive onto him. Your legs hook around his waist and he grabs ahold of you instinctually, gripping your waist like his life depends on it. 

“Honey–” he starts, but you stop him when you start to cry into his neck.

“You said—” you practically whine, “You said you couldn’t make it.”

He laughs, shifting his head so he can press a kiss to your now wet cheek. 

“You didn’t really think I’d miss your graduation, did you?” 

Your response is only to let out a cry against his neck, squirming deeper into him. Wanting to feel every inch to ensure he’s real, he’s here, and he’s yours. 

You hear Emma giggle from the doorway, but you ignore her. After a minute, Rafe gently sets you down and lets you get your bearings before pulling you into him by your waist, letting your hands link around his neck. 

“You okay?” he asks, smirk threatening his lips. 

You nod, “I just– I–”

Rafe’s eyebrows furrow, and when he steals a suspecting glance at Emma, she speaks. 

“She’s a little drunk,” Emma murmurs. 

Rafe laughs, “Is that true, honey?”

“No,” you defend, your body heating up, “I just missed my boyfriend.”

Rafe laughs again, and you swear the sound makes your heart beat faster. He leans down and kisses the top of your head twice, making you smile. 

“He missed you, too,” he says quietly, “Let’s go inside.”

Emma takes the flowers from Rafe’s hand and hurries off to the kitchen to put them in a vase while you cling to Rafe’s side, unwilling and unable to peel away. He just laughs and rubs your back, letting you do whatever it is you need to. 

He greets Ethan and Christian in the kitchen, making small talk with them while glancing down at you every few seconds. When you rest your chin on his sternum and smile up at him, he chuckles and leans down to give you a kiss. 

“Too short,” you complain when he pulls back. 

He smiles, “I’m gonna make you some coffee, okay?”

You just nod, letting him guide you to the coffee maker on the opposite counter. While he pours the coffee grounds in, you pull yourself up on the counter and watch him as he works. Once the machine starts to whir, he steps over to you, settling between your legs. 

“Can’t believe you’re here,” you whisper, your nails scratching the back of his neck.

“Can’t believe you’re drunk,” he counters, “I’m sorry you thought I wasn’t coming. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You certainly surprised me,” you mumble, pulling him closer by his collar, “Kiss me?”

“Mhm,” he hums. 

His lips meet yours and you feel calmer, you feel like you’re home. His hands rest on the tops of your thighs and he laughs into your mouth when you pull him in further and further, until you’re visibly ready to undress him in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Y/N, damn!” Emma teases. 

You giggle and drop your grip on him, but you don’t look away. You’re too lost in the sea of blue and in the alcohol coursing through your veins. Rafe grins and pecks your lips one more time, then steps away to get your coffee. 

Emma, Ethan, and Christian leave the two of you alone — much to Emma’s demand, you’re sure — and head into the living room.Rafe glances between you and the coffee every few seconds, and when he watches you happily swinging your feet and getting lost in your own head as you think about him being here. 

“I brought you a present,” Rafe says quietly, carrying over a mug full of coffee with the perfect amount of cream mixed in for you. 

Your eyes widen, “A present?”

He laughs as you take the mug from him and sip. 

“Yes, honey, a present,” he smiles, “Do you want it now, or—”

“Yes!”

He chuckles, “Wait here.”

You grin and clutch your mug tightly while he steps over to his bag, which was happily abandoned in the doorway of your apartment when you pulled him inside. He pulls out a present wrapped in brown paper, with a black bow tied around it in string. You smile; the wrapping itself reminds you so much of Rafe already. 

When he returns to his spot in front of you, he takes his time examining your face. Your drunken – but sobering — eyes, your tipsy smile, and the ever so little scrunch in your nose. 

“I hope you like it,” he says, holding up the wrapped present. “There’s a letter, too, but I’m gonna wait ‘til you’ve sobered up to give you that.”

“Rafe,” you pout, wanting the letter more than anything. 

In response, he pushes the present closer, “Open.”

You do as he instructs and tug on the loosely tied bow, watching it fall apart in your hands. Rafe scoffs at your slow speed, which makes you look up at him and giggle. 

“I love your wrapping,” you giggle. 

“Thank you, slowpoke,” he rolls his eyes playfully. 

You tear the paper bit by bit, pulling it back until you recognize exactly what is in the package. 

“Your copy of Pride and Prejudice?”

It’s worn; the right corner of the cover is creased, and you remember how you drew a tiny R on the left side with a heart. You pull it from the wrapping completely as he hums, feeling your heart ache in your chest at the sight of the book that brought the two of you together. 

“Yeah, I, uh, I reread it. And I wrote little notes underneath my old ones for you. I wanted to show you how having you in my life has changed my perspective. On everything.”

Your eyes well up with tears the moment you process his words, and it’s as if the shots melt away. A perfect pout forms on your lips as you open it and flip through, finding his old notes that you recognize, along with new ones in a different colored pen. 

“Oh, my God,” you whisper, “Rafe, this is such a great present. I can’t wait to read it all. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He grins when you pull him in by his tie and begin to press kisses onto his cheeks and jawline. You set the book down on the counter so you can feel him with both hands, silently letting him know that he’s going to have to be the one to stop you — and only if he wants. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, guiding you back with a gentle hand on your cheek so he can look you in the eye, “I hope you understand that I mean that. I was a completely different person before you. When you came into my life, with your adjectives and your books and your perfect little pout, I knew I was completely and totally screwed. I love you, and I’m so proud of you.”

“Rafe,” you whine, and when a tear slips, he brushes it away immediately, “Thank you. I love you so much.”

“I hope so,” he replies smugly, then presses a kiss to your forehead, “Drink your coffee.”

You do as instructed and pick the mug back up, smiling when the book catches your eye. It’s the perfect present to represent your relationship with Rafe; how the two of you started, where you are now, and everything in between. 

“If I finish the mug, can I have my letter?” you ask, adding your pout before saying, “Pretty please?”

You watch as he visibly caves. His shoulders fall and his eyes narrow slightly, but he nods. 

“Yes,” he sighs. 

“Thank you,” you grin and take a long sip, proving to him that you’re dedicated. 

He stands with you as you drink your coffee, and the buzz that took only a few minutes to gain, takes only a few sips of coffee to lose. 

The second you show him your empty mug and raise your brow suggestively, his chest deflates with an exhale, and he steps back over to his bag. 

You steal a few kisses from him as the letter exchanges hands, and when you finally hold it in your grasp, he swallows. 

“I’m gonna step out,” he nods toward the back door, pulling the cigarettes from his pocket, “Take your time.”

You attempt to speak, to ask him about it, but he kisses you again and steps away before you can get your thoughts in order. Only when you hear Emma erupt in cheers as Rafe steps through the living room do you flip the envelope over and pull the pages from it. 

Y/N,

My girl. My honey. 

I am so beyond proud of you. Today and every day. I can’t even believe that we’ve been together long enough to have reached this point. I mean, I can, but in a larger sense, I can’t. Do you know what this means, though? Selfishly, I keep reminding myself that this means you’re one step closer to moving in with me. I know that’s not what’s on your mind right now, but it’s the only thing on mine. We’ve done our version of long distance for long enough. I want you all to myself, every day, forever. 

That being said, I’ve been thinking about what’s going to happen beyond the summer. How am I supposed to have you, and then let you go again? 

I’ve decided that I’m not willing to do that. That as much as I love you, and as much as I want to be with you in any capacity that I can, I want to see your smile every day. I want to hear your laugh, and feel your kisses, and end every single day with you in my bed. Our bed. 

So, here’s my proposal. You can say no. But, I pray that you don’t, because I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it. I want to go to grad school with you. Wherever you go, I want to move with you. I’ll find another job, I’ll do whatever I have to do. I want to be there for you when you study for big tests or have a shitty day or hate your professor. I want all of it. Will you let me come with you? I’ll grovel as much as you want. 

Anyway, this letter is supposed to be about you. Everything you’ve accomplished. You’re going to do amazing things in this world. You’ve already done amazing things to my world. I could not be prouder of you than I am. All of that work and stress is finally paying off, honey, and that’s all anyone can ask for. I can’t wait to see you walk across that stage and get your diploma. Thank you for letting me be a part of it. 

I love you so much. I could not be more grateful to have you in my life. You’re so beautiful. Come find me. I’m sure I need a kiss from you. 

Yours forever, 

Rafe 

Tears are pouring from your eyes before you even register their presence. For a while, you’ve known how much Rafe loves you. For a while, you’ve known that he is excited to have you moving in with him. However, this letter seems to solidify all of it to you. 

Without even giving it a second thought, you hop off of the counter and head out of the kitchen, only to be met with the three tipsy souls in the living room. 

Emma’s eyes immediately grow with concern when she sees your state, but then, her eyes fall to the letter. Immediately, she softens and smiles, then nods her head toward the balcony. 

“Rafe Cameron seemed anxious,” she murmurs, “Go get him.”

You smile and nod your head. Ethan catches your eye as he blatantly looks between the two of you, dumbfounded. 

“I never know what the fuck is going on around here,” he grunts. 

“That’s okay, sweetie,” Emma replies in a condescending voice, “At least you’re pretty.”

You laugh and then step away from them, toward the sliding door. You take a moment to observe him before you open it. His tense back, his hair — that you notice is freshly cut for the occasion — and the cigarette that rests between his fingers, looking only about halfway through, which is slow for him. 

You try to push the door open quietly, but he turns around, anyway. When he sees you, with the water under your eyes and your fingers still clutching the letter, he gives you a soft smile. He opens his mouth, and somehow, you know it’s to backtrack. To offer you a way out before you commit. You shake your head, which silences him. 

“Yes,” you blurt, “Yes, yes, yes. Come with me. I want you there.”

He lets out a relieved breath, and the grin that spreads across his face makes your heart skip a beat or two. He drops his cigarette without a care and then rushes over to you, taking you into his embrace and holding you right into his chest. 

“Oh, thank you,” he murmurs into your ear, “Honey, thank you. I want to be there for you.”

You smile and look up at him, silently begging for a kiss. He gives you one, then two, then three, and only stops when you giggle. 

“Rafe, our place is gonna be so cute,” you gush, “We’ll have to get a really big bookshelf, though, to fit both of our collections. And we could have a super organized kitchen. I’ve always wanted an organized kitchen, but Emma’s always scattering everything around, and—”

“Y/N,” Rafe laughs, stopping you, “You can put it all however you want. I’m there for you, not the bookshelf or the kitchen. Okay?”

“Okay,” you chuckle, “I’m so excited.”

“Me, too, honey.”

He holds you tight on the balcony where the two of you had your first real conversation, and he does it until Emma comes to the door and tells you that it’s time to go. You pout and allow your grip to tighten around him, unwilling to separate. 

“You need to go,” he tells you quietly, “Can’t be late to your own graduation.”

“Promise you’ll find me after?” 

His shoulders fall and he shakes his head, “Yes, honey. I promise.”

Reluctantly, you release him and step toward the back door. Just before you shove it further open and slip back through, you turn back and take him in. 

“What if I go to grad school all the way in California?”

He knows it’s a test; a ridiculous question. You’ve never expressed any interest in going out there for school, and he knows you’re not going to start now. 

“I’ll come with you,” he grins.

“What about Alaska?”

You bite down on your bottom lip to hide a smile as he starts over, towering above you and eyeing your mouth. 

“Anywhere.”

You open your mouth to reply, to dare him to kiss you, when Emma’s voice rings through the air once more. 

“Y/N! We have to go!”

“Find me after,” you say quickly to Rafe, then stand up on your tiptoes to peck his lips, “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” he replies, nodding inside. 

When you look back one last time, you watch Rafe begin to shake his head at your antics. Your lips tip up and you let the two words escape your lips, needing confirmation from him before you go. 

“You’re mine?”

He smiles, “I’m yours. Go.”

You nod happily and hurry to Emma, who holds her hand out to you and drags you out the front door, leaving only Rafe, Ethan, and Christian in your apartment. Immediately, Emma starts to gush about Ethan. When she sees the look on your face, however, the blissful, happy expression, she stops and smiles. The only person who cares about your happiness as much as Rafe is Emma, and she can tell that whatever was in that letter has changed your life. As much as today signifies separation between the two of you, it signals something greater for you, and that’s all Emma could ever ask for.

*i no longer have a tag list. follow @mackupdates for updates! <3

[enjoy-the-butterf1ies]

Everywhere, Everything-

CL16 (Chapter 5/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc × female!reader

Series Summary: In which a rising singer gets her biggest break yet; opening at the Austin Grand Prix. All record companies would have their eyes on her- along with a certain monegasque driver.

Trope: Slow burn with a mix of other tropes in there (He fell first, one bed, roommates, all the good ones!)

Chapter Summary: Sharing a bed with your newfound friend is completely normal. Even with new feelings brewing, surely you could push them down for one night, right?

Warnings: Cussing, rushed chapter, probably typos 🫣

“Charles, just get in bed before I push you out the window,” You stated firmly, patting the spot in the bed next to you.

The two of you had spent the past 25 minutes unpacking, and within the last 5 minutes, arguing about the bed situation. It was race weekend and the both of you were exhausted. Sure, one bed for two people wasn’t ideal, but you were tired and couldn’t care less at this point. Charles rocked back and forth on his feet nervously.

“Are you sure?” He muttered. You huffed. If he asked you that one more time, you swore to keep the bed all to yourself.

“Yes, Charles,” You crossed your arms. “I trust you, it’s not weird. I share beds with friends all the time.”

Charles wasn’t worried about weirding you out though. Well, he was, but his main concern was being so damn close to you. He was afraid if he somehow turned too far in his sleep, his arms would find their way around your body. He would instinctively pull you closer to his chest. And he would never want to let go again.

You hardened your eyes on him. Why was he so adamant about not sleeping in the same bed as you? You could see how it would be weird, but surely he didn’t want to sleep on the floor, right?

Then a horrible thought flickered in your mind. Maybe he didn’t want to be around you. That possibly, he was already regretting taking you on the tour. After all, you already cost him a bed.

You sighed deeply when he stayed frozen. Pushing yourself out of the bed, you shrugged. “I’m gonna go change into pajamas. You can have the bed, it’s okay. I’ll make a pallet on the floor.” You muttered regretfully. The last thing you wanted to do was burden Charles days before the race. You felt a pang in your heart when he remained silent as you closed the door to the bathroom. You rested your forehead against the door. “Fuck,” You muttered to yourself. You were probably a huge inconvenience to him at this point.

Charles was interesting like that. One moment you’d be the happiest person alive in his company, the next, you’re nervous under his gaze or worrying whether or not you’re saying the right thing. Then again, who wouldn’t be nervous around him? Especially under this circumstance.

You decided you could push the feeling away long enough to get through the rest of the race season. You’d sooner lick the bottom of Christian Horner’s shoes than have feelings complicate your friendship with him, and even more than that, your career. You had one focus at the end of all of this- your music career. You didn’t wanna lose sight of that.

“Charles, are there any extra blankets?” You called as you exited the bathroom, dressed in fuzzy shorts and a tank top. You froze where you stood seeing the sight of Charles.

On the bed.

Shirtless.

“We can share the bed, no way in hell I’m making you sleep on the floor,” He said, playfully tossing a pillow at you. It hit your stomach and fell to the ground, your arms unable to move due to his naked state. Well, not naked, but he might as well have been. He chuckled at you. “Damn, you can’t catch.”

You scoffed at him. “Screw you, I’m jet lagged,” You countered, crawling into bed. Next to your shirtless friend. No big deal.

Charles leaned the back of his head against the bed frame and gave you a smile. “It was really sweet of you to offer me the bed,” He said, not a hint of falseness in his voice. You shrugged.

“Last thing I could do, all things considered,” You said. “I’m not about to inconvenience you right before race weekend.”

“You’d never inconvenience me,” He said, almost immediately as the words left your mouth. You blushed deeply, and thanked whatever God was out there that the lights were dim.

“So, you ready for free practice tomorrow?” You asked, hoping the subject change would prevent him from saying odd stuff like that.

“Yeah, I got a lucky charm now and everything.” He joked, nudging you with his elbow.

Fuck. Didn’t work.

You rolled your eyes. “You’ve been doing just fine before me, you’ll be okay now.” You said, a sideways smile tugging at your lips. “You’re hella talented frenchie.”

Charles bit his bottom lip, and you swore for a second his eyes trailed down to your mouth. Just for a second. “I don’t know, last race was the first podium I’ve gotten in a while. Same shitty strategies, same shitty mistakes, only one thing was different. You were there.” He argued. A convincing debate it was, but you couldn’t allow yourself to get carried away in the thought of being his ‘lucky charm’. You wouldn’t.

“Hopefully the luck continues then,” You grinned at him.

Even in the dark of the room, his face lit up brighter than anything you had seen. “It will,”

And that was a promise.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You were cold. Near freezing, even. Toes numb and fingertips prickly, you huffed warm breath into your hands. You curled your knees up to your chest and shivered.

Who knew Charles was such a blanket hog?

At some point in the night, he had completely wrapped himself up in the blankets and sheets. Leaving you with nothing. The air conditioned breeze soon awoke you, much to your dismay.

You flipped your body to face him. His face looked peaceful, features soft. The covers were pulled up to his chin and a faint smile was found on his sleeping lips. For a minute you stared, unable to do anything else. You had never seen him like this- so still. So beautiful.

Your eyebrows furrowed. Shut up. Shut up. You can’t be thinking such things. You can’t.

Carefully, you nudged Charles with your foot. No reaction. You huffed. “Charles,” You whispered intensely. “Charles!”

Damn, he was a heavy sleeper.

You decided to take matters into your own hands and tear the blanket away from him yourself. Your shivering hands found a fistful of the covers, tugging with all your strength. There was zero movement.

“Goddamnit, Charles, you drive an F1 car with super quick reaction time and yet you’re a heavy sleeper??” You whispered in annoyance, still tugging. “Charles!”

Not a stir. At this point the goosebumps on your skin had multiplied and you were fed up. You sat up in the bed, and with a deep breath, you grabbed Charles by the shoulders and shook him as hard as you could. “Wake up! Wake up!”

A gasp exploded from Charles as he jolted awake in your grasp, and he shook himself free from the covers. He sat up immediately, eyes wide in fear. “What? What? Are you okay Y/N??” He asked frantically, grabbing your arms. “Holy shit you’re cold.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Yeah, you took all the covers,” You said. His body fell back onto the bed in relaxation, but he looked up at you guiltily.

“I am so so sorry love,” He muttered, slapping his face with his palm. You ignored the butterflies you got when he called you ‘love’. “Lie back down, I’ll cover you up.”

You happily obliged, suddenly hit with a second wave of sleepiness. You lied on your side, looking up at him thankfully.

You were still shivering, which Charles noticed, and he quickly draped the blanket over your body. When he did this, though, one arm fell over your body. You could feel the skin of his bicep when he adjusted the blanket, trapping you beneath him. Your breath caught in your throat. Yet… his body was so warm.

Charles seemed to notice this predicament and he quickly retreated his arm, flustered. You shivered at the loss of contact. “Aye yi, so so sorry,” He muttered for the second time that night.

“No, don’t be,” You said, suddenly feeling bold. Something overcame you as the words left your mouth, but you caught his gaze in the dark room and gave him a soft smile. “It was nice. You were warm, I mean.”

He chuckled. “If I ever hog the covers again, feel free to kick me off the bed,” He said. You couldn’t read his expression, but you nodded just in case.

Within that sentence, it was implied you guys would be sharing a bed again.

You decided you liked that thought.

You were finally warm, after all.

A/N: I’m so sorry for how short the chapters have been! I’m really rushing to finish the story and I find that writing shorter chapters at a time is easier. Thank y’all!!

[eclairfromleclerc]

Hello everyone. It’s been a long long time since I posted here but I guess life has caught up. I have been writing this chapter for god knows how long because I just couldn’t bring myself to write certain scenes. I still have so many ideas and directions about where this fic can go but as you understand, I need my time to actually try and write those ideas. I am now giving you the 8th chapter of this story which is a generous 14.6 K words to make up for my long long absence. I really hope there will be people still interested to read this. Always keep in mind that english isn’t my native language so pardon any mistakes or inclarities. I hope you will enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Wait patiently for the next part. Take Care, xx.

All’s Fair

(Toto Wolff x Reader) Chapter 8

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6 chapter 7

Landing in Jeddah feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, after closing the deal with the Bahraini investors from your Monday meeting, is the only thing you could have asked for. Nothing has been bothering you for the past few days but the fact that Christian still hasn't said anything about you being late to your meeting, made you feel a little weird. Your little text exchanges with Toto made up for the whole madness.

As soon as your phone connects to the network you see a new notification popping up.

Christian Dad Horner 

No need to come over today, I got everything scheduled for the press, me and Helmut will handle it

Get some rest.

You raise your eyebrow reading , not knowing what your father is up to. Is he drunk? Is he out of his mind? You lock your phone and get off the plane. You check in your hotel, go to your room and settle in. As you take your clothes off your suitcase you find once again Toto’s Mercedes shirt in it and you take it out and put it on a hanger and in your closet. Thursdays are supposed to be a fun day in the paddock because of all the media and generally relaxed vibe that everyone has. The fact that no sessions take place on Thursdays doesn’t mean everyone isn’t working hard but still Christian thought your presence was not necessary, so here you are. Your phone rings with a new notification

Wolff

What’s your schedule for the press today?

You 

Christian told me he and Helmut will handle it, I won’t be joining today

I am just bored, sitting in my hotel room 

You open the camera on the app and snap a picture of your computer on your bed and some snacks nearby and you hit send

Wolff 

So you get to relax.

Enjoy it for all of us who have to work

You 

Will do :)

You spend the rest of your day in your room and meet Max to grab dinner at the hotel restaurant. Much less eventful for a usual race week Thursday. 

The next day you wake up, have breakfast and get ready to leave for the track. You check you have everything you need with you including your iPad and your badge to get in the paddock and you drive the Aston Martin, you lease for the weekend, to the track. You get to the entrance and scan your badge. To your surprise the screen in front of you shows a red cross and a message saying ‘Access Denied’. You try once again but the same message appears. You reach for your phone to call Christian to get you from the entrance. You wait for a couple of seconds before you hear his voice, the noise from the garage familiar to your ears. 

“Hey Dad” 

“Hello” you hear him answering

“It seems like my pass isn’t working, can you please come here and let me through?” you ask

“Oh I am quite busy right now sweetheart.”

“Can you send someone else instead?” 

“Um, I am sorry I have to tell you this but there’s a reason why your pass isn’t working.”

“What ?”

“It is going to remain like this for sometime, before I trust you to come back to the team”

“Did you cancel my pass because of what happened on Monday?”

“You should have been ready for this. I can’t discuss it more right now, we are having a meeting before FP1”

“Can you at least let me know about the meeting?”

“No, you are not in the team currently so, nothing to share. Feel free to fly back to England or Monaco with the next flight you find” Christian tells you and then ends the call. 

Thank god you thought about moving a bit further from the entrance so no one heard your discussion with your father. You feel a rush of anger coming at you but you hold yourself and walk as gracefully as you can back to your car, as people are watching you. You drive off the track and you pull over at the first parking space you see. You sit there in silence, since you were so confused that you didn’t even think to put some of your playlists on, and you try to realize what is happening. You let out a scream and tears roll over your face as you think of your father and all his five year old antics. But then you get the best and the worst idea you could possibly come up with. You drive fast back to your hotel and you run to your suite. You open the closet, grab Toto’s Mercedes shirt, stuff it in your new bag  that you haven’t worn in public, put on some tight black pants, some flat shoes and search furiously for that Mercedes face mask that Toto gave you that day in your travel bag. You get back to your car and drive to the track again, pulling over to wear the shirt and making yourself look like a mercedes employee. You leave the car a bit farther than usual so that fans don’t recognize you coming out of the car with the Mercedes gear. You once again walk to the paddock entrance. Hair tied on a bun, face mask and huge Gucci sunglasses covering your face. You get there not having thought of a way to get in. So you go with your instincts. 

“Hey” you say to the security guard. 

“Hi, how may I help you?” 

“Um, I am a new employee for Mercedes but I can’t seem to find my badge to get in.” you say with the best American accent that you have. Not that it mattered since the guard was Saudi Arabian. “Can you maybe call Mr. Wolff to come here? I’ll explain the situation to him” 

“I’ll reach Mr Lord.” he says

“No, no. You should call Mr.Wolff instead. I am not sure Mr. Lord is aware of my arrival here.”

“I’ll try to call Mr. Wolff then.” 

5 minutes later you see the Austrian walking to the entrance of the paddock and on his way there he waves to people, greets others and takes some photos. 

He goes to the security guard that called him

“What is it?” he asks

“This lady claimed that she’s a new employee for your team but she seems to have lost her badge, she insisted that I should call you instead of Mr. Lord.” 

Toto turns to look at you and you don’t hesitate. If you are going to get in, this is your chance. 

“Hello Mr. Wolff. My name is Mindy Roosevelt, I am here from the American branch of Daimler.” you say-again in your american accent- not being even 1% sure that you are making any sense. “I was sent here to assist you but it has been a really tricky week for me.” you look at Toto and he looks as confused as ever. “I was supposed to be here yesterday but my flight was canceled so I had to travel to Abu Dhabi to catch a connecting flight.” you try to give him hints of who you are, not being sure he understands. “ I had to look for the advisor of Daimler US Anri Hakkassan to give me my badge but then my wallet got stolen at the airport so I was left without a badge and my ID to show you who I am.” you see Toto’s eyes getting wider and wider as he realizes who you are. Your story seemed convincing for the security guard but Toto can’t leave you outside. He takes a deep breath 

“Ah yes miss Roosevelt I was waiting for you all day. Sorry to hear this. Come on.” he says and signals to the guard to let you through. You walk in the paddock and to the Mercedes hospitality, Toto not hesitating for a minute at the thought of you coming from another team. As soon as you both get in you see Bradley drinking coffee in the main lounge area of the motorhome and he greets you.

“I don’t want anyone bothering me for the next half an hour at least” he says to Bradley and he walks to his office as you follow him closely. You close the door behind you and Toto reaches and locks it. You take off your mask trying to apologize for the mess you’ve created. 

“I am so sorry Toto” you say and you hear him laugh 

“What is this?” he asks as he continues laughing

“Are you mad at me?” 

“No, I am just wondering how the hell you got yourself in this situation.”

“Christian blocked my paddock pass”

“He did what?” he asks looking slightly amused 

“This isn’t funny Toto, you know how much I love being in the team”

“That’s why you are hijacking my team?” he asks

“Christian thought that removing me from the team for a couple of races is a good way to punish me for being late at that meeting we had.”

“He did it just because you were 35 minutes late?” 

“You don’t realize Christian has a mind of a five year old when it’s about work right?”

“You said the investors were not mad that you were late, you even managed to charm them into signing a deal.”

“Yeah but Christian was mad, and he says it’s not about the investment, it’s about basic work ethic. Anyways, I can’t buy a paddock pass because I am not the type to sit in the lounge to watch the race. I need to be in the team. Plus I can’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me depressed because I am not at the pitwall or the garage.”

“How stubborn.”

“Yeah I am.”

“That’s very Horner of you.” he tells you and you roll your eyes at his obvious reference to your father’s stubbornness.  

“You are my only chance Toto, the other teams don’t even have a reason to accept me, except from Alpha Tauri, but I can’t go begging Franz about a paddock pass when he is clearly influenced by my dad.”

“Why are we even your only chance, we are your main competitors.” he asks

“I swear to god Toto I will do anything just to be here until Christian decides to drop the farce that he started. I will sign an NDA, I will keep my mouth shut about anything I see, I will delete it from my mind. Just let me be in the garage for the next few races.”

“How many races?” he looks at you

“I don’t know 3 maybe 4?” you tell him barely whispering.

“That’s a lot.” he replies “But for you I’ll try to do my best.” 

You try not to scream as you stand up from your seat, walk to his chair and hug him. You catch him off guard as he widens his eyes but then you feel his tension leaving him. 

“From now on you are Mindy Roosvelt and you came here to assist me as a part of your internship at Daimler US. You studied in New York, and you are American. You don’t know for how many races you’ll be here but it’s not long term.” Toto says taking his teacher look

“Understood.”

“You should never remove your mask in front of others, just tell them that you are at risk or something. Don’t wear high heels. We should do something about your hair so that people won’t realize it’s you and I advise you to wear sunglasses as much as possible, I’ll have Lewis hand me his collection from the Police Collaboration.”

“I’ll buy a wig. Can I have some more shirts and a couple of masks?”

“Is this shirt mine?” he asks and you nod “Looks good on you.” he says

“I’ll use yours then.” you tell him and you see him grinning. 

“I’ll have someone send you a couple of shirts, pants and shoes. I'll request your new paddock pass and I will be printing your NDA.”

“If anything leaks into Red Bull I swear I’ll be the first to go to court even if I am innocent.” you tell him and he laughs “Don’t laugh, I need you to see how serious I am about this. I won’t be saying anything to anyone.”

“I trust you. The NDA part is only about the team having to be legally protected.” 

“Okay” you say 

“Your office must be ready. It’s just the room next door, please lock it when you’re in.” he advises you “And please don’t forget your American accent once you go outside.” 

“I won’t forget. If we happen to see Christian around, just stay calm, I’ll handle it.”

“Okay” he says and you sit in silence for a couple of minutes. 

“I’ll go next door now.” you say and you stand up. “Oh sorry Toto, can I ask you about one last thing?” 

“What is it?” 

“Christian told me that I am free to leave with the next flight so I will be checking out of the hotel and I thought maybe I should be at the Mercedes hotel?” 

“I’ll arrange it. See you later.” he replies as you put on your mask and go to the room next door.  

20 minutes later you hear the door knocking, you stand up and reach for it 

“Who is this?” 

“Miss Roosevelt, I am Mariah. Mr. Wolff gave me something for you.”

You put your mask on and open the door 

“Come on in.” you tell her and she steps into your fake office

“I have this new iPad for you, Toto wanted you to have this. It has all of the passwords you’ll need and direct access to Toto’s schedule so you’ll know where you will be going and what you’ll be doing.” 

“What passwords are there?”

“Company email, team communications and private accounts.” 

“Okay thank you Mariah.”

“If you need anything else please do not hesitate to ask me, have a nice day.” she tells you and she leaves the office as you lock the door and remove your mask

You reach for your phone and text Toto 

You

Didn’t need to have access to all of this

Wolff

You have to If we are planning this lie correctly. 

I also sent you the details on your company email about the hotel room. I arranged it.

You 

Give me a minute I’ll have to get used to all of this.

The iPad is nice, I’ll give it back once I get all the details.

Wolff

Adaptability is key

Keep the iPad I don’t want you walking around the paddock with your old one, it’s practically a part of your looks, everyone will realize it’s you

Wolff

Anyways gotta work, I will be in the garage with Nyck for FP1, you’re welcome to hang by the fantasy island if you ever get the energy. 

For any question just text or call. 

You sit around for a while until your phone rings with a new notification from your calendar for the session starting in 5 minutes and as soon as you get it you stand up and leave for the garage. This time though it feels different. You used to take all your stuff with you in your pit wall seat but now there’s no pitwall seat, you’ll be just standing next to Toto, in the garage. You never got to stay in the garage, Christian always made sure you had a place at the pitwall, the garage was essentially a passage to get from the hospitality to the pitwall. You never spent a whole session in there, but now you will. The difference is the garage is not the one you are used to. It’s the Mercedes one and it’s clean, organized and much more hospitable than the one at Red Bull. At the long entrance of the garage there’s someone looking at you, making sure that you’re one of them. Little does he know, you think. 

“I am looking for Mr. Wolff.” you tell him

“He’s sat at the fantasy island with Nyck. You’ll see them once you get in.”

And you certainly do. The fantasy island splits the garage in two smaller ones for the two drivers of Mercedes, you get next to Toto and you don’t say a word. You look around you trying to take everything in, how the garage looks, how everyone is focused on what they’re doing and Toto next to you trying to manage everything that’s happening. He’s too far in to realize that you’re next to him and he nearly jumps as you touch his arm. 

“Sorry” you say quietly behind your mask. 

“It’s okay, I never realized that you came.”

“Well, I couldn’t turn down the proposal, plus I am supposed to be your assistant so I have to be with you.”

“I am not complaining.” he says and thank god Nyck is too busy chatting with Bradley next to you. Bradley hasn’t asked anything about you, he just keeps looking and staring at you but he’s not saying anything. 

For the next half an hour you see Lewis and George doing their laps, coming and leaving the garage during the session but during all this time you realize that you haven’t looked at the RedBull’s performances. The Mercedes garage felt like home for some reason. You weren’t doing nothing, you were just standing with your headphones on hearing comments about the car that you swear to yourself that you will never reveal to your team. Next to you Toto sits and watches the whole team working like a well oiled machine that he engineered. You are sure that he feels proud of himself, he has that grin on his face that makes you think so. You don’t know him really well but you have learned to pick some of those signs from the times that you’ve seen him around or that you’ve hung out with him. Again all of your thoughts are interrupted by a vibration from your pocket where your phone is. Goddamn it.  Another calendar reminder but this time it is from Toto’s calendar that you’ve managed to sync to your iPhone earlier. 

Meeting: Team Principals, FIA and F1. (1 assistant is allowed to attend) 

You widen your eyes at the notification and you tap Toto’s shoulder who is watching the timings and the data in front of him. He turns to look at you and removes the headphone from your side. You do the same but you realize Nyck is looking at you. 

“Sir, I just got a notification about your meeting with the F1 and FIA execs.” 

“It is half an hour after the session ends right?” 

“Yes but am I required to attend?” you ask

“Miss Roosevelt I believe that you were asked to be here as my assistant so since the meeting allows assistants it is your duty to be there.”

“Okay Mr. Wolff” you say and put your headphones back on to watch the rest of the session. 

“If you feel uncomfortable just excuse yourself and leave.” he turns and tells you and you nod. 

After the session in which your cars -yes, Mercedes cars- finish 1 and 3 you leave the garage and go back to the hospitality while waiting for Toto to finish his press duties.

Wolff 

I am done with my interviews, meet you outside our hospitality in 5?

You

Yes, I will be there. 

You leave and find him at the spot he told you to. You walk side by side to the race control building where the meeting is supposed to take place, him towering over you and you feeling miniscule beside him. When you are just outside Alpha Tauri’s garage you see your dad discussing with Franz and you roll your eyes praying that they will just let you go by. You get temporarily relieved when you are already past them but of course Christian has to talk to you. The man is trouble without trying. You hear him yelling “Hey Toto” from your back and you turn to face him. Toto frowns a bit but his expressions are mostly covered by his sunglasses. 

“Are you heading to the meeting?” Christian asks

“We are, yes.” Toto replies as you keep walking, Christian catching up with you. You take a sharp breath trying to persuade yourself that he won’t understand who you are. You’ve got your face covered after all. 

“I’ll join you.” Christian announces not even asking Toto who is clearly getting angrier. “I don’t believe we’ve met before” he says and turns to you.

You freeze but you regain your strength and reply to him “No, we actually haven't.” 

“I am Christian Horner, team principal of Red Bull Racing.” 

“Mindy Roosevelt, nice to meet you.” you say in your best American accent hoping that you won’t get recognized. 

“And you work for Mercedes I see. Let me guess’ Public Relations?”

“No, I am here to assist Mr. Wolff for a couple of races, it is something like an internship from the American branch of Daimler.” 

“I figured from the accent that you might be American.” Christian replies “Are you planning on staying at Daimler or leaving to get a job at motorsport?” 

“I don’t know yet I’ll see where it gets me.” you answer

“If you plan on staying here please text me your details, I got a very interesting assistant position for you.” 

“You had your daughter as your assistant from the beginning of the season, what happened to her?” you ask, trying to understand what he’s doing but you hear his phone ringing. 

“It’s complicated with her, I need something stable, and I know Wolff always gets the best of the best so I might have to get a taste.” he replies as Toto, who was silent before, scoffs in the background. Christian checks his phone and excuses himself as he runs back to the Alpha Tauri hospitality center. 

You let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding as you are walking to the meeting. 

“Red Bull will be trying to have technical directives for the next few races to try and stop us.” Toto says. 

“I know, I built that case and all the arguments. I know exactly what to say to convince the FIA in favor of Red Bull.” you reply “Can I talk during the meeting?” you ask

“What do you mean talk?”

“Like defending our team’s points, why technical directives shouldn’t be changed, and counterarguments.” 

“No, your role is the one of the assistant, not the meeting participant. You will only be allowed there to keep notes.” 

“I can write my points to you and you can read them and elaborate more, can’t I?” 

“Yes, you can write notes for me to read.”

“Nice, let’s get no regulation change for today.” 

“Isn’t this bad for Red Bull?”Toto asks

“Right now I am working for Mercedes, and Mercedes is only treating me right.” you answer

Toto raises his eyebrows “I am both flattered and surprised by the fact that you want to favor us.”

“You know what Toto? I am tired of thinking how Christian and Helmut will be using my case to present in this meeting. I worked hard for this and I was supposed to present my point. This meeting was supposed to be my first one.”

“Didn’t you go when you were younger?” 

“No, I didn’t Christian always had his assistant with him and never managed to get me in even when I started working part-time for him. It is frustrating to see how your own father looks to replace you at a job. And now the team that I accidentally got in, even has the ability to read my notes and present a solid case.”

Toto doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you, his body language revealing that he is scared to say anything to you. 

“Am I really that bad?” you ask 

“No. Don’t you ever say that again. You were great, you got a deal with some investors, you helped run a team and you are doing a good job at even being an assistant in the team you probably hated the most.”

10 minutes later you are already sitting at a long table. Toto is sitting on your left. You take your new iPad and a Mercedes notepad with a matching pen and rest it on the conference table in front of you as team principals and other officials are taking their seats to start the meetings. Once everyone is gathered there Stefano starts the meeting with all the formalities needed the conversation starts and after a while you start discussing the burning issue. You open your updated document that you had created this morning with all the arguments and the possible answers that could be said from Mercedes’ side, those ones you hadn’t given to your father. This was only to help your presentation to get the regulations changed but now you are using it for the opposite reason. Christian finishes presenting all the planned points and it’s time for Toto to express his opinion. You managed to write a couple of things on paper and showed him some of the points that he needs to discuss. The man has done this countless times you’re sure but he’s totally letting you handle this. 

“Okay, this is an answer to Christian’s concerns about how the regulations right now are not in the right direction. I do not have an exact answer to each and every point of Christian’s speech but I will be trying to get most of them.” he says and glances at the paper in front of him “I’ll start by Christian’s point that the issue affects multiple teams, when in fact it’s not even the majority of the grid that faces the issue that you are aiming to get changed. I can’t see the reason for the regulation change, clearly it’s not that dangerous to drivers health according to doctors and also it would be a huge waste of our resources to just redesign certain aspects of the car when we have the budget cap this year. That’s how I see it.” Toto finishes his monologue and all the eyes are on him. 

“Clearly there will be a vote for this.” Stefano says 

“Thank you for the notes.” Toto says turning to you and you nod back

Later on the vote takes place and the results are the ones that you expected. That means increased performance from Mercedes and Red Bull chasing them right behind. In other circumstances you would be fuming but now you are happy Mercedes got the chance to stop the regulation changes with your help. The meeting ends and you lobby around for a little longer but afterwards you are back to the paddock walking to the garage for the second practice session. Toto walks by your side and you feel he wants to ask you about what happened there but before he can you inform him you will need some time in your office and you leave him behind. 

You get back to your office and you text your friend Sara who lives in Monaco

You

Are you in Monaco?

Sara

Of course I am in Monaco.

The question is where are you?

You 

Issues with dad, he won’t let me enter the paddock because I was late in a business meeting and now he removed me from the team

Still in Jeddah though

Listen, I need a favor from you and your magic contacts in Monaco

Sara

I don’t wish to know more about the dad-daughter drama

But I am here to help you with whatever you want

You

I need a place to stay in Monaco

Sara

You can crash on mine or I’ll book you a hotel

You 

I am thinking more of an apartment tbh

Sara

How long do you plan on staying here?

You 

Permanently?

Sara 

OMG, you’ll become a fellow Monegasque?

I will be in contact with my estate agent

You

Yes, I am planning to finally start living in Monaco. I don’t even know if Christian will take me back to the team to be honest but even if he does I can still live in Oxfordshire or in my apartment in London.

Sara

How fast do you need it?

You 

As soon as possible please 

You lock your phone as you take a deep breath to realize the decision that you just took. Moving to Monaco has always been your dream, since you have been to the Grand Prix there you fell in love with the place and you have spent quite some time in Sara’s house during the summer when you were younger. But now you want to do this alone, you want to feel independent in the country that you loved so much. You immediately think of contacting your father. You decide email is the best option. If he wants to be a bitch so will you

Hello father, 

I am sending this email to inform you about my decisions. I will be moving to Monaco in the next couple of weeks, on my own. I believe I will be able to make my own living with the money I currently have. I am requesting my last paycheck from the team since I have been fired and I am not aware of your intentions to hire me back or not. I wish that my personal space in our estate in Oxfordshire remains unchanged in case I am able to return to my obligations to the team, and I inform you that the apartment in London will still be mine. I am still in Saudi Arabia arranging my flight to Monaco. I will be quite busy during the next few weeks so I will not be able to contact you. Should you decide that I am able to come back to the team please inform me. 

Wishing you the best. 

And send. 

You go back to the garage 20 minutes in the session and you spot Toto sitting alone at the top of the fantasy island wearing a pair of headphones while another one is resting  on the desk in front of him. You go to his right and check the timings. Currently Mercedes 1-2. He looks at you and removes the headset so he can listen. He hands you the spare headset.

“Isn’t this Nyck’s?” you ask

“No this is yours, Nyck is not joining us at this session.”

“Thank you” you say and you wear the headphones 

During the rest of the session Toto shows you all the graphs about the car performance as well as all the communications systems in the team. You are convinced that he is not supposed to do that, it’s knowledge that an assistant could live without knowing and wouldn’t affect their job but still he seems so invested in letting you understand how the team works. This experience is not about gathering information for Red Bull, you think. It’s more about how a team should be and how correct management is done. Something that you feel is missing from Red Bull. The session finishes and Lewis and George are back to the garage with another top 3 finish for the team. 

As soon as your day ends you drive your Aston Martin back to the Red Bull hotel, pack your baggage, check out and drive to the airport where you are supposed to leave the car. When you manage to do so you go to the car rental area of the airport and visit the kiosk of the company Toto texted you about and get the keys to a brand new Mercedes AMG. Shortly after that you get dressed with your Mercedes gear once again and drive to the Ritz-Carlton to check into your new room. 

Turns out Toto has not only arranged a room for you but it’s also a huge fucking suite that you’re sure most Mercedes employees wouldn’t even consider having. You take a look at the suite and you open the closet door to find it full of Mercedes team shirts, hilfiger pants and the usual Mercedes designed puma shoes. You snap a picture of the closet and you decide to document those weeks of alternate reality that you are currently living in.

When the anxiety of the weirdest day you’ve lived wears off you check your phone for your newest messages

Sara

Gerard just reached out to me.

He has a wonderful loft 2,5 km from the Quartier Du Port.

Generally peaceful location

Sea views as well

Let me know if you want to see it.

You 

If you can go there and get some pictures please do. Thank you &lt;3

After that long day you realize that you didn’t get the chance to have a proper meal so you decide to order room service to finally eat something. You think of how pathetic it would look if you eat alone in this huge suite and before you can even cope with that thought you reach for your phone and call Toto. He picks up after 2 rings

“Hello” he says

“Hi, how’s everything?”

“Good, I am getting ready to go downstairs to the restaurant to have dinner, how are you?” “Oh same I was thinking of getting some room service for dinner since I can’t actually go to the restaurant to eat, but the suite is big enough to not feel restricted in one room. Thanks for that by the way.”

“I am sure you’ve only lived in suites for the whole year now so I thought why not. Don’t let the rest of the team know that though.” he says and you hear his laugh on the phone. You stay quiet and he does the same but when you actually decide to say something he speaks again “Maybe we can have dinner together now” he says.

“That’s why I called you in the first place” you admit, but you think you definitely sound a bit in despair. “I can’t order food for two people though it might seem weird.”

“You can come over to my suite, I’ll make sure that it will look as if I am having a meeting with either James or Shov.” he suggests

“Is it okay?” you ask again

“Definitely, I will be ready in 10, suite 264. See you.” he says and terminates the call.

You take a look at the closet trying to decide what to wear. You choose a graphic t-shirt and your most comfortable pants paired with your white sneakers, the only flat pair of shoes that you carried with you. You take a look at the mirror, readjust your hair, put on a nude lipstick and after 10 minutes you are finally ready to leave. You put on your mask because your goal for today isn’t getting caught from walking in some hotel corridor and you navigate your way to suite 264, you knock on the door and Toto is right there letting you in. He’s wearing a pair of black sweats and a gray T-shirt but he is barefoot. 

“Hey” you say and you walk in the suite looking around. It does look like your suite when it comes to furniture but the rooms are a little more private. There’s a desk that has turned out to be more like Toto’s office for the weekend. You sit on the couch while he closes the door behind you and walks in the living room. You take your mask off and sit there looking at the ceiling. Toto stands in front of you with a menu card in hand.

“I was thinking, maybe pasta?” he tells you

“That’s what I planned to order today.” you laugh as Toto reaches for the phone on the table next to the couch and orders 2 plates of pasta ai funghi with two glasses of red wine. 

“They’ll be here in 30 minutes” he tells you

“Great” you reply and stand up. You look at the place around you, stand up and walk to the desk. You sit on the only chair there and you put on his round glasses and put on your serious face as you move your fingers on the mousepad of his mac which -to your surprise- is unlocked so you are able to navigate in his computer. You open up his email but still he doesn’t react even though you are looking at you closely and you start typing and reading out loud. 

“Hey Michael, I am just sending you an email.” you say and you keep being serious while you hear Toto bursting in laughter at the couch.

“Lewis is the best of all time, he did nothing wrong, everything is red bull's fault.” you say again and he keeps looking at you. 

You keep joking, acting like you are typing a new email “Hey FIA, it’s Toto, please let us use the das. It's a great innovation and we are so smart to think about it. We are not illegal, or at least that’s what James Allison and Shov said. It’s not our fault that we are both smart and sexy. Thank you in advance.” 

“That’s not what I said” he laughs

“I’ll need proof for that.” you say “Would I make a good Toto Wolff?” 

“The best. I’ll be sure to leave you in my position once I retire.” 

“What will Daimler say for that though?” 

“You are doing your training so why would they have an issue?” he replies and you laugh. 

“Isn’t this suite a bit too big just for you?” you ask

“You have the same one but yeah it is a bit big.”

“Mine isn’t as big.” you say “Most times I feel lonely in those suites. Mine don’t have kitchens though.” 

“You cook? Too bad we have ordered already.” 

“Maybe another time.” you say and you hear the door knocking. 

“Quite fast.” Toto says and he stands up to open the door. 

You walk around the suite once again and enter his bedroom and look at the open closet which is once again full of Mercedes button ons so you grab one and put it on. You hear Toto talking and you go back to the living room but he’s still talking to the person outside the door. 

“I am kinda busy here Cynthia. I am sorry.” you hear him say

“Please Toto.” a female voice replies “Is there someone else? Is that why you ordered two plates, two glasses of wine?” she asks

“Cynthia I am in the middle of a very important business meeting, it’s about tomorrow’s qualifying and James is waiting inside to eat so that we can continue our meeting. Thank you for the service.” 

“Will you call me when you are done?” 

“I will be asleep when we are done.Thank you” he says and closes the door. 

You stand there in his living room wearing his button up feeling stupid for believing this thing could go anywhere further. 

“I should get going.” you say 

“Now that the food is here?” he asks but you don’t reply, “Is this shirt mine? Are you going to take this one too?”

“I will get back to my suite and you can call Cynthia, or whatever her name is, and tell her that James is gone and that you are okay for her to come back and do whatever you two do together.” 

“Wait, are you jealous? Of Cynthia?” 

“I am not jealous, just not in the position to get involved with someone who’s fucking around with the girl who brought him room service 3 times.” 

“I am not involved with her.” he says

“Well she seemed awfully too comfortable to be just a stranger Toto.” 

“What do you want to hear?” he asks

“That you’ve fucked her?” you tell him

“We slept together once last year.” 

“That’s all I needed to hear. Goodbye Toto.” you say as you walk towards the door, his shirt still hanging on your shoulders but before you can leave he manages to grab your hand 

“I only saw her once this year and I just said hi. We hadn’t spoken since last year but as soon as I arrived she didn't stop appearing in my way. She had reached out several times since we left last year but I never got back to her.” 

“So she’s nothing to you?” 

“She was just a fling.” he replies and you turn around to sit on the dining table. 

“Fine” you say, irritation apparent in your voice “Am I just a fling?” you ask yourself in your head so you decide to ask the same to Toto who is holding the pasta plates leaving one in front of you and one opposite to you  on the table. He doesn’t answer, instead he does the same with the two glasses of wine. His silence makes you feel like his answer is not the one that you want to hear but as he leaves the glasses on the table he doesn’t sit down, he stays there towering over you and looking at you. 

“If it was just a fling I wouldn’t risk destroying my team for it. Also I wouldn’t have done anything that I’ve done for you in any case.” he replies. “Technically you can’t even call it a fling because we only made out two or three times and we were drunk.” he says and just stays still “And still there are two glasses of wine that I ordered on that table. I am never going to learn, am I ?” he laughs

“Sorry ?” you ask but he leans in, reaches for your face and kisses you catching you off guard. You stay still in your chair as he sits opposite to you not saying anything

“The wine is red” he says then

“I can see that.” you reply

“They say that red wine can get you drunk easier.” 

You try to understand where he’s going with this

“And?”

“We haven’t drunk any of it yet so we are sober”

“Why are you explaining this to me like I’ve never drunk before?”

“This is the most sober that I will be tonight and you said that I didn’t have the guts to make a move without being drunk.” he says

“You won’t get drunk with a glass of wine Toto.”

“I know I won’t but still I didn’t want you to blame this on a single drop of alcohol.” he replies and you smile and you start eating. No one talks during dinner but you are laughing at each other when you’re struggling with eating the pasta without actually making a mess. It feels natural to just sit there and eat with his company, like you are finally where you are supposed to be. For this moment you forget everything else and you focus on what you are currently living. After some time you both finish your food and you see Toto standing up. 

“We should finish our wine on the couch.” he says, taking his glass and you copy his moves. He sits on the couch and you do the same but you don’t sit close to him. You rest your back on the couch arm and lay there putting your feet on his lap. He turns and looks at you but he doesn’t say anything. He rests one hand on your feet and he grabs his phone with the other one unlocking it and looking at his mails. 

“Do you want to work?” you ask

“It’s Friday night so no.” he replies

“Then close your phone”

“What can we do instead?” 

“Talk like normal people?” you tell him

“About?” he asks

“I am thinking of moving to Monaco” 

“That’s a bold choice, have you thought about it enough?” he asks

“I have and I think it’s the best thing I can do to be honest, I have some of my friends there and I really want to leave home, I really can’t deal with Christian while he keeps treating me like this.” 

“That’s good.” he replies “What about going to the factory ?” 

“How are you doing it? You live in Monaco and you also have to go to England at the factory.” 

“It’s really tiring to be honest, you need to have a place to stay close to the factory “

“I have my apartment in London available.” you tell him

“London to Milton Keynes isn’t that easy to do on a daily basis.” 

“Anyways, going to the factory isn’t my main priority right now, I am not even on the team.” 

“You are on Mercedes.” he says

“Is this an invitation to Brackley?” you laugh

“You swore it was just for a few races, not that you will be staying permanently” 

“It was my masterplan to get hired by Mercedes.” 

“We don’t want you with us.” he jokes

“Why?” you ask 

“You are distracting the team Ms. Horner.” 

“How am I even distracting the team?” you say whining “People don’t even know who I am except from you.”

“You answered for me.” he tells you “And now I have to deal with you walking around Monaco.” 

“Oh sorry, I’ll cancel my plans then.”

“Oh no, Monaco needs a twist.” he says and you look at him but say nothing. He doesn’t attempt to start a new conversation, he just readjusts on the couch, grabs the remote and opens the TV. He navigates through Netflix’s homepage and you eventually make him watch a movie which he tried to convince you not to watch. Again, none of you speaks during the movie. Halfway through, you realize you’re far too invested in the movie and turn to look at Toto who is fast asleep on that same couch. You decide that there’s no point in staying longer in his suite and you remove your legs from his lap as smoothly as you can, you grab your phone and your shoes which you had earlier taken off and head to the door tiptoeing. 

“Stay here tonight.” you hear his raspy voice which takes you by surprise and you almost scream

“It’s better that I leave, you are tired and need some sleep.” you reply

“There’s a spare bed if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“And there’s an empty suite down the hallway.”

“Come on, aren't you bored to leave when you can just sleep here?” he tells you and well, he’s kinda right. Plus it’s not like you don’t want to spend some more time with him and it would definitely be questionable if someone saw you leaving his suite at midnight. You don’t go back to the couch but you leave your shoes down while Toto eyes every single move you make. 

“It’s quali day tomorrow, we need to sleep. Come on.”  you tell him and you walk to his room. Seconds later he follows you and enters the room. 

“I’m taking the left side.” you say and he smiles at you with a sleepy face. 

“You’re sure you don’t want to sleep in the other room?” he asks

“It’s not like it will make any difference. Except if you have a problem.”

“No, definitely not.” he replies and both of you lay on the bed, facing each other. 

“I’ll wake up earlier to go to the gym, then we can get ready and hit the track. We’ll have breakfast there.” he says and you nod. He seems very calm, eyelids heavy with sleep so you decide to lean and kiss him goodnight. As you come closer to him you can now feel his scent and warmth and you put your lips on his. The kiss is slow and sweet, somehow different from the rest that the two of you had shared up to this moment. 

“Goodnight Wolff.” you say

“Goodnight Horner.” he replies and both of you drift to sleep. 

The next day you wake up without an alarm and you find the bed next to you empty. You hear water running and figure out that Toto must be taking his post gym shower. You keep laying there and grab your phone to go through new updates and messages. Not a lot of time passes until he emerges from the bathroom wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist and he holds another one trying to dry the water off his hair. You admire the sight for a while and you say “Good Morning”. He looks at you and replies

 “Good Morning Horner. Slept well?” 

“Very much thank you” you say “How about you?”

“Slept really well, and I started my day with a good session at the gym with George and Lewis.”

“Oh that must have been interesting. I would have loved to join you three.”

“It would be funny to see their reactions.” he replies as he dries his hair on a smaller white towel while he’s looking at the nightstand on your right where his things rest . He tosses the towel he was holding on a white chair in the room and he approaches you. He climbs on the bed and puts one hand on the headrest while his other hand is stretching to reach the IWC watch on the nightstand. His already toned muscles are a little more observable now that he’s lingering above you. You draw a sharp breath at the sight trying to contain your thoughts and your self but you still look up and stare at him while he makes sure that he gets the watch. When he actually does, he looks down at you and he catches you staring. 

“What?” he asks, staying still in the same position and you don’t answer but instead you scoff. You take a quick glance on his body and you let your instincts take over. You grab him from his neck and pull him down for a kiss. He immediately reacts by holding your face with his now free hand and he pulls you closer as he deepens the kiss and bites your lip. You melt into the kiss still laying down as you feel your heart racing faster than any racing car you’ve ever seen. Your breath gets quicker as you get the sheets out of your way trying to feel his skin on yours. Toto mutters “Fuck” in between your kisses making you a little crazier. He breaks the kiss and walks to the end of the bed, he grabs your legs and starts leaving trails of  kisses all the way up from your calf to your upper thigh until he stops and looks at you, eyes full of lust. He lingers above you for a second or two and he looks at you intensely trying to make sure that he has your consent for his following actions. Once you understand what this is about you nod while you're trying to regulate your breath. 

"Stay still for me baby" he requests and you try to follow his order by just laying there as he dives his head between your thighs. Your breathing gets faster and deeper as he works his way down on you making you feel like you’ve never felt before. You sense his smile while his tongue makes circles down on you. It’s more sensual than you’ve imagined it to be. And god the man definitely knows what he’s doing. He keeps going on for a while with the same dedication as he started and you feel getting closer and closer to your absolute limits. You look down on him as he now uses his hands on you, and you see him staring back. “You look so good baby” he says and all you can manage to say is his name followed by a moan. “Toto I’m so close. Fuck” you say out of breath and he dives in once again as if he heard the magic phrase. He works his magic and shortly after you probably have the best orgasm you’ve ever had. Then he stands up, his hardness still apparent. You manage to regain your strength and crawl at the end of the bed. “Time to take care of you love.” you tell him and he looks at you with a sparkle in his eye. You reach for his neck and pull him in for a long kiss as you move your hand down his torso and on his crotch. You feel him, how hard he is, and you’re secretly taking pride in your effect on him. You start touching him, trying to make him feel good in your hands. His breathing gets faster as you continue and you can sense him coming closer and closer. You want to give him your best so you slowly lean down but he stops you. “Let me feel you?” he asks, almost sounding tortured. You feel a burning desire in you. You’ve imagined this for some time. You cannot say no, not now. Instead you say “Yes please” and get on his lap. You kiss him, while you’re repeating in your head “i am actually fucking Toto Wolff”. You give him one or two strokes getting ready for him but instead of following he looks around, probably for protection. “I am on birth control” you tell him and he turns his attention back to you. You place yourself in the right position as you feel him pressuring your entrance. Once he’s in you start riding him until  you feel yourself getting out of breath. All this time muttering his name like a mantra and he is just repeating something in the lines of “God you feel so good.”, both of you feeling like you’re in another world. As soon as he gets that you are tired he lifts you up and lays you down on the bed. Now he is on top and he’s thrusting in and out in a rhythmic and satisfying way. He looks you in the eye. It’s not awkward. Not even close. You both seem to enjoy it quite a lot. It’s not after a long time that both of you finish at the same time, in an almost poetic way. 

Now both of you lay naked on Toto’s queen sized bed. No one is talking. You just lay on his torso while his hand is round your shoulders. At some point you decide to break the silence

“That was a decent start to the day.” you say and Toto looks down on you 

“Beats the early gym session to be honest.” he says

“I would be angry if you preferred going to the gym with Lewis and George to having sex with me” 

“If it wasn’t for the gym you wouldn’t be here now”

“You think it was the ‘semi naked with a towel’ appearance that made me want to sleep with you?” you laugh “I would give it to you any time of the day, even if you were wearing a garbage bag Wolff.” 

“Nice to hear that you are unreasonably horny.” 

“It’s not without a reason though. I think you’ve figured out that I do not consider you a bad looking man.” 

“I have yes.” 

“All I had to do is to just find the courage to just throw myself at you.” you laugh 

“And you kind of had to be drunk to do so?” he asks

“Yes”

“Isn’t it ironic though?” he says “That we actually slept together during the moment of our biggest clarity and sobriety?”

“What is it with the philosophical questions Toto? I just wanted to have sex with you for a long time and I did.”

“Long time I hear?” 

“Yes, are you surprised?” you ask

“No, just glad that I am not the only one. Was it good at least?” 

“God Toto, you’re asking the cringiest questions.” you say “Yes, god, it was perfect.”  you answer and you hear Toto laugh. 

“Now as much as I want to stay here and repeat this through the day, we have to go to the track” he says

“Ah yes, I am dying to get some breakfast as well.” you say and Toto laughs 

“I’ve already had mine” he says with a smirk and as soon as you get what he’s talking about you grab your pillow and start hitting him playfully. 

“Come on, let’s get ready.” 

A hour or so later, you find yourself parking a shiny black Mercedes at the track's parking area while being already disguised as your alter ego, full on Mercedes’ gear.  Today you are wearing Toto’s shirt, which is a little oversized but you manage to style it in a great way. You grab your bag, draw a sharp breath and open the door. You walk to the paddock and scan your pass as you go totally unnoticed by people around you. To them you look like a regular Mercedes employee that they have no reason to care about. Little do they know that this is actually you. To be honest you kind of love the calmness of it, how no one is chasing you for a photo or a statement on a recent drama or event of the F1 world. You just walk unbothered. You get so caught up in that thought that you don’t actually notice how fast you got to the motorhome. You get in and put on your show, greeting the majority of your colleagues that also seem ignorant to your presence there. You go to the buffet area and grab a tray for your breakfast which you eventually bring to the small office that Toto managed to provide you. Once you settle in,  you sit down to eat but you take a photo of the breakfast as a part of documenting that crazy weekend. You also decide to send the photo to Toto. 

You 

[photo]

Grabbed breakfast and brought it to the office. Drop by if you don’t have anything better to do. 

Wolff

Just walked in. I’ll grab my coffee and be there in 5. 

You 

Cool.

Five minutes later you hear a knock on the door followed by “Miss Roosevelt it’s Wolff here.” 

“Coming.” you say and unlock the door for him to come in. 

“Hey” you say

“Hello” he answers and looks at the full tray “You got quite a lot of food there.” 

“Yeah, that start to the day just opened my appetite.” 

“That’s good to hear” 

“So, what am I supposed to do today?” 

“Well, practice starts in 45 minutes and then we have qualifying.” 

“I am aware of the program, thank you.” 

“You won’t let me finish my thought will you?” he says

“Sorry” you tell him and look at him 

“I am thinking, maybe you can join me and Nyck in the garage for practice.” he pauses to think “And then you can take a look at the data before qualifying.” 

“No I cannot do that” you say 

“Why not? I know you can read data, you have the basic skills and knowledge to judge a performance run.” 

“I don’t want to be involved with your data. It’s confidential.” you reply.  It is actually crazy that Toto is okay with the idea of you handling the team’s data, as if you are not his number one opponent. 

“I know it is. But I trust you, plus there’s an NDA that you’ve already signed. And the fact that you deny reading the data makes me want to give you access to them more than before. Because I know how serious you are about not leaking stuff.” 

“Okay I will take a look, but only for a short time.” you tell him 

“Oh and then I want you to do a tour to a group of visitors that will be coming to the garage.” 

“Aren’t there people responsible for this?” you ask, reminiscing the fact that in Red Bull you have people who are responsible for the hospitality packages. 

“There are but they are shitting their pants because Christiano is dropping by later.”

“Who is Christiano?” you ask, slightly confused

“Ronaldo” he replies

“He’s coming to the race?” 

“Yes. He’s actually coming both today and tomorrow and the team is invested in doing everything perfect for him.” he says and you are still staring at him with your mouth open “We are a bit short staffed in that team so an extra help would be amazing.” 

“Good. I’ll do that too.” 

“Great, thanks love” he says and you freeze at the name but before it gets too awkward the door knocks. 

“Toto, this is James, do you have some time to review the quali strategy?” you hear through the door

“Yes, I will be there in a sec.” he replies “Gotta go now, i’ll see you in 45 right?” 

“Right” you tell him and he is out of the office. I

You spend the next 30 minutes scrolling through twitter and eating the breakfast that you got earlier as well as taking a look at Toto’s schedule for the day. Later on you leave the office, mask on once again, and make your way to the garage and to the top of the fantasy island where Toto and Nyck are waiting for the session to start. Both cars are in the garage waiting for a sign to leave once the lights at the end of the pitlane turn green and at the same time all the mechanics are making the final touches on the set ups. You greet everyone sitting on the fantasy island and put on the spare headphones as you did the day before. The session is done as usual, the drivers  going in and out of the garage to change setups on the car to find an optimal one for the qualifying. Performance runs are also on the programme but only during the last fifteen minutes of the session. Everything concerning telemetry is being sent directly into Toto’s computer on top of the fantasy island as soon as each lap ends so that he can see how they are done and areas where they can be corrected. The session ends quicker than it usually does when you are at Red Bull because suddenly all the chit chat becomes interesting and not as boring as it is with Christian. 

“P1 and P2 huh?” you ask him. Nyck is already out of the garage, something about having to talk to some foreign media made Toto let him leave before the small pre qualifying debrief.  

“It isn’t bad is it?” he asks back.

“It is not for us” you tell him “ It is for the rest of the grid though. I bet Christian is fuming right now.” 

“It is not bad for them. If we are in front they will have to innovate more to reach us. It motivates them.” 

“I bet they are not seeing it this way though.” 

“Is Christian really fuming if we finish in front in practice?” 

“Yeah, he’s not a fan of coming second in any session of this sport.”

“Too bad for him.” he says and you laugh. At this moment your phone rings with a notification from the calendar app reminding you of an interview Toto has to attend. 

“Oh, I am seeing now that you should be outside the media pen for an interview.” you tell him

“I am very much aware, thank you.” 

“Well, why are you not there now?” 

“I prefer to hang out with my beautiful assistant instead.” he compliments you

“Oh my god, shut up” you laugh and he does the same “Come on, interview, now!” you say as you tug him and try to push him to the corridor that leads to the paddock playfully. 

“That’s unfair. I am the boss. You are not in the position to prohibit me from doing anything.” he laughs as he walks reluctantly to the paddock. 

“Well, it seems like I am in charge of what you are doing so technically I am allowed to tell you what to do.” you tell him “I will be enjoying a cold cup of coffee in the meantime.” 

“Once again, that’s unfair Horner.” he says the second part whispering so that people are not able to hear. “Also, you have work to do. The telemetry data is already in your email inbox waiting to be read and commented on, so if I were you I would actually save the coffee for later.” he says and you look at him flabbergasted. “Oh and as soon as you are done with that you have the little tour to do in an hour and a half. Take care Ms. Roosevelt.” 

Before you are able to form a sentence he is already gone, more like running to the media pen. You on the other side, walk back to your office, open your new iPad and take a look at the data. The lap times look good, still slower than the lap time that you calculated the pole position would be on, but they look good. In the data you can see clearly that the engine mode is in a much less aggressive setup that you are sure will change during qualifying. You add some comments using your iPencil concerning parts of where you think the drivers can gain time, as well as some questions for the strategists and the mechanics. When you are done, you forward your notes to Toto’s email and check the clock to see that it has actually been 1:30 hours and that it is actually the time to go meet the people you will be giving your tour to.

You find them all standing on a circle by the garage entrance at the paddock, discussing, taking pictures and being excited. There are 5 of them, 3 guys and 2 girls, all of them close to your age. You approach them and greet them. One of the girls looks gorgeous. The boys aren’t bad either. 

“Hello everyone.” you say “You must be waiting for a paddock tour right?” 

“Yeah” one of the boys says and the rest of them nod. 

“Okay!” you say in an excited tone, trying to engage with them. “I am Mindy. I will learn your names during the tour I suppose.”

“Nice to meet you” says one of the girls “Likewise” you answer “So, should we start? Are you all excited?”

“Very.” one of the boys says.

 The tour starts and you take all of them for a walk in the paddock to see all the motorhomes and where you actually work and you are actually describing all the details about what you are showing to them. You take them by the media pen, where you spot Toto giving another interview for pre qualifying. All of the guys and the girls get very excited and try to snap a picture even from far away. Then you take them by the garage but just before you manage to get in, you receive a new notification on your watch

Wolff

Just finished the interviews at the media pen and managed to see your notes and questions on the telemetry data. I forwarded them to James and he immediately got back to me asking who made all those brilliant notes and questions. I guess you are wasting yourself with management, you should become a mechanic instead. 

Oh I also caught a glance of you and the guys during the tour. I hope that you are doing alright. We don’t want to make Ritz’s employees sad, we still have a few days left before we check out. 

You read the message and realize that the people that you’ve been interacting with are people working at your hotel. So you decide to stop the tour and actually get to know them. 

“You know what? Let’s introduce ourselves before going into the garage.” you tell them and walk back to a bench located at the paddock. 

“So as I told you before I am Mindy Roosevelt, I am currently working at Mercedes AMG Petronas F1 but my position is totally different to what I am doing right now. I am actually working as an assistant to upper management, but the hospitality team has a very special guest for this weekend and they were busy enough so you are left with me.” you say  “Go ahead, introduce yourselves.” 

One of the guys starts talking “I am Ahmad Hussain and like everyone here, I am working at the Ritz-Carlton in Jeddah. I am working as a cook in the hotel kitchen so everything that you’ve tasted in the past few days might have had to do something with me.” 

“I loved everything that I’ve tried, thank you Ahmad.” you tell him

“I am Benjy Ayad, I am half american half saudi arabian and I am currently working at the Ritz-Carlton as an economics advisor.” he says

“Mohammad Dawoud, and I am working at the Ritz-Carlton in room service.”

“Oh, I will be requesting for you Mohammad.” you laugh and he takes a bow showing his honor. 

“I am also working as room service at the Ritz.” you hear one of the girls saying. This time it’s the pretty one

“That’s nice. What is your name?”

“I am Cynthia Jones.” she says and you freeze as you realize that the girl standing in front of you has slept with the man you slept with this morning. Jealousy as well as curiosity are your main feelings so you ask for more information. 

“Sounds very non-Saudi Arabian. Where are you from Cynthia?” you ask

“I am from the UK actually. I was born and raised there, my parents are British but all of a sudden I ended up here. I was looking for a position in management in some big companies here in Saudi Arabia and I got this job as a part time until I figured things out but I ended up staying for two years.” 

“That’s crazy. And why management? Do you have a degree?” 

“Yes, I actually do. I got my degree in Switzerland and I tried pursuing it but right now I haven’t found anything that I like.” 

You nod in agreement, trying to register all the information that you’ve learned from her directly. Toto was secretive about their relationship so learning even the slightest about her is important. Finally you turn to the last girl left

“Alina Mohammad, I work as a receptionist at the Ritz. Nothing to know exactly. I was born and raised here and I got a degree in touristics so I got the job of my dreams.” 

“You guys seem really happy with what you are all doing. I hope you keep doing what you love.” you say “I mean you all managed to buy a paddock pass that most people wouldn’t dream buying at what? 24?” 

“No actually we didn’t buy a pass, the team invited us to join today’s action.”  says Benjy

“Oh shit, I didn’t know that.” you say 

“Yeah they came in last night and handed us the passes just before our shift ended. We went crazy.” says Cynthia and you look at her. 

“Sorry Cynthia, if I may ask, what time do you finish your shift on average?” 

“I don’t know, maybe like 11pm or something? Yesterday I finished at that time.” she replies. At this point you are now sure, Toto asked her to come there today. There’s no other explanation. As soon as he saw her he wanted her to come back. That’s why he invited her. It wasn’t planned for you to do the interview, but he changed it to make you interact with Cynthia, to actually hurt your feelings. 

“Mindy, is everything okay?” Mohammad asks as you have totally zoned out

“Sorry, I spaced out for a bit. Yes, everything is good. Shall we continue with our garage tour?” you ask and they nod. You go back to the garage trying to explain as many things as you know about the things there. To be honest, your mood isn’t quite the same as it was before you knew who the beautiful blonde by your side was. Luckily, the tour comes to an end 30 minutes later but sadly it is qualifying time so you have to be by Toto’s side by the time the session starts. Cristiano Ronaldo is also there by Toto’s side. You nod and greet him as Toto introduces you and you just get back to work. 

During qualifying you sit there, not talking, just looking at the screen and the timings and occasionally checking your burner twitter account for any comments.  Although you are pissed at the man next to you you definitely don’t want Mercedes to qualify in bad positions so through Q1 and Q2 you are relaxed since it is obvious that both cars will be through to Q3. During Q3 you keep your fingers crossed and mostly during the last runs for pole position you keep praying as you usually do in Red Bull. When the timer runs out Lewis and George are sitting P1 and P2 respectively, locking the front row for tomorrow’s start and as soon as the team figures it out, the whole garage erupts in cheers. Toto reaches Ronaldo for a handshake, celebrating the results.  Your eye catches the guys from earlier cheering and hugging each other, taping with their phones. Toto turns to you and you do a high five with him as he smiles at you. You remain indifferent in his reaction, keeping yourself busy until George and Lewis are back to the parc ferme to congratulate them. Once you are done with that you simply say goodbye to everyone there and leave. 

You go back and grab all your things and without saying a word to anyone you drive back to the hotel. When you are ready to go back to bed, you see a new message

Max Emilian Verstappen

Where are you? I missed you on track these days. 

You

Sadly Christian thought it was a fair deal to throw me out of the team for god knows how long.

Happily for you I will be out of your way for that time so you will relax. 

Also congrats for the P3 today, it was a decent run but the mercs had the pace. 

Max Emilian Verstappen

Oh Christian…

Shut up, I already miss you. Are you in England?

Thank you H.

You

I am in Monaco, at a friend's house. 

You feel kinda terrible for lying to him but there’s not much you can do. 

After you chat with Max for a while, you order some food to eat but then get another message. 

Wolff

Lost you after qualifying and when I asked they told me you had left. That wasn’t a bad result. 

Anyways I am going back to the hotel and I am planning to order something to eat, you can hang around my suite if you want and we can discuss strategies for the race. 

Let me know what you are about to do 

You 

I’m not feeling very good, sorry. 

And tomorrow I will be coming in late, probably an hour or so before the start

Wolff

Okay. Do you need any help? Should I drop by your suite? 

How am I supposed to work without my assistant?

You 

I am not your main assistant Woff, you have a hundred people helping you, me not being there won’t be a huge issue

No, don’t come. 

Just let me fucking be for once okay? 

Later on you see that he read the message and didn’t reply. You take a hot bath and go to sleep for tomorrow. 

You wake up the next day pretty late but just in time considering the fact that you are planning to leave in 2 hours. You order breakfast to avoid having something at the track and start getting ready as you are waiting for room service to arrive. You eat and then leave. 

Since you left the hotel earlier your time of arrival is estimated earlier than you actually planned so you decide to take a drive in Jeddah’s streets to soak in the country. An hour or so before the start you actually arrive at the track. You park your car and walk to the hospitality. Then you lock yourself in your office and just read notes for the race. Later on you hear a knock on the door. 

“It’s Wolff” you hear him say and you open the door even if you don’t want to. You don’t speak. You stay there and look at him. “Are you feeling okay?” he asks 

“I am okay, yes.” you reply “Do you want anything else?” you ask him since he’s standing there just watching, 

“Why are you acting like this?” he asks

“Like what?” 

“Like Christian Horner’s daughter?” 

“Yeah, you should be expecting that since that’s exactly who I am” 

“You haven’t been like this since Bahrain.” he says

“Well if you don’t like it then you should call Cynthia.” you tell him

“Is this what this is all about? Are you jealous?” he asks

“Listen Toto, if you want to discuss this I will discuss it outside this office please.” you tell him

“Okay then, follow me.” he says 

“What? Now?” 

“I want to solve this right now if it’s okay.”

“The race starts in 30 minutes.” you say 

“It will take less than 30 minutes, follow me” he says 

Both you and Toto walk in the motorhome before he manages to open a door at the end of the hallway. You climb off the stairs and you reach a place somewhere in between a wall and a closed section of the motorhome. 

“Speak” he says 

“Bossy much ?” you ask

“Yes, now please tell me how did the whole Cynthia thing reoccur after yesterday morning?” 

“Don’t tell me you don’t know.” you tell him

“I do not have a clue.” he says 

“You don’t have a clue about inviting her here?” 

“Who?” 

“Yesterday you made me do a paddock tour to a group of people.”

“Yes, they were the Ritz employees, I am aware of that”

“So you are aware that Cynthia Jones was proudly here watching F1 and enjoying qualifying with a VIP pass right?” 

“I was not.” he says and honestly he seems like he’s telling the truth. 

“You didn’t see her in the garage?” you ask

“Well, believe it or not I do not see everyone who is in the garage.” 

“You didn’t invite her ?” 

“Nope.” 

“She said that she got her invitation right after her shift ended. And her shift ended after you saw her.”

“I was aware that they were going to be here. Just not the names of who was coming. The hotel management was supposed to do a draw and pick 5 people to join us as a gift. It’s part of our contract.” he replies

“So you didn’t know she was coming?” 

“I am going to say no once again.” he says “You can search my messages if you want to.” he says as he hands you his phone. 

“I trust you.” you tell him and you hand him his phone back 

“After all I am not that big of an asshole to invite an ex fling and then sleep with you the next morning.” 

“Don’t you dare do this again.” 

“Invite people or sleep with you?” 

“Oh Wolff fuck off.” you joke

“With you, gladly.” he replies

“Shhh” you tell him 

“You are not going to shut me up this way.” he says and then looks at you “Also take off this goddamn mask now that no one can see us, I am tired of seeing you with it.” 

You take of your mask and smile at him

“You’re sure that no one can see us here right?” you ask and he nods. 

You lean on him and kiss him, catching him off guard. He returns the kiss as he smiles in it .

“I am sorry, Wolff. I won’t overreact about Cynthia again.”

“It’s alright Horner.” he tells you. 

“The race starts in 15, should we go?” 

“Let’s go.” he says and both of you walk back to the garage and your usual places. 

At the start of the race both Lewis and George start off well, keeping their initial positions with Max lurking just behind George. Standing next to Toto, you have access to everything on his computer so you see lap by lap each and every thing you’ve learned to look for in order to plan a strategy in your head. When things get tough and Max gets behind Lewis in P2 your brain is running as fast as it can. The Mercedes strategists are proposing possible pit stop strategies based on the data that they have. However they don’t know one thing that you do. As an executive at Red Bull you have to be aware of code phrases over the team radio, which to be honest can’t be forgotten in a day. So as you’re seeing in the data Lewis is trying to manage his tires and you hear the message “Okay Max, it seems like we are going for a one stopper here.” , you feel the bells ringing in your head. 

The “It seems like” phrase is a code name for doing exactly the opposite that the phrase says so you are 100% sure that they are going for a two stopper in order to win. Something that Mercedes has done countless times. 

Toto had told you earlier that if you want to intervene you can press the button and speak but he thought that you wouldn’t be crazy enough to actually do it. When you crack the code of the Red Bull strategy you immediately press the button saying strategy and speak. 

“Red Bull is going for a two stopper.” you say and Toto looks at you with his eyes wide open. “In about 5 to 10 laps they are going to be back on the softs to chase us. I would suggest pitting Lewis for a second time, turning the engine up and trying to chase him.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks

“The “It seems like” is the key phrase Toto. Please let Lewis know. ” you tell him

“Okay. Do what she said. I am waiting for your calculations. Get back at me in two minutes.” he says while pressing the strategy button 

“Thank you.” he says. 

Later on it seems like Red Bull is caught off guard by Mercedes’ move and they try saving it as well as they can but they fail. At the end of the race the checkered flag is out and Lewis wins the grand prix in Jeddah. 

“Yes boys, come on. Amazing strategy” says Lewis through the radio as everyone in the garage is celebrating. George finishes P2. 

“Thank you for the amazing drive Lewis.” says Toto 

“Get in there Lewis!” says Bono through the radio. 

Toto turns to you and says thank you while he’s off to congratulate the other team members. After Lewis gives his post race interview to Naomi Schiff, you storm off to the pitlane to watch the podium ceremony. Max is also there and he seems a bit disappointed by his streak of P3’s during the season, but you’re barely worried. Right now you are celebrating about Lewis and George. You take your phone out and snap a picture or two. After the champagne opens and the trophies are given you go back to your office and lock yourself there once again. You’re hearing all the congratulations from people in the hospitality center and you sit on the office couch feeling that happiness and euphoria of winning. You haven’t spoken to anyone since the race ended but you are now just laying there happy. A long time after, you hear a knock on the door. You’re sure it’s Toto since the race debrief and the interviews must have ended by now. You ask who it is though.

“It’s Lewis. Can you please open up?” he says and you freeze, stopping dead in your tracks. You put on your mask and you open the door. 

“Oh my god Lewis hi. Congratulations on your win.” you tell him

“Thank you Mindy. It’s Mindy right?” he asks 

“Yes it is.” you tell him

“And you’re a Daimler intern?” 

“I am yes.” 

“Can you please take off your mask so that I can remember your face?” he asks and at this point you are pretty sure he knows that you’re not who you say you are. 

“I am sorry but I am at great risk, I don’t want to get COVID or anything.” you tell him trying to avoid the situation. 

“Don’t worry, I am wearing masks and I also tested negative this morning, so you can take it off.” 

“Is it okay if I don’t want to?” you tell him

“Yes it is.” he says and he turns to face the door, finally going to leave. “We will be outside celebrating the 1-2 with the team, it will be amazing if you come, even for the picture.” 

“I am not sure I have to be there.” 

“I know you had something to do with that win, this strategy didn’t make itself Horner.” he says and you freeze as you register how he called you. 

“Excuse me?” you tell him 

“Next time that you fight with Toto, don’t do it outside my driver’s room Horner.” he says. “I know what happened between you two, I saw you without your mask and I saw you kissing my Team principal, there’s no denying.”

“Shit. Toto said no one could see us.” 

“I could see you but Toto thought I would be at the grid by then when I clearly wasn’t.” 

“I am sorry. You can’t say this to anyone.” you tell him

“I don’t plan to, I just find it funny that you switched teams.” he says

“Yeah, I had to because my dad’s an asshole.” 

“Okay, now you get what everyone’s saying right?” he laughs

“Yeap.” 

“You should come outside, let’s celebrate. You earned this victory as much as I did. Plus I want to have you in the picture. You can wear your mask.” he says and he extends his hand to make you stand up from the couch. 

“Okay” you say and you walk with him 

“Oh and by the way, Wolff is heads over heels for you, I am pretty sure he’s liked you for a long time and he hasn’t stopped thinking about you. That Cynthia thing is completely bullshit.”

“Really?” you ask him and he nods smiling. 

Both of you walk outside to celebrate that amazing day with your amazing achievements. Mercedes really feels like home for you. Toto’s eyes light up when he sees you outside, in between the mix of employees. He stands by your side for the photos and then all of the team starts playing with champagne. It’s a really great night in the desert that makes up for the craziness of the weekend which makes you relax ahead of the new week coming up. 

[willowlark369]

Interesting Reminders

Always fun times when the Team Treason trolls come onto old posts to complain that not everyone ignores canon like they do.

Anyway, here’s a few reminders of canon, in case it’s been a while since you’ve watched the older MCU stuff (Phases 1 & 2):

Tony Stark was not the one selling weapons to terrorists. That was Obadiah Stane, who was so convinced that Tony wouldn’t agree that he tried to kill him multiple times. He also wasn’t a “war profiteer”. That term has an actual definition which he does not fit.

Steve Rogers has never been an officer and was actually discharged from the army as a private. “Captain America” is a stage name. Arguing over who gets to use it after Rogers died makes as much sense as arguing over who should get the nickname “the King”.

Natasha Romanoff knows less than nothing about psychology. She was also a shitty friend and an even shittier sister. (Yelena deserved better.)

Thor is actually a sexist jerk. His “support” of women ends with what they can do for him personally and not because he believes women are equal to men.

“Ultron” existed in the Mind Stone prior to the Scepter coming into the Avengers’ possession. Tony Stark & Bruce Banner never installed that existing program into anything nor did that program access the program that they wrote but couldn’t get operational.

Wanda Maximoff is a terrorist, of her own admittance. She voluntarily worked for Hydra, knowing they were Hydra, and never showed any remorse for having done so. In the MCU, she is also a white Christian, not a Jewish Roma.

The Accords were about accountability and holding superheroes to the same protocols as other martial forces potentially crossing sovereign borders, regardless of SHIELD using them as an excuse to continue their Index protocols.

What a great way to come out of a holiday celebrating violence, huh?

[godspellcraft]

intro post 👋

hello! i’d prefer to stay anonymous but i wanna give a little info about what i do for anyone who may be in the same boat :)

i was raised catholic. i also have ocd which for a long time warped my catholic upbringing into scrupulosity/religious ocd (obsessively trying to always do the “right” thing lest i go to hell, compulsively keeping track of my “sins”, etc).

YEARS ago in middle/high school i had a friend who got into wicca and she invited me over for a full moon ceremony in her yard, and (despite that ocd-voice yelling at me and making me anxious the whole time about whether this was all okay) i was really struck by how beautiful and NATURAL it felt- being outside, including stones and herbal tea, making wishes on candles- and i secretly prayed throughout the whole thing, both as an ocd protective measure (still very much worried about hell), and, now i realize, as a perfectly natural addition to the ritual. i was raised to believe that God created the earth and everything on it…. why couldn’t i connect with Him THROUGH that creation? where church often made me feel anxious and LESS than, i’ve never had any problem feeling connected and distinctly “magical” when i’m outside interacting with the natural world. but at that point i was still too anxious and scrupulous about it all to really do any exploring.

flash forward to college and i started a small crystal collection, mainly for aesthetic, but also with a bit of curiosity. flash forward again and i’ve discovered Christian witchcraft is in fact A Thing, that the Bible’s been translated a million times and that whole “witch” line is pretty negligible, and Hildegarde Von Bingen was doing crystals before it was cool. in a weird way the pendulum has swung back to the other side, and i’m probably more catholic now than ever, but in the healthiest, most fun, magical way that makes so much sense to me. I talk to God & Jesus with tarot cards, i keep candles for some favorite saints (St. Beatrice Da Silva, my confirmation saint, St. Francis of Assisi, St. Mary Magdalene, St. Michael Archangel, and of course Mother Mary), and I can name the correspondences of a long list of herbs and crystals and use them to set goals for myself and to create what i think of as “physical petitions” (spells). where i used to pray obsessively, never feeling like i “did it *quite* right”, now i can put some herbs in a bottle and truly let it go.

i still feel i have a lot to learn. i know a lot of the theory, but i just need practice really connecting. i’ve definitely had some strange coincidences that are hard to brush off, but i’m still growing and learning every day.

so welcome to whatever this is! i hope you can find some of it useful or interesting.

and im a scorpio? if that’s important lol

edit: tags

[odinsblog]

If you have any doubts that the phenomenon of Donald Trump was a long time a’coming, you have only to read a piece that Gore Vidal wrote for Esquire magazine in July 1961, when the conservative movement was just beginning and even Barry Goldwater was hardly a glint in Republicans’ eyes.

Vidal’s target was Paul Ryan’s idol, and the idol of so many modern conservatives: the trash novelist and crackpot philosopher Ayn Rand, whom Vidal quotes thusly:

“It was the morality of altruism that undercut America and is now destroying her.

“Capitalism and altruism are incompatible; they are philosophical opposites; they cannot co-exist in the same man or in the same society. Today, the conflict has reached its ultimate climax; the choice is clear-cut: either a new morality of rational self-interest, with its consequence of freedom… or the primordial morality of altruism with its consequences of slavery, etc.

“To love money is to know and love the fact that money is the creation of the best power within you, and your passkey to trade your effort for the effort of the best among men.

“The creed of sacrifice is a morality for the immoral…”

In most quarters, in 1961, this stuff would have been regarded as nearly sociopathic nonsense, but, as Vidal noted, Rand was already gaining adherents: “She has a great attraction for simple people who are puzzled by organized society, who object to paying taxes, who hate the ‘welfare state,’ who feel guilt at the thought of the suffering of others but who would like to harden their hearts.”

Because he was writing at a time when there was still such a thing as right-wing guilt, Vidal couldn’t possibly have foreseen what would happen: Ayn Rand became the guiding spirit of the governing party of the United States. Her values are the values of that party. Vidal couldn’t have foreseen it because he still saw Christianity as a kind of ineluctable force in America, particularly among small-town conservatives, and because Rand’s “philosophy” couldn’t have been more anti-Christian. But, then, Vidal couldn’t have thought so many Christians would abandon Jesus’ teachings so quickly for Rand’s. Hearts hardened.

The transformation and corruption of America’s moral values didn’t happen in the shadows. It happened in plain sight. The Republican Party has been the party of selfishness and the party of punishment for decades now, trashing the basic precepts not only of the Judeo-Christian tradition, but also of humanity generally.

Vidal again: “That it is right to help someone less fortunate is an idea that has figured in most systems of conduct since the beginning of the race.” It is, one could argue, what makes us human. The opposing idea, Rand’s idea, that the less fortunate should be left to suffer, is what endangers our humanity now. I have previously written in this space how conservatism dismantled the concept of truth so it could fill the void with untruth. I called it an epistemological revolution. But conservatism also has dismantled traditional morality so it could fill that void. I call that a moral revolution.

To identify what’s wrong with conservatism and Republicanism — and now with so much of America as we are about to enter the Trump era — you don’t need high-blown theories or deep sociological analysis or surveys. The answer is as simple as it is sad: There is no kindness in them.

(continue reading)

[brasideios]

I’ve just finished reading Crime and Punishment so I’m just going to write a few of my thoughts about it here while it’s fresh.

It reminded me a lot of Keep the Aspidistras Flying by George Orwell; had the same sense of doom and hopelessness pervading it; scenes of poverty and how that beats a person down; the same type of (frankly) irritating protag who seems incapable of doing a thing to improve his own situation even though they’re surrounded by opportunities and people trying to help/support them; though Raskolnikov is significantly less stable. They end on a really similar note, too.

It has a similar, dense style to English lit from the same period (1860s) but then with *so* much less primness about it. It’s unflinching in a way English lit never really is. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the dream sequence of the horse being flogged to death; but there’s many other examples where I did a double take at the brutal descriptions of the suffering poverty inflicts upon people, or that people inflict on each other.

Something written by Dickens or Gaskell, who were hailed for highlighting the suffering of the poor, would *never* openly address prostitution and the effects that has with compassion for the girl (any trespass against Christian values meant death for the girl in English lit - the ‘harlot’ must be punished!) or actually describe an attempted rape. Or suicide. Or attempted murder. Or actual murder. Like - it genuinely does not look away.

It’s worth the slog to read, lots of interesting themes and ideas bubbling away in there, but it is definitely about 150 pages too long (I know this is because it was serialised and back then they paid by the word - that really shows). The last quarter dragged.

Oh - and one final point - to the person who once told me my paragraphs are too long, even when they’re literally a few sentences: this dude wrote paragraphs that run literally unbroken for three whole pages. I think I’m ok 😆

(It was good natured criticism, I’m not at all salty - I just couldn’t stop thinking about it as these monster paragraphs just kept on going, and going…)

[mediumtires]

It's two days into the summer break and I'm already going through vroom vroom withdrawals, so I re-read Seven Years then decided to nitpick season 5 of DTS. Seven Years is so stuck in my head (especially with last weekend's ass grab) that I started to wonder how Christian and Toto's relationship would affect DTS. Would there be a full episode about their relationship? Would they be more included in each other's episodes? Would Netflix try to get footage of the two acting like a couple? The only guarantee is that Tumblr would be analysis every interaction between the two because we already do that.

Also, I use Microsoft Edge over google so I thought you might find this funny.

The first thing they list is that he is a racing driver, not a successful team principal, a racing driver. :p

ohhh this is such an interesting take!

personally i didn’t make dts a thing in seven years because i just didn’t want to deal with the mess of it. it adds a whole other layer of emotional clusterfucks of being exposed to the wider public (outside of the f1 bubble even), even more cameras following them around the paddock, mic-ed up 24/7. there is a snippet i started writing after the whole “change your fucking car” business that i couldn’t even finish because the whole thing was so messy and i could not come up with a proper way to solve this because i was so embarrassed for them lmao.

but let’s walk for a second. let’s say their involuntary outing happens and dts are around for it all, i do think netflix would be a perfect vessel to promote lgbtq+ visibility and rights in motorsports and both pr teams would jump at the chance. obviously an outing like this is a huge fuck up marketing wise, nothing was planned, no one was prepared for it so they’d need to act quick and with netflix around, they’d have the perfect opportunity to angle the narrative any way they want. plus for netflix it would obviously mean Millions. everyone and their mother would watch the new season.

not sure they’d have a full episode. don’t think christian or toto would agree to this during some of the worst moments of their lives lol and in seven years i tried my best to not glorify or romanticise a shitty situation like being outed by someone else against your will. but i do think they’d both still want to be on dts, they enjoy the spotlight and the attention too much. in my mind they’d both show up to their netflix interviews smirking, a little ala “look at you and your lil cameras, i had a secret you couldn’t even imagine being true, you only know the things i choose to tell you, i’m in charge here”. to me that’s kind of a power move. i also think certain questions would simply be blacklisted so all we’d get would be ambiguous layered eye-twinkling comments about the rival team principal while touching their wedding rings. “oh toto slammed that desk *eye roll* yeah he’s so emotional *smirk*” or “christian has a big mouth, don’t believe everything he says, i don’t” or “singapore last year? yeah i think…. i think we won. did we? can’t remember, i was a little busy” but they don’t ever talk about singapore directly.

post outing i don’t think we’d get much husband material on dts. i tried very hard to write them as being private about their relationship and i still think that rings true, even post outing. there were instances where i thought it’d be significant and meaningful to them as a couple to show their support for each other a little more publicly (or maybe just a little less secretively) but those moments were about them more so than an act for the public or the cameras. in my mind they wouldn’t walk hand in hand through the paddock just because they can, not mid season on a thursday morning anyway. they’re professionals and they’re at work. but it’s a different thing when a netflix camera zooms in on them through a window and they’re having a quiet lunch tucked away in some corner of rb hospitality, or a brush of hands or a discreet smile when they pass each other somewhere and a camera is around to pick up on it.

so that’s my take! the most interesting angle to me though is how the public perception suddenly changes from seeing them as individuals to seeing them as a unit. it rewires your brain from “oh these two are fun, they hate each other” to “oh these two….. don’t hate each other. in actuality they…. they seem to love each other enough to be…. husbands. huh”

[vi-sigoth]

Man... why is it so hard to find normal Gaelic pagans?

Dude. Tell me about it. I suffer everyday.

If I had to guess though—my guesses would be:

1. The Isles were Christianized earlier than, say, Scandinavia, and big swathes of the Slavic regions, so there were less years of recorded pagan practices that we have knowledge of extending into the beginning and middle of the Medieval period.

2. For one reason or another, there’s been a big revival of interest in Norse/Germanic practice. This isn’t necessarily a recent thing, either. You had Wagner heavily leaning into Germanic myth and aesthetics with his Ring Cycle. You had, whether you agree with him or not, Adolf Hitler and his men rejecting the church’s hold on Germany and reviving interest in Germanic belief (what Adolf Hitler and those closest to him personally believed is a whole other can of worms and too long for this post.) the West is fascinated with Norse-Germanic belief and “Viking” aesthetics because I think in many people’s view, the Norse were the last holdout against the tide of Abrahamism in Europe (which unfortunately does a massive disservice to the Slavs and Balts who often held out for much longer, even until the Soviet period). More recently, you have groups like Wardruna and Heilung and their many copycats rising to popularity. You have (ugh) the show Vikings, which, for better or for worse, brought Norse belief and Viking Age culture back into the public eye. Piggybacking off the popularity of that was Robert Eggers’ masterpiece The Northman. You don’t have a lot of this with Celtic culture, either Islander or continental, because:

3. Protestantism simply put, did not succeed in keeping hold of Scandinavia and the northern parts of Germany like Catholicism did for Ireland, for France. That statement might piss people off, but the difference in how secular Sweden is versus Ireland is pretty staggering. (Yeah, yeah, I know, racial and religious demographics are rapidly shifting and people will ask what about Scotland, what about Wales? It’s complicated.)

4. FUCKINF. WICCIANISM. Gerald Gardner and Rocket Graves, may they suffer for eternity, did untold damage to Islander paganism. Gardner cherry-picked from many European traditions, but he used (cherry-picked) Islander Celtic belief as the glue to hold it together, and mixed that with Thelema, and Khabbalah, which, do I even have to explain why neither of these things have no place in Europe? He and Graves took advantage of the burgeoning pagan revivals and general disillusionment with Christianity people had after WWII. Robert Graves’ The White Goddess is now used as a blueprint for reconstructing Celtic paganism. Despite the fact that he couldn’t back up any of his “research” and couldn’t cite a single source, and that nearly every single academic that studies pre-Christian European belief has rejected it as utter nonsense, I STILL see people claiming to be “Druids” who cite this book. So you have The White Goddess, and Wiccanism/New Age nonsense, which has been bleeding for decades into any genuine attempt at reconstruction. People tend to see the hippie or Earth mother types that flock to this and think. “Yeah, no thanks.”

There are no recent, big budget, well-filmed, well acted movies that depict any of the Irish, Scottish, Welsh, or Cornish (yeah, remember them? Barely any one else does) myth. Almost no one knows how much Celtic blood is in all of Europe. In Greece, in the southern Slavic countries, in Italy, in Switzerland, and the Netherlands and Austria. Bavarians can up to nearly 50% Celt DNA! So can Spaniards! There are no cool depictions of naked Gauls slathered in blue woad hurling themselves at Roman soldiers, ripping their shields apart with their bare hands, running up their shield walls and diving into the fray, racing through Europe in their immaculate chariots. It’s sad. I’d give my right arm to see a Robert Eggers directed movie about that, or about Fion mac Cumhail. The Celts were just as fierce and powerful as any Viking raider you can name, and what do we get? Derry Girls and movies about The Troubles. Which is fine. Ireland in 1900 and more recently was certainly not a boring place to be. But there’s just so much more.

Best we can do, friend, is keep making people of Celtic heritage aware of their history, their people, their gods, and make THAT Celtic history popular in the culture.

Then we get our Robert Eggers Gaul movie.

[chaifootsteps]

oh, people are doing this anon intro thing now? Well I am cookie anon but I always forget to use that alias so I’ve got a lot more asks on here than just the ones with that one

ok well I am cookie anon, I am an 18 year old female (I’m one of the youngest that feels weird) and honestly, my sorta falling out with viv’s stuff is not interesting at all, I first heard of her when the hh pilot blew up back in 2019, never watched it because it didn’t seem my thing, but my vague opinion of it was that I thought it looked cool. Had nothing to do with any of her work until 2022, when my sister convinced me to watch helluva boss and I really liked it and got hyperfixated on it. Unfortunately I couldn’t see anything wrong with it since I am just not good at looking at things critically (and although I found it cringe sometimes I overlooked it for the Cool Shit, I loved the trip sequence in truth seekers in particular) I never ended up joining the community or posting anything about it, because I was friends with a bunch of Christians at the time and thought it might upset them (found out earlier this year that they’re not the people I want to be around anyway, not friends any more, but at least I can kind of thank them for that because that is a internet trail I would never be able to live down and would make me cringe into hell forever)

Obviously I liked viv as an enjoyer of her work, but idk.. I think I got weird vibes somehow, but as I said I was not in the community at all so I didn’t know any of the drama

Eventually shortly after seeing stars released I just randomly lost interest and couldn’t be assed to continue watching the show (I don’t think it was anything to do with the episode as I said I don’t think I realised it was ass, sometimes that just happens with my interests, I just randomly flip into not giving a shit any more) so I went a few months with no viv at all, until I joined tumblr and found some critical posts on here, and just fell down the rabbit hole and realised she sucks, now I hate her stupid ass especially because of the parallels with an unfortunate friendship I had, silently glaring and lurking and waiting for her downfall

Sorry to hear that about your friendship, Cookie Anon. Hope you've got some less unfortunate people around you now.

[sadsongsandwaltzes]

Hey! I’ve been following your blog for a while now and I’ve noticed we kinda have the same struggles in life. From one Christian woman to another, how do you deal with loneliness and waiting on God? I have a few things going on in my life - a new job I’m having a hard time adjusting to (I was fired for standing up for my convictions from my first job of nine years two months ago) and and there’s a man at church who was showing a mutual interest until something mysterious happened to him in February (he won’t talk to anyone about it and everyone from church said he’s been acting strange ever since). My mom wants me to move on but but I don’t want to give up on him quite yet. But she gave me a lecture and honestly, she just made me feel like more of a loser after church on Sunday. I need to give it all to God but I don’t know how! Like I can tell Him, but it hasn’t come from my heart, ya know? And I’ve been feeling so depressed and seeing my younger sister begin a relationship (something I’ve deeply desired my whole life) doesn’t help the sting any. So much loneliness and depression and I don’t know how to deal with it. Do you have any biblical advice on what to do? I’m sorry this is so long

Firstly, good on you for standing by what you believe, regarding your job. It’s very easy to buckle in those situations. So while it’s led to a more difficult situation, you did the right thing. Just wanted to give you props.

Now. As far as your main question. I can commiserate. But I am not the picture of someone who is necessarily “stable” and has it all figured out. A few years ago I might’ve tried to craft some sort of paragraph of Bible verses that you and I both know that you already know. But not now. So perhaps I’ll try honest commiseration instead. There are times my loneliness and heartache drives me to the Word and sincere meditation. There are other times it drives me to the bottle. I’m not someone who has it all together and has healthy coping mechanisms all the time. And I really don’t have an understanding as to how I get through it other than the Lord keeps me and pulls me through. Nothing, not even my own stupidity and sin, will separate me from Christ because Christ has me. So my ability to cope with these things ebbs and flows. The only constant is Christ. I can be drunk off my butt or stewing in anger at the Lord, and He’s still there. Lord, forgive me.

What I have very tangibly learned through that though is the necessity of prayer and the Word as a shelter. If you’re stuck in a cold, rainy storm, Christ is the shelter. He blocks the rain and the wind and He’ll get you through the storm alive. But He does not take the storm away. And you’re still gonna feel the cold.

And I think accepting the fact that there are times or aspects of your life where you’re gonna feel the cold has made it easier to actually trust God. Because I’m not expecting Him to remove the cold anymore. Just block what’s gonna kill me. And I know He will do that. Because He has my whole life.

I also think I’ve lived enough life and — particularly with relationships — have experienced enough times where I thought I knew what I wanted or something made so much sense to me at the time that I couldn’t understand why it wouldn’t work out. But then the Lord eventually showed me why. Helped me to understand. So at this point, when I’m in a situation like that, I’m still gonna mope and complain because I’m incredibly emotional and therefore my lows are extremely low, but I intellectually know the Lord will bring me through. Because He has time and time again.

Nowhere in the Bible does it promise that our lives on this earth will be easy. In fact, it guarantees trials. But the Lord also promises He is always with us. So take God’s promises for exactly what they are: nothing more, nothing less. Because God is not a liar.

I don’t know why God always let’s such heartache or stress happen. But I suppose if you need to learn patience, the only way you can do that is by being forced to be patient. If you need to learn to trust the Lord, the only way to say that is to be forced to trust the Lord. And a loss of a job and problems in your love life are two situations that will definitely make you feel as if you have nothing left but to simply trust and be patient in the Lord. The Lord is working on you. Everything happens for a reason.

If you want a piece of practical advice about loneliness that I’ve taken to since the last time I had a meltdown last summer over yet another disappointing guy: don’t pass up opportunity. Never. Not just relationally either. Since that happened, I’ve agreed to so many outings or trips or events I never would’ve had I not been so desperate for anything to do but stare at a wall alone and drink booze. Even the smallest things matter. I’ve never once regretted taking an opportunity — even if it didn’t go quite right lol — but I have always regretted passing it up. And I’ve made so many good memories and learned so many skills because of it. But even relationally, you have to put yourself out there. I know we all want God to just drop someone on our doorstep to fill the void or to fix the broken relationships in our lives, but that’s not how it works. Example: a few days ago I ran into a guy from high school at the store. He looked familiar but I couldn’t place who he was right away, so I kinda blew him off. But I finally placed who he was. And after stewing on it, I messaged him last night. He still hasn’t responded and I don’t know if he will or not. And this is not something I ever would’ve done before. But the only potential is for gain. Either he responds and I, at the very least, can maybe gain a new friend. Or he doesn’t… but he’s not someone I had in my life currently anyways so it’s not like I’m losing anything. It’s really scary putting yourself out there, but you have to. And even if the opportunities that arise aren’t exactly in the track you would’ve made for yourself… just take them anyways. It may be 1000000000x better in the long run than what you’re sitting and wishing will happen. And I’m not entirely sure if all of this is because I’ve gotten more mature, or if this is the foolish rambling of a lady with nothing else to lose. But I think it’s right.

If you want to beat loneliness, the only way to do it is to put yourself in situations where you can’t be lonely. And it’s terrifying. But that’s just the fact of the matter.

If you want simply biblical advice, I’ll leave you with: seek shelter in the Lord. And keep your mind on things above. Circling that back to the practical advice: stewing on the things of this earth and what *we* would wish would happen if *we* were god is part of what prevents us from truly living life and trusting the Lord. Think eternally.

I don’t know if this is what you needed to hear, but I really hope it is. Especially because I know I’m veering off the “here’s some feel good Bible verses and a heart emoji” response that most people give. Which is probably the response you were seeking. But I think this response is more honest and practical. And hopefully you can make something of it.

Trust the Lord. Seek shelter in the Lord. Remember the shelter doesn’t remove the storm. And through the storm, be taking the opportunities the Lord gives you. Because ultimately it’s His will, not yours.

You are in my prayers. And I know your pain.

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form: Follow Up to Ungendering Religious Words

Very interesting. Thank you for your answer regarding religous words. I have to ask this because I find it quite curious you immediately went to Catholicism and Western culture and only that. Why? Solely because of word origin and Greeks were mostly Catholic?

It is totally valid as I just found out that 'monk' is also used in Catholicism as well, but until now, I never heard that 'monk' was used outside of East Asian religions. For Western religions I always heard words more like 'priest' even if that doesn't specifically describe the hermit types, or even 'eremite' a couple times. So that really threw me.

My fictional religion definitely takes a lot more inspiration from East Asian religions. I am Asian American and Buddhist but I grew up in Asia since my teens. I do have some relatives who are Christian-no denomination-but they never associated monk with anything closer to Christianity either. That is one reason thus I very much landed on the word 'monk' as I wanted context to land in this direction.

A made up word is great, but it also wouldn't land anywhere in context and I don't want to immediately dump paragraphs of world-building describing the religion. Or maybe if I do write it well, people can pick that up from other brief context, whereas you had absolutely none. Perhaps that's a writing issue rather than world-building though...?

Feral: Indeed, monastic orders are pretty common the world over. And if you’re writing in English and want to refer to your monastic clergy in English, Tex’s etymology lesson and how the word has developed in English and Licorice’s advice on finding other English words is true and relevant regardless of the inspiration. 

While most folks, especially fantasy fans, from Western countries will be more or less equally exposed to “monk” referring to Western and Eastern traditions, nearly anyone in the English speaking world without a personal cultural tie to Eastern traditions will default to “nun” in reference to Catholicism or Anglicism (or maybe Orthodoxy) depending on where they live if there isn’t any preface or context, eg. “Buddhist nun.” This is very important cultural context for you to be aware of if you’re trying to have the broadest possible English-speaking audience. 

Now you don’t mention your ethnicity or where in Asia you live, so forgive me if I use the wrong language, but hopefully, you’ll still understand my meaning. If you’re not drawing inspiration from Christian/Western monks and nuns and instead are drawing inspiration from bhikkhu and bhikkhuni, you could use the term most appropriate to your world’s specific cultural inspiration. I certainly couldn’t give you advice on ungendering the terms, but it might be a good starting place - either use the term that’s most correct to the religion you are worldbuilding or conlang a name using the real world term as a jumping off point.

Using an unfamiliar term absolutely does not need paragraphs of explanation - a single dashed off phrase like this one - or just context will tell your audience what they need to know when you introduce the word. As you guessed, though, that is a question of writing and not of worldbuilding.

Ebonwing: If you don’t want to make up an entirely new word, then you could just repurpose an existing gender-neutral English word that doesn’t ordinarily have religious connotations and show through context that that’s what it means here. For example, if you wanted to name your monk/nun equivalent Servants, you could introduce the Servants tending to a temple or doing other things that fit into your religion.

[acommonloon]

We get cards sometimes but rarely am I the recipient. It must be a record that I was addressed in three most recently .

A Christmas card comes every year from the Gattles in Florida. It’s addressed to me and my daughter, as if a couple. We don’t know the Gattles and they obviously don’t know us. In spite of many efforts, including most recently, an email and FB message, they are unresponsive, except for the card featuring their family photo and a synopsis of their year. They are a churchy family, proud of their godly exploits. Oddly they haven’t responded to our attempts to contact them so the intended recipients might receive their holiday missives. Maybe they just want to include us as well.

The other Christmas card I get each year is from my last boss in the Air Force. He’s a sad figure to me. He was largely incompetent, abrasive, and just barely self-aware enough to know he was viewed with contempt by most everyone while he held that position. I treated him with respect and in turn he mostly let me get on with my job. I never expected or wanted to have any contact with him when I retired but to my surprise he reached out.

Actually, it was his wife who called me first out of the blue. Hi Shane it’s Maryanne, let me get George. Oookay. When he came to the phone he was ridiculously happy to talk. To that point he may have already been sending Christmas cards. We talked for quite some time and thereafter, when I got a card from him, I’d call him and we’d catch up.

When Maryanne died, George seemed to become a different person. Up until that point we never spoke about religion. I think he always was a Christian but after her death, his religion became front and center. He especially seemed to want to try to save me or at least convince me he understood a���secret of the after life and was desperate to get me on board.

As one who took a long time to throw off the yoke of religion, it’d pretty much take a visitation by God or at least a senior angel to sign me back up. To be honest I’ve been immeasurably happier since I stopped fearing the afterlife or death as we unbelievers call it. I’m happy to debate it respectfully with those who do believe. Sometimes they aren’t happy to debate it with me.

I once spent a couple of hours with a distant cousin who taught theology at a college in Columbus, IN. That he was also a believer was fascinating and I enjoyed our conversation. Afterwards, he never answered my calls or returned my messages. I once met a guy in his church and at some point I said, “Why would I need God if I don’t fear death.” He seemed stumped by that. I don’t recall his response other than we moved on to a different subject. I’ve had dozens of conversations at bars about religion and an afterlife. A guy once asked me what I thought came after death.

I said, “nothing.” He looked at me with shock on his face and asked, “Don’t you find that terrifying?” Not at all, I wasn’t aware of anything before I was born and when my life ends, so will my awareness of anything. No less final than a squirrel’s life ending suddenly under a car wheel. I can’t even imagine any version of Heaven that sounds desirable. It was always fear of hell that kept me on the God train. Once I realized what an abusive relationship really meant, I split. If there’s really a God…

Anyway, back to my old boss. The last time I spoke with him was in 2021. He immediately wanted to talk about the after life and time and existential things but I just told him I wasn’t interested, didn’t need religion to be happy, and those that spent the most time professing religion had elected Trump and were worshipping their orange idol, who happened to be the most unchristian person imaginable. Anyone who took the Bible and its tenants seriously couldn’t possibly want Trump to be their leader. Surprise, Georgie is a Trumper.

During the years with George as my boss, we spent a lot of it debating issues just for fun. He was a pretty good debater, never got mad, and could agree to disagree. He was a Yankees fan and I was a Red Sox fan but it never got uncomfortable. He was unable to defend Trump and seemed uncomfortable. When the conversation ended, I thought all was good.

When his Christmas card came in 2022, I picked up the phone and called. The number was disconnected. Hmmm. The card this year was even more religious than any before. Inside it says,

I will be remembered. Am I already dead to George? Are these flowers on my grave? lol

Nah his hand written note says he hopes life is treating me and my family well. <sigh> I’ve typed a letter to send back suggesting he call me. I feel sad for George, a Trumper, a Christian, and a Yankees fan.

Also my three year old granddaughter sent me a picture she drew…of me!