#fan loyalty strategies

[isubhamdas]

How I Achieved Marketing Success Without High Costs?

A Fresh Start in Sports Marketing

When I first dove into sports marketing, I faced a big challenge: limited budget. High costs seemed like an inevitable part of the game. But I refused to accept that. I needed to think outside the box to succeed without breaking the bank.

Crafting a New Plan

I began exploring creative and cost-effective strategies. My focus shifted to building strong relationships and leveraging community support. Instead of spending big, I aimed to maximize every dollar spent.

Implementing 10 Winning Strategies

I applied ten key strategies that changed everything:

Social Media Engagement: Creating fun, shareable content that fans loved.

Example: Running a viral hashtag campaign during a local sports event.

Statistic: Social media-driven campaigns boosted our engagement by 60%.

Partnerships with Local Businesses: Teaming up for mutual promotions.

Example: Collaborating with a local restaurant for game-day specials.

Email Marketing: Sending personalized updates and exclusive offers.

Statistic: Our email campaigns saw a 45% open rate.

Fan Involvement: Encouraging fans to share their own stories and experiences.

Example: Holding a contest for the best fan-created video.

Seeing Results

The results were amazing. We saw a rise in fan engagement, ticket sales, and overall brand loyalty. All without draining our budget. It felt like a win on all fronts.

Conclusion

By focusing on smart, low-cost strategies, I achieved sports marketing success without high costs. It's proof that creativity and community can outshine big budgets.

What low-cost strategies have worked for you in sports marketing? Share your experiences in the comments!

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[mrsfancyferrari]

Start Something

Summary: GR63 + "Don't start something you can't finish." 🥧🏈

Song: Gigi Perez - Sailor Song

Author’s note: First time writing George and it's with a black Queen! aka Lewis' sister! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 16.8k

In the dazzling world of Formula 1, where speed and fierce competition ruled, George Russell had always thought that nothing could distract him from his relentless pursuit of victory.

Raised amidst the roar of engines and the cheers of euphoric fans, he had turned a passion nurtured in go-karting into a career in racing. Joining Mercedes was a dream come true, a feather in his cap, and the stepping stone to establishing himself amongst the giants of the sport.

Yet, as George settled into his role alongside the legendary Lewis Hamilton, fate decided to introduce a new element—a distraction that made his heart race in ways no car ever could.

That distraction stood at the heart of the Mercedes garage, your laughter intertwining with the mechanical precision of pit stops, your presence an ethereal glow that drew every eye.

Y/N Hamilton, Lewis’s younger sister, with your long, flowing black braids and captivating smile, had transformed George’s world.

From the first moment he saw you, casually leaning against the garage wall and teasing your brother about his tire choices, George felt something shift within him.

You had a spark, a vivacity that permeated through every conversation. Every playful banter between you and Lewis made his heart flutter.

Unlike the calculated strategies and adrenaline-soaked races he were used to, you were uncharted territory, an alluring enigma that he found impossible to resist.

There were something intoxicating yet daunting about you—you were Lewis’s sister, a protector of the family name, and that made George hesitate. In a sport where boundaries was often blurred, this one felt resolute.

When the races ended and the teams dissipated back to their homes, George's thoughts lingered on Y/N like a lingering tune.

He would catch glimpses of you in the paddock, joking with mechanics, stealing the occasional insightful chat with engineers, and even cheering from the pit wall.

Everything about your captivated him—the way your laughter harmonized with the thundering engines, how your eyes sparkled when you spoke about racing, and the warmth of your presence that pulled everyone in closer.

George tried to tell himself that he had experience with women, with dating, and that he could easily approach you. But as he watched you from afar, the typical confidence he exuded on the track melted away.

You were untouchable, wrapped in the aura of familial loyalty; your brother was a legend in the sport.

Asking you out felt like challenging a titan.

You were the sister of Lewis Hamilton, a seven-time world champion, and that distinction brought its own kind of attention. People flocked to you, drawn in by your radiant smile and laughter.

Yet, amid the glamorous chaos surrounding you, there was George Russell, the promising young driver from Mercedes.

His piercing blue eyes often met yours in fleeting glances, a moment of light amidst the sea of noise, but when they did, his usual bravado seemed to dissipate, leaving behind a shy, vulnerable side of him that was rarely seen.

As you took your place near the track—the energy of excited fans thrumming in rhythm with your heartbeat—Lewis nudged you gently.

“Look at George over there,” he said, pointing to where George stood in his paddock, fiddling nervously with his cap. There he was, the confident driver to the world, yet utterly bashful in your presence.

You chuckled softly, unable to suppress the warmth blooming in your chest. “What’s he doing?” you mused, tilting your head to get a better look.

“Probably trying to figure out how to say hello to you without blushing,” Lewis teased, a grin stretching across his face. “It’s hilarious, really. I’ve never seen him shy around anyone else.”

“Maybe I should go say hi,” you suggested playfully, feeling a small thrill at the thought.

You had developed a mutual admiration with George over the months—not just for his driving skills but the warmth behind his reserved demeanor. Their playful banter only added to the chemistry you felt building with him.

“Go for it. But prepare for him to fumble like a rookie at the last corner,” Lewis chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Bracing yourself, you made your way through the throng of team members and media personnel, your confidence buoying you along.

As you approached George, he looked up, and his handsome face fell into a genuine smile, although the faintest blush tinted his cheeks.

“Hey, George,” you greeted, injecting cheerfulness into your voice.

“Uh, hey! I—um... hi!” His words tumbled out like loose marbles as he fumbled with his helmet.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Lewis says you’re a little shy around me. Is that true?”

“Shy? Me?” He pretended to scoff, but his shy smile betrayed him. “Nah, just... focused on the race. Really important stuff, you know?”

You leaned a bit closer, observing how unlike his usual self he was around you. “Sure, Mr. Focused. But the race isn’t happening for a while. Don’t you have time to chat?”

His gaze softened, his nervousness dwindling as he began to relax. “Right! Of course. What do you want to talk about?”

“How about you tell me what this weekend means to you,” you suggested, curious to know more about his passion.

George’s eyes lit up, and for a moment, the world around you faded. “It’s everything. The adrenaline, the competition—it’s like... like dancing on the edge. When I’m out there, nothing else matters; it’s just the track and me.”

You watched him talk, captivated by the passion in his voice. “That sounds exhilarating. I can’t imagine how it feels.”

“It’s—” he paused, catching himself, “It’s even better knowing you’re here. Really.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you searched his blue eyes for sincerity. “Why’s that?”

He dropped his gaze, appearing bashful once more. “I don’t know. You just bring a different kind of energy. It’s nice.”

Before you could respond, Lewis appeared, draping an arm around George’s shoulder. “Look at you two! I knew you’d scare him out of his shell,” he laughed. “Do you need a tutor in flirting, George?”

George shot him a mock glare. “I don’t need a tutor. I’m just... um, focused.”

“Sure, focused,” you interjected, suppressing laughter. “Give it time, Lewis. Maybe he’ll crack.”

“Oh, he will. Just wait until he gets back from the race and needs someone to celebrate with,” Lewis smirked before giving George a friendly nudge. “Break a leg out there! But not literally. We still need you alive for the after-party.”

With a final flip of his cap, George knew it was time to shift his focus. “Catch you after the race?” he asked, his tone growing a little more assured.

“Definitely,” you replied, giving him a smile that felt like a secret promise.

You stood beside the barriers, a proud family member soaking in the electric atmosphere that only race day could provide. George, Lewis's teammate at Mercedes and an up-and-coming star in his own right, had just come off the track after a hard-fought race.

As the cars roared by in a cloud of tires and adrenaline, your heart raced—not from the high speeds, but from the anticipation of welcoming George back.

“Georgie! You did so well!” you yelled, waving your arms as he approached the garage, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.

George's expression softened, and a weary smile tugged at his lips. He was exhausted, but your encouragement infused him with energy.

“Thanks! It was a tough one out there,” he replied, shaking his head as if trying to clear the dizzying effects of the race.

As he drew closer, you could see the way his hair clung to his forehead, the remnants of the incredible effort he had just put forth.

Your heart fluttered, and as you often did, you reverted to that endearing nickname. “You’re such a little champion, Georgie! I’m so proud of you!”

George blushed, a swath of crimson spreading across his cheeks. “I’m not that little,” he protested weakly, trying to play off the nickname, but the smile on his face betrayed him.

You laughed and stepped closer, an undeniable warmth spreading through you. It was a little game you played, this teasing; you loved seeing him squirm, and you loved even more how he would pretend to be annoyed while secretly reveling in the attention.

George took a step forward and embraced you tightly. The warmth of his sweat-soaked suit pressed against you, the mingling scents of adrenaline and engine oil surrounding you both.

The hug was a blend of camaraderie and something deeper, something you both tried hard to ignore yet felt every time you were together.

“What a race! I thought I was going to lose it at that corner,” he said, pulling back from the hug but not entirely letting go of your hands.

“Corner ten, right? I was holding my breath! But you kept your cool,” you grinned, feeling the intensity in his eyes as he recounted his experience.

“I tried to channel my inner Lewis,” he joked, but there was a flicker of sincerity in his tone. It turned into a soft admiration that you couldn’t help but notice.

George had an undeniable respect for your brother, but was he beginning to look up to you too?

“You should!” you teased, playfully bumping your shoulder against his. “Just don’t forget who’s been cheering the loudest for you!”

George chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. “You’ve made that very clear, y’know. I can hear you through my helmet.”

“Oh, you think I’ll mute myself because you’re a big-shot F1 driver now? Not a chance!”

The banter was light, but beneath the surface, there was a palpable tension, an unspoken bond that lingered in the air like the scent of burnt rubber.

Excitement crackled in the air as fans buzzed around the barriers, their cheers mingling with the distant roar of engines. Amidst the whirlwind of team activity, George Russell leaned against the open door of the Mercedes garage, his arms crossed as he watched the sea of enthusiastic supporters.

"Hey, try and shoot your shot with my little sis, even though she will reject you," came the teasing voice of Lewis Hamilton, who had just stepped out of the hospitality suite, an amused smirk dancing on his lips.

George’s eyes darted to where you stood, chatting amiably with a group of fans. With your effortless grace and radiant smile, it was difficult to imagine anyone being brave—or foolish—enough to approach you.

Lewis shrugged lightly, as if he had just made a casual comment about the weather.

What he didn’t know was that George had been harboring a significant crush on you for longer than he cared to admit.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” George said, trying to sound nonchalant. He could feel his cheeks warming with embarrassment.

The last thing he wanted was to confess to Lewis how he felt about you, especially since Lewis had made it quite clear that you had rejected quite a list of drivers before.

“You sure? I mean, you never know,” Lewis teased, leaning forward with a playful glint in his eyes.

George turned his gaze back toward the fans, pretending to be absorbed in an ongoing autograph session, while internally he sighed.

His heart raced as he watched you bend down to sign a cap for a young girl, the way your laugh rang out like a bell, how genuine and warm you were in your interactions. Truly, anyone would have a hard time coming to you with all that positivity surrounding you.

George sighed, pushing away from the door. "I have to get ready for the next session," he replied, waving a casual hand to dismiss the increasingly tempting idea of approaching you.

"Suit yourself," Lewis said, an amused expression crossing his face as he stepped back inside.

With heavy footsteps, George made his way to his car, but his mind was still fixated on you.

How was it that you could have such an undeniable effect on him?

Just before he climbed in, he glanced back, hoping to steal one more look. The moment he did, he caught your attention; you waved at him, and a smile graced your lips.

He froze, caught between the instinct to wave back and the fear of making a fool of himself.

After what felt like an eternity, he managed to raise his hand in a hesitant wave, heat flooding his face. It was ridiculous—he was a driver in the elite world of Formula 1, yet here he was, acting like a schoolboy with a crush.

Later that evening, during a team dinner, George found himself at a table scattered with familiar faces. Lewis, animatedly recounting a recent on-track incident, commanded attention while George half-listened.

He glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of you again, this time engaging with a couple of other drivers who were undoubtedly vying for your attention.

“God, look at her,” one of the drivers muttered, casting a flirtatious eye your way. "You think she’d notice if I shot my shot?"

“No one’s shooting anywhere, mate,” George snapped, surprising even himself with the sudden flare of jealousy. “She’s Lewis’s sister.”

The driver rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t mean she’s off-limits. She’s not a trophy to be won, you know.”

As the evening wore on, George made a conscious effort to not think about you. He should focus on the upcoming race and the important decisions that needed his complete attention.

Still, the thought of you lingered in the corners of his mind.

Then, as fate would have it, you entered the dining area, searching for a seat. Spotting George at the table, you smiled and made your way over.

“Mind if I join?” you asked, your voice warm and inviting.

“Of course not! I mean—I mean, please!” George stammered, his heart racing again. Mystery of how to act around you descended into chaos in his mind.

You chuckled softly as you settled into the seat opposite him. “What are you talking about? I saw you glancing at me during the signing session today. I thought you were going to knock someone over with how tense you looked!”

He couldn’t help but laugh nervously, the kind of laugh that felt more like a burst of squealing excitement than anything else. “Yeah, well… it’s just, I’m not good at that kind of stuff.”

Your eyebrows arched in surprise. “Not good at handling fans? But you’re a driver! You basically live under a spotlight,” you retorted playfully.

“More like I’m good at racing cars, not at charming beautiful women,” George admitted, taking a sip of his drink.

“Beautiful women? Now I’m curious. Have you been talking to anyone?” You leaned forward, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

George felt himself blush at your inquiry. “Only one, I suppose…but you probably wouldn’t care for that,” he said, trying to deflect.

“Try me,” you said, leaning back in enjoyment of the banter.

Before George could respond, Lewis appeared, swinging a hand around your shoulders. “There’s my sis! I hope you’re not stealing my teammate’s heart!”

George felt his face turn crimson. "That’s— uh, not happening, Lewis.”

“Blushing? Wow, I’ll have to tell the media about that,” Lewis laughed, holding on to your shoulder like a protective brother.

Not wanting to seem awkward, you quickly intervened. “Chill, Lewis! We’re just getting to know each other.”

George stole a glance at you, his heart racing yet again. For the first time, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he could open up about his feelings—just maybe.

But then came the reality: fear tightened around him again. What if you rejected him too? Would that ruin everything?

“Anyway,” you said, breaking the momentary silence. “What’s your take on the race tomorrow?”

George plunged into a conversation about strategy and his excitement, but in the back of his mind, the wish that he could simply tell you how he felt hung between you like an unmentioned dart.

As the dinner carried on, with laughter and snippets of conversation bouncing between you and the others, George realized he’d have to take a leap of faith at some point.

“Hey, would you… want to catch up after the race? You know, just us?” He fixed his gaze on you, uncertainty sprinkled with a hint of determination.

Your smile widened, an invitation hanging on the edge of your lips. “I’d love that, George.”

╚═ * . · : · . ✧ ✦ ✧ . · : · . * * . · : · . ✧ ✦ ✧ . · : · . * ═╝

The sun dipped low on the horizon as George paced in the paddock, his heart heavy with disappointment.

It had been a tough season.

He could still hear the cheers from last year, the adrenaline pulsing through him as he crossed the finish line, grinning widely with the trophy held high above his head. But this year was different.

This year, every race felt like a battle against unseen foes, and his performance was slipping.

You hadn't been to any of the races this year, and it gnawed at him. George had always believed in the idea of lucky charms, and you had been his.

The way you would wrap him in a soothing hug after a bad score, whispering encouraging words in his ear. It had brought him a confidence he didn’t even know he needed.

He would always think of those moments, of your laughter echoing in his mind, propelling him forward when he felt like giving up. “Just do it for her smile, Georgie,” he’d remind himself, drawing strength from the bond you shared.

Now, he stood alone on the edge of the pit wall, wind whipping through his hair as he tried to shake off the feeling of dread that hung around his neck.

There was no one here to call him ‘Georgie’ like you used to, no teasing remarks about being a baby even though you were just a year older and a few inches taller.

The void you left felt so immense, filling the space where hope and encouragement had once thrived.

As the cars tore down the track, he struggled to push himself to focus. The roar of the engines was an ominous reminder of the struggles he faced.

Every corner he took felt unmotivated, every lap just a task to be completed rather than a race to be conquered. He could almost see you in the grandstands, waving your hands, your infectious energy lighting up the day.

But all he could see now were empty seats.

During the race, he made a few mistakes, his mind wandering to what you might say if you were there. The frustration built in him until finally, it burst. Ignoring the instructions from the team, he pushed the car harder than ever.

His only thought was “You need to do this for her,” and for a brief moment, it worked, igniting a familiar fire in his chest.

But then, as luck would have it, that very push led him to misjudge a turn, and he felt the tires screech in protest before the world spun around him.

Silence fell in the aftermath of the crash, and as he peeled himself out of the car, the reality hit him. There were no cheers, no warm embraces waiting for him, only the medics’ concerned faces.

Anguish swelled in his chest. All of his efforts to make you proud had culminated in this moment of humiliation.

As he sat on the sidelines, bandaged and dejected, he felt a familiar shiver run down his spine. He suddenly remembered the last race of the previous season, the way you had been waiting for him in the pit after his win, your arms wide, your smile brighter than the sun.

“See, Georgie, I told you it was going to be okay!” you had exclaimed, laughing as you wrapped him in an embrace that made all the struggles worth it.

The thought of that memory stirred something in him. Determination bloomed within his heart. In that moment, he resolved he wouldn’t let year’s disappointing results define him.

He would find a way to get back on track. He had to, if only to find a way to bring you back to the races to see him rise again.

As the team carried the wrecked car away, George stood up, swaying slightly but determined to shake off the remnants of defeat.

One thing was clear: he needed you, his lucky charm, back by his side. The next race was just around the corner, and he would make sure you would be there—no matter what it took.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, casting a warm glow on him as if signaling the start of something new.

Just as he was about to turn and walk away, he felt an inexplicable warmth, a flicker of your spirit. He smiled softly to himself. “Next time, I’ll make you proud, I promise.”

George took a deep breath as he watched Lewis scroll through his phone, the bright screen illuminating his relaxed expression. His heart raced slightly—today felt different.

He had been trying to find the right moment to ask Lewis about you, the woman who had captured his thoughts regularly since he joined Mercedes.

“Hey, George! Do you need something?” Lewis looked up just as George was approaching, his face lighting up with casual interest.

“Uh, yeah…” George hesitated, his mind racing. “I was just wondering where Y/N has been these days,” he managed, trying to sound as casual as possible.

The words came out more like stutters than coherent speech.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, a grin breaking out on his face. “My sis, huh? Do you miss her that much?”

George felt the heat rise to his face, and he was sure he resembled a well-cooked lobster. “I was just wondering,” he said defensively. “That’s all.”

“Well, apparently she found something she wants to do and set off doing it. She didn’t give any details, though,” Lewis replied, an amused sparkle in his eyes.

“Oh, okay,” George replied, disappointment seeping into his voice. He had hoped for more, some hint of where you might be or when you might come back. “That’s...uh, good for her.”

“Should I call her for you?” Lewis teased, leaning back in his chair with a smug smile.

“No! I mean, no thanks, Lewis! That’s all I needed to know. See you!” George replied quickly, his nerves overtaking him as he turned to leave.

As he walked away, he could hear Lewis chuckling behind him, which only made his face feel hotter. George couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to know more about you.

You two had developed a close friendship through Lewis, sharing countless late-night conversations in the garage and daring adventures that seemed to bind your souls together.

The soft rays of the autumn sun filtered through the white curtains of your new apartment, casting a warm glow on the walls. You sank deeper into the plush couch, pulling a cozy blanket around you as you surrendered to the soothing embrace of a nap.

The chirping of birds outside formed a gentle background melody, lulling you further into restful oblivion.

Just as you began to drift off, the shrill ring of your phone broke the serene silence. Groggily, you fumbled to grab it from the coffee table, squinting at the screen. It was Lewis. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and answered.

“Hey Lewis! Is something wrong?” you asked, concern lacing your voice, knowing that he was supposed to be at a big race in just a few hours.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Lewis replied, his tone light and cheerful. “I’ve gotten a sick teammate.”

You shot straight up, your heart racing. “Oh no! What happened to Georgie?” you asked, brain already filling with worst-case scenarios.

“It’s not that kind of sickness,” Lewis laughed, a laugh that felt like a warm embrace over the phone. “I mean lovesick.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, but also felt a knot form in your stomach. “Oh, you shouldn't scare me like that!” you said, half relieved, half annoyed.

“Sorry, sis, but I couldn’t help it!” Lewis chuckled. “He looked so sad when I told him you were on an ‘adventure’ and didn’t know when you were coming back. You really did a number on the kid.”

Heat crept to your cheeks. Georgie had been such a sweet boy, a devoted fan of Lewis and his racing, but more so of you, it seemed. “Did he ask where I was?” you inquired, feeling strangely shy.

“Oh, definitely. He practically pouted when I told him,” Lewis laughed again, the sound brightening your mood even more. “I mean, he is missing his number one fan, I get it.”

You smirked, feeling a flutter of happiness at the thought. “Well, who wouldn’t miss me? I’m pretty amazing,” you jested, tossing your hair back dramatically for effect.

“Yes, yes, the most amazing person on the planet. All hail the fearless adventurer!” Lewis replied, his tone mock-heroic, making you giggle at the absurdity of it.

“I wish I had my cape,” you grinned, “but really, what’s this about him being lovesick?”

“He’s been moping around like a puppy who lost its favorite toy,” Lewis explained, his voice turning more serious. “I honestly think you’ve left quite an impression on him, sis.”

Now you felt shy again. “What am I supposed to do about that? I’m off on my own journey, and I didn’t mean to make him feel, you know, this way.”

“I don't know,” Lewis said thoughtfully. “But maybe it’s worth talking to him? Just to clear the air? He thinks you’re out doing some grand adventure, which you are, but he’s worried he’s lost his shot at it.”

You bit your lip, considering. The thought of Georgie missing you tugged at your heartstrings more than you anticipated. “I guess… I could give him a call or something. Maybe a video chat?”

“Definitely! Give the poor kid a break. Plus, I’d love to hear the shenanigans you two would get into,” Lewis encouraged.

You felt a stirring of excitement at the idea. “Okay, I’ll do it! But if I end up causing him to fall head over heels in love with me, I’m blaming you,” you joked back, “It’s all your fault for egging me on!”

“Hey!” Lewis exclaimed, sounding mock-offended. “I’m just a brother trying to save his teammate's spirit here! I’d never want that kind of drama on my hands.”

You could hear the laughter in his voice and it made you feel more at ease. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. Just keep an eye on Georgie, will you? And make sure he doesn’t drive himself to distraction before our talk.”

“I’ll send him your warmest regards,” Lewis promised, “And I expect full reports of your ‘adventure’ when you get back home.”

“As if I’m not already planning to regale you with tales worthy of royal storytelling!” you declared with mock seriousness.

“Perfect! I can already picture the enthusiastic crowd gathered for your triumphant return!” Lewis teased, and you both burst into laughter.

After the call ended, you put your phone down and stared out the window, contemplating the golden leaves dancing in the mild breeze. Who knew?

Perhaps this adventure was about more than just finding yourself. It might also be the path that led you toward an unexpected connection, one that had stirred beneath the surface, waiting for its moment to bloom.

And Georgie? Maybe he was one of those surprises along the journey.

George sat on the edge of his driver’s room chair, the weight of disappointment pressing down on him like the thick heat of a summer day.

The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating a world that felt far too bright and unjust.

He couldn’t shake the image of the checkered flag unfurling just as he crossed the finish line, his heart sinking as he realized he was in 17th place—a rank so low, it felt like a personal failure.

Outside, the celebrations for Lewis echoed through the walls. His teammate had pulled off yet another impressive race, scoring 6th place and basking in the accolades from fans and team members alike.

George could almost hear the cheers and laughter of the other drivers as they recounted their thrilling overtakes and nail-biting moments. But all he could feel was bitterness clinging to him like the stale odor of spilled fuel.

He had let himself down, and in turn, he had let down the team who had worked tirelessly to give him the best chance possible.

His thoughts spiraled into dark territory—if only the car had performed better, if only he had pushed harder, if only he hadn’t made that last-minute decision to take the inside line.

Not that it mattered now; the race was over, and all that remained was the sinking feeling of defeat.

After the debriefing, George had retreated to his room, avoiding the glances of his teammates who knew better than to engage him in conversation. He appreciated their silence, but it added a new layer to his frustration: the isolation.

A part of him longed for the comfort of a familiar voice, someone to tell him it was just a race, that he could come back stronger. But that supportive presence couldn’t arrive soon enough.

Why hadn’t you come?

You’d been a pillar of support, a reminder that racing was about passion, not just the numbers on a scoreboard. But today, you weren’t here, and he felt that absence like a gaping void.

George slumped back onto the couch, the weight of his disappointment crashing down like the checkered flag at the end of a long race. Seventeen place.

It wasn’t where he saw himself landing, not after all the preparation he had gone through for this event. His usual drive was throttled by anger and frustration, and there wasn’t much anyone could say to lift him out of this funk.

He rolled his head to the side, staring at the wall, half-listening to the muted sounds of the race venue still bustling outside. The excitement felt like a distant echo, so far removed from his own bitterness.

His phone sat silently on the desk, an uninvited messenger of expectation. It vibrated quietly, then rang out—it was family, probably. They’d be calling to soothe him, to assure him that he had more races ahead and that this one outcome didn’t define him.

But in that moment, George couldn’t muster the patience. He didn’t want to hear their words, wrapped in kindness, when all he felt was regret. He turned his head back toward the wall, letting the phone ring out.

But seconds later, it rang again—a familiar ringtone that made him sit up. They weren’t giving up easily. Just as he was about to dismiss it again, the third ring pulled him in.

With an exasperated sigh, he pushed himself off the sofa, his feet leading him to the desk. He picked up the phone and glanced at the screen. His heart dropped.

It was you.

The image of your face, lit up by the screen, chased away the haze that had settled over his mind. His stomach twisted as nostalgia teamed up with excitement, and he quickly answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, Georgie!” Your voice danced through the receiver, a melody that tugged at his heartstrings. He couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his nickname escaping your lips. “How are you doing?”

“I got 17th place today,” he muttered, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I know, I watched the race,” you replied, unfazed. “I wish I could give you a hug right now.”

George's heart ached at your words. He wished he could feel your warmth surrounding him, erasing the chill of loneliness that had settled in. “Where did you go?” he said softly, laying down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “You've just... disappeared.”

“I've just gone to find my own path, you know?” Your voice was tinged with a weariness he could hear even through the phone. “Did you miss me?”

“Should I lie?” George joked, but the jest had a bittersweet edge.

“Nope, only the truth,” you insisted, making his stomach twist in knots.

“I’ve missed you a lot,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. It had been months since they had last seen each other, months since laughter had filled the gaps between them, and the thrill of their shared dreams had become mere echoes.

As silence settled between them, George could picture you—a smile that could light up any room, laughter that could dissolve his worries.

He missed the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about your passions, how every conversation turned into a palette of colors that painted hope into his often grueling life as an F1 driver.

“Are you still there?” you finally asked, as he remained lost in thought.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, pulling himself back into the moment. “I was just... thinking about how life is different now that you're not around.”

“I feel the same way,” you admitted, voice softer now. “It’s strange, isn’t it? One moment we were inseparable, and the next, it feels like the world pulled us apart.”

George sat up and ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Do you think it’ll always be like this? Just... drifting apart?”

“I hope not.” Your voice was resolute, but the uncertainty lingered. “I think we’ve both been chasing something, but maybe our paths will overlap again.”

“Maybe,” he echoed, though he felt a pang of doubt. The F1 circuit was ruthless, and the more he advanced, the more it consumed him.

Success came at a price, and that price had meant sacrificing time with you, with the person who had always seen him beyond the flashy cars and the roaring crowds.

“Let me know what I can do to help,” you joked lightly. “Send you good vibes? Or maybe I should crash the race tomorrow and cheer you on?”

He chuckled, grateful for the banter amid his anxieties. “I’d love that. The distraction could help.”

As your laughter echoed through the phone, his heartstrings tugged as they always did.

How could someone so vibrant and full of life care enough to check in on him? In his eyes, you were effortlessly beautiful, with a spirit that could light up even the darkest corners of his fears.

“Alright, I’ve got to go. I need to call Lewis and congratulate him,” you announced, bringing him back to reality.

“Yeah, see you soon?” He tried to keep his voice casual, but the thought of your absence felt like a weight in his chest.

“I hope so. Bye, Georgie!” you sang before hanging up, the sound leaving an aching silence behind.

George tossed his phone onto the desk and took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling.

The vibrations of the engines revving echoed in his mind, but it was your voice—your laughter—that settled in his heart.

“So you talked to my sis then?” Lewis called out, his tone teasing.

George halted mid-stride as he walking past the hospitality room, his confident demeanor faltering for a brief moment.

Heat crept up his cheeks as he glanced back at Lewis. “What? No, I didn’t—”

“Come on, mate. It’s written all over your face!” Lewis laughed, the sound infectious. “I saw you two chatting before on the phone. What’s it got to do with racing, huh?”

George chuckled nervously, an undeniable smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We were just discussing the dynamics of the track...”

Lewis nodded, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with genuine warmth. “Just be yourself, mate. If she can see the real you, I think you’ll be just fine.”

As George nodded, ready to head back to his garage, a newfound determination surged within him. . . .

George Russell leaned against the cool metal of his car, the adrenaline still pulsing through his veins like the roaring engines that surrounded him.

He had just experienced a whirlwind of a race, finishing in second place—a personal victory, considering the challenges of the season.

As he peeled his helmet off and wiped the sweat from his brow, he locked eyes with his teammate, Lewis Hamilton, who grinned with pride.

"Not half bad for a young gun, eh?" Lewis teased, clapping George on the shoulder.

The camaraderie they shared gleamed like the trophy that would soon be presented to the race's champion—theirs was a friendship forged in the heat of competition.

"Better than I expected," George replied, his voice laced with uncertainty. While the roar of applause from the crowd filled the air, George could only think of one thing: you.

George had hoped you would be there to witness his triumph, to celebrate the moment that felt like it had been carved out just for him.

Tonight marked a holiday celebration that provided the perfect opportunity for the team to let loose, and Lewis was determined that George would join in the festivities.

"Time to celebrate, mate! You need to unwind."

George sighed, running his fingers through his tousled hair. "I don't know, Lewis. Maybe I should just head home."

Lewis shook his head vigorously, his face alight with mischief. "No way! I’m inviting you to our little soiree. Get ready—you need to dress for the occasion!"

Before George could protest, Lewis dragged him to the team's hotel. A little while later, George found himself staring at the mirror, adjusting a fitted black t-shirt and tailored trousers that felt disconcertingly foreign on him.

It wasn't his usual racing attire, and it certainly didn't feel like something you would want to see him in.

"What if my sister comes and you look like a runaway groom?” Lewis quipped, laughing as he helped George complete his look. “She hates it when guys dress too formally.”

The playful jab made George forget his reservations momentarily. “Alright, alright. You win. But if she laughs at me, I’m blaming you.”

“Perfect! Let’s bring on the night!” Lewis said, grabbing George's shoulder enthusiastically as they headed toward the club, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

When they entered the venue, the bass from the music thrummed through George’s chest. Familiar faces filled the space—Charles, Lando, Carlos, and other drivers were scattered throughout, already in vibrant spirits.

A few cheers erupted the moment George and Lewis stepped into the atmosphere of celebration.

"George! He finally shows!" Lando shouted, raising a drink in acknowledgment. George waved back, but a piece of him felt distant amidst the noise.

The pounding music blended with raucous laughter, but amidst the revelry, George's thoughts remained fixed on you.

As if sensing George's distraction, Lewis clapped a hand on his back, leaning in closely to shout over the music. “How’s it feel to be a podium finisher?”

“Great! But I don’t know... It would be better if you-know-who were here,” he admitted, keeping his tone light, yet tinged with sincerity.

Lewis raised an eyebrow knowingly. “You’re still hung up on her, huh?”

“C’mon, she should have been here to celebrate.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself! Come on, let’s find you someone to cheer you up!”

Before George could respond, a young woman, strikingly beautiful with warm eyes and an inviting smile, approached him. “Hey George! Wanna party with me?” she said, her lips curving in a playful manner.

George hesitated, a knot forming in his chest at the prospect. She was gorgeous, no doubt, but all he could think about was you—how much he missed your laughter, your warmth, and the effortless way you lit up a room.

“Thanks, but I think I’m just going to sit this one out,” he said politely, offering her a smile even if his heart wasn’t in it.

He turned away and made his way to the bar, needing a moment to collect himself. The bartender raised an eyebrow as George ordered a drink, and as he took a sip, he swore he could almost feel the tension release… but it didn’t work.

Instead, all he felt was a longing tugging at his heart, reminding him of the vacant space left by your absence.

George nursed what was supposed to be a single drink. But suddenly, what began with one drink turned into three, and now the room was spinning as he clutched the table for stability.

He chuckled nervously, acknowledging how quick he was to forget the limits he set for himself.

“Just one more sip, and I’ll head out,” he muttered to himself, yet deep down, he felt the pull of the crowd, the booming music, the laughter that was too easy to lose himself in.

But as he stood to leave, the earth shifted beneath him. He wobbled precariously, a laugh escaping his lips when he felt a warm presence wrap around him.

“Woah, Georgie! Let’s not fall now!” The voice was melodic. It sounded like you—the very essence he had been searching for on a night filled with hollow connections.

He turned slowly, squinting against the neon lights, and was met with a face that mirrored yours. Same bright eyes, same hair that danced whimsically with every sway of her body.

Was he delusional?

“You look just like her,” he slurred, momentarily forgetting his desire to escape.

“Let’s get you some fresh air, okay, Georgie?” she said, her hand still clasping his arm with a gentle but firm grip. He couldn’t muster a response; he simply nodded, following her through the throngs of dancing bodies until the blaring music was a distant thrum.

Once outside, the crisp night air hit him, refreshing but still dizzying. She led him to a bench in a shadowed corner, shielded from the rest of the clubgoers.

“Come sit over here so no one sees us,” she said, patting the surface beside her.

George obeyed, sitting down heavily as he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He stared at the woman beside him for what felt like minutes, captivated by her resemblance to you—your features, your voice.

Every detail seemed to stitch his heartstrings tighter, tugging at the loneliness that lingered like an unwanted guest.

“Oh Georgie, why are you crying?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she reached out to wipe a tear that had escaped the confines of his drunken haze.

“I miss her,” he muttered, leaning into her soft touch. He couldn’t believe he was pouring his heart out to a stranger, yet it felt inexplicably right and terrifyingly real.

“Who?” she asked gently, coaxing the truth from behind his barriers of inebriation.

“Y/N,” he admitted, not catching the way her breath hitched at the sound of your name.

“Is she that important to you?” Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper engulfed in their little cocoon of semi-darkness.

He nodded quickly, the gesture almost frantic. “She was everything… and I was nothing, I really messed up,” he confessed, tears emerging anew as he dove into memories of laughter, late-night conversations, and the electricity that sparked every time you smiled at him.

Sensing his vulnerability, the woman shifted closer, her hand delicately resting on his forearm.

“Tell me how you messed it up, George. Maybe it’ll help,” she encouraged, her eyes reflecting understanding that was almost uncanny.

“I—” he started, the words fumbling in his mind but finally tumbling out. “I was always too focused on racing. I was so caught up in being this driver that everyone would love and I lost sight of the love I had always wanted. I thought she’d always be there, that I could ask her to be mine one day.”

The woman bit her lip, absorbing his words. “Sometimes we don’t realize what we might have until it’s gone,” she replied softly, a note of sadness tainting her voice.

“I’ve reaching out, but it feels like there’s this wall between us now, one I built up without even knowing,” he continued, his heart racing with equal parts regret and hope.

“I miss her laugh, the way she could find joy in the simplest of things. I miss…” His voice trailed off as he blinked back more tears.

“Love is powerful, Georgie,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “You need to fight for it.”

He turned to face her fully, the realization hitting him like a pit stop at full speed. This woman could not only have been a reflection of his heartache, but perhaps also the voice that pushed him to find clarity.

“But what if she doesn’t want me?”

“Then you’ll have to accept that, but you haven’t even tried yet, have you?” she challenged gently, her expression earnest. “You’ll never know unless you do.”

George inhaled deeply, the words resonating within him. Maybe this stranger—this woman who wore your likeness—was simply a guiding light.

“Georgie, listen to me,” she said, squeezing his arm gently. “You have to reach out before it’s too late. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

As the night wore on, he felt the weight of the world lessen just a tad. The fire in his heart reignited, and he made up his mind. He would call you, declare what he could no longer hide.

“Thank you,” he whispered, looking into her eyes that held so much warmth and wisdom.

"You're welcome Georgie," she said, bringing him into a warm hug which also reminded him of you. . .

George Russell groaned as sunlight streamed through the curtains, each ray piercing into his consciousness like tiny needles. Rubbing his temples, he tried to dispel the pounding headache that greeted him with cold indifference.

He glanced around the room, finding a stark contrast between the chaotic remnants of a night perhaps too wild for a professional Formula 1 driver and the calming colors of his well-organized space.

The clothes he had worn the night before were folded neatly on his desk—a testament to a gradual descent into maturity, or perhaps just a diligent hotel staff.

For a fleeting moment, he contemplated the irony of being a high-speed driver yet feeling this slow and uncoordinated.

Then, his phone buzzed like a mosquito in the dead of night, drawing his attention. A text from Lewis griped his curiosity: "Hey George, apparently Y/N was in town. Did you see her?"

George’s heart dropped into his stomach. Y/N?

The name echoed in his mind, accompanied by fragmented images of the previous night—a soft laugh, the swish of a black dress, and a set of mesmerizing eyes that had entranced him even as the liquor clouded his memories.

He cursed under his breath. She had been delightful company, and it gnawed at him that he couldn’t remember every detail.

He was too drunk. Too engrossed in the moment. Was she the stranger from last night, or just a fleeting wind?

He could almost hear Lewis’ voice in his head: You need to get your act together, George. You’re a professional, remember?

Ignoring the nagging voice, he replied to Lewis, "No, I didn’t see her. Things got a bit out of hand last night."

As he sat up, still groggy from sleep, he stared at the wall, deliberating over how he had ended up in his pajamas, yet again.

“Hangover bunks,” he mumbled to himself. “Last night was intense.”

With a sigh, George tossed his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching as he surveyed the mess around him.

Despite it being a day off, his thoughts were far from the circuit and more focused on the woman he couldn't seem to shake from his mind: you.

“Focus, Russell,” he muttered. “This isn’t about you today.”

He hastily made his way to the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. The hot water felt fantastic against his skin, washing away the remnants of the previous night's events.

He found his mind drifting to the way you had smiled at him, how your expressive eyes sparkled under the sunlight, how the world around you seemed to fade away when you spoke.

George didn’t realize he was smiling in the shower until he caught a glimpse of his reflection. Flushing, he mentally slapped himself.

“There’s enough pressure today without thinking about… her,” he chastised, but in truth, the thoughts wrapped around his mind like a twisted tire, always returning to you.

Rinsing off, he dedicated himself to his skin care routine, that brief moment of self-care morphing into an involuntary meditation over the more meaningful moments shared with you.

As he applied moisturizer, each swipe was a daydream filled with giggles and shared glances, the feelings dancing just beyond his grasp.

Despite military-style discipline on track and media channels, his heart raced more for you than any car he’d ever driven.

George stood before the mirror in his apartment, adjusting the collar of his light blue button-up shirt. The sun streamed through the window, illuminating the polished floor, and as he ran a hand through his hair, he thought about how long it had been since he last saw his family.

The whirlwind of racing circuits, late-night parties, and media commitments had left little room for moments that mattered. Today, however, he decided to change all that.

Breakfast with the family seemed more necessary than ever, so he slipped into a comfortable pair of dark jeans and polished off his look with fresh sneakers.

His family home was situated just outside of town—a charming two-story house filled with memories that flooded back with every step he took toward it.

George felt a familiar buzz in his chest, a blend of excitement and apprehension, as he reached the door and knocked.

“George!” Alison exclaimed as she swung open the door, her face lighting up with warmth and happiness. “Look at you! Come in, come in!”

“Hi Mom!” He embraced her lightly, still cautious after the night before where he had indulged a little too much at a celebratory party. “Is Dad here?”

“He’s in the kitchen with Benji,” she motioned toward the heart of the home, a space filled with the mouthwatering smell of pancakes and crispy bacon. “Cara’s still getting ready.”

As he entered the kitchen, the sight of his father, Steve, flipping pancakes was a comforting reminder of all the mornings spent devouring breakfast together as a family.

Benji, with his youthful enthusiasm, was leaning against the counter, arms crossed and a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence!” Steve called out teasingly without turning around.

“Very funny, Dad,” George replied, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress a grin. “I was just busy winning races and celebrating my victories, you know?”

“Celebrating a bit too hard, I hear?” Benji raised an eyebrow, smirking knowingly. “You were looking a bit worse for wear yesterday on the media feeds.”

“Oh, come on! I had a couple of drinks,” George shrugged, trying to shrug off the mockery. “It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“So you claim.” Benji snickered, settling back down on a stool at the kitchen island as George poured himself a cup of coffee. “But really, man, what’s up with you? You’re more moody than usual—don’t try to say it’s just the fatigue of being an F1 driver. You know we’ve seen a different side of you.”

As they ate breakfast, the laughter and chatter wove seamlessly through the small kitchen. George was content just to be around them; the little quirks and affectionate jabs felt like home.

Jokes were told, stories were shared, and for a moment, everything felt normal again.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Alison asked with her gentle smile, genuinely curious about his schedule as she placed a fresh stack of pancakes on the table.

“Honestly? I just wanted some family time,” George admitted, a flush tracing his cheeks. “I’m still living out of a suitcase, my schedule is crazy, and I miss you guys. Just needed this.”

The conversations gradually shifted from the racing world to memories of childhood, and George sat back, letting the familiar warmth take over him. Yet, even amidst the laughter, he couldn’t shake the thought of you.

Your smile had become his driving force lately, the light that punctuated the chaos around him. But every time he allowed himself to dwell on you, a layer of embarrassment washed over him.

As if sensing his distraction, Benji slid into the seat next to him, nudging him playfully. “So what lucky lady is running ‘round your mind, mate? Or is it still Y/N stuck in your head?”

George jumped, caught off guard. “What? No way!” His denial came out too sharp, and he immediately regretted it as the teasing glint in Benji's eyes grew brighter.

“Come on, bro, I’ve seen how you look at her,” Benji said with a chuckle. “You’re gonna have to stop denying it sooner or later.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I just…think she’s really cool or something.” George tried to save face but was only met with knowing expressions from the whole table.

“You’re blushing, George,” Cara chimed in as she strolled into the kitchen. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she carried herself with an unhurried grace. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much,” Benji replied with a grin that hinted at his amusement. “Just George being shy about his potentially crippling crush.”

“Whatever!” George exclaimed, hiding his face behind his hands as warmth cascaded down his cheeks. “You guys are ridiculous!”

“Hey, it’s just us,” Alison said softly, overjoyed at the candidness, even if it came with a bit of teasing. “If you like her, it’s great! You should tell her how you feel.”

“I don’t even know if she feels the same way,” George replied, desperate now to change the subject. “But we’ve just been…friends, you know?”

“Well, sometimes you have to take risks, son,” Steve chimed in, his voice steady and reassuring. “Life is too short to hold back on what could be something special.”

The conversation changed topics, but George's mind raced back to the allure of what could have been. He felt the weight of his family's expectations and hope.

It was new… this desire to open his heart to someone beyond the racetrack.

As breakfast wrapped up, George found himself distracted again, daydreaming about you, thinking of how he could break the casual barrier between just friends and potentially something more.

The heartfelt banter of family lingered in the air, but as he slipped into the warmth of nostalgia, he realized that in whatever direction life took him—whether he was conquering the circuits or fighting for love—family would always anchor him, grounding his ambitions in the realm of the heart.

With a gentle nudge from Benji, reminding him that life is fleeting, George resolved to take a chance when it came to you.

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the family home as George finished his late afternoon workout. The aroma of his mother's famous chicken alfredo wafted through the kitchen, mingling with the scents of garlic and herbs.

As he entered the dining room, the laughter of his siblings—Cara and Benji—echoed off the walls. Their noise was a welcome distraction, but today, George could hardly shake the thoughts swarming in his mind, particularly the thought of you.

“So George, what would you want for your birthday?” his mother, Alison, asked as she dished up the alfredo, her eyes bright with excitement.

“I don’t really need anything,” George replied casually, forcing a smile, but his thoughts drifted once more to you.

“Come on, at least think of something,” Cara chimed in, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief. “How about a new racing suit? I hear they could use some updates.”

George chuckled, shaking his head. “I'm fine with what I have. Really, I’m just happy to spend the day with you guys.” Lying was a skill he had mastered well as a race car driver, but today it felt heavier than usual.

Benji, ever the inquisitive one, nudged him playfully. “Really? Not even a new car? You know, maybe this time, something that goes faster than a snail?” He burst into laughter, and soon the others joined in.

Their playful banter felt comforting, a light fabric draped over the layer of tension woven into his heart. George broke bread with his family, occasionally laughing at their jokes.

“Okay, George," Steve finally spoke up, his father’s tone a mix of authority and affection. "If you truly don’t want anything, how about a day at the go-kart track this weekend? Just the family. No fans, no pressure. Just us.”

His father’s eyes were warm, radiating the kind of understanding that came from years of navigating the complexities of family life.

George loved the suggestion—spending time with his family without the trappings of his racing career—but a part of him felt guilty for wanting something more than just this tight-knit gathering.

“Sure, that sounds great! I just need to clear it with my team, but I’d love that.”

Alison smiled and carefully placed a hand on his arm. "You know we’re proud of you, love. Just don’t forget to breathe once in a while. Life’s not just about the fast corners and tight turns.”

He met her gaze, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude for her unwavering support. “Thanks, Mum. I appreciate it.”

After dinner, the family split up—Steve and Alison went to the living room to discuss weekend plans while Cara and Benji challenged each other to a board game in the adjoining room.

George found himself standing outside for a moment, the cool evening air bringing him a sense of clarity.

He leaned against the porch railing, staring at the stars emerging against the deepening twilight. The sky, a blanket of possibilities, made him think of you and how special you made him feel.

Just as he opened his phone, eager to see if you had messaged him since they last spoke, his thoughts were interrupted by Cara’s voice calling out.

“Hey, George! Come play!” She tugged at him, not realizing he was lost in thought.

He smiled and gave a small wave, reluctantly putting his phone away.

It was easy to get immersed in the game, to enjoy the competitive spirit that thrummed through their laughter—yet, every moment seemed to pale in comparison to the connection he felt with you. . . .

The air was thick with the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline, a sensation that George Russell had long ago come to associate with the thrill of racing.

The vibrant colors of the paddock seemed to pulse under the Mediterranean sun as he wandered through the area, lingering a bit too long at the sight of the cars glinting under the sun.

He had just returned from a brief holiday with his family – an exhilarating few days spent go-karting at a private circuit that had reminded him of his roots.

He could still hear the laughter of his siblings, Cara and Benji, and his parents, Alison and Steve, echoing in his ears.

George, ever the competitive spirit, zoomed past his family members, reveling in the thrill of victory as he crossed the finish line.

“First place, as usual!” he declared with a playful smirk painted on his face, lifting his helmet to the cheers from his family.

“The only reason you win is because you’re the only one who takes it seriously!” Cara laughed, tossing her hair in a mock gesture of frustration. “How convenient that the racing driver is racing!”

“Someone has to keep this family in line. Besides, I’m just showing you guys how it’s done!” he shot back, ruffling Benji’s hair as he walked by, eliciting a squeal of protest.

As their laughter echoed around the circuit, George felt a rare lightness.

It reminded him of carefree days before the bright lights of the paddock overshadowed everything; days filled with family and simplicity.

But the holiday had waned quickly, and soon, the thrill of Formula 1 would call him back.

It was Thursday, the day of calm before the storm of race week. George meandered through the complex, past various teams—crewmembers bustling about, preparing for another race.

The atmosphere felt electric, but his mind drifted back to the previous week's bliss with his family.

As he sauntered, he overheard the voices of two men, each seemingly oblivious to the world around them. Curiosity piqued, George positioned himself closer, intending only to eavesdrop briefly.

“I remember when Y/N came over to me and showed me around. I swear Mercedes uses her to get more fans. She’s so pretty for a whore!” one of them laughed, the words dripping with contempt.

“Yeah, she did the same with me. To be honest, I only came to see her, but she hasn’t been here in months. I wish she gave me a performance, that slut.” The other man joined in, his tone equally disdainful.

He felt a swell of anger—with no outlet in sight, anger was all the more potent. He clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms tightening as he fought back the urge to confront them, the response simmering just below the surface.

He could visualize the headlines in his mind already: “George Russell Loses His Cool!” and he couldn’t allow that. Not here.

“Is that why you left?” he thought sadly, memories of you stinging his heart involuntarily.

“Hey, you guys want to keep it to yourselves?” George said, stepping forward, his voice cool but eyes blazing.

The two celebrities turned, surprise washing over their faces, and then derision. “What’s the matter, George? Can't handle a little talk?” One of them sneered, crossing his arms as if to project power.

“I just think it’s pathetic,” he replied, his anger simmering, careful not to escalate the situation while still making his point. “You’re just proving how small you really are, talking about someone who’s so much better than you’ll ever be.”

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and walked away, the adrenaline pumping through him, the conversations of others muffled by the growing storm in his mind.

He didn’t want to feel possessive over you, but that was almost impossible when he witnessed so many men trivializing your worth.

He would make sure that those two were banned from the paddock by the time you came back.

The rest of the day wore on, yet George felt the tension deep inside him.

By that evening, he found himself sitting in a quiet corner of the paddock, contemplating his next few days, trying to push away the bitterness of the day.

George’s phone buzzed unexpectedly in the pocket of his racing suit. He hesitated for a moment, torn between professionalism and curiosity.

He finally glanced at the screen; it was you. Your name lit up like a beacon of hope amidst the pre-race chaos.

“Hey, Georgie!” you said cheerfully when he answered, your voice cutting through his anxiety.

“Hey Y/N,” George replied, his brow furrowing slightly at the unexpected call. “What’s up? Watching the race?”

“I just wanted to tell you that on live television, you look like you’re about to beat someone up. So cheer up before there’s another rumor,” you teased, laughter dancing in your tone.

George looked up instinctively, eyes darting to the camera that had been trained on him moments before. He quickly realized that the camera was still aimed at him, trapping him in his moment of serious concentration.

He instinctively smiled, waving at the camera, which quickly shifted to another driver.

“Thanks, Y/N. Are you really watching the race now?” he asked, curiosity swirling in his chest.

“Of course! I’ve always been watching the races, Georgie. I have to support my favorite driver one way or another,” you replied, the sincerity in your voice unmistakable.

His heart raced faster, not just from the anticipation of the race ahead, but from the warmth of your words.

Your voice lingered in his thoughts, making him feel lighter and more buoyant. “Do you have your lucky charm with you?” he asked, shifting the conversation.

“Of course! I still have the tiny figurine of you from the last race at Silverstone. It brought you good luck, didn’t it?” you wittily remarked.

He chuckled, “Well, let’s hope it works its magic again. The last one wasn’t so bad, thanks to you,”

As he navigated through the twists and turns of the race, George couldn’t help but imagine you cheering from the stands. He could almost picture you, hair blowing in the wind, laughing and shouting for him.

It fueled him, a burst of energy propelling him forward through the tight corners.

“Are you keeping your eyes on the track, smart guy?” you teased, snapping him back into the present.

“Always! I’m in fourth place in the championship—just trying to keep my head in the game. You’re distracting me,” he admitted with a hint of a smile.

“Distraction isn’t always a bad thing, though. Just think of me as your good luck charm.”

“How’d I get so lucky?” he said, slyly.

“Mmm, I don’t know — maybe it’s my irresistible charm,” you quipped back, your playful banter continuing even as the race progressed.

George took a deep breath, eyes laser-focused on the road ahead. He could see the leading cars weaving around each other—an intricate dance of speed and precision.

But who else could mirror that thrill of competition but you?

George had always been the quiet type, the kind of man who found solace in solitude but who also longed for the warmth of another soul—the warmth of your soul.

It had been two years since he last laid eyes on you, since he had held you in his arms like you were the very air he breathed.

The distance between you felt almost unbearable after being stitched with frequent calls and video chats, allowing him to hear your laughter and see your smile, but still leaving him hungry for the presence he had once taken for granted.

He missed everything about you: the way your laughter danced in the air, filling the empty spaces around him with joy, and the sharp, floral scent that clung to your skin—a delicate reminder of the beauty you exuded.

He often found himself lost in thought, contemplating the contours of your face, eager to memorize each line and perfectly imperfect feature once more.

How could distance feel this heavy when they shared a bond that had once tethered your hearts together so tightly?

It was a Friday afternoon when George found himself in a familiar café that he used to visit with you. The place smelled of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries, the air buzzing with quiet chatter and laughter—yet it felt devoid of life without you beside him.

He absentmindedly stirred his coffee, giving in to the memories flooding his mind. A couple at the corner table laughed, and for a moment, it felt like you were there, your amber laugh reverberating in his heart.

They've talked about their weeks, shared the minutiae of their lives—your tales of new places you visited, his stories of late-night work grinding—but sometimes, beneath the surface of your conversation flowed the unspoken truth of your hearts.

Despite all this, he couldn’t shake off that familiar desire for something more tangible, more real. One could only drown in the virtual so long before gasping for the realness of pure, unfiltered presence.

For weeks, George and you had been discussing his birthday, a date he held dear. He had never been one for grand celebrations—his family had always kept things simple, focusing on the quiet joys of life rather than loud revelries.

He had looked forward to spending this birthday with you, perhaps sharing a cupcake at their favorite café or taking a long stroll under the stars.

Yet, as the day drew closer, he sensed a distance growing between them, a subtle divide that gnawed at his heart.

“I really want to see you,” he said the last time they spoke.

You had chuckled, but your laughter was tinged with an undercurrent of regret. “I wish I could, George. I’ll definitely call you on your birthday, though. That’s a promise.”

He had nodded, trying to be understanding, but the thought of spending his birthday without you left him feeling strangely adrift.

He understood that life could get hectic, but part of him wished you could understand how much he cherished your companionship, especially on a day that felt so significant to him.

George stood outside his parents' home, his heart racing. It was his birthday, and while he had envisioned a peaceful day celebrating with just a few close friends, his family evidently had a different idea.

As he knocked on the door, he took a moment to straighten his shirt, a navy blue one he had borrowed from Lando’s closet a few weeks earlier.

“Hey George! Happy birthday!” His mother, Alison, flung the door open, her bright smile lighting up the dim hallway. She drew him into a warm embrace, her familiar scent making him feel comforted despite his growing apprehension about the day ahead.

“Thanks, Mum,” George said, returning the hug graciously before stepping inside. As he crossed the threshold, he was greeted by the sounds of laughter and chatter filling the living room—a cacophony of friends and family mingling in celebration.

“Happy birthday!” the chorus rang out, friends and family alike raising their glasses in unison. The sheer number of faces surprised him, but what caught his eye was an unexpected figure among them.

“Hey George!” Lando chimed in, appearing out of the crowd with a cheerful grin plastered on his face.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a beautifully wrapped gift, handing it over with an exaggerated flourish. “For you, mate. I hope it’s as amazing as you are!”

“Thanks, Lando,” George replied, holding the gift carefully as he looked at the whimsical wrapping. “You know I didn’t want anyone to make a big deal out of today.”

“Well, too bad. Your family thinks you deserve a big bash, and I agree!” Lando’s eyes twinkled mischievously, but George couldn’t help but feel a warm glow at being surrounded by friends.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” George teased back, scrutinizing the package in his hands.

“Oh, but I did,” Lando said dramatically. “Besides, I brought you something that’s definitely not small—just like your party!”

George rolled his eyes playfully but felt gratitude wash over him. His friends were his anchor, especially Lando. Before he could get any deeper into thought, Cara, his sister walked into the room.

“Happy birthday, George!” she said, handing him a present as well.

“Thanks, Cara!” he laughed, accepting the card and marveling at its haphazard charm.

“Can’t wait for you to be added into the ‘old age’ groupchat,” she quipped, winking at him.

George chuckled, feeling the familiar banter that grounded him. Despite the overwhelming party atmosphere, moments like these made him feel at home.

His father, Steve, emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “George! Happy birthday!” His dad clapped him on the back, a grin stretching across his face. “Alison made your favorite—lasagna! And the cake is a surprise.”

George felt his stomach flutter at the thought. His parents had taken such care to prepare everything, and for a fleeting moment, the earlier dread of a party dwindled, replaced by a sense of appreciation.

“This is a great party, Dad,” George admitted. “But really, you could have let me plan something smaller.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve replied, feigning innocence. “Now, come on! Let’s get this party started!”

As the evening wore on, George found himself at the center of attention. Friends returned from the buffet table back to him, drinks filled with laughter and jokes.

Among them was Alex, who came striding across the room with his signature confidence.

“Happy birthday, mate! Ready to get older?” Alex flashed a smirk that matched his casual tone.

“With your banter, I’ll feel ancient by the time this is over,” George shot back, good-naturedly punching Alex’s arm.

As the festivities continued, George finally found a moment to settle into a quieter corner with Lando. “So… what’s in the box?” he asked, nodding toward the carefully wrapped gift.

“You really want to know?” Lando leaned in, the playful grin returning. “Okay, but it’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Promise, just show me.” George couldn’t hide his curiosity any longer.

Lando tore the paper off with excitement to reveal a high-performance gaming console. “I thought you might enjoy something new to blow off some steam between races!”

“Lando, this is amazing! But you didn’t have to go all out,” George said, his grin widening with genuine surprise.

“Of course I did! You deserve it. Besides, now you’ll finally let me win at video games,” Lando chuckled, nudging him playfully.

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard where the party was in full swing. Laughter mingled with the chatter of cars racing around the circuit, and the enticing aroma of grilled burgers filled the air.

Yet, as George stood near the brightly colored table overflowing with gifts, he couldn’t shake the emptiness gnawing at his heart.

He smiled at Lando, who was animatedly recounting a wild karting story, but his thoughts were somewhere else—outside the boundaries of this cheerful gathering.

His mind wandered to you, the one person he had secretly hoped would show up, despite knowing you wouldn’t be there.

“I swear, I was like a ghost out there,” Lando laughed, mimicking how he’d crashed into the barriers last weekend. Everyone erupted into laughter, but George found it hard to join in.

He picked at the icing on the cake, wishing it could somehow conjure thoughts of you instead.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, mate. Everyone knows you’ve got the skills,” Alex said, slapping Lando on the back.

“Yeah, man! Maybe one day you’ll get a chance to drive for real,” Lewis chimed in. The good-natured ribbing continued, but George felt more and more like an outsider.

His phone buzzed in his pocket—just a notification from a group chat. He swiped it away, already knowing it wouldn't be from you.

“Earth to George!” Lando waved a hand in front of him, snapping him out of his reverie. “You good, mate? You've been kinda quiet.”

“Oh, yeah. Just thinking,” George replied, forcing a smile. The rest of the crowd had congregated to discuss the upcoming F1 season.

They analyzed teams, speculated who would dominate, and recounted past races as if recounting epic tales from a shared history.

With a heavy heart, George pulled his phone out, staring at the blank screen. He had sent you a message earlier in the day, but there had been no reply.

He tried to brush it off—maybe you were busy—but deep down, the ache remained.

“George!” Cara's voice broke through his thoughts. “Are you going to open your presents or what?”

“Yeah, I’ll get to them in a bit,” he replied, glancing at the colorful packages decorated with ribbons and bows. He wanted to open them, but a weight sat on his chest, tethering him to a world where you were missing, and nothing felt quite right.

There was a knock at the front door, but George didn’t pay much attention as Lewis, his older brother, ambled over to answer it. The chatter of their family echoed around him, a thick tapestry of warmth and laughter that felt alien.

George’s thoughts drifted; all he could focus on was the memory of you—the way you laughed, how your eyes sparkled when you talked about your dreams, and the way everything felt right when you were around.

“Hey, George!” Cara chirped, breaking his reverie, waving at him with excitement. “Open my gift!”

He offered her a weak smile, still lost in his own world. As he finally picked up a present wrapped in shiny paper from her, he felt a sense of heaviness lift, if only temporarily.

Unwrapping it, he revealed a gleaming silver watch that seemed to catch the light and dazzle.

“Oh thanks, sis,” he said, genuinely trying to summon enthusiasm. However, as he glanced up to thank her, he noticed that Cara's attention, along with the rest of the room, was drawn to something behind him.

Curiosity tugged at him, and he turned around slowly.

Standing just inside the doorway, illuminated by the soft glow from the hall lights, was you. A tired smile played across your face, but it was unmistakably you.

His breath hitched in his throat as he took in the sight of you—the way your braids cascaded around your shoulders, framing your face, just as he remembered.

“Happy birthday—!” you began, but before the excitement of your return could fully settle in, George dropped the watch onto the table and rushed toward you.

He enveloped you in his arms, lifting you off the ground as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the familiar scent he had missed for years.

You felt warm against him, as if the distance of the past few years hadn’t existed. The world around him faded, and in that moment, it was just the two of you.

“It’s really you,” he muttered, half in disbelief.

“It’s really me,” you replied softly, squeezing him tighter as if you were afraid he’d let go and vanish again. “I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” he said, pulling back just enough to analyze your face. His ocean eyes, alive with wonder, traced the contours of your cheeks.

You could see the spark of recognition flaring in his gaze as he took in the changes—your brown braids, longer now and cascading over your shoulders like caramel waterfalls, framing your face.

Your cheeks were fuller, your eyes a deeper shade of warmth, enhanced by the quiet confidence that had grown in the time you had spent apart. You wore a radiant smile, one he had missed more than he could ever express.

“You’ve gotten prettier,” he noted, almost as if he couldn’t believe his words, a shy smile creeping onto his lips.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, the compliment unfurling something warm and bubbly within you. “I guess time can be kind in some ways.”

“Or cruel,” Lewis quipped from the other side of the living room, rolling his eyes with a teasing smirk on his face. “Right guys! Why don’t you get a room after everyone leaves?”

His laughter rang out, piercing the moment like a bubble popping, but it only made the warmth between you and George swell.

“Shut up, Lewis!” you shot back, playfully swatting at him, though there was no real malice in your tone.

Alison was setting the table in the background, chuckling softly at Lewis' antics.

“You should let them have their moment, Lewis. Two years is a long time to be apart,” she remarked, casting a knowing glance towards you and George, whose cheek was now tinged with a shade of red.

“Yeah, it is,” George added, his voice softer now.

The light banter and teasing faded into the background as the reality of the years apart seeped back into the room, reminding you both of everything that had happened.

“Best birthday gift ever,” he muttered for only you to hear, his voice laced with a mix of sincerity and sweetness. You giggled, the sound a little breathless.

“Since when have you been so bold?” you teased, leaning closer to him across the table. “The Georgie I remember used to be so shy of me.”

“Things change, you know?” George shrugged, though a sheepish grin danced on his lips. “Some of us grew up. And besides, it’s hard to be shy when you have someone worth being bold for.”

Your heart fluttered even more at his words, and you felt the heat rise in your own cheeks. “Well, maybe I was just waiting for you to catch up,” you shot back, attempting to maintain your composure. “It only took two years, but here we are.”

“Two years was rough,” he replied earnestly. “I mean, who knew how hard it would be? I missed your jokes, your laughter. You always knew how to make everything better.”

And just like that, the conversation turned into something deeper, filled with unspoken feelings and lingering glances.

You and George had shared countless moments over the years—playful arguments, late-night chats, and the comforting silence that only came from being around someone you genuinely cared for.

Alison cleared her throat, cutting through the burgeoning tension. “Alright, lovebirds, while you two are busy contemplating the meaning of life, how about we celebrate George’s birthday? I brought candles!”

You both jumped slightly, like deer caught in the headlights, as Alison revealed the large cake decorated with the bold letters “Happy Birthday, Georgie.”

The lightheartedness was a welcome distraction, allowing you to shake off the moment of vulnerability.

“I can’t believe they managed to get my nickname on it,” George said, staring at the cake in disbelief.

“Of course they did. I made sure to keep that tradition alive, along with picking your favorite cake,” you grinned, feeling a rush of satisfaction.

“You helped?” he asked, astonished, raising one eyebrow in that way that you always found charming.

“Couldn’t let my best friend have an average birthday cake, now could I? I had to make it special,” you replied, leaning back against him.

“Come on, son, blow it out!” she called, carrying the cake as if it were the crown jewel. The candles flickered, waiting for George's breath to extinguish them.

You quickly moved out of the way, wanting to ensure that everyone got the perfect shot of George, the birthday king. Just as you were about to slip away, George’s arm snaked around your waist, pulling you back into place.

“Stay, I don’t want you to run again,” he muttered against the top of your head, his voice low and warm.

You pouted slightly, playfully nudging him again. “I won’t run, but you do realize it’s your birthday, right? Shouldn’t we be getting you to center stage?”

“Not without you,” he insisted, his grip tightening just a little. “Plus, you make me look good.”

“Oh come on,” you laughed, your heart racing in the way it always did when he held you close. “You’re practically a supermodel next to me.”

Alison stood expectantly in front of you two, the cake reflecting the sunlight. “What are you two lovebirds doing back there? Come on, the world needs to see this stunning cake and its dashing contender!”

You stepped in front of the cake, and George followed suit, his hand never leaving your waist. The cake was a masterpiece, layers of chocolate stacked high, adorned with colorful frosting and surrounded by sparklers.

It demanded attention, and everyone moved in closer.

“Blow it with me?” George asked when the spotlight was finally on him, a charming grin illuminating his face.

Your heart raced at the suggestion, warmth flooding through you again as you took a moment to gather your courage.

You smiled, nodding. “Anything for the birthday boy.”

“Alright, everyone!” Alison called out, raising her hands like a conductor ready to lead an orchestra. “On the count of three! One… two… three!”

“3, 2, 1!” the crowd yelled in unison, and your breath hitched as George turned to you, his eyes brimming with exhilaration.

In perfect sync, you both leaned forward and blew out the candles, the flames extinguished with a puff of laughter, cheers erupting around you.

That moment was magic— the noise faded, and for just a heartbeat, it felt like it was just you and George, suspended in time.

“Make a wish,” you whispered, your heart racing. “But I don’t think it can come true if you’re going to keep holding on to me like this,” you added playfully.

“I have everything I need right here,” he quipped with a wink, drawing soft laughter from your lips, but inside, you felt something deeper.

After the cake was cut, the room began to dissolve into familiar pockets of conversation and laughter, filling the air with voices both soothing and celebratory.

You found yourself catching up with Lando and Alex, the three of you reminiscing about old times while trying to vouch for who had the craziest stories involving the birthday boy.

Just as you were getting to the good part of a particularly funny story involving a mud pie and a runaway dog, you felt a familiar tap on your back. Turning around, you were met by George’s shy smile.

“Yes, Georgie?” you asked, unable to suppress the brightness in your voice.

“Can I have you for a second?” he replied, his words almost a plea.

You excused yourself, the curious gazes of your friends following as you stepped outside with George. The cool night air wrapped around you like a refreshing breeze, your heart beating a little faster in anticipation.

George reached for his suit blazer, his fingers brushing against your arm as he placed it over your shoulders, the fabric warm and intoxicating.

“Here, sit,” he said, guiding you to a pair of empty chairs on the patio. The stars shimmered overhead, their light casting a silver glow upon the garden.

“Thanks,” you smiled, settling into the chair, feeling the weight of his blazer envelop you like an embrace. You glanced back at the door, music and laughter faintly echoing inside.

After a brief pause, George leaned back, his gaze fixed on the stars with an intensity that made your pulse race. “You’re not getting away that easily tonight, you know?” he said, his voice soft, breaking the comfortable silence.

You smiled, playful. “Oh? What am I in for, then? A secret surprise?”

“Something like that.” He turned to you, his expression earnest. “I just wanted to talk, you know, without the noise.”

“Okay,” you replied, a slight tremor of excitement weaving through your words. “What’s on your mind?”

He paused for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Can I ask where you’ve been for these two years?” The question hung in the air, almost palpable.

You knew he was going to ask this question, but not so soon, and his earnestness caught you off guard. A cocktail of old feelings bubbled up inside you, a mixture of nostalgia and trepidation.

“Yes, you can,” you began, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “I went to find my calling, and I did.” You could see his interest spark like fireflies in the dark, and it emboldened you to continue.

“I started a charity from scratch, without anyone knowing who I was, which was hard.”

“What kind of charity?” George leaned forward, his intensity growing as he focused on your words, pulling you in.

“It’s for at-risk youth—teaching them art and giving them a place to create without judgment. I wanted to give back in a way that could light up their lives, you know?”

“That’s incredible!” George’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “You’ve always had such a big heart. It must have been tough, though.”

“It was,” you admitted, a shadow sliding over your smile. “Finding the right people to trust in a world that’s sometimes cold and unwelcoming… it took time. But then someone found me.”

You paused dramatically, relishing in the curiosity that painted his expression. “And I did some modeling.”

“Modeling? You?” George chuckled, his laugh rich and melodic in the stillness. “That’s wild! But I can’t picture you strutting down a runway.”

You laughed lightly, the sound easing the knot in your chest. “Neither could I! But it was for charity, so it felt right. They let me use my platform to promote the awareness of youth issues. It became more than just about looks; it was about the message.”

George's brow furrowed in curiosity as he relaxed against the chair behind him, crossing his arms. “What kind of outfits are we talking about here? Like, designer pieces or…?”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you pulled out your phone. “Oh, you’ll see. Not exactly designer, more like a collection of ‘what was I thinking?’”

With a few taps, you flicked through the pictures, showcasing outfits that ranged from a bold royal gown to a muse pearl dress. “Here! Look at this one! I call it ‘A Colorful Catastrophe.’”

George burst into laughter, shaking his head. “You know, you could have just gone with your regular jeans and a t-shirt, but you chose to make a statement.”

“Yes! And they said it made a big impact, which is what I care about and I could keep some of the dresses too,” you said, your smile softening as you scrolled to the next picture.

“They’re being posted today, and however much it makes will go to the charity.”

George looked genuinely proud as his gaze shifted from the phone to your excited face. “So what's the name of this charity?”

You hesitated for a second, enjoying the suspense before delivering the punchline. “I’m glad you asked; it’s called Georgie.”

His eyes widened, and the laughter suddenly evaporated from the air. “You named it after me?” His voice was a mix of surprise and disbelief.

You nodded, your grin widening. “I didn’t have any names for it, so they said to name it something I care about. And that was you, so happy birthday, Georgie!”

George felt a strange warmth flood through him, almost overwhelming. He blinked back the sudden threat of tears. “Thank you,” he managed to say, placing a steady hand on your thigh as if trying to ground himself in the moment.

You smiled brightly, appreciating the bond that had grown between you over the years. “No problem! I forgot to mention the ridiculous pictures of you that are also getting posted, thanks to Lewis,” you giggled, already anticipating his reaction.

“Lewis?” His expression quickly morphed from touched to mortified. “What kind of ridiculous pictures? Please tell me they’re not the ones from the summer at the beach 3 years ago! You know that I was just being silly!”

“You mean the ones where you tried to do a backflip and ended up in the sand instead?” You laughed harder, clutching your stomach.

“Oh yes, those are definitely included! But wait until you see the one where you’re trying to get the seaweed off your shorts. Priceless.”

“You’re very lucky I love you,” he sighed, so softly that you almost missed it among the haze of laughter.

Both of you froze, caught off guard by the shift in atmosphere that hung in the air.

“Did you mean that?” you asked after an agonizingly long pause, your voice barely above a whisper.

George’s blue eyes widened, and for a split second, his expression was a mix of surprise and vulnerability. He nodded slowly, swallowing hard, his gaze dropping to the ground as if searching for answers in the fallen leaves.

“I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t plan to say it,” he trailed off, his voice hesitant and soft, almost as if he were afraid of how the truth would change everything.

You smiled, trying to ease the nervousness that had settled between you like an invisible barrier. “Never seen you look at me like that before, Georgie.”

His cheeks flushed slightly, the unmistakable hint of a blush creeping up his neck. “What do you mean? Like… what? How am I supposed to look at you?”

His sudden defensiveness sent a flicker of amusement through you, but you moved an inch closer, wanting to make the moment lighter, yet also more profound.

“Like it’s the first time you’ve really seen me,” you teased, watching as he avoided your eyes. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” you continued, the glint in your eye coaxing him back to the conversation.

“I—” George opened his mouth, then closed it as though battling with unspoken thoughts. “I… just thought I could keep things light between us. You know? Friends and all.”

“Friends?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “That’s a convenient excuse, isn’t it? Especially when I can see how much you want to kiss me.”

George’s breath hitched, a faint blush creeping back into his cheeks. But instead of stepping back into his comfort zone of playful banter, he shifted closer until there was barely any space left.

This was how your flirting had always worked—tease, blush, repeat—but something was different this time.

His hand moved from your thigh up to your waist, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your dress, pulling you slightly toward him. You weren’t expecting that.

“I’m not the George from two years ago,” he muttered, his gaze locked onto yours, intense and searching. His voice was lower now, a tone that sent a shiver of excitement down your spine.

“Then prove it to me,” you teased back, though your heart raced at the challenge slipping from your lips.

In one swift move, he closed the distance and crashed his lips onto yours. It was a kiss fueled by two years’ worth of unspoken feelings, shared moments, and all the times you had skirted around this very confession.

Your heart soared as you melted into him, every nerve in your body ignited with warmth.

But just as you began to lose yourself completely, a burst of cheers jolted you both back to reality. You pulled away, breathless, and looked around to see George’s family and friends engulfing you in applause.

“Finally!” Lando shouted from the crowd, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Took you long enough!”

Your cheeks flushed crimson, and you felt a rush of embarrassment wash over you. Bursting with a mix of exhilaration and vulnerability, you buried your face in George’s neck, hiding from the teasing eyes that surrounded you.

“I can’t believe we just kissed in front of everyone,” you murmured, your voice muffled.

“Let’s not get shy now,” George chuckled, rubbing your back in gentle circles. “We have to finish what we started.”

A playful smile danced on your lips as you looked up at him. “Don’t start something you can’t finish because I will make out with you in front of everyone right now, Georgie.”

His gaze brightened with playful challenge, “Be my guest; I would love that.” He narrowed his eyes as if daring you.

You bit your lip, weighing your options. “You know they’ll probably get their phones out, and then it will go viral,” you said, your heart pounding in anticipation, a knot of excitement mixing with a sprinkle of embarrassment.

“Let them! I’m ready to show the world,” George declared, his confidence shining through.

You laughed, feeling surprisingly emboldened by his words. “Alright then, you asked for it!”

You leaned in, a smirk plastered across your face, but George grabbed your waist and pulled you closer, capturing your lips once more.

The kiss was soft and tender at first, but as the moment embraced you both, it deepened into something more passionate, filled with the promise of everything that had been left unsaid.

Somewhere in the background, Lando exaggeratedly whistled. “Get a room, you two!”

The sounds of laughter grew louder, but you hardly noticed as your world shrank to just the two of you. Every cheer from George’s family, every sidelong glance from friends, faded into a gentle hum.

When you finally pulled away once again, breathless and slightly dazed, George’s eyes sparkled with happiness.

“Wow,” you said breathlessly, your cheeks flushed. The cheers turned into supportive whoops, filling the backyard with positive energy that felt like pure joy.

“Are you sure you’re not just going to run away? Because if you leave me here to face them alone, I might seriously regret this,” he said with a teasing wink, attempting to lighten the mood.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you nudged him gently. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Georgie. I’m here to stay, for better or for worse.”

“Good,” he said, pulling you into a side hug, “because I’ve spent way too long waiting for that kiss. I’m not about to let you run away again.”

[yandereunsolved]

Imagine the reader being Yan! Poly Chains deity. You were only a demi-god(dess), the child of the golden goddess Farore. You were hid away within space and time in a temple of your own so that no evil would touch the offspring of one of the golden three. Only—Ganondorf's forces invaded a place hidden by all, and you were forced to flee. You ended up finding The Chain, and they were all absolutely enamored.

Sky surely isn't that obsessed. He only pledges his undying loyalty to you. He has already killed a god once. He will kill another if it will keep you safe. He'd kill the golden goddesses if they tried to take you from the safety of his arms.

Time isn't absolutely possessive of you or anything. He just doesn't want you to leave them. Ever. If your mother or her sisters wanted you somewhere else, then wouldn't they have led you somewhere else? They are all the heroes chosen by the goddesses! That is practically a seal of approval on their part. You are basically already married to him. He already controls everything you do and everyone you talk to. Oh? A ring on your finger. It's just something for protection. It's a mortal custom from his world. You wouldn't dare refuse it, would you?

Legend isn't enamored by your very presence. No, not at all. Can't you see how snarky and rude he acts around you? He always pushes you away and doesn't allow you to touch anything. He's the Link who is most likely to lead you to Hyrule first if even so much as a scratch shows up on you. It's not like Hyrule and Legend have teamed up against the other Links to win your hand. No, not at all. He just wants to pawn you off on someone else. He's got more important things to do. Like enchanting more things to give to you so he can show the others that you are claimed by him.

Hyrule is just curious about you. It's not like he spends every waking moment watching over your figure and fantasizing about you. It's not like he makes sure that you are always healed first. It's not like he reluctantly teamed up with Legend or anything. You find him bathing in the same river as you. Coincidence. Sorry. He just couldn't stay away for too long.

Twilight isn't your personal guard dog at all. He just likes being near you. That isn't a crime! Perhaps he manipulates you a little into always letting him cuddle up to you as Wolfie. Perhaps he is always willing to glare at every other member of The Chain so they stay away from you. He's just a touchy guy, okay? He always has his hands on you. He's always carrying you. It's just a quirk of his. It totally isn't a deeply ingrained obsession he has about you being his mate. The only one he'll back down to is Time, reluctantly.

The Colors just like you—Four does as well. He isn't going to do the 'he totally doesn't like you thing'. His strategy is to be honest with you. He isn't manipulating you! He's just showing you how much better he is than anybody else in The Chain. He splits constantly just because the others are so eager to see you and be with you. He just wants to make you armor and weapons and always keep you in his arms. Is that too much to ask?

Wind just wants you to take him seriously. He's surprised when you do. You're a fan of him? You watched his journey? Wait, you have the ability to do that with your super cool and awesome powers!? Is aged up here and most definitely kind of dorky when it comes to you. He's the most relaxed and socially inept when it comes to the others. Most of his gaslighting, manipulation, and other yandere tendencies are subconscious. He doesn't even realize he is doing anything wrong until one of the others confronts him. It isn't like they are any better about it.

Wars doesn't just flirt with anyone, only with you. He always hopes that The Chain won't end up starting an inter-dimensional war over you. He understands what it's like to have someone madly in love with you that you don't have feelings for. He's the most self-aware of The Chain, hands down. He takes a more traditionally romantic approach. While he may be hesitant to manipulate you because he wants your feelings to be genuine, he has no problem manipulating the other Links. He has no problem with threatening to not help them during battle just so he can get some more time with you.

Wild is the most self-sacrificing. He is also the most self-depreciating. If you have read my headcanons yk yk. He is almost entirely non-verbal. He's only spoken once since you met him. He takes the 'actions speak louder than words' approach. He is willing to fall at your feet and make you depend on his attention. That's one of his dreams, making you just as obsessed with him as he is with you. Another is teaching you Hylian sign.

Bonus: Ravio, Cal, & Sage

Ravio is the most intrigued and illusive. All of the Links can agree that they will try to scare him away from you. That's why he'll randomly pop in and out of your daily life. The two seconds of peace you get a day are interrupted by him. You are prone to being overstimulated since you went from zero contact to an entire group of yanderes. Ravio offers you relaxation, and he even speaks in a quiet voice with you. He gifts you relaxation and sleeping potions. He gives you a bunch of jewels and things he has found. He sees you as a treasure that needs to be protected by him. You are priceless, truly one of kind. Is it so bad that he wants you for himself?

Cal is completely non-verbal. You haven't ever heard him speak. He sees Twilight, Wild, and Sage as his main competitors. Twilight, because he is also your silent protector. Cal is always near you in a protective manner, and he is unable to verbalize his feelings for you. It always allows Twilight to sweep you up off of your feet. Both Wild and Sage are more experienced versions of him. Wild clings to your attention, and at least he was spoken once. Sage is verbal and is able to loudly berate Cal without anyone stepping in. Cal just takes it. It's what he's been taught. At least one good thing comes of this—you, sweet heavenly you. He may be your physical protector, but you are his spiritual protector. You always make sure the others stay off him. Wild is always extremely jealous of this and acts like a wounded animal to get your attention back on him.

Sage is the most apprehensive and combative toward you. The goddesses failed him. Why should he fall madly in love with you like the others? It isn't like he is secretly yearning for you or something. Whatever. He is always willing to try and 'put you in your place'. Yet, you always understand him. You are always there to heal his wounds and give him a shoulder to cry on. You become the one deity that he can believe in. He's willing to maybe absolutely and unabashedly be head over heels in love with you. You like his arm? It's now his favorite part of his body. The rest of The Chain is already plotting how to remove his arm, so you will no longer praise it. Four's hands are already itching towards his tools, and The Colors are screaming to murder him at the top of their lungs.

[blueishspace]

Scott says Pearl's memory is selective so I rewatched her DL pov.

And he's kinda right? But also is doing much of the same thing.

Part 1/3

Episode 1 p.1 Communication and Strategy.

Let's start from the basic thing everyone even non fans with friends that are into the series know. Scott abandoning Pearl.

...

Which is something he doesn't do, not really at least, that would imply that they were allied in some way and he left. He might be her soulmate but that does not mean he has to team with her. By all counts It's simply a game mechanic and nothing more, she isn't entitled to an alliance with him. Sure there's an expectation for it to happen but it is not a rule, you can't abandon something you never had.

What about Last Life? It doesn't matter, not when it comes to Pearl, alliances almost never stick trough different seasons. It matters to Cleo and Scott: One of the reasons Scott and Cleo teamed up was because in Last Life they didn't have the chance to be in the alliance for as much as they wanted since Cleo had died and gone to red and then Scott went to red soon after Cleo went back to yellow. It was an alliance decided and agreed upon based on the fact they both felt robbed by the previous season. But the same doesn't apply to Pearl, it could have had she met them and talked to them about it but she didn't and so they likely interpreted it as her not caring about it.

Pearl interprets it as abandonment because ahe came in late, she doesn't understand the way the life series works yet. She expected the alliance and friendship to last from the previous season, it is not her fault either. It is entitlement born not out of selfishness but by a lack of communication.

Pearl THINKS Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss has value because she sees Scott and Cleo together but she lacks the context for that and ends up using it as a reason fro Scott to not reject her, at the same time Scott feels that Pearl doesn't care and is expecting his loyalty because of a game mechanic neither has control over and even worse, at least by his standards, an old alliance. He has a very weird definition of what loyalty is but it's something he cares about strongly and it something vital to his character.

And Scott is definitely is hurt by Pearl's actions and It's really really obvious: Scott is a man of logic, he is rational, he sees he only has a life left and decides not to do a boogie kill because he might just die and go to red anyway, he sacrifices himself again and again to give his teammates better chances, ge does not care... But there he does something strategically stupid, not teaming with the person who's health he shares. He is emotionally hurt by what he percieves to be Pearl's lack of care, this is the first time since third life he acts out of emotion over logic. From Cleo's pov we see how much he panic when he realizes he's bonded to Pearl and that she is in the nether.

And even when Scott comes back to say something extra he doesn't target Pearl, he uses the horn to annoy Martyn. From his pov it is Pearl that betrayed him but he decides to be mean to Martyn instead of her. I think this says a lot more then words van about how he viewed this thing.

Episode 1 p.2 Cleo and Martyn are assholes.

Oh boy, those two on the other hand made everything much worse for Pearl.

Martyn ACTUALLY betrayed and abandoned Pearl, unlike Scott he wa working together with her. She had reason to expect him to stick with her especially after they were both refused by their soulmate partners. But he doesn't, despite everything, despite knowing she didn't take Scott's rejection well he still leaves her alone. Pearl does not actually begin to spiral when Cleo and Scott choose eachother over their soulmates, she begins to spiral only once Martyn decides that's it better to leave, when he decides being alone is better then being with her.

And Cleo... she eggs them both Scott and Pearl on so much. Like at least Scott tries to be civil and explain himself at the start but Cleo... well she is ruder during the entire conversation.

Even worse, most of the escalation is done by Cleo and Martyn getting louder at eachother and drowning out Scott's and Pearl's arguments. If the previous part was about how Scott's and Pearl's situation happened because of miscommunication then this is to say that it happened because Cleo and Martyn made it virtually impossible for communication to actually happen.

Episode 2 p.1: Snow and Scar(s)

I think everyone knows how it wasn't Pearl that came up with the powdered snow bit, it was started by Scar as a way to mess with Grian...

And not only that. Everyone usually thinks about the homewreckers during Double Life but Scar during the season does a lot of things towards making other soulmates pair distrust eachother, he's the one that makes the chicken games and I think he knows full well what he's doing. He knows what happened to Pearl and gives her a way to make it worse knowing that she is going to use it. And she does.

It does take a bit for Scott to notice, after at first he assumes she's just walking into powdered snow by accident... it takes a bit for him to suspect but what sticks with is so much she damages him. Also Scar actively searches for him to give him the snow too which makes things way worse.

And she does a lot of damage. First 4 hearts, then another 6 hearts. She does not eat to spite Scott but this only justifies him in his mind. She justifies herself saying that he has been taking damage so It's fair. Yet when she takes a bunch of damage getting goat horns and he steps in powdered snow using THE SAME EXACT LOGIC as her she takes it personally... And that It's because It's not actually logic, It's both them justifying their actions to themselves over admitting their mistakes and doing so in the same way...

Episode 2 p.2 How it could have been resolved and yet wasn't.

Still when Scott approaches Pearl soon after he's...civil. They aren't mean to eachother, sure Pearl says she's broken hearted but she's the only one that is antagonistic about it Scott actually feels bad about Tilly dying and he tries to explain himself and tries to make small talk... And he manages it, they talk and both of them still think they are in the right but things are fixable at this point in time. Scott explains the damage he's taken and while Pearl doesn't fully believe him It's a start.

And especially Scott says that he and Cleo had bonded the last session and when Pearl says that he can bond more he says that's It's going to take time. This means Pearl still wants a chance to be on a team with Scott and Scott still doesn't hate such an idea. They are still stuck blinded in their own head but in another timeline they are on a team already from the next session.

Except Scott accidentally says "Mine and Pearl's" instead of "Mine and Cleo's" when talking about his base. And Pearl starts manically claiming their base as her own... And CLEO is the one to first say that she's insane. (Cleo: I think she's lost it. Scott: I don't think she ever had it.) And this insane thing is going to stick with Pearl for the rest of the series.

Cleo is a big part because of how she deals with both Scott's and Pearl. She is probably the person Scott trusts the most other then himself and she completely supports him, she completely agrees with him on everything he says. Scott is functionally in an echo chamber in this season. A very sassy one considering their personalities.

Cleo also worsens Pearl this session...surprisingly while trying to help. She genuinely seems to be trying, she's careful and deliberate, subtly implies she should less alone and then states that just because they aren't on the same team doesn't mean Pearl can't be with someone else. She lacks the sarcasm that's usually in her voice and she seems to be genuinely trying to get Pearl to find allies for herself and not be alone...Since her and Scott chose eachother outside the bonds she too could choose to be with who she wanted. But Pearl doesn't listen and all she gets from it is convincing herself to be even more isolated.

The last nail in the coffin has to be Ren and BigB though, they die and immediately accuse her of being a villain a demoness and sorrounded by misfortune. Scott was defensive and Martyn was evasive and Cleo was sarcastic and Scar was manipulative but out of my entire rewatch of Pearl's pov this far it was the worst moment from Pearl's perspective. The most damage done to Pearl in Double Life was given by Ren.

Episode 3 Why is it Scar again, doesn't he have better things to do?

So we have found that Pearl's spiral was started by Martyn and worsened by Scar and then cleo and then Ren and bow It's Scar's turn again. Because session 2 ends with Pearl saying she was just wanting to help and session 3 starts with Scar convincing her to be actively a threat. He manipulated her into ruining the relationship with Scott once and now he's making her become what Ren said she was. So he can sell her stuff.

Now she meets again with Cleo and Scott and well... Nothing of particular importance happens in this one. Except one thing that Scott's says. (Scott's very infamous line "It's hard but once you widdle him down to nothing it works" about Jimmy is given It's actual context and it seems to not refer to Jimmy's self esteem at all so I don't know where that came from. ) Which gives Pearl the idea to annoy Scott even more.

Also important thing that happens soon is Scott saying sorry to Pearl without any sarcasm for taking damage as an olive branch and then suddenly shutting up as he processes that Pearl just created a dirt hut on his bridge. Even he doesn't tell her to take it down but suggests talking to Cleo about it since they build it. Pearl then suggests killing Cleo and even then Scott tries to calm her down by saying she can't because she is green. Pearl actually in canon comments that Scott is really nice to her and then Ren and Martyn fake burning down her base to get her attention.

[essenceeater]

Erron black trying to court s/o headcanons? 🫡

Erron Black Courting HC's

I LITERALLY LOVE YOU FINALLY SOMEONE REQUESTS ERRON! I love him so much, cowboys are just AUGHHHH 😫😫😫 This is probably the fastest request I've written!

Character: Erron Black.

Triggers: Mentions of guns, lmk if I missed anything.

Requested: Yes

🔓 Requests are open at the moment🔓

Link to rules

🐎 Erron Black would maintain his mysterious aura but gradually reveal his softer side to his S/O. He might leave little gifts or hidden notes around to pique his S/O's curiosity. He leaves small, enigmatic notes with cryptic messages, encouraging the reader to solve them, leading to secret meetups.

🐎 Occasionally, he sends them rare desert flowers or unique trinkets as tokens of his affection.

🐎 Erron challenges you occasionally to a shooting competition in a secluded area, setting up targets in creative and challenging ways.

🐎 He'd provide shooting lessons, standing closely behind the reader to guide their aim, creating a romantic tension. He just wants to impress you with his sharp shooting skills

"Let me show you how it's done," Erron stands behind, guiding his S/O's arm, both focusing their vision on the target in front of them. "Now, squeeze the trigger gently."

🐎 An adventure might involve a surprise horseback ride to a hidden oasis, complete with a picnic he prepared. I know this is Erron we are talking about but he's gonna try his damn best to make you happy.

🐎In perilous situations, Erron would shield the reader, using his skills to ensure their safety. He'd be damned if something happened to you. He'd go to great lengths to ensure his S/O's safety, showing his commitment and care.

"I can't stand to see anyone threaten you. I'll always keep you safe, no matter what."

🐎 Erron's morally ambiguous nature might lead to inner conflicts, as he tries to balance his loyalty to Outworld with his feelings for his lover. He doesn't want to scare you away or think he'd hurt you, but he's not going to give up his outlaw life, just keep you away from the dangers.

🐎 During quiet nights by a campfire, he definitely would tell you stories, some goofy, some intense. He might gradually open up to you about his past and the reasons for his outlaw lifestyle, creating a bond of trust and intimacy.

🐎 YOU CAN'T TELL ME HE WOULDN'T TRY TO CHARM HIS S/O WHILE COURTING THEMMMMM!! HE SO WOULDDDD.

🐎 Expect lots of playful banter and teasing from Erron as he tries to charm you. His wit and humor would be part of his courtship strategy. HOWEVER THEY ARE ALL SUPER CHEESY AND FUNNY. I love him but I feel like he'd be saying some of the most goofy shit possible with someone he genuinely likes.

🐎He would tease the reader with witty one-liners, creating a playful yet flirtatious dynamic.

🐎 Banter between them would be a recurring theme, adding humor to their interactions.

"You might want to be careful, sweetheart. I've been known to steal hearts." Erron said as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him as the two of you watched the stars.

"Oh really?" S/O chuckles as they rest their head against his shoulder. Rolling their eyes at his cheesy attempt to charm.

🐎This man is an outlaw, he's unpredictable.

🐎 What does this lead to?

🐎He might surprise the reader with unexpected acts of kindness or show up when they least expect it, keeping them on their toes. All of a sudden he's appearing at their doorstep with a homemade dinner and flowers in hand.

🐎 Unexpected visits during storms, when the reader least expects it, would be Erron's way of expressing his affection.

"I brought dinner. Hope you like it."

"You can cook?"

"A little something I picked up over the years. Just for you."

🐎 Erron Black would likely be a fan of slow burn, gradually building a connection and chemistry with his S/O, making the eventual romance more rewarding from his courting.

"I reckon I want to savor every moment with you, darlin'. No rush."

Essenceeater © 2023 ┃ do not copy, modify, steal, repost ANY of my content.

[gliphyartfan]

Hi I saw your last headcanons about The heroes joining The Villains to take down Hylia for readers sake(I really liked The headcanons, They were really good) But i have my question about The zeldas, I cant stop thinking that They would get an interest in The Reader (Maybe Platónic, maybe Romántic Is up to you) And I cant stop thinking that they Would join The chains plan to take down Hylia(Maybe The Make a truce with The chain to take down Hylia with The less count of possible deceased people to finally kill The Villain) I dunno i had this idea and I had to say it, hope you have a nice day

First off…I’m not much of a fan of the princesses…

BUUUUT, I can accept coming up with ideas about them for others…BUT NOT OFTEN!

Anywho I haven’t put much thought on all of them so I’ll just do a few. Sorry 😅

Sun wouod have the most complicated feelings here since she’s literally Hylia reborn as a mortal. Her interest in Reader would likely be tied to a deep guilt and sense of responsibility, she’s living with the burden of what Hylia does to Reader. Yeah the Hylia that did it is FAAAR into the future, but it’ll a version of her who no longer is SUN.

She probably sees helping the Chain as a way to make amends, even if it means going against everything she was once meant to represent.

She probably sees Reader as almost sacred and feels like she owes them something she can’t fully repay.

She wants to protect them, and there’s this raw, almost reverent quality to it. She’s the one who might pull Reader aside to give them quiet reassurances, to show that she’s on their side despite the history that hangs over her head.

Some of the guys, like Time, Legend, and Warriors, maybe Wild might not fully trust her, understandably so.

They’d question her motives and wonder if, when it comes down to it, she’d side with Hylia.

Sun would be determined to prove her loyalty to Reader, and that might lead to some pretty heated arguments, especially with heroes who are cautious around her.

Artemis wouod be all about strategy really teaming up with the Chain as a logical choice to take down Hylia, not just for Reader’s sake but also for the sake of her people. Considering hers is literal a war-torn era and even if the timelines were repaired, the damage the war did to HER era specifically is still there .

She’s not sentimental about it; she just wants to get the job done with minimal fallout.

Buuut seeing how devoted the Chain is to Reader, she’d definitely gain a lot of respect for Reader.

She’d have a lot of admiration for Reader, seeing them as almost warrior like in their own right. She’s drawn to how Reader stands up to things way beyond their control and keeps pushing back. There would be no flowery language from her; she simply respects Reader, and it shows. (Friendship no jutsu will happen eventually, it just takes time for her to warm up to Reader.)

Tetra would be in this for her own reasons, but helping Reader aligns well with her goals. She, like Wind, isn’t familiar with Hylia but seeing the Chain actively fighting against her is all she needs to dive in. Especially when she warms up to Reader. She’d be on board to take Hylia down without a second thought.

She would be egging the Chain on to take bold steps against Hylia. There’s no hesitation on her end; she’d be telling them, “If you’re in, go all the way.” Her approach would definitely add some urgency to their plans, maybe pushing the Chain into action when they might otherwise hesitate. (She’s a pirate, what do you expect)

She’d be the semi-tsundere, definitely would warm up quickly to Reader, especially if Reader adores her pirating stories or genuine is interested in learning how ships works.

Aurora probably the most lowkey out of all of them, but don’t underestimate her. She’d see the Chain’s determination and want to support them out of a genuine belief that Reader deserves a better fate.

Her relationship with Reader would likely be gentle and kind, she’s the one offering small comforts.

She sees something special in Reader’s humanity and probably feels they’ve been through way too much already.

She’d be the one who connects with them in quiet moments.

She’d mediate between any Zeldas who don’t see eye to eye. If Artemis is pressing for strict strategy while Tetra is pushing for impulsive action, Aurora would be the voice of reason, urging a balanced approach to keep them all on track

And….thats all I could come up with. Sorry I couldn’t think of the others. I may come back to this later if I think up more.

(I won’t mind writing for the Zeldas. It’ll just take some time 😅)

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 19) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Chapter 19

“I still don’t get it,” Twice says. “What happened?”

You could ask the same question, and you have. You and the rest of the League are in Tomura’s hospital room, trying to piece together the chain of events that occurred in Deika City, and you can’t agree on anything. Everybody has gaps in their timeline, things they weren’t there for or were unconscious during or simply disagree on, as you and Dabi discover when you mention that you shot at his opponent to disorient them and he insists that he didn’t need any fucking help. “Why do we need to know what happened at all?” Tomura asks. He’s awake but fairly high on painkillers, and you can tell that all he wants is for everybody to shut up so he can go back to sleep. “We won. That’s it.”

“It almost wasn’t a win,” Spinner says. You and he are in agreement on that, at least. “If it wasn’t for Saintess’s quirk –”

“I can’t believe you have a quirk now!” Toga hugs you, then winces. “Ow. It’s the perfect quirk for you! Don’t you like it?”

“Spinner’s right. Our strategy was shit,” Dabi says. “We got split up. If we hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been stuck handling the ice bitch on my own.”

“You weren’t on your own,” Compress points out. “Saintess and I assisted you.”

“Fuck off.”

“I agree with Spinner. And with Dabi.” You add the last part only grudgingly. “We took way too much damage. That might not have happened if we’d stuck together.”

“We sort of stuck together!” Twice says. “I stuck us together with my ultimate attack! I’m calling it ‘Sad Man’s Parade’, because I was sad when I did it. But I’m not sad now!”

“We couldn’t have won without you,” Tomura says. Twice is pretty obviously beaming behind his mask. “All of you were important to the victory. But –”

He tries to sit up, grimaces. You slide one hand behind his back to support him while you adjust the bed, but then he leans against you instead of leaning back. You’re not exactly going to push him away, and he doesn’t speak up again. “But like I said,” Spinner says, filling in, “you’d have been dead if Saintess didn’t have a quirk.”

“And if she didn’t love you so much,” Toga says, elbowing you in the ribs until you wince. “I’m so glad you have a love quirk, too!”

You’re not sure you’d classify your quirk or Toga’s as a love quirk. You’re not sure how you’d classify your quirk, period, but you don’t hate having it. You’re grateful that you have it. Grateful doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Nobody’s looked into your quirk very much, except for someone whose quirk lets them detect quirks who confirmed that you have one, and so far all that’s changed is that the members of the MLA are much nicer to you than they would have been otherwise. Re-Destro in particular is a fan of yours – he admires loyalty, he says, and the fact that you took the time to help him too doesn’t hurt. For your part, you hate him. You’re not going to forget what he did to Tomura, and you know he’s only treating you well because you didn’t turn out to be quirkless after all, but you keep that under wraps. Even with your quirk, in most situations, your other skills still matter more.

But not in this one. In this one, with Tomura in a hospital bed and your quirk somehow helping him heal, your quirk is the only thing that matters.

“The doctor is coming here,” Compress says. He’s the only person who survived the fight with his earpiece intact – Tomura, Twice, Spinner, and Toga all lost theirs, Dabi claims he lost his but probably torched it instead, and you winged yours at the floor and crushed it midway through one of Tomura’s surgeries because the doctor wouldn’t shut up about your quirk. “He wants to discuss next steps, and to investigate Saintess’s quirk for himself.”

“Next steps for what? We don’t need him anymore.”

That comes from Tomura, and it’s a surprise to everybody. “What is that supposed to mean?” Dabi asks. “He’s the one who makes the Nomus.”

“We’ve got an army. We don’t need them.” Tomura’s refusing to open his eyes, and you’d believe he’s falling asleep if you couldn’t feel how tense he is. “We don’t need his money, either, and Gigantomachia follows me now. He can go to hell.”

“We should hear him out, at least. Don’t you think?” Compress ventures. “More power couldn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, if he can give us more stuff, we should take it,” Spinner agrees, glancing warily between you and Tomura – like this might be your idea, instead of right now being the first time you’ve heard anything about it. “Let’s hear him out.”

“Whatever.” Tomura finally quits leaning against you and flops back against the bed. “Did you all figure out what happened yet?”

Compress turns back to the whiteboard you’ve all been using to create a timeline – or timelines. There are seven markers, seven different colors of ink. One for each of you. “At the start of the rest period, we received the threat from the Meta Liberation Army, as well as the news that they’d kidnapped Giran. Shigaraki, you came up with the plan to use the MLA against Gigantomachia, and the doctor transported all of us –”

“Almost all of us,” Toga corrects, patting your arm lightly.

“Almost all of us to the outskirts of Deika City,” Compress continues. “We enter the city, split up, and engage the MLA sources. Toga and Twice are initially fighting alone, while Dabi and I and Spinner and Shigaraki proceed separately. Dabi and I meet resistance in the form of Geten – ”

“Ice bitch.”

“If you must,” Compress says, and Twice snorts. “Spinner and Shigaraki also meet resistance, but for the time being, they make progress. And at some point while all of us are fighting, the doctor transports Saintess to the outskirts of the city and sends her in to support us.”

Spinner looks confused. “Wait, was that before or after the Sad Man’s Parade?”

“Before,” you say. “I took a few shots at the – um, Ice Bitch –”

“You fucking didn’t.”

“I missed,” you say. “Then I chased after Spinner and Tomura, and that was when the Sad Man’s Parade happened. One of Twice’s clones caught me.”

“Really?” Twice asks. “What happened to it?”

“It tried to take me out of the city,” you say. “I – sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Twice says magnanimously. He reaches across Tomura’s hospital bed to pat your arm. “Anyway, that was after I rescued Toga –”

“Which was after I beat the one they sent after me,” Toga says. “I used Ochako’s blood – and if I love somebody enough, I can use their quirk, too! I love having a love quirk!”

She’s hugging you again. Compress is making a few edits to the timelines to accurately mark the Sad Man’s Parade. “Toga’s injuries remove her from the fight. Twice sends clones to aid Spinner and Shigaraki, and Saintess pursues them as well. Shigaraki, and the clones head to the tower where Re-Destro and Skeptic are waiting for them, but Spinner is held up, and Saintess aids him.”

“By murking a guy,” Spinner says. He still looks surprised. “It was nuts.”

“So you finally got your hands dirty,” Dabi remarks. He gives you an appraising look. “Took you long enough. Compress. Put it on the timeline.”

“As what?”

Dabi’s smirking. “Baby’s first kill.”

“Fuck off,” Tomura mutters. He hasn’t opened his eyes. “Twice cloned me, Dabi, and Compress and sent the clones ahead to the tower to draw fire and rescue Giran. I brought the tower down when I got there. Then I beat Re-Destro and took over his army. That’s it.”

“We’re missing a few things,” Compress says, and Tomura snarls under his breath. “Gigantomachia’s arrival, for one. He drew the remaining MLA members’ attention quite successfully and prevented them from assisting Re-Destro against you. You also received some backup from your sidekick during the fight.”

“I didn’t do very much,” you say. “I was there, I guess. Once Tomura’s quirk awakened he didn’t need backup from anyone.”

Compress makes a few adjustments to the timelines. “There. Are we all in agreement?” It’s quiet for a second. “I think we can agree that some errors were made.”

“We had two seconds to plan,” Tomura says. “It could have been worse.”

Spinner gives him an incredulous look. “How?”

“I’m tired,” Tomura says, instead of answering. “Get out. Figure out what went wrong and how to fix it if you want, but do it somewhere else.”

He’s in a bad mood, worse than he’s been since he woke up, and you’re not sure why. Nobody else seems concerned as to why, either – instead they get up and head for the door, Compress carrying the whiteboard and all the markers. As the door shuts behind them, you can hear them discussing lunch. Specifically, what fancy food they’re going to order on Re-Destro’s dime. Most of them have been having real meals only sporadically. Whatever they choose, you hope they order the entire menu.

But Tomura hasn’t said if he wants you to stay. You try to get to your feet, but Tomura catches your sleeve between the two remaining fingers on his left hand and pulls lightly. Lightly is all he can manage right now. “Not you.”

“Okay.” You sit down at the edge of the bed again. “I just wanted to check.”

“Never you.” Tomura pulls weakly at your sleeve again. “Closer.”

“I don’t think closer will make any difference with my quirk.”

Tomura gives you a look. It’s obscured a bit by the bandages on his face, but it’s unmistakably irritated. “It’s not for your quirk,” he says. “I need to touch my girlfriend.”

“But not your sidekick.”

“Shut up.” Tomura yanks at your sleeve a third time. “Come here.”

You kick off your shoes and settle into the limited space available on the bed, kicking yourself for hesitating for even a second. You shouldn’t give Tomura a hard time. He’s been through hell. But you weren’t giving him a hard time on purpose, you don’t think. You’ve got your own reasons. They’re stupid, but you have them.

And even when he’s doped up on painkillers, Tenko can guess them, because he knows you better than anyone. “It’s not for your quirk,” he says. He’s grimacing as he shuffles on the bed, trying to get closer and comfortable at the same time. “Don’t be stupid. I love you. Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed.” You close your eyes.

“Not us.” Tenko sounds sure. He’s never anything but sure when it comes to the two of you, and it’s sort of a relief. “Never us.”

“Okay.” You turn your head to kiss his shoulder lightly. It’s one of the only places on his body that’s not bandaged. “I love you, too. Get some rest.”

The two of you are quiet, but you know Tenko isn’t asleep, and you haven’t slept in days yourself. You should be able to sleep, but you can’t, and if neither of you are asleep, you have questions. “Why don’t you want the doctor’s help anymore?”

“I don’t need it.”

“That’s not the only reason,” you say. Tenko makes a dissatisfied sound. “Tell me.”

“He betrayed me.” Tenko’s voice is cold, furious, even through a layer of narcotics. “I told him to keep you away. I said I didn’t want you anywhere near it. He sent you right into the middle of it with a gun –”

“I got the gun on my own,” you say. “I’ve been practicing.”

“You should never have been there.” Tenko’s heart is beating faster. You set your hand on his chest, over his heart, as if you can slow it down on your own. “There’s no point to it if you die.”

Your stomach lurches. “Don’t say that.”

“You say it all the time,” Tenko says. “You said you don’t want to be in the new world unless I’m in it with you. How is what I said any different?”

It’s not. You want it to be, but it’s not – it’s just a different phrasing of the same sentiment. You let it stand. “I needed to be there,” you say. “If I hadn’t been, you’d have died.”

“He didn’t send you in there for me.” Tenko twists awkwardly, trying to get closer to you. “He was trying to wake up your quirk.”

You’d guessed, sort of. Based on all the yammering he was doing while you were trying to keep your quirk active during Tenko’s surgeries, this outcome is the one he was hoping for when he sent you into the middle of the fight between the League of Villains and the Meta Liberation Army. The League got four quirk awakenings for the price of one battle with the clash in Deika City – Toga’s ability to use the quirks of those she changes into, Twice’s ability to create infinite clones, Tenko’s ability to spread Decay like a virus, and your ability to keep Tenko alive. The doctor must be thrilled. No wonder he’s coming here.

“He betrayed me,” Tenko says again. “I don’t want him anywhere near us. If he comes here I’ll – damn it –”

He hisses with pain. How long has it been since his last painkiller dose? You sit up and nudge the pain-relief button within Tenko’s reach. He shakes his head. “I don’t need it.”

“You need to sleep. It’ll be harder to sleep if you’re in pain.” You look him over, taking in the awful things that have been done to him, and feel another awkward, terrible stab of gratitude for your quirk. Your greatest fear is losing him again, but your quirk made sure you wouldn’t have to. “If you won’t do it for you, for me? I won’t sleep well if I know you’re hurting.”

“Do you even sleep anymore?” Tenko somehow manages to look skeptical. “You look like hell. Pretty. But like hell.”

You sit there with that for a second. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever called me pretty.”

“I said it before. When we were kids.” Tenko presses the pain-relief button three times in a row. “You can’t say it’s just the meds talking.”

You weren’t going to say that. You settle in next to Tenko again, wrapping your arms gingerly around him to avoid any more thrashing around on his part. “Get some rest, okay?”

“Tell me about it.”

“Hmm?”

“The new world.” Tenko’s voice is fuzzy already. “Your stories are always better than mine.”

The new world isn’t just a story. You almost correct him before you remember that the two of you are living in one of your childhood stories right now, that you’ve taken it and made it real. Maybe this is how you’ll convince Tenko, how you’ll make him see what you see, make him follow you. There are worse ways to do it. A lot of them.

“The new world,” you start. “Okay. If it’s a totally blank slate – all the cities and everything are gone – we’ll need somewhere to live, first of all. And humans are social creatures. We survive by helping each other. That’s how it’s supposed to be in this world, but it isn’t, so in the new world, that’s how we’ll do things. We’ll need somewhere to live, and we’ll need people we want to live near, so we can work together and start to build something new.”

“What if I don’t get rid of everything?”

You were hoping he’d say that. “Then we’ll find somewhere to fix up.”

Tenko’s voice is blurry with sleep and painkillers, but you can still hear the concern. “I don’t know how to fix things.”

“That’s okay.” You kiss his shoulder and huddle close to him. “I love you. And I do.”

It takes a few more days for the question of your quirk to come up in earnest, a few more days of Tenko healing markedly faster than he should be healing, a few more days of you barely leaving his side. When you do leave, it’s not by choice – it happens when four days without sleep catch up to you and you pass out in the middle of a strategy discussion being held in Tomura’s hospital room. And when you leave, you don’t go far. You wake up in a dark, quiet room in clean clothes and on a soft bed, with an IV taped down to the back of your hand.

You sit up so fast that your head spins, but you still manage to rip the needle out. In the darkness, someone tsks at you. “Fluids, my dear. You’re in dire need of rehydration.”

The doctor. “Where’s Tomura?” you demand.

“In his hospital room, asleep,” the doctor says. “It’s an ideal time to conduct some tests of your quirk – namely, whether distance is a factor in its efficacy.”

Oh. “How much distance?”

“Currently, the opposite end of the hospital,” the doctor says. “I’ve spoken to Shigaraki’s doctors, to Twice and Spinner, to Re-Destro, and to the medics who were in the helicopter with you. I’ve also conducted research into your family tree. Shall I tell you what I’ve already learned about your quirk?”

You want to tell him that you don’t care about your quirk, but you can’t say that – not when your quirk is part of the reason Tomura’s still alive. And you have to find out what your quirk can actually do. “Yes.”

“I fault myself, truly, for not guessing sooner,” the doctor says, instead of saying anything useful. Your eyes are adjusting to the darkness, and you can see him bustling around, outlined in the glow from three computer screens. “I looked into your immediate family, but there was another family member – one whose quirk also broke late, and one whose quirk is directly tied to the biochemical reaction we call love. Your cousin, Aiba Manami, also known as La Brava. I understand you visited her in jail the day of the battle. Did you discuss your quirk?”

“No,” you say. The doctor tsks again. “We didn’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mm, I suppose you’re right – based on the video from the visitation room, neither of you discussed quirks directly.” The doctor taps something on one of the screens, and it brightens suddenly, but his body blocks your view. “But it’s clear to me that your cousin guessed the mechanism by which your quirk functions, if nothing else. It’s why she prevented you from saying the words until – what was it that she said? Until it counts. You certainly did that. However –”

A machine beeps in the darkness. The doctor talks over it. “Circumstantial evidence suggests that neither the repetition of the statement in the presence of the object of your affection nor your proximity to the object of your affection affects the functioning of your quirk.”

That’s a lot of words at once, and although you were following for a while, you’re starting to get dizzy. “Say again?”

“Thus far, your quirk differs from your cousin’s in two important capacities,” the doctor says. “The first is the effect. While your cousin’s quirk provides a significant boost to the speed and power of her loved one, your quirk provides a slight acceleration of your loved one’s natural healing abilities.”

“How slight?”

“On a day to day basis, unnoticeable,” the doctor says. “The more significant the damage is, the more obvious the accelerated healing becomes. Which leads me to the second difference between your cousin’s quirk and yours: Duration. While La Brava’s quirk lasts for a discrete period of time, and can be activated only once per day, it would seem that your quirk, once activated, does not switch off.”

“That’s how it works in my side of the family,” you say. The doctor looks at you. The light from the screens reflects off his glasses, rendering him completely opaque. “Your quirk is active from when you’re born until you learn to –”

You trail off. “The biochemical reaction known as love isn’t something that can be switched on and off,” the doctor says. “I separated you from Shigaraki four hours ago. Those who were in the meeting you collapsed during were able to confirm that you had not told Shigaraki you loved him since the meeting began two hours previously. That makes six hours without the trigger phrase, four hours of which you spent physically separated from him, and during that time, the accelerated healing has not faltered.”

“So it doesn’t matter if I’m physically with him, or if I’ve said it recently,” you say slowly. “The first time I said it was all it needed. And it’ll stay active –”

“Unless your feelings for Shigaraki change. And I suspect they won’t,” the doctor says. He chuckles quietly. “You’ve been loyal to him for most of your life, after all. Why stop now?”

Even confused as you are, the jolt of foreboding knocks the air out of your lungs. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t play coy, dear. That act worked when you were a civilian, but now no one will believe you’re that naive.” The doctor bends to investigate something on one of the screens. “It took me a while to piece it together, of course – it seems your perceived quirklessness clouded my vision, too – but once I looked into your background, it became clear. You are perhaps the last remaining person who knew Shigaraki Tomura before he became Shigaraki Tomura. Tell me – did you doubt yourself at all upon learning what he had become?”

What, not who. The doctor doesn’t see Tomura as a person, not the way you do, and now he’s waiting for your answer about something he clearly doesn’t understand. “No,” you say. You were doomed from the moment you saw him again. His return disrupted your life the same as his disappearance did, only this time, he’s with you. You were never going to let him go. “Never.”

“Remarkable,” the doctor says. You can see that he’s smiling. “Every Symbol of Fear needs one servant who’s loyal above all others, who serves him above all others, who does something for him that no one else could. Shigaraki’s master has me. Shigaraki has you.”

The idea of an equivalence between you and the doctor makes your skin crawl, the same as the idea that Tomura and his master are the same. They aren’t. You knew him before. They aren’t the same at all. “What could you do for Tomura’s master that no one else can?”

“Why, keep him alive, of course!”

“You have a healing quirk?”

“Precision of language. If I had a healing quirk, do you think I’d be a doctor?” The doctor clucks his tongue. It’s almost as irritating as the tsking. “No, my quirk is called Life-force. It allows the wielder to live twice an ordinary human lifespan. I offered this quirk to him, along with my service, and he accepted. The quirk I have currently is a copy of the original. I’d copy yours, but – mm. The emotional component makes it fairly useless to anyone other than yourself.”

Even when you have a quirk, you can’t escape being called useless. You grit your teeth. “We’ll need to conduct some further tests, but those can wait until Shigaraki has healed completely,” the doctor says. “In the meantime, we’ll need a name for your quirk. Initially, I thought that Devotion might be appropriate –”

“Does it need a name?” you interrupt. “All that matters is what it does.”

“But Shigaraki has many devoted followers,” the doctor says, ignoring you. “For loyalty like yours, something a little stronger is needed. I’ll think of something. Have a look at this.”

You get slowly to your feet, fighting dizziness, and come to peer at the screens. “This is a computer simulation of the natural course of Shigaraki’s injuries – what would have happened without the application of your quirk. Dire, isn’t it?”

Dire doesn’t begin to cover it. You see the same things unfold that the medic predicted. ATC, a rapid increase in internal bleeding, the slowing of his heart, the ceasing of his brain function as it’s deprived of blood and oxygen. Death within minutes. The doctor restarts the simulation, then runs a second one alongside it. This one, you recognize. It’s the same starting point, with your quirk added to the picture. No ATC. No deprivation of oxygen to the brain. His heart rate and breathing are unstable, courtesy of the damage, but as the simulation cycles through each successive scan, you can see the lacerations to his organs healing. You can see your quirk in action, keeping Tomura alive, long after the other simulation’s gone dark.

“That’s what your quirk is capable of, with nothing but Shigaraki’s natural healing factor to work with,” the doctor says. “I think we can all do better than that, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” the doctor says. Something on the screen beeps. “Ah, Shigaraki is awake –and it appears he’s very unhappy with me. Best hurry along, dear. I’ll be in touch.”

You get lost on your way back to Tomura’s room, but a nurse points you in the right direction, and you get back in the middle of Spinner and Compress trying desperately to get Tomura to sit down – or at least to use his crutches if he’s going to tear off looking for you. Spinner spots you first, and it’s clear he’s relieved. “She’s back,” he says. “She’s fine. The doctor didn’t do anything to her.”

Tomura looks you up and down, not relieved yet. “What happened to your hand?”

“He put an IV in for fluids. I took it out when I woke up.” You might need to ask somebody to put in another one. You are really dehydrated. And hungry. And tired. “Everything’s fine. Get back in bed.

“If he thinks he can just kidnap you –”

“I took a nap for a few hours and he told me some more about my quirk,” you say. “That’s it.”

Tomura finally stops trying to stand up and walk. He sprawls back out in the bed, broken leg hanging off in a position that looks agonizing until you nudge past Spinner and lift it back onto the bed. He looks up at you. “What did he say about your quirk?”

“It’s sort of like my cousin’s,” you say. “In how it activates, anyway. It does something different – it makes you heal faster instead of powering you up – and the effect isn’t as pronounced as hers is.”

“Doesn’t your cousin’s quirk have a time limit?” Spinner asks. “What’s the time limit on yours?”

“It, um – it looks like there isn’t one,” you say awkwardly. “Once it switches on, it doesn’t switch off.”

“Weird,” Spinner says after a second. “Emitter-type quirks don’t usually stay on all the time.”

You wouldn’t know. You don’t think about quirks a lot – but Tomura does, and he’s got a weird look on his face. “What’s it costing you?”

“Hmm?”

“Your cousin’s quirk doesn’t cost her anything. The physical cost comes from the person she’s powering up,” Tomura says. “Most healing quirks use the energy of the person who’s being healed, which is why they have limits. Yours didn’t cost me or I would have died. What’s it costing you?”

“Not anything,” you say. “I don’t feel any different than usual.”

You don’t. Really. You’ve asked yourself the question – you remember Spinner saying something forever ago about how healing quirks take tons of mana – but you can’t think of anything that’s changed. You haven’t been able to sleep, sure, but you’ve been having problems with sleeping ever since Kamino. The issues you can think of can all be attributed to other things. If healing Tomura was draining your energy, wouldn’t you have been exhausted way before you passed out in a strategy session? “I don’t think there’s a cost to it,” you say again, settling down on the edge of Tomura’s bed. You’ve barely moved from this spot in days. “Did I miss anything from that meeting?”

“Nah, it broke up when you passed out,” Spinner says. “Honestly, we all thought you faked it to get us out of there. It was just Skeptic and what’s-his-name complaining that we aren’t committed enough to the cause.”

“Even if I didn’t fake it, I’m glad it helped,” you say. “They really had a whole meeting just to tell you guys you aren’t liberating hard enough?”

“No shit we aren’t. Their cause is bullshit. They want the same thing the heroes want, except with them on top.” It must have been a while since Tomura hit the pain-relief button. He’s in a really bad mood again. “The whole thing’s coming down. That includes them if they get in my way.”

“Maybe keep that part quiet for now,” you suggest. Spinner snorts. “This is just the same plan from before, right? Letting your enemies destroy each other and finishing the job when they’re too tired to keep fighting.”

Now that you think about it, that’s sort of Tomura’s MO – keeping to the shadows while his enemies duke it out, then stepping in to deal the final blow and stealing whatever they were fighting for. He did it with Stain, stealing Stain’s reputation to burnish the League’s after Stain showed up the heroes and was captured. He did it again with Overhaul and the heroes, and again with Gigantomachia and the MLA. It’s the right strategy for that kind of fight, one where you know you don’t have the brute force to win, but it’s not a strategy someone with a quirk as powerful as Tomura’s would jump to. Even after battling Gigantomachia for two months and defeating Re-Destro, Tomura still doesn’t fight like a supervillain. He fights like he’s quirkless. Just like you do. Just like you did.

You don’t see a problem with it. Spinner looks like he does. “We shouldn’t keep using the same plan.”

“We’ll keep using it as long as it keeps working,” Tomura says. He glances up at you, half a smirk on his face. “Just like your dumb jokes.”

“That was our old strategy,” you say, straightfaced. “If you can’t beat them, make them unfuckable instead.”

Tomura laughs, then grimaces as the motion strains his stitches. You haven’t heard him laugh in a while, and you feel better instantly – but at the same time, you’re conscious of Spinner staring, shocked. Has he really never heard Tomura laugh before? Is the difference between the person you love and the person the rest of the League knows really that big? No, you decide, they just aren’t used to him yet. And they’ve got a little time to get used to him. He’s who they’ll be living with in the new world, and although you’re closer to it than you’ve ever been, it’s still a long way away.

But you can help with the getting-used-to-it thing. “I mean, our track record is incredible,” you say. “We started off with All Might – hook a scarecrow up with a skeleton, and that’s what the whole society of potential All Might fuckers have to cope with now –”

Tomura is wheezing now. “And you’d think we couldn’t top that, but we’re not quitters,” you continue. That gets Spinner. He laughs a little bit, so you turn up the heat. “Plus Ultra, right? Overhaul was already pretty unfuckable, so the fact that we made it even worse really says something about our skills. And now we’ve got these guys, who – I’m sorry. Do we really think Skeptic gets laid?”

You have a feeling Skeptic is watching this from any one of his five million security cameras, but he already hates you for killing the other MLA lieutenant, so it doesn’t matter. The fact that Spinner and Tomura are both laughing now matters more, and you hear Compress chuckle quietly behind his mask. “I’d say our record’s perfect,” you finish. “The real question is where we go from here. Who do we have left?”

“Endeavor,” Spinner says. “But I don’t think he needs our help.”

Now you’re cackling – cackling, and thinking of Hirono, who one hundred percent thought Endeavor was fuckable. Hirono, who you miss. Just like you miss your friends. Just like part of you will always miss your boring, safe, normal life. “So we’re out of people to turn unfuckable,” Tomura decides. “I guess we just have to build the new world.”

The leap in logic is way too much for you. You burst out laughing, doubled over in a way that makes your bruised ribs ache, tears streaming down your face, and you try your hardest to imagine a new world. One that’s not like this one. One that’s full of things you like, just like Toga wants it to be. One where people like you and Spinner don’t have to be scared. One where people aren’t thrown away, one where the presence of heroes doesn’t give everyone else the ability to turn a blind eye to people who are being hurt in ways that can’t be solved by punching someone in the face. One where you and Tomura can be together, where there’s nothing left that he wants to destroy.

It’s a good world. A dream worth fighting for. But for the moment, while your new friends laugh and you struggle not to cry for the friends you lost, all you can think about is what’s already been left behind.

[jingwei]

Class A Event Cafe Business Model

Analyzing Gakushu's school festival business plan from a comprehensive finance and psychological perspective reveals several key strengths and potential risks. I'll delve into the intricacies of the revenue model, cost structure, operational efficiency, and psychological tactics for a nuanced understanding of his business strategy and its implications. (This may get wordy.)

The event cafe's primary revenue source is the 500 yen entrance fee, which provides attendees with free food, drinks, and access to performances. This model banks on repeat visits, assuming high engagement levels. The psychological underpinning here is the ‘fear of missing out’ (FOMO), as events are scheduled at one-hour intervals, creating urgency and encouraging multiple payments.

Examining the cost structure, Gakushu’s reliance on free performances by pop stars pals and comedian buddies significantly cuts entertainment expenses. This cost-saving measure, however, hinges on personal relationships, posing sustainability risks. If these relationships wane or if performers seek compensation in the future, it could disrupt the cost structure. Since this is a fictional case scenario, I'm going with the possibility that Gakushu's network can be relied on.

The endorsement deal with Suzume Izakaya food services provides substantial financial support and in-kind contributions. This sponsorship not only reduces operational costs but also enhances the festival’s credibility, as Suzume Izakaya’s brand reputation can attract more visitors who trust the quality of the food and beverages.

Offering free food and drinks is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it is an attractive feature that can draw a large number of attendees, enhancing perceived value and satisfaction. On the other hand, it presents a significant cost burden. Effective inventory management and supplier negotiations are crucial to balance cost and supply. There is also a risk of overconsumption, which must be managed to avoid resource depletion.

Operational efficiency is another critical component of Gakushu's plan. Organizing events at one-hour intervals on different stages maximizes space and time utilization, keeping the audience engaged and minimizing downtime. This continuous engagement strategy ensures that attendees are constantly entertained, increasing the likelihood of repeat entrance fee payments. The immediate start of subsequent events also helps maintain a steady flow of visitors, reducing congestion and enhancing the overall customer experience.

Psychologically, the one-hour event intervals create a sense of urgency and scarcity, compelling attendees to make quick decisions to attend multiple events. This tactic leverages the psychological principle that limited availability increases perceived value, driving higher engagement and repeat visits.

The use of celebrity performances taps into social proof and authority. Featuring well-known pop stars and comedians draws their fan bases and generates buzz, enhancing the festival’s attractiveness. This social influence can significantly boost attendance, as people tend to follow the actions of those they admire. The endorsement by Suzume Izakaya also adds an element of authority and trust, reassuring attendees about the quality and safety of the festival’s offerings.

The all-inclusive 500 yen entrance fee creates a high perceived value, making attendees feel they are getting a good deal. This pricing strategy increases their willingness to pay, especially when considering the continuous entertainment and free provisions. The plan also aims to foster customer loyalty by ensuring a captivating experience that encourages repeat visits.

Quoting what the Virtuosos said, such a complex and multifaceted plan is particularly challenging for a third-year junior high student. The management skills required to coordinate performances, manage resources, negotiate partnerships, and ensure operational efficiency are significant. Gakushu’s ability to pull off this plan and win the school festival showcases exceptional organizational and leadership skills. This ability to leverage personal networks and psychological principles to drive engagement and revenue are commendable. Successfully managing such a demanding project at 15 could be foreshadowing of his future as an executive when he started a business in Silicon Valley after receiving an MBA at MIT.

[earth-to-lottie]

Okay I gotta get something off my chest because the amount of horrible, nasty and mean comments directed Lando’s way are so beyond what is reasonable it’s unbelievable😭

people are whinging that Lando doesn’t have a winning mentality, sounds demoralised and is such a cry baby…but then if you take a look through any comment section of ANY Lando related content across all social media it’s easy to see why!! He can do absolutely nothing right for people!!! He’s been open and honest about his mental health struggles and how much pressure he’s been under since he was 17 and starting with McLaren. The nasty words and vitriolic sentiments sent his way consistently do that to a person!! No matter how well he drives, how well he conducts himself in the paddock, how kind he is to fans and how many times he consistently proves how much he wants this championship on and off the track, the vast majority of comments directed at him are vile. The fact he is still driving constantly at the front of the grid and letting that roll off his shoulders so well is a feat on its own. Oscar is not perfect. Oscar is not infallible. Oscar is not and has not been consistently faster than Lando like some would like to believe. I’ve watched every race while he’s been at McLaren and he’s constantly improving, but Lando has been the faster car week in and week out until just before this summer break. He’s a fantastic driver and yes McLaren haven’t always given him the best strategy, but he will have his success one day, but that does not mean Lando should be demolished by people the way he is. The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive. Lando has had his fair share of shit calls that favour his teammates from his first year so it’s hardly like he’s been the number 1 driver from day 1. He definitely hasn’t had the special treatment Oscar seems to be getting. No other McLaren driver has in a long time. If you don’t like Lando, that is absolutely fine and your preference but for Christ sake there is no need to be so outright nasty about/to him. Just because he’s been in the sport as long as he has, people forget he’s barely a year older than Oscar and is only just getting a race winning car (down to his hard work and loyalty that Oscar is reaping the benefits of might I add) so people might just want to bare that in mind before claiming Oscar as the next messiah of F1 and tearing Lando to shreds week in and week out. Its abhorrent and I hope to god above Lando stays away from social media and the media in general. I hope he has his friends and family around him because I’d absolutely HATE to be in his head at the moment😔

Ps, before all you Oscar girlies come after me, this is NOT an attack on Oscar; more of a reality to check for people that think being so beyond nasty about Lando is how you get across your support for Oscar. It ISNT.

[cryptid-intraining]

Every time Carlos has a good weekend or wins a race I see a lot of those type of fans pushing that whole "Ferrari fired the wrong driver" narrative.

It's like they're blind to when Charles does well but block out all the times when Carlos does poorly and just pretend he's been doing this well the entire time. I like Carlos, he's a fantastic driver and I'm glad he's retained a seat on the grid because it would have been such a loss to see him go but let's be real, they did not fire the wrong driver.

And let's be extra fucking real. They didn't fire anyone. Ferrari offered him a one year extension, he didn't want it (which is fair) so he made the decision to leave. It was his choice, stop acting like Ferrari stabbed him the fucking back. Even if they did fire him, it would have been perfectly acceptable because this is a sport, it's a job, it is not about loyalty and "family" it's about winning and if the choice was between Carlos and Lewis, then god damn right they're going to choose Lewis.

You can argue if the decision to take Lewis on was the right one but there is no debate that if you have to drop one driver of the current line up, it's going to be Carlos. I think maybe this was an uncomfortable awakening for some Carlos fans that have genuinely been under the impression that him and Charles are considered equal in terms of ability but they're not. They have never been on equal footing and not just because of Ferrari team dynamics- anyone who sincerely believes that Ferrari is sabotaging Carlos or that they favour Charles every weekend is genuinely off their rocker. Ferrari operates a rotating system, so one weekend one driver gets the favourable run plan in practices, the next week the other but regardless of that, whoever qualifies ahead gets the preferential strategy. Because of course they do.

Charles has out qualified Carlos in fifteen sessions this year. Fifteen. That is not luck, there is no way to spin those numbers and argue context and nuance that doesn't at the end of the day just boil down to the simple fact: Charles is a better driver.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Weltschmerz is a German word that describes a feeling of sadness, weariness, or hopelessness about the world. It's made up of the words Welt, meaning "world", and Schmerz, meaning "pain".

[Thanks Ellen Geller]

* * * *

Put one foot in front of the other. Repeat.

November 16, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

It was a tough week—on the heels of an even tougher week. A few Democrats are revved up and ready to jump back in the fight. But if my inbox is a reliable indicator, many (most?) people are still reeling from the losses on Election Day. They are bewildered, exhausted, tapped out emotionally and financially, and angry. You wouldn’t be human if you did not feel those emotions in some measure. Hopes were high, and the loss was unexpected. The disappointment was exacerbated by PTSD.

The president-elect has a feral sense that many Democrats are emotionally vulnerable. His cabinet picks are designed to rub salt in our wounds and deepen our sense of bewilderment. We must recognize that the ludicrous nominations over the past week are part of a strategy to dispirit and weaken Democrats—in hopes of reducing their resolve to resist his dark plans.

We cannot give in to the president-elect’s transparent ploy. Although I am not a fan of the Godfather movie franchise (no hate mail, please!), every American knows the line, “‘It’s not personal, Sonny. It’s strictly business.”

Trump’s bizarre, anti-government nominations are not personal. They are strictly business—to Trump and to us. He is using them as an emotional cudgel against Democrats and a test of loyalty for incredulous Republicans. Our job is to defeat as many of the nominations as possible—thereby demonstrating that Trump is vulnerable and weak after his narrow win.

It is possible that Trump will resort to unilateral recess appointments by forcing an adjournment of Congress for ten days so that he can cram his unqualified, anti-establishment choices on the American people.

Doing so would be a mistake and would overplay Trump's hand. The officers would be branded as illegitimate leaders who could not make it through a Senate confirmation. More importantly, such a move would instantly convert Trump into America’s first (and last) dictator.

No other president has forced an adjournment of Congress, much less for the anti-democratic purpose of evading the Senate’s “advice and consent” role under the Constitution. Although lawsuits would challenge the recess appointments unilaterally engineered by Trump, the bigger point is that the move would drop all pretense of a president bound by the rule of law.

Whatever the Framers thought they were doing with the recess appointments and the adjournment clause, none of them believed those clauses could be manipulated to strip the Senate of its constitutional obligation to review presidential nominations.

If Trump manages to remove the Senate’s advice and consent role from the Constitution, he will sow the seeds of his quick undoing.

As I write, it appears that the nominations of Matt Gaetz, Pete Hegseth, and Robert Kennedy are in trouble—at least if they go through the Senate confirmation process.

We can help keep up the pressure by notifying our Senators and Representatives that we oppose the nominations of Gaetz, Hegseth, Kennedy, and Gabbard. See Jessica Craven’s Chop Wood Carry Water for a word script and link to phone numbers. Chop Wood, Carry Water 11/14.

There are two other themes that deserve mention as we head into the weekend.

The first is the stand-alone injury to women across America who hoped that the 2024 election would be a major step to re-establishing their status as equal citizens under the Constitution. Few opinion writers or journalists have mentioned that the re-election of Trump has dashed those hopes—at least for another four years.

Mother Jones has addressed the issue of the election’s impact on women in its article, Of Misogyny, Musk, and Men by Clara Jeffrey. The article runs under the sub-header “Women are not okay. We’re furious.”  

For all of the punditry analyzing the reason for Democrats’ loss on November 5, almost none of them mention the Trump campaign’s explicit appeal to sexism among young men. Any pundit who purports to analyze the reasons for Kamala Harris’s loss and does not list misogyny among the top three reasons is running cover for Trump—whether they intend to or not.

The second issue is the unrelenting tidal wave of pundit analyses that seek to assign blame for the Democratic loss. Spoiler alert: The reason is (allegedly) that Democrats are “liberal elitists” who ignored the working class.

The above analysis is both wrong and lazy. But even if it were accurate, it beggars belief that journalists and pundits are wasting their time assigning blame at the very moment that Trump “is slouching toward Bethlehem” in the manner of the “rough beast” in The Second Coming.1

If the above metaphor is too obscure for a Saturday morning, here is another: Imagine that we are on an oil drilling platform in the North Sea. A fire has started in the galley and threatens to engulf the entire platform. What is the better course of action? To argue over who is responsible for starting the fire in the galley or to work on extinguishing the fire?

It is appropriate and necessary to understand how and why Democrats fell short in 2024. But to do so at a time when we are stranded on a burning platform is suicidal. Assigning blame may fill column inches but it corrodes unity. The legacy media is failing us.

And yet, readers cannot resist the temptation to forward articles to me with the thesis, “Democrats are liberal elitists who got what they deserved.” I get a dozen such emails a day (often multiple duplicates of the latest from NYT or WaPo). I have received hundreds since November 5.

Amplifying such articles merely compounds the journalistic malpractice of the legacy media. We should not give them oxygen. They invite disputation and discord. They are inimical to our prime objective: Resist the efforts of the Trump administration to erode the rule of law.

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

[goldenlionprince]

Jilypad Week 2024 - Day 2

New to Jilypad Week: What Headcanons do you have for this ship? IE, things like, James made the first move or Sirius got James into crosswords. Anything really.

Lily and Sirius are gossipers. Lily because she loves to be in the know, Sirius because he likes to know what other people around him know – especially if they might catch onto some things they should not know about (or so he claims). They totally have coffee and gossip dates.

Lily's respect for Sirius grew immensely when she heard he had run away from home to separate himself from his family's views. She didn't let him know, of course.

Sirius and Lily became friendly first before she and James became closer. Their first Runes lesson in sixth year she walked in and kind of panicked because since their third year she was always sitting next to Severus – something she could not do now. So she plopped into the first free seat without much thinking, right next to Sirius. Of course they were partnered for rune transcription homework right after, but that actually forced her to spend some time around Sirius Black – and where Sirius is, there is James, of course - and they weren't that bad after all.

Lily asked James out in seventh year. She was also the one suggesting that the three of them could be a thing. She knew James and Sirius are a package deal from the start, just not how much that would be true in the end.

A real friendship and opening up on both sides between Lily and Sirius happened after Lily and James started dating. They were both important to James and both here to stay and both curious about the “Why does the person I like so much likes YOU so much? What's so special about you?” So they tried – for James at first – but wouldn't you know it they have more in common than they first thought.

They totally bond over complicated sibling relationships.

Lily feels like she can talk to Sirius about her complex feelings towards Severus and their friendship break up too without being judged. He might not be Severus' biggest fan but he understands loyalty in a way that is not as black and white as James often sees the world.

Lily and Sirius love to argue about magical theory, especially charms. It's a remnant of their academic rival days. While it drove Lily up a wall once, she's now very much enjoying herself. It's their way of flirting, really. James could add to the discussion but he rather watches them with hearty eyes.

Competency kink, all of them

Lily is more into Quidditch than Sirius. They both don’t play though.

They do stay up all night with James to go though possible Quidditch strategies though (ties right back into the competency kink, really)

They sometimes go flying together. Lily joins Sirius on the bike, James takes his broom, and they race each other.

Lily loves Potions, James really enjoys it once he finds some motivation, Sirius doesn't really like it (he finds it boring) but he's their plant guy

James is left-handed. When they fight together he and Sirius usually end up back to back, wands pointing into the same direction, while Lily has their backs

[wesleysniperking]

Straw Hats and their superhero counterparts 🦸

I know not everyone is into comparing One Piece characters to superheroes, but I see some fascinating parallels:

Luffy and Superman: Both Luffy and Superman hail from a lineage destined for greatness, inheriting extraordinary power that sets them apart. Superman’s real name, Kal-El, and Luffy’s middle name, "D.," both carry significant weight in their worlds, symbolizing their roles in shaping their destinies. A key reason the Justice League was formed was because Superman tried to save everyone alone, only to realize he couldn’t be everywhere at once, leading to exhaustion and self-doubt. Luffy experienced a similar lesson—learning that his true strength comes from relying on his crew. Both heroes demonstrate that even the mightiest need support to achieve their goals. Edit: Luffy and Superman are both symbolically connected to the sun.

Zoro and Green Lantern: Samurai follow a strict code of honor, and Green Lanterns operate under a code of willpower and responsibility. Hal Jordan, like Zoro, may come off as a stickler for rules, but this stems from a deep sense of duty. Both characters wield powerful tools—Zoro with his swords and Green Lantern with his ring—that rely on their personal strength and rigorous training. Their abilities are enhanced by their unwavering commitment to their respective codes. Additionally, Green Lantern’s trust in Superman over Batman reflects Zoro’s loyalty and trust in Luffy, showcasing how both characters value leadership and vision in those they follow. Edit: Both Zoro and Hal Jordan have been described by some fans as having "no personality" because they often come across as stoic, serious, and primarily driven by their goals.

Usopp and Batman: Batman stands out in the Justice League as one of the few members without superpowers, relying instead on his intellect, gadgets, and relentless training. This is a perfect parallel to Usopp within the Straw Hat crew—often outmatched in terms of raw power, but never in resourcefulness or strategy. The comparison between Usopp and Batman is so strong that whenever Usopp’s battle with Luffy in Water 7 comes up, it’s often likened to a Batman v. Superman fight. Both characters lack traditional powers but make up for it with their smarts and sheer determination. Batman’s choice to embrace his fear of bats is similar to Usopp facing his own fears, particularly when dealing with foes like Perona and Sugar, who could easily fit into Batman’s rogues' gallery. Edit: Both Batman and Usopp face villains that are specifically designed to challenge their particular skill sets.

Sanji and The Flash: Both Sanji and The Flash have the meta-genetics angle locked down. Sanji, noted as the second fastest Straw Hat, can run on water, harness fire with his kicks, and is genetically enhanced—all traits that make him a natural parallel to The Flash. Depending on which Flash we’re talking about—Barry Allen or Wally West—Sanji also shares traits like compassion, moodiness, humor, and flirtatiousness. Both characters are deeply motivated by a desire to protect those they care about, and their abilities, though seemingly simple, are pushed to extraordinary limits. Just as The Flash turns his speed into a powerful force, Sanji’s leg-based combat and genetic enhancements make him a formidable fighter. Edit: Both of them have been struck by lightning, which also contributed to their abilities.

As for Nami, I’m still pondering who she might correlate with, but I’m sure there’s a fitting match out there. Just sharing some musings—it’s fun to explore these connections!

[velocitysedge-if]

"Velocity's Edge" dives into the riveting world of Formula 1, following the journey of you ,an enigmatic young driver, as they navigate the twists and turns of the racing circuit. Fueled by a mysterious past and an insatiable desire for victory, your rise to prominence is punctuated by intense rivalries, unexpected alliances, and a series of heart-pounding races that push both the limits of the track and the depths of your own character.

As the adrenaline-soaked story unfolds, secrets are unveiled, loyalties are tested, and the pursuit of the checkered flag takes on a life of its own, propelling the characters toward the finish line which is only the beginning of the ultimate race.

⚐ Customizable MC: choose your name, nickname, appearance, gender, and pronouns.

⚐ Romance: 5 males, 4 female, and 2 possible poly route.

⚐ If you don’t want romance, you could just make friends with everyone, or the opposite.

⚐ Win the race...that's all that matters.

Kieran "Kie" Patel

- Age: 27

- Nationality: British-Indian

- Role: Data Analyst

- Description: Kieran Patel is a brilliant British-Indian data analyst who plays a crucial role in analyzing race data and optimizing strategy for your racing team. His expertise lies in deciphering complex telemetry data and providing real-time insights to help the team make informed decisions during races. Kieran's calm demeanor and analytical mindset make him an asset in high-pressure situations. His unique perspective as a data-driven thinker often leads to innovative strategies that give his team a competitive edge.

Elena "El" Petrova

- Age: 25

- Nationality: Russian

- Role: Motorsport Journalist

- Description: Elena Petrova is a passionate and determined Russian motorsport journalist who covers Formula 1 races for a popular international publication. Armed with a deep knowledge of the sport and an insatiable curiosity, Elena strives to capture the human stories behind the races. She's always on the lookout for exclusive interviews and behind-the-scenes glimpses that provide fans with a deeper understanding of the drivers and the sport. Elena's engaging storytelling style and dedication to her craft make her a respected voice in the motorsport journalism community.

Diego "Flash" Ramirez

- Age: 28

- Nationality: Brazilian

- Role: Social Media Manager

- Description: Diego Ramirez is an energetic and creative Brazilian social media manager who handles the online presence of your racing team. He's a master of crafting engaging social media content that connects with fans on a personal level. Diego's enthusiasm and knack for viral marketing campaigns have significantly increased the team's online following. He's known for his quick wit, pop culture references, and ability to turn even the most mundane moments into captivating social media stories. Diego plays a vital role in shaping the team's image and engaging with fans worldwide.

Mia "Pitstop" Reynolds

- Age: 29

- Nationality: American

- Role: Chief Mechanic

- Description: Mia Reynolds is a skilled and resourceful American chief mechanic who oversees the pit crew for your racing team. She's known for her lightning-fast pit stops and impeccable attention to detail. Mia's journey to becoming a chief mechanic was marked by overcoming gender stereotypes and proving herself in a male-dominated environment. She has a no-nonsense attitude, a strong work ethic, and a deep passion for getting the team's cars back on track as quickly as possible during races.

Jean-Luc "JL" Dubois

- Age: 45

- Nationality: French

- Role: Veteran Commentator

- Description: Jean-Luc Dubois, commonly referred to as "JL," is a charismatic and knowledgeable French commentator who has been covering Formula 1 races for decades. With a distinctive voice and a knack for providing insightful analysis, JL has become a beloved figure among fans worldwide. He's known for his catchphrases and colorful storytelling that bring the excitement of the race to life. JL's passion for the sport is infectious, and his commentating style adds an extra layer of excitement and engagement for viewers tuning in to the races.

Alex "Ace" Walker

- Age: 28

- Nationality: British

- Role: Formula 1 Driver

- Description: Alex Walker is a talented and charismatic British Formula 1 driver known for his incredible racing instincts and daring overtakes. He comes from a modest background and had to fight his way up through the ranks to reach Formula 1. He's known for his quick wit, sense of humor, and unbreakable determination. Ace is deeply passionate about racing, always seeking the thrill of competition and constantly pushing his limits on the track. His signature move is a fearless dive into the inside line during tight corners, earning him the nickname "Ace" among fans and fellow racers.

Sofia "Slick" Martínez

- Age: 26

- Nationality: Spanish

- Role: Rival Formula 1 Driver

- Description: Sofia Martínez is a fierce and calculating Spanish driver who is considered one of the main rivals to Alex "Ace" Walker. She's known for her strategic racing style, which involves preserving tires and fuel to make a late-race surge. Slick comes from a family with a rich motorsport history, and she's determined to continue their legacy. Her quiet confidence and ability to remain composed under pressure often unnerve her competitors. While her relationship with Ace starts as a rivalry, it evolves into a complex dynamic as they gradually gain respect for each other's skills and determination.

Max "Maxy" Nguyen

- Age: 24

- Nationality: Vietnamese-American

- Role: Up-and-Coming Rookie Driver

- Description: Max Nguyen is a young and enthusiastic Vietnamese-American driver making his debut in the Formula 1 scene. He's known for his fearless approach to racing, often pushing the limits of his car's capabilities. His eagerness sometimes leads to impulsive decisions on the track, but his raw talent is undeniable. Nitro's bubbly personality and infectious energy make him a favorite among fans and media, and he quickly becomes a rising star in the sport.

Isabella "Izzy" Williams

- Age: 32

- Nationality: Australian

- Role: Team Principal

- Description: Isabella Williams is a former Formula 1 driver from Australia who retired due to a career-ending injury. After her retirement, she founded her own racing team, determined to lead it to victory. That team is yours. Izzy is known for her strategic thinking, meticulous attention to detail, and unyielding dedication to her team. She's a respected figure in the paddock, often navigating the challenges of team management in a male-dominated industry. Her strong leadership inspires her team to constantly strive for excellence.

Luca Moretti

- Age: 50

- Nationality: Italian

- Role: Veteran Race Engineer

- Description: Luca Moretti is a seasoned Italian race engineer with decades of experience in Formula 1. He's known for his encyclopedic knowledge of race tracks and car mechanics. His calm demeanor and deep understanding of the sport make him a highly sought-after engineer. Luca has worked with numerous legendary drivers over the years and now finds himself mentoring Max "Maxy" Nguyen as the young rookie's race engineer. He often provides valuable guidance and insights both on and off the track.

____________________________________

ASKS WELCOME

[marvelstars]

Star Wars and Codes of honor

I believe it would do fans well to remember George Lucas took inspiration to built the Jedi Order from old Samurai inspired movies in which bushido was practiced by the Samaurai in ancient Japan, as well as the fact that the one character who talks about compassion being central to a Jedi´s life is Anakin himself, while other Jedi give more importance to their alingment to the lightside, lack of attachment and loyalty to the republic.

I say this because the story is more clear that way. I don´t belive given the way the Jedi were pictured, that they seek to redeem Anakin/Vader at any point while he was alive, Yoda´s exact Orders to Obi-Wan post Anakin´s attack on the temple were to execute him "take him out of his misery" and Obi-Wan didn´t left Anakin burning alive on Mustafar out of compassion, he did it because he saw that as a fitting punishment and he truly believed Vader would not survive it. Their words in relation to Vader also confirm this in the OT, he is an inhuman half machine/man who needs to be stopped and when Luke told them he wasn´t going to kill his father they didn´t deny those were their intentions when they trained Luke and the reason why they keep hidden his father´s identity from Luke to make it easier for him to kill him.

All of this doesn´t make much sense with Anakin´s words about compassion being central to a Jedi´s life but it makes all the sense in relation to bushido, which is all about the samurai code of honor which asks for the Master to deal with their pupil in case those use their knownledge to walk a path outside this code of honor. In this instance Vader´s death was Obi-Wan´s and Yoda responsibility as masters of their school technique from which Vader was a member, responsibility they passed on to Luke.

Vader´s reaction to Luke being weaponized to kill him and his master is total acceptance, Vader wasn´t surprised at all by the fact his old Jedi Masters tried to kill him using his own Son, he only thought that was a good strategy on their part, a strategy that he needed to dissolve so he could make his own alliance with Luke to bring down the Emperor.

Sith and Jedi are like two opposed Samurai schools from this pov so confrontation, kill or be killed mentality is central in the interactions between alive Obi-Wan/Yoda and Darth Vader/Palpatine across the saga.

Luke is the one who brings back the idea of compassion(which Anakin believed at first, compassion = "unconditional love") aceptance and the oportunity for another choice for his father, which Vader took when Luke´s life was on the line and he accepted his own death as an honorable way of trying to make up for some of what he did.

But outside of fanfic, I dont see an alive Obi-Wan/Yoda making peace with a redeemed Vader and viceversa, because Anakin may understand their logic in trying to destroy him but their manipulation of Luke would be something harder for him to forgive as good as their reasons or as big as their desperation were.