#formula suave

[curlymangue]

Desodorante Sanex. La elección, de la editora

Escoger un buen desodorante, es tan importante como escoger tu crema corporal. Photo by Samson Okeniyi on Pexels.com Hola curly. El desodorante Sanex, es uno de mis desodorantes favoritos. Y te preguntarás, ¿por qué? La razón es simple. Es de los más completos que he encontrado en las tiendas. Aparte, de ser en stick o en barra como lo llamo yo. Lo que convierte su aplicación en algo muy…

[anachronistic-falsehood]

every time i get into a new media i end up thinking of a teen beach movie au for it. i never do anything w these aus but there r so fun 2 just play with in my head like barbies <3

[biolumien]

hello!! I loved your rooftop smoke fic so much oh my goodness could I ask for literally anything hoshina I would love to read more of your works... It would make my day if hoshina fell first/if he was the one hopelessly in love but anything that is easier to write for you I would love to read

ALSO PLS FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS IF ITS NOT EXACTLY IT FOR U!!! TYSM IN ADVANCE

notes: bwahhhh omg… thank you for liking my first work…  i havent written hoshina before… but uh. i hope this is good. same reader-insert from last time for this one too!

hoshina falls first (or tries not to, because to love is to be known)

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader i turned it into kind of a character study, forgive me word count: 1103

let’s get this right off the bat, to clear any misconceptions. hoshina’s not a romantic. he doesn’t fall for anyone first. he’s built up the demeanor of a sly, wily little fox not because he wanted to, but because he had to. tread lightly around others, and they will never know what lies in your heart, the insecurities that bubble and eat at you alive. never let them know how you feel, because as soon as your inherent, weak-willed intent is shown, you’ll be devoured alive.

well.

that’s what hoshina tells himself, anyway. 

it’s what he has to remind himself of constantly when he sees you.

you’re not allowed, he reminds himself, to get under his skin. not in any mean way, not in the way where you play up his insecurities–except you do, don’t you? you don’t mean to, but he gets the impression that if he were conventionally stronger, more impressive, that he’d deserve your attention, the small smile that crosses your lips and lights up your eyes when you see him, the faint exhale of breath when you see him–he’d deserve that if he were better. if he were just simply better, he’d deserve it. he’d feel worthy of it.

hoshina’s not a romantic.

he signed up for a line of very dangerous, practically suicidal work knowing it might mean the death of him.

all to prove that he was worth something.

he’s not the ashes you throw away, he’s a brilliant ball of fire, can’t you see–but he needed to prove that he could shine alone, under his own merit. he didn’t need anyone, except he needed mina to get him into the third division anyway. 

he didn’t need you, except he kept making excuses to get close to you, and not even in any particular suave way. hoshina practically pines for your affections and attention, but the key thing about it is that he refuses, in a way that’s either very cute or insanely frustrating, to make it seem like he’s making the first move. fleeting kisses he shared with you, he never properly initiated himself–he’d stand there, make a big show of leaving, and you’d pulled him by the collar to kiss him. 

but at the very least you seem to be accommodating about it, in any case. you sometimes end up preparing him a cup of tea when you go on break, as if instinctually expecting him.

hoshina wonders if he’s pavlov’s dog in this case–drawn by you, trained to behave around you.

he doesn’t know how he feels about it.

“you keep coming here,” you say to him one day in the lab. at your desk is a wide variety of papers–notes on chemical formulas for bullets, the blueprints for one of mina’s new absurdly-large guns shoved haphazardly under a stack of notebooks, a coffee cup clasped between your hands, and you blow some of the fresh steam off. “i’m starting to think the captain’s going to find you slacking off.”

there’s a sardonic smile on your lips, but hoshina’s gotten better at reading you. you’re happy to see him–he can see it in the tiny way you fidget a little bit when he takes the spare coffee mug from your desk, finding it full of coffee already. does he feel his face softening, his drawn-up shoulders relaxing? no, surely not. he’s better than that. he won’t be influenced by you–and yet. and yet. 

“you have a lock on your door if you don’t want to be disturbed,” hoshina says simply, taking a sip of the coffee. black with a single spoonful of sugar in it, because as much as it was impressive to drink your coffee purely black, hoshina quite frankly couldn’t take it. and he’d built as much a complex around that, too, as if a simple coffee preference might define how worthy he is of love. respect. the works. he watches you, sees dark under-eyes from days of restless work and the writer’s bump on your middle finger, and feels his heart squeeze.

god, he hates it. does he? does he hate it? is he insecure about that? does he hate that he doesn’t hate it? does he hate that by pining for you, by forcing his way into your life, that he’s created the rumblings of his own downfall? no. the worst part of it all is that he can’t hate you. can’t hate the way you watch him, and he wonders if you’re watching him the same way he observes you–like a prey animal, almost, twitchy and nervous, in an attempt to grasp at feeble understanding. 

“if you keep coming back here, i’m going to assume you’re in love with me,” you say.

and you have no idea what those words do to him, really. you don’t know, because hoshina has learned to obscure most of his emotions, at the very least. 

so why does his face feel so hot?

“hm.”

he can’t even come up with a proper retort. you’re staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for the classic hoshina quip–a cackle or giggle, a casual slap on the table with a you wish! attached to it. but it doesn’t come. hoshina stands there, gagged for a moment–and suddenly his grip on his coffee cup feels a little weak.

“hoshina.”

he wishes the smile on your lips didn’t trigger some gut instinct of delight in him.

he’s better than this, damn it. he’s better than this.

your smile quirks up the corners of your cheeks, and there’s something like a shy flush across your skin. and–

“i wish i could take a picture of your face right now,” you say. “you look like you’re coming down with something.”

hoshina scoffs, the sound a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be.

“you wish,” he says. 

“so are you?” you press. “in love with me?”

hoshina stares at you–there’s a sudden tightness in your shoulders that wasn’t there before–you’re worried about his answer. and despite it all–his bravado, his hatred of the mere idea that he might rely on someone else–that he would ever need someone to know his heart, that he might be cowed and tamed like a dog–

he loves you.

he doesn’t want you to be worried about the surety of his answer.

“yeah,” he says. “i love you.” and when that sudden tightness in your body language disappears, he finally finds the strength to quip, “just don’t faint over me, alright?” 

and when you reach out to hit his shoulder, he grasps you by the wrist and pulls you in to kiss you.

[myysaints]

hi i hope you’re doing okay! i wanted to know if it’s possible to request something with carlos where he had this crush on y/n who’s a famous actress or singer and is a complete mess when he gets to meet her at a grand prix

thanks if you do it and ps i love your work!!

°˖ ⊹ ꒰ CS55 ꒱ MORE THAN JUST A CRUSH ─ CARLOS SAINZ

CARLOS SAINZ x f!singer!reader

⌗︙・ summary — your first appearance at the miami grand prix turns heads – catching the eye of one particularly enthusiastic driver in red.

genre — fluff, socmed au, fc: sabrina carpenter

notes — hi anon!! i am doing okay thank u for asking 🌷 and thank you for the ADORABLEEEEEE request!!! love the idea of carlos being this cool suave guy and just utterly melting lol. thank you for your kind words of support <3 hope i did your request justice! (also thinking of making a pt 2 hehe)

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yourusername

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yourusername    miami i am in u ❤️🤰

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user    literally a goddess

user    we need the album !!!!!!!

user    LMFAOOO the caption she is so unserious i love it

user    mother getting a good rest after a SMASHING world tour, deserved ✨

user    y/n going straight to miami after finishing her asia world tour is so random lol 😭😭

user1    i heard she’s going to the f1 race this weekend, maybe that’s why shes there user2    ohhh, makes sense ig. is she even a fan though? user3    dunno, but a ferrari driver liked her pic so good enough i guess 🤣

revealmoi

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revealmoi    UPDATE: The people anon are referring to are NOT Taylor Swift and Fernando Alonso. Lol.

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user    The way Deux had to say that the blind isn’t about TSwift and Alonso LOL

user    “Fast Times” – Y/N L/N’s newest single. “Blonde songstress” – Definitely L/N. “Spicy individual” – ?

user1    the chili emoji was so random lol user2    has to be carlos sainz, smooth operator and chili are both his nicknames user3    hmmm but anon would have specified if the spicy indiv was a driver right? i feel like that’s pretty big info to leave out

user    not carlos liking the post HELLO?????

user    no way this is about carlos and y/n, he doesn’t even follow her 😭

user4    he likes almost all her posts though user5    lmfao liking posts but not following, that’s even shadier imo 💀💀

user    idk man i’m just glad that my girl y/n is finally getting the appreciation she deserves 👑

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2023 C² Challenge | Music Challenge with Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz

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You knew attending a Formula 1 Grand Prix would be hectic – after all, you had just ended the Asian leg of your world tour, and Miami was always swarming with press – but you did not expect just how chaotic things would get.

“It’s great being here!” You flashed a bright smile to Martin Brundle, who was currently following you around the pitlane as apart of Sky Sports’s coverage. “Obviously, I’m here to support Ferrari, who have so kindly invited me this weekend, but I’m just really excited to feel the energy and watch the race.”

Martin nods, a sly smile creeping onto his face. “I just have to ask, out of pure curiosity, of course: Is it true that Carlos Sainz personally invited you to attend this weekend’s race?”

You laugh, casting a nervous look to your publicist, who shakes her head with a stern look. You turn back to Martin and the camera, an apologetic look on your face as you recite the statement your agency has prepared for you. “I really don’t know much, it was Ferrari’s PR team who reached out to me, after all. So, whatever the rumours say, just know I’m as clueless as you are!”

That gets a laugh out of Martin, at the very least, and you think that he’s about to leave you alone. However, unfortunately for you, you’ve just reached the Ferrari garage, and are greeted by the sight of none other than Carlos Sainz himself standing at the entrance, chatting with his engineer.

Your publicist almost immediately motions for you to step aside, but Martin is one step ahead of her as he grabs your arm, tugging you along with him as he makes a beeline towards the Spaniard.

“You know what – Why don’t we ask the man himself?” he grins deviously, steadfastly making his way into the Ferrari garage.

You stutter out weak protests, casting doubtful looks to your publicist. But she merely sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, gesturing for you to go ahead with Martin. You shrug, following Martin into the Ferrari garage. Not that you have much of a choice – the presenter seems unshakeable as he heads towards Carlos, who has his back turned, blissfully unaware of the chaos approaching him.

“Carlos! Carlito! My man!”

The Ferrari driver grins, whipping around as Martin claps a hand on his back. “Martin! What brings you to the gara-”

As his gaze shifts from Martin to you, his voice trails off. Time seems to slow – A red heat spreads across his face, and he ducks his head down in a fit of sudden coughs. You stand by Martin’s side with a small smile, extending your hand to offer him a water bottle.

“You okay?” you ask with a teasing smile.

Carlos nods furiously, a large hand reaching out to take the water bottle from you. His fingertips brush yours as he does so, and butterflies erupt in your stomach. He blushes harder at the brief moment of contact, turning his face away from you as he gulps down the water, still spluttering.

Amidst a few weak coughs, he grits out, “Choked on my spit,” before clearing his throat, raising his head to flash you a shy smile.

Martin sends you a knowing smirk, chuckling lowly. “Come on, what happened to being the ‘Smooth Operator’, huh?”

You roll your eyes playfully, returning Carlos’s meek smile with a bright grin. “Oh, lay off him, Martin.”

Turning to Carlos now, you extend your hand with what you hope is your friendliest smile, “Nice to meet you, Carlos! I’m Y/N.”

“I know,” he blurts out, all too quickly. His cheeks flush red, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “I mean, yeah, I know... ‘Cause, well, I like your music. It’s really good.”

Martin cuts in, microphone in hand, “So, Carlos, word ‘round here is that you were the one who campaigned for Y/N to be invited. Is that true?”

Carlos rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, suddenly averting his eyes and avoiding your gaze as he smiles shyly. “I don’t know who told you that… I’ll need to have a chat with the team about adding more privacy clauses in their contracts next time.”

You giggle, and that makes his head snap towards you. “Nothing, nothing, ignore me. That was just hilarious.”

“Ignore you?!” Martin exclaims, practically shoving you towards the Ferrari driver, whose eyes have now almost doubled in size. “Oh, come on, you youngsters. Get to know each other! This isn’t the 1920s, you don’t need an old geezer like me to chaperone you all the time. Get chattin’!”

You send Carlos a teasing smile, to which he shyly returns.

“Well, Carlos,” you bump his hip playfully, “How ‘bout a tour of the garage?”

He nods, leaping up and offering you his hand, ever the gentleman. “Of course, it’d be my pleasure.”

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yourusername    newintown.jpg (#forzaferrari)

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carlossainz55    That camera looks familiar…🤨

yourusername    drop the .jpg account then we’ll talk user    LOL shes so real for that

user    the forza ferrari hashtag ajdfgshdf shes a true tifosi to the core

yourusername    always! ❤️🌶

landonorris    Ayo where’d that ring come from carlossainz55?

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landonorris    Nice meeting you Y/N!

landonorris    Friendship bracelets (and rings) are always welcome ❤️ carlossainz55    Blocking you. yourusername    reporting you. landonorris    😭😭😭 WHAT’D I DOOOOOOOO

user    NEW JPG ACCOUNT INCOMING???????

user    the way carlos literally manifested this LMFAO

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user    excuse me ms l/n but WHO is that on the third slide !!!!!!

user1    carlos sainz user2    NO WAY…. user3    and another one bites the dust…

user    carlos never beating the simp allegations i fear

user    “To new friends”…. i remember…..

user    i smell a new wag in townnnnnnn !

yourusername    just friends, don’t make it weird please 🤍 user4    LOLLL GIRL YOU TELL EM

user    i know carlos was crying after seeing y/n’s just friends comment lmfao

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[girldriveroscar]

CRACKS KNUCKLES heres some parasocial nonsense. pls dont take too serious im just being silly.

insp by @inchidentally the 814 essay GOAT… Hi.

Okyeah analyzing this video and recent posts.

So Like. oscar piastri being the normalTm guy whos still w his hs sweetheart, wears graphic tees and beat up af1s and still vacations w the guys he grew up w, who was actually kinda socialized (as well as any other well-off posh kid who’s parents could afford the luxury of fucking them off to boarding school i digress).. but like, he played pranks w the Lads and got congratulatory slaps on the back, his first crushes wer probs navigated in small talk during class and walking together in the halls? generally just a guy who balanced his social life and Career to Some relatively healthy degree so it’s not like Completely foreign to him how to talk to girls and make friends. and so he gets that building an intimate relationship w someone is mostly just hanging out, experiencing new food tgthr, new movies, walking around a new city, he just gives such a NORMAL GUY answer of a perfect date, and i think part of being socialized the way he was gave him the understanding that grandiose gestures of love kinda just come off as disingenuous. oscar jus reads as a guy whos never resorted to showboating bc his introduction to romance was just like anyone else, awkward shuffling and bonding on the weekends over pizza and homework. and even as a formula 1 RACE WINNER GUY W MONEY hiiiiii, he still has such a cute simple recipe for a perf date bc hes been through it. he knows how to court someone bc it worked and its been working!!!

then on the flip u have THE peacock tm, shirt unbuttoned so low might as well forgo it atp, lando norris whos perfect date idea is hi, (wtf.) YACHT. and sex (exhibitionist freak. sorry who said that…) like boyyyy oh my god shakes him by the shoulders u are so not normal. lando norris, who’s always ben a little comfier than his peers growing up. always out of place bc his dads pockets were Open and Ready to ensure he never had to worry about pinching pennies in a spar for some chips after class Yeah and he doesnt even know it bc thats NEVER been his life? yeaaa and add in a dash of Always being on the race track, never rly socializing w. girls or boys who weren’t in direct competition w him, turning 19 and immediately being sized up to his older hyper-masculine charming And sexy teammate. (getting carried away mb)

lando himself explaining that having to grow up so fast and be a good boy (His words.) prevented him from finding his footing in social settings and only now being able to experience these things at 23/24?!

i digress now also factor in his (alleged…) favorite movie is a silly romcom?! (also maybe just peacocking tho bc “girls love a guy w a soft side” and lando wld know bc he watched one movie about it…. like srsly u want me to believe the hangover and stepbrothers belong in the same category as Romcom u dont rmbr the name of okk weirdo)

so yea of course a boy who’s never passed notes to his crush in class, never asked anyone to a dance, never pulled pranks w his schoolmates, Understands intimacy thru cheesy romcoms an weekends emptying his dads wallet on flights to wtv racing event. LIKE OF COURSE he thinks romance is wtv he can mimic from A. how his dad showed him love (…$$..) and B. what the movies r saying ! (thats socially repressed twin.) AND THE GAG OF IT ALL!!!! is he thinks he is so suave so playboy, “i have sex and let me announce about it publicly in case u doubted it” when the reality of it is like? dude u are thirst-liking instagram models while oscar is Getting it every night ur such a loser omfg.

just Like. Ugh the juxtaposition of oscar whos so secure in himself in his dad shorts and ANKLE socks and lando who just grew out of his awkwardness in his early 20s and now Needs to slut himself out to make up for lost time.

(AND. the double gag is landos still so obviously not secure abt the fact he Doesnt Really Know what hes doing that every one can see it ouhmygodd lando x chernobyl levels of imposter syndrome u are so complicated and angsty U TEENAGE GIRL. holds a can of diet coke to his lips. there there girl. there there.)

[mothmans-side-ho]

Armand called Lestat a clown in the most round about way

s2e3 hot wired the two passions in my brain into this info dump, however seeing as a central theme of this episode (and the season) is power, status, and their subversions, it seems relevant. for context, I have 2 degrees in theatre, specifically theatre history and how trends effect form. (I am in no way an expert though, and this is very simplified). long story short, I'm relishing in being a big ol nerd about this entire season

FINALLY, we got to see Lestat (a version of) strutting his stuff on stage in a scene with peak commedia dell'arte shenanigans. Commedia dell'arte is/was an originally Italian form of theatre which was defined by lazzi (comedic bits), improv, and stock characters. these stock characters have been around from Roman times and are still super familiar to us today - the young lovers, the pervy old rich man, the soldier with bravado, etc. It's been seen as a somewhat formulaic form of theatre which relied on quickly identifiable characters and situations so audiences can sit back and enjoy the butt jokes and servant beatings.

In the book - specifically The Vampire Lestat - our beloved Lestat RELISHES in playing a character called Lelio, one of the young lovers. It is in playing Lelio that he "found a tongue for verses and wit [he]'d never had in life" (TVL pg 31). It is in playing Lelio that Lestat first gets a taste of the person he can become, and it is in Lelio that we see the first glimpses of the Lestat which so fully seduces Louis. In short, Lestat casts himself as the suave and handsome romantic protagonist, here to sweep people off their feet. The young lovers are also notably some of the only roles portrayed without masks, to emphasize their youth and natural beauty.

SO IMAGINE MY SURPRISE WHEN LESTAT SHOWS UP IN S2E3 DRESSED LIKE THIS:

He has a half mask! He's wearing all sorts of colors! He's clearly acting as a go between between two other characters who seem to be of a higher status than him! As I said before, commedia dell'arte can be very formulaic (especially by the late 1700s when it is being codified away from being improv focused to being cemented into scripts). From all of these visual and characterization clues, Lestat is not playing Lelio the young lover, he's playing a Harlequin! And his costume seems to be heavily based off of this Harlequin (Arlecchino, Arlecino, etc.) which is literally the wikipedia image of a Harlequin.

(note, if you give a fuck, this image is depicting an Arlechino from 1671, roughly 125 years before Lestat on stage. in my mind, this accounts for the changes in silhouette, styling, why Lestat doesn't wear the mask for the entirety of the performance, etc. Also, just while we're talking about costuming, I believe the late 18th Century was still a time in which actors would have been expected to provide their own costumes, which would explain why Lestat's version is made with expensive fabrics and includes cunty little details like the bow in his hair. At the very least, I can see him making looking good a priority as the owner of the theater and as...well...Lestat.)

Okay, okay, okay. Why does this matter?

Harlequins are not characters of any social status. They're servants who are quick witted enough to get into antics but stupid enough to be commanded by animalistic instincts (lust, food, you name it). The Harlequin being beaten by their master was ENORMOUSLY funny, and is the origin of the term "slapstick comedy". They a memorable iteration of clown.

In this scene, which I'm willing to bet was inspired by (if not outright) Carlo Goldoni's A Servant of Two Masters, Lestat plays a servant who interacts with two characters. One appears to be a young woman in a breeches part - another common trope of commedia performance. The other appears to be the young male lover! We see Lestat prancing between the two, seemingly facilitating some romance plot, being paid for his compliance, and doing a good ol fashioned butt lazzi. (Could he be presenting his ass for beating? Maybe.)

So why is Lestat not the young valiant lover, but instead A LITERAL CLOWN? Three potential, not conflicting, reasons. By the time Lestat is performing (mid to late 1790s, based off Armand's earlier comment about Robespierre's 1794 execution), the Harlequin characters were the most sought after roles! At this time, we are seeing the emergence of "Celebrity Culture" where audiences sought out actors for their off-stage personalities as much as their on-stage ones. This is an extremely fitting position for Lestat to fall into. Yay a semblance of historical accuracy!

Secondly, Lestat's ENTIRE ROLE in season two is to come between this season's new pair of young(ish) lovers: Louis & Armand. Lestat's function is to repeatedly detract and distract from their relationship through Dreamstat's antics (appearing at the piano calling Louis a whore, having Louis re-kill him, etc.). Additionally, simply put, Lestat (and Sam Reid as Lestat) is a lot of fun to watch. He is absolutely a stand out (if not THE stand out) of the show! His constant ability to serve cunt is often what your eye is drawn to, he pulls focus to himself, and often undercuts the more subdued, philosophical, and morose nature of others. Both on-stage and on-screen, Lestat continuously upstages his screen partners. He does kinda function as a Harlequin. But in the end, the Harlequin's antics are also what ultimately drive the young lovers together. If not for Lestat's actions, Louis and Armand would have never met nor bonded over knowing this fucked up brat prince.

But we also have to remember! This portion of the episode is presented by Armand the mind fuckery master. It is absolutely in his best interests to paint Lestat as some sort of ridiculous, lesser being driven by animalistic nature. Especially if - by extension of the metaphor - this frames he and Louis as the virtuous and optimistic young lovers, striving to cling to each other in a world of chaos. I would be EXTREMELY interested to see if, when recollected by someone else, Lestat appears in a different role or characterized differently.

Again, given the celebrity culture of the time and Lestat being himself, it is entirely believable that he would appear in the Harlequin role (Truffaldino, if this is Goldoni's Servant). However, I think it's extremely telling that in Armand's iteration of the story Lestat is not the dignified, refined, and sympathetic young romantic. He is instead a literal fucking clown.

[pinespinespinespinespines]

UM what if... Fidds met Stan during the college years when he comes to apologize to Ford. Like-

Like hear me out-

At some point while Ford is at Backupsmore and Stan had been running around the country for a couple years, (lets say 4ish yrs after Stan is kicked out?) Stan attempts to apologize to him by visiting his dorms. Ford ignores him/ calls security on him until Stan is just loitering out by the entrance with his car.

Seeing all this, Ford's kindhearted roommate Fiddleford tries to coax his friend into giving his brother a chance, to which Ford stubbornly refuses. Exasperated and pitying Stan, after a few days of this, Fiddleford approaches his roommate's twin himself.

Stan is of course not a pretty picture since he's been living out of his car, and when he sees Fiddleford he assumes it's to shoo him away. When Fiddleford instead introduces himself and apologizes for Ford, a confused Stan begins to ask questions that he would be asking his brother: how he's been, what he's studying, is he any better with girls?

After a while of this, Fiddleford begins to feel guilty about having a conversation that really should be with Ford himself, not him. He tells Stan this, and promises to find a way to convince Ford to speak to him again at least once. Stan agrees to stay in town until that happens.

Ford isnt happy when Fiddle tells him he talked to Stan. Hes a petty sore loser so hes still adamant about not seeing his brother, and grows more upset as Fiddleford sees Stan every couple days to chat/update. Without cellphones, Stan just comes by whenever and hangs out until Fiddle spots him.

Fiddleford thinks Stanley wanting to reunite with Ford endearing. He also finds Stan's, let's be honest, meat-headed suave, to be a refreshing change of pace from his roommate's constant obsession over formulas and theories.

Besides having a friend of Ford's on his side, Stan is just thrilled to have someone who listens to him and doesn't mind his company. Fiddleford even trims Stan's hair for him one time, and other little things that he sees as simple decent favors for a nice guy down on his luck, but Stan sees as the most generous things a guy's ever done for him. He's starting to feel indebted to Fiddleford, and he's not sure what to do about it other than give up on Ford and drive off so that he isn't bothering them anymore.

When Fiddleford buys some extra groceries a few days later and gives them to Stan, the poor guy has a near-panic about being a burden later that night. On a whim, because he's freaking out and that's how Stan operates, he flees the town.

A month passes before Stan feels stupid and returns to the college. He still wants to see Ford- he'll just turn down all of Fidd's kind gestures this time. Stan pulls up outside the dorms and parks, falling asleep in the driver's seat until a banging at his window startles him awake.

Fiddleford, pounding on his car window, looking mad. Uh oh. Stanley gets out of the car, expecting a well-deserved punch to the face for accepting those groceries and bailing without warning. Instead, Fidds shakes his shoulders while rambling with exasperation.

"I was THIS close to gettin' him to talk to ya, ya know that? What were you thinkin', runnin' off without a daggum word to me, makin' me think somethin' bad happ'nd- what was I s'posta tell yer brother, huh?" Etc etc while Stanley just stares blankly and let's himself get shaken for 3 minutes straight while Fiddle scolds him.

The whole time, Stan is wondering why the hell this guy is worrying over him. He's distracted when fidds tells him that Ford too was worried. Is this progress with his twin? Or did he ruin it all with his fleeing stunt?

-

UHHH God I typed so much. Much more than i thought. Idk maybe I'll have more brainrot to continue this later??

[freakyficsforfuglyvillains]

Intimacy HC’s

🪳❤️Maxime Le Mal🪳❤️

(Barely) SFW

If you ask Maxime what sort of partner he is; he would confidently describe himself as an attentive lover.

Well, if “attentive” is his way of saying “clingy,” then let’s just say: it's a very apt descriptor.

Maxime is one handsy dude. He loves physical intimacy and takes every chance he can get to show you just how much he adores you, both in private and public. Whether you want him to or not. Simply put: he has no shame.

Maxime is a suave, boisterous supervillain who does what he wants and does it in style. For him, a simple peck on the cheek just doesn’t cut it. He’d rather pepper you with smooches while he showers you with compliments, Pepe Le Pew style.

You bet he asks for “just-for-good-luck” kisses before going on heists. There have been several instances where he’s halfway out the roach-mobile when he suddenly— and loudly— gasps because he realises what he’s forgotten to do.

He’s a devastatingly good kisser. He’s got it down to a formula. Sometimes you can even tell what sort of mood he’s in based on the technique he uses. Here’s a tip; If he’s heavy with the tongue, it’s safe to assume wants to take you somewhere more private. If he bites? Oh, It’s going down. There’s no room to negotiate.

If you’re out in public with him, his hand is on some part of your body. When he doesn’t have his arm wrapped around your waist or slung over your shoulder, he’s holding your hand. You’ve noticed he’ll occasionally kiss your hand too. Especially if you’re in the presence of other villains.

Maxime might be half-roach, but he’s a cuddle-bug through and through. His hugs are beyond comfy too, thanks to his big, puffy coat. If he’s sitting down and you just happen to be within reach, he’ll just pull you into his lap. He says it’s “like fishing.“

After a particularly long day, Maxime drapes himself over you with a dramatic sigh. Before you get the chance to ask him what’s wrong, he launches into a tirade, bemoaning those who dared slight or inconvenience him. You can’t help but find it a little bit cute.

[lagerloutfic]

unsafe release | 18.2k | E | Alex Albon/George Russell | Formula 1 RPF

It’s just weird. Seeing Alex all suave and sure of himself, picking up random supermodels in swanky bars like he’s been doing it all his life. Surely Alex would have texted George between all the memes and gossip and work chit-chat that he’d up and become a bloody casanova overnight. Probably been hanging out with Lando too much, thinking he’s charming when he’s just a colossal pest.

Baby's first F1 fic. Humiliation! Foot stuff! Overuse of the word blimey! Very little driving because that's really hard, guys!

A million thanks to @crunchycrispy and @disarmd, the sweetest of freaks.

Read on ao3.

[madforhoran]

Astarion & the seductive vampire trope

"The whole idea of a bite on the neck may seem exciting to some audiences, and the dark, occult, and taboo concepts have helped keep vampires popular for so long." (x)

I'd like to bring up this banter between spawn!Astarion and Jaheira, specifically her emphasis on Astarion's non-vampiric charms.

Astarion presents himself as suave and mysterious at first, trying his seduction attempts once you reach a certain approval threshold.

The initial bite scene where Tav offers Astarion their neck is shown and described as being overtly sexual, playing heavily into “sexy vampire is sexy because he’s sexy and nothing more” fantasy. Even more so when Tav allows him to bite during sex. Astarion enjoys it, Tav enjoys it too, and it nets approval. After the sex scene he uses the cliche "I didn't want to go too far" formula, implying if he'd lose control, he could hurt you (pretty much like Edward in Twilight).

The facade cracks a bit when Tav discusses any future feeding. Even if the feeding was enjoyable on Tav’s end, he isn't very enthusiastic when Tav says "you can feed on me but let's talk about it first". Instead, he's happy and approves the suggestion of feeding on villains who are about to die anyway.

[However, you can RP this situation both ways, confirm you enjoyed it and keep the feeding option available by not going along with feeding on villains, or that it hurt and you only did it to make him stronger and agreeing with feeding on villains effectively removes "you can feed on me tonight" option from the dialogue.]

The same facade cracks fully in act 2 after the confrontation with Araj. It's an optional encounter and you don't get to experience it if you already had the confession after killing Yurgir, but it gives insight into how Astarion doesn't want to be seen as an object of someone's vampire fantasy.

"I'm sorry, you want to be bitten?"

"There's nothing more desirable than a vampire, is there?"

It’s also very obviously pointed out when Tav suggests he should be throwing himself at them as a thank you.

During the confession after Yurgir, there's a little bit more insight given how Astarion feels bad for treating Tav like one of Cazador's victims.

Act 3 is obviously the big choice where Astarion gets to decide if he remains a spawn or ascends.  Putting the morality of this aside, one choice follows and progresses Astarion's development while the other puts him back to square one.

We also need to take into account Cazador's abusive gaslighting which made Astarion think of himself as a prostitute and that he's only good for one thing - sex & luring victims.

Spawn!Astarion is the same man who in act 2 apologises for manipulating Tav and who doesn't want to use his body as a tool anymore. He professes his genuine love and suggests having sex freely without any sort of manipulative intent behind it. Tav has seen him for who he is and who he can be in the future. The graveyard scene symbolises his rebirth and a new journey.

"You believed I was enough, just the way I am."

Hence bringing up the banter with Jaheira and her mentioning “non-vampiric charms”. Tav loves the man, not the vampire. There’s no more need for performing.

ascendant!Astarion is the vampire reverted back to act 1 where his behaviour was originally just a front but has now been affirmed by ascension - that this is how he should be. He's over the top seductive, even luring Tav to become his spawn. He admits this is the game he knows how to play - luring someone with sweet words (that he continues to use after Tav becomes his spawn - lovers eternal, precious treasure, pet.)

When Tav helps Astarion ascend, what happened in act 2 doesn't matter anymore - not his personhood or boundaries. Hence dialogue options such as "I want you, I want your body" or "I want to be a vampire like you" are in there once Tav speaks to him and he asks what would they desire in return for granting him powers because he's only good for that one thing.

He becomes the vampire trope,

becomes what Cazador taught him to be.

[milesandcorysupermacy]

All jokes, mami

42!Miles Morales x Hothead!Black!Reader

Genre: Angst to fluff

Warnings: First time writing but I think it's pretty good 🤷🏾‍♀️, use of n word, cursing, Miles crying, mentions of trust issues, that's it I think

Word Bank: Hija: daughter Bien: Good Muy Bien: Very Good. Ay Dios mio: oh my God Tia: Aunt

Summary: You're having a great time with Miles, Talking about drama and laughing your ass off! But, when you go in the bathroom you find some press on nails that DAMN sure aint yours, and are WAY too dramatic to be his mom's. What do you do?

You're sitting in Miles' room. 'Neon Guts' by Lil Uzi Vert and Pharell playing in the background. You guys are doing what yall usually do, gossip about things that go on at Visions.

"Nah, that nigga was trippin', ma. In what world is it EVER ok to crease another man's forces? I'm not the issue."

Miles said in his own blissfully ignorant (hilarious) way. Talking about yet, another incident he's had within the past two weeks with the same guy, Bryson. He hates this man with everything in him. You try to get them to stick together since they're 2 of the handful of students that are minorities. But, as I said earlier, he's ignorant.

"Bae, I get that, I do. The forces were clean. Fresh out the box." You say, trailing off. Playing with your faux locs, thinking of what to say next. Trying to tread carefully because you know Bryson is a sensitive topic. He's your ex, and yall are still cool. But, Miles just NEEDS to be throwing blows with him all the time.

"But that doesn't mean you punch him in the face! A simple 'Ay watch where you goin' bro' would've worked perfectly, but now he look like a busted, lightskin, balloon." You say doing a horrible impression of Miles and his suave brooklyn accent.

Miles chuckles at your description of Bryson, deciding to add onto it.

"Nah, he don't look like no balloon. His ass look like a clown. Matter a fact, a whole ass circus, and he the star. That nigga a bitch anyway. He really think he look like Drake?Nah, bro. Yo ass look like French Montana, stop playin'. Like, Drake? Nah nigga more like Brake, because he needa pump the brakes and slow down before Plankton come and steal the secret formula for that big ass forehead! Cartoon looking ass." Miles said breaking you two out into a fit of laughter. Silent laughter. The worst kind of laughter.

The laughter where you two are just rocking back and forth on his bed, slapping each other's arms and legs, wheezing slightly, and barely gasping for air. You two calm down and you think of a joke. You gasp from realization.

"Nah, because why do he for real laugh like Mr. Krabbs?" You say laughing again. Miles starts laughing too. Snorting this time, which only adds to the excitement.

"I love how funny I made you, Mami. I'm rubbing off on you, bien. Muy Bien." Miles says in a slightly creepy way.

"Damn, I can't even get credit for being funny, Morales?" You say pretending to be offended.

"No, it's better like this." He says before giving you a peck on the cheek and putting his hand around your waist.

After like 5 mins of talking about more drama at Visions (with no laughing fits). You and Miles settle down and start cuddling. With 'Good Days' By Sza in the background. You wrap your arms around his back, with your legs on the outside of his. Miles, just laying on his back and wrapping his arms around your waist. (I hope this makes sense 😭) Cuddling in a bear hug kind of position. You guys stayed like this for about an hour, and just as you're about to doze off, unlike Miles who fell asleep 20 minutes ago. You have to pee.

You slip your hands from around his back, and try to subtly move his hands from your waist, but he woke up. Damn, getting to the bathroom is not gonna be easy with his clingy ass.

"Where ya goin', mamas?" Miles mumbles half asleep, with a raspy voice. Your heart flutters from the nickname.

'How tf does he have this affect on me, and he's half asleep?' You thought.

"Baby, I gotta pee. I'll be right back, ok?" You say trying to dumb it down since only half of his brain works at the moment.

"No, you're gonna take too long. Just stay with me, we'll get you a pamper or sum." He says gripping your waist even tighter. You usually would've given up because of how sweet he was being, but you deadass were gonna pee on yourself.

"Miles." You say sternly. He lets your waist go with a dramatic sigh, and you walk into the bathroom.

You do your business, flush the toilet, and walk over to the sink, starting to wash your hands. But- oh, what's this?

You pick up a pack of orange, rhinestone, one inch, press on nails. You don't wear press on nails. Shit, Miles would know because he pays for you to get your nails done. You feel the anger boiling inside of you. Maybe they're his mom's? No, she hates orange. It reminds her of Halloween. "The devil's holiday". You remember that's what she calls it and you start to smirk. No! You're supposed to be mad right now. You finish wiping your hands on a paper towel and throw it away. Grabbing the nails and marching into Miles' room.

You see miles on his phone, he must've been waiting for you to come back. Or texting his other ho-

"Hey, Ma-"

"Whose nails are these?" You say throwing the box at his face.

He groans and inspects the box, tilting his head in confusion. "I dunno, these seem a little too... crazy to be yours, why?" He says completely oblivious.

"Nigga" You chuckle from anger, pacing around the room. "Stop playing dumb. Miles you're not stupid, you've never been stupid. So I know you understand what pisses me off, and one of those things is lying. Imma ask you one more time, Miles Gonzalo Morales. Who's fucking nails are these?" You spat gritting your teeth during the last sentence. Miles shot up out of the bed, knowing what you were getting at. Trying to convince you with all his heart he'd never do that. This poor boy has lost enough, and he's not about to lose you to a pair of ugly ass nails.

"Mami, I promise I don't know who's nails those are, It's wild that you're even accusing me of this right now. You came over every day this week!" Miles expresses, desperately trying to give you enough evidence.

"Yea, and I always come over after school, maybe your hoes have a scheduled time for after I leave. Who is this bitch? Hm, Miles? Is it that Mexican girl on the 2nd floor, she seems like she's our age." You scream at him, sure that Rio had woken up from her post-work nap.

"Mami, I don't love anyone but you, I promise, ok? Even if I did, with all the money I spend on yo shit. You really think I have enough to buy another girl some nails?" He shouts back. Pointing to the Gucci Mini-Purse he got you for Christmas, he had saved up all year to buy it ever since he saw you eyeing it at the mall. But he could have it back now and give it to his other hoe.

"You know what? You can have this back since my only purpose is being a charity case, fuck nigga." You say taking out your keys, phone, headphones, Lip Gloss, and card out of the purse, shoving it in your pockets. Throwing the purse at him.

"Mami, you serious right now? Sit yo hot-headed ass down and listen to me, you actin' crazy!" Miles grimaced realizing what he just said already knowing your reaction.

"CRAZY?!?!?! I WILL SHOW YO ASS CRA-"

"WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE? Dios mio¡ It sounds like the real housewives in here. Hija, what did he do this time?" Rio asked.

"Mama Rio, who's nails are these?" You ask her. (She gave you permission to call her that after the 6th dinner together, don't worry)

"¡Ay! I was looking for those, they're Miles' Tia's. She came over yesterday, and was showing me them. She took them from Miles' cousin because that little mama is only 12 and does not need those." She said grabbing the nails and walking out the room to call his Tia. Leaving you and Miles in the most awkward silence. You slowly turn around to see Miles standing there. You thought he would have some sassy remark but no. His lip was starting to quiver and you knew what was next. He starts letting tears fall which surprised you.

"Papa, why are you crying?" You say walking over to hug him. Feeling the worst guilt ever.

"I....I thought you we're gonna leave me, Mami. I would *hiccup* never do something like that to you. Honestly if the roles were reversed I'd forgive you. I don't think I can even see my life without you. I'm so sorry." He says.

"Miles..." You whisper.

"It's not your fault I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. You've done nothing to prove that you're untrustworthy. I have trust issues and that's something I need to work on. Not you. I'm so sorry, baby" You say sitting down on the bed for one of the most needed cuddle sessions yall have ever had. And after a few minutes of comfortable silence, Miles breaks the ice.

"What if I just made my mom cover for me, and I am cheating on you?" He asks with a shit eating grin.

"Miles..." You warn

"All jokes, mami"

--------------------------------------------------

FIRST FIC! what'd yall think? I'll accept constructive criticism. If you have a request or a way for me to make my writing better, just send a ask!

[grayishgiggles]

Tickletober Day 2 — Chase

Lee!Grayson, Ler!Miguel

Prompt list by @tickletober / @/august-anon

“I don’t get it,” Grayson deadpanned, practically shadowed by his mentor’s figure. He played with one of his hoodie strings as he walked through one of the many cavernous hallways in HQ. And, of course, it wouldn’t be HQ without the fifty or so spider-men they had to weave through. In a way, Grayson looked like a duckling following his mother. His nearly seven foot tall scary looking mother. With claws. “Where are we going?”

“We’re gonna train.” Miguel glanced up from his watch down next to him, suddenly halting his gait. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a body bump against his back, turning sharply with a confused glare. 

“Sorry,” said Grayson, scrambling to walk parallel with him now. “Wait, is this cause of my last patrol?! I just had an off day, man, I-I didn’t think he’d be able to keep up with me.”

“Gray, chill out,” Miguel held a hand up, the smallest tinge of amusement in his voice. “You’re not in trouble. I just haven’t got my workout in today…”

“Oh, okay.”

Their footsteps filled the silence for a moment. Miguel shrugged, the glow of his suit catching Grayson’s eye. ”…and, I dunno, you make things less boring.” 

“Awww!” Grayson broke into a goofy smile, giving the bigger man an affectionate shove to the shoulder. Miguel rolled his eyes and swatted at his hand sheepishly.

 “We are gonna work on your agility, though.”

“Aw come on!”

“I don’t wanna hear your whining. I’ll make it fun, ok?” Miguel tilted his head harmlessly, eyes meeting his apprentice’s mismatched ones. 

How the hell did he get a purple eye anyway? He thought, Genetics-wise he’d have to have some sorta albinism… wait, what the hell are you talking about, O’Hara? You have red eyes. You got claws. Spider DNA does weird shit to you, too.

“What’re we gonna do then?” Grayson’s voice brought Miguel out of his head. He didn’t think that far, admittedly. He just said the “fun” thing to get the guy to stop complaining. His walking slowed with a hum, hand under chin in thought. There was the obstacle courses, robot drones, the laser field, hell, they could just patrol and practice on site.

”Bro, you’re not the thinker—“ Grayson prodded.

”Shut up.” 

Grayson let out a chuckle. Jeez, practically anything he did made the guy laugh. Really wasn’t helping his train of thought. That damn laugh… that… 

Oh.

OH!

He felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards. 

”How do you feel about a chase?” Miguel proposed, interrupting Grayson’s last chortle. “Oooh, sure! Like with one of those anomaly simulations?” 

There was a different air in his motion, suave, unalluring. Miguel stepped  in front of Grayson, effectively halting his pace. “With me.”

“Huh?!” Grayson blurted. “But that’s so unfair! I couldn’t catch you.”

“I’ll be chasing you.” Miguel corrected with a point.

A little wave of adrenaline ran through Grayson’s veins. “Uh, yeah, my point still stands.” 

“Hey, you never know till you try.” Miguel had tried  to come off as encouraging, leaning down to meet his level. “I’ll even add motivation, ok? Just don’t get caught for two minutes or else.”

The hooded spider’s face furrowed. “Or else what?” 

He could’ve just told him, honestly. Miguel could’ve, but he didn’t, because all he had to do was give him that look. A smirk, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. The classic formula. 

And as always, it worked. Grayson’s eyes expanded to the size of saucers. Little wave turned into big wave, his spider sense verifying it all. He knew the stakes. 

“You got a five second head start.” Miguel couldn’t hold back his smirk now.

“WHAT?”

“Four…”

That’s all Grayson needed to hear. The boots of his suit squeaked against the floor when he spun around, hauling it past a few concerned spider-men. Miguel watched the brown cowlick of his hair wave around like a flag, getting smaller. 

“Three… two… one…” he muttered to himself, then immediately broke into a sprint. 

“Shitshitshitshitshit!!” Grayson’s echoed expletives followed him down the hall and into the vast atrium of triangular walkways. His head spun left and right. Where now?! Does he hide out? No, that’s stupid! He can’t hide, this is for agility! 

“I see you!!”

Miguel’s voice boomed in the distance behind a crowd of spiders. No time for decision making. Grayson shot a web at a platform above, feet lifting off the ground as he swung upwards. His nimble yet steady frame wove past passerby swingers, apologizing when he nearly ran into 60’s spider-man. A futuristic THWIP caught his attention, followed by a dim red glow in the corner of his eye.

“Did you even give me five seconds?!” Grayson’s voice cracked. He yelped at the sudden thud of Miguel landing, and the thunder of his footsteps. “Oh SHIT SHIT SHIT-!”

“I gave you all five, so maybe you’re just too SLOW-!” Miguel yelled as he lunged to tackle him. Grayson ducked and rolled in time, scurrying past Miguel as he clawed the ground to change direction. He was too late, though. Grayson wasn’t on the platform anymore. 

”Dammit!”

“You ok, boss?” 

Miguel turned to see Ben Reilly, for once concerned about someone else and not his own angst. No, maybe he was just confused. Miguel didn’t care. His eyes flashed a sinister glare.

“Where did he go?”

Grayson’s gait became unsynchronized, panting all he could do. Once rounding the corner and checking behind him, he stumbled to a stop, hands on his knees. He should’ve spent more time at the gym on campus. Agility, yes, endurance, no. All the college kid could hear was his own panting. Hell, it echoed through the hall… wait, that’s weird. Where was everyone? When did a Spider Society hallway ever get quiet? 

Head turned up towards the rest of the hallway, not a single spider except him crawled through. He swallowed, taking in the ambient sound of late stage technology humming within the walls, that soft red glow accenting the trim. All he could think of was one of those hallways in Alien. 

Gingerly, he carried on with a jog. Despite no spider sense warning him, he had a bad feeling. This felt intentional. Miguel might’ve rigged this place as a trap. Who the hell knows what he could do just with the watches! The… watches. 

Grayson skidded to a stop, opening his portal watch frantically. He swiped to a hologram reading “LOCATION: ON.”

”Fuck,” he whispered, turning the feature off with a tap. His jog turned to a run. 

Careening past a few testing rooms and miscellaneous areas for hangouts, Grayson let out a chuckle of relief seeing the elevator door ahead. His light in the tunnel. Thank god!

Grayson’s gloved finger pressed the down button a few anxious times. He fidgeted in place, the humming descent of the platform growing louder by the second. He had to be passing two minutes by now. All he had to do was stay out of sight for a little longer. Easy win. 

The arrow above the door flashed with a modern ding. The platform settled to a halt, hissing out softly. The triangular doors slid open, and without question, Grayson dashed into the elevator.

Right into Miguel’s arms. 

Squeezed in a bear hug, Miguel lifted Grayson off the ground. “Gotcha!” 

“Wh-AHH! NO! No let me goho! It was two minutes! NO!”

“One minute and fifty seven seconds,” his captor corrected, the smile audible in his voice. Miguel moved with Grayson’s sudden squirming, but never budged but grabbed one of his wrists. “I don’t round up.”

“Y-You don’t gotta do this! W-We cohohould bet with food- AhAAAH!”

Grayson curled in on himself, failing to listen to his spider sense. Now there was a large hand gently pinching up and down his side. “NOHohoo!!”

“Should’ve been faster, mijo,” Miguel tutted. 

“IHIhihi DUHUhunno what that means!” He cried out with a snort, sinking in his arms. Miguel followed him, kneeling beside his victim and pinning his wrist above his head. He straddled one of his legs to keep Grayson down. 

Miguel curiously poked around his exposed side, delighted by the eruption of small giggles. He pushed his cropped hoodie up to show more of his suit. “Now, if I remember correctly… these ribs were a good spot.” He proved his claim a moment later, coaxing a laugh out of the spider-man with a light scribble to the side of his ribs. ”NOHOAhaha! Mihihiguel!!” Grayson snorted, his free arm weakly pushing against Miguel at an odd angle. “Gehet off! YohOHOu win!”

“Not yet, no,” he retorted, “you gotta get your fill of tickles, kay? It’s good for your immune system.” Grayson hated that he was right, a small blush on his cheeks followed by a stream of giggles. Miguel’s calloused fingers walked their way up to his armpit, the crop top hoodie’s sleeve doing nothing to protect him there. “EEhee!!”

“And there’s those squeaks,” Miguel recalled, like it was an old memory. His hand skipped over Grayson’s underarm, spidering right above on his bicep, eliciting a stream of bubbly giggles. “Oh, this is priceless.”

Grayson tugged at his trapped wrist with another snort. “IHIhIHi hahate you!!”

“Well that can’t be true.” Miguel sneered, clawing into his armpit. He chuckled upon Grayson’s burst of cackles. 

“NOhOHO not there! Ack!” Grayson’s legs flailed uselessly under Miguel. His cacophony paired with the elevator’s humming in descent made a delightful symphony in the leader’s head. “STAHAhaawp!!”

“Okay, okay, whatever,” Miguel replied, his fingers slowing to a few pokes. He relented his grip, kneeling over his apprentice to look at his smile. “You okay?”

“Jehesus…” Grayson chuckled as he fought to catch his breath. He took a deep breath in, letting out an extra giggle. “Y-Yeheheah…”

Miguel returned the smile, reaching a hand towards him. Grayson flinched with a funny noise. “Pfft, the shock was that?” He chuckled. The man’s hand finally reached Gray’s head of hair, ruffling it gently. 

Grayson scrunched his face and tried to fix the curl on his forehead. “You didn’t count to fihive…” he groaned. 

“I was gonna get you either way,” replied Miguel, “It was a matter of how long you wanted to delay the inevitable.”

Grayson shared a confused look. “Stop using big words.”

“Aren’t you an English major?” The sigh from Grayson made him blurt out a laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m a jerk.” He relented, standing up. He held a hand out to pull his apprentice up. Gray took the help and stood with a groan. The shift of gravity as the elevator slowed down caught their attention. 

“You did good, though.” Miguel said. “You outran me for a second.”

“I dunno how,” Grayson muttered with a shrug. A large hand lightly punched his shoulder. “Hey, no bad self-talk. We got anomaly files to organize back at the lab.” 

“Training’s over?”

“What, you wanna be tickled again?”

“N-No!”

[thepotentialof2007]

Quick reference for the LH excerpts from Kate Wagner's behind the scenes at COTA article.

All sports are powered by the personalities of their practitioners, and Formula 1 has those in spades—the chipper, effusive Daniel Ricciardo; Mr. Suave, Carlos Sainz; plucky George Russell; the deep-feeling Charles Leclerc; and, perhaps above all, the sport's longtime great champion, a man from some of the humblest beginnings in motorsport, the regal and soft-spoken Lewis Hamilton, who just announced an absolutely shocking move to Ferrari after an illustrious 11 years and six championships behind the wheel of a Mercedes (and six seasons and one championship with Mercedes-powered McLarens).

. . . .

The day's activities commenced with a tour of the garage. In the garage, there are many mysteries one is not allowed to know or see. The use of phones is forbidden lest one incur accusations of espionage. When we got into the garage, Lewis's car was naked, its insides visible for all to see. I think this was the moment where my respect for the sport as it exists really made itself clear. It is hard to describe what I felt looking at that car. The closest phrase I have at my disposal is the technological sublime. I pictured a living, breathing animal of extraterrestrial origin, hooked up to a thousand arcane sensors that delivered messages in little pulses. All the tubes and sculpted carbon-fiber parts and the endless net of wires all working in service to the godhead engine, formed something totally incomprehensible to me, a feat of engineering so vast it breached the realm of magic. Hamilton himself walked through in his helmet, unexpectedly on an errand. After being in the presence of the car, I perceived him differently than before, when he was just a guy driving in circles on TV. The scope of his capabilities became more directly known to me in the face of that which I believed to be unknowable. All of that was built in service of him. He stopped and looked into the open maw of the car. The tour guide led us hurriedly into the back room where the coffee and tire bags were stored so that no one could listen to what Lewis said.

About half an hour later, they brought him up to the paddock to talk to us. It wasn't a press conference, but rather a kind of a TED Talk. The questions were rote and a guy with a microphone asked them as though they were being broadcast on television. Hamilton talked rotely about how much he loved America and the fans here, talked—to the people who needed reassurance—about how the car was "getting there" but made it pointedly certain that they knew it still needed some work, which surprised me, making me realize this was still a private setting. I come from a sport where chivalry never died and no one is allowed to say anything negative because it is "unsportsmanlike" and every cyclist has to play his part in the farcical pageant of being a dull, humble farmer's son. It is a pretty open secret that a lot of cyclists don't like their bike sponsors but they would never, ever, ever say it. It's somewhat contradictory, but the sheer financial calculus of F1 is what makes it possible for Hamilton to be critical. This is a multibillion-dollar industry putting its full heft behind him doing well. It's reminiscent of the patronage system of precapitalist times, when rulers and nobles with endless riches paid musicians and composers to live in the palace with them.

. . . .

Frustrated, I returned to watching the cars as they started up again, knowing that the drivers were pushing them to their limits, engrossed in their personal kaleidoscope of motion and color. Hamilton was in one of them. In the last shootout, he drove differently than before. A great verve frayed the lines he was making, something we can only call effort, push. Watching him, I understood what was so interesting about this sport, even though I was watching it in its most bare-bones form—cars going around in circles. The driver is the apotheosis of quick-moving prowess, total focus and control. The car is both the most studied piece of human engineering, tuned and devised in lab-like environments and at the same time a variable entity, something that must be wrestled with and pushed. The numbers are crunched, the forms wind-tunneled. And yet some spirit escapes their control, and that spirit is known only by the driver. Yes, we watch this perfect blend of man and machine, but we speak of the machine as though it were not of human origin, as though the machine, being born from science could—eventually, through its iterative processes—sublimate human flaws. The driver, being human, knows this is false. His intimacy with the machine is the necessary missing connection, and even if the machine were perfect, it was made for imperfect hands. But it is never perfect. The gaps in its perfection are where disasters transpire, but also miracles. As we waited for the van to take us where we were parked, a part of the track was still visible to us. Hamilton distinguished himself by the lines he cut along the corner and the loudness of his engine, that pushing. We heard over a loudspeaker that he had finished third, a remarkable improvement above the last two sprints, where he lagged behind in the midfield. This made everyone in our camp happy. They always called him by his first name. It reminded me of how I used to talk about cyclists after I started interviewing them, with the swagger of knowing them.

. . . .

When Hamilton came into the room he was wearing a cool pair of pants with shimmery colored mesh sewed in and had an exhausted appearance, having come just from the track. We were allowed to talk to him but were told not to make any recordings or transcriptions. When he spoke, it was notable how often he mentioned his father and how deeply-felt his political convictions were. Some people are totally different off the record, but Lewis was simply a more lively version of himself. I find him a fascinating figure. A lot of fans either love or hate him, see him, paradoxically, as both humble and arrogant. The word quiet is better. Not reserved, not shy, just quiet. He belongs to a special group of people. The ones I've met in life include the violinist Hilary Hahn and Pogačar, the Tour de France winner—human beings who walk the earth differently, with an aura that transcends it. He appeared perpetually relaxed, controlled and refined, both present with us in the room but on a higher plane within. We used to call this magnificence when we believed in kings. I don't know what we call it now. Excellence, maybe. The irony of parading someone incredible like that around in the backrooms of petrochemical executives is not lost on me. I was grateful that I got the opportunity to speak to Lewis Hamilton, someone I am not ashamed to say I admire. I would have preferred it if they let him go home and rest instead.

[musicallisto]

hiiiiiii if possible can i please also request a 🐚 with formula one? i am a (suffering) woman in stem (biomedical engineering) and although i can be introverted in situations w big groups i love spending time with my friends & making them laugh. i have no gender preference and i cannot wait to see what you come up with <33333

oookay lisa, it is high time i told you about this random ship/association that has been living rentfree in my mind for a while now... i can't keep quiet any longer, and i will wax poetic about you two, because clearly your one true f1 match is lewis hamilton.

okay first of all let me get the obvious out of the way: this man is absolutely gorgeous and oh so lovely oh my god. out of all the drivers on the grid he is the one i would be RACING to introduce to my parents. my mom would never ever reprimand me for anything again if i brought a guy like lewis home.

lewis is such an attentive guy, so he would most definitely try to keep up with your studies/work the same way you do his. it's only fair, and besides, he loves it when you nerd out about engineering; the way your eyes twinkle and you trail off because you get a little self-conscious. he thinks it's the most adorable thing ever, because guess what! he is a little bit of a nerd too!

also he loves asking you for input from an engineering perspective, which you've told him time and time again that you're in biomedical, you have NO idea how his car's aerodynamism or mechanic stress work, but he still values your expertise which is, obviously, the highest of praise coming from someone who is basically The Expert himself in his domain.

and you may act humble and like the mercedes engineers' jobs are way out of your league, but you do know your stuff about thermodynamics and fuel chemistry and composite materials, and lewis is blown away every time by your off-handed commentary, as if your observations were self-evident truths. certainly to you they are, the same way he's got an almost carnal understanding of his car's behavior on the track, and that's why you make such a fierce team. you're the theory, he's the practice <3

that's probably how you would meet by the way. and they were coworkers... oh my god they were coworkers... WAIT NO what if you were lewis' RACE ENGINEER ok ok i'm backtracking!!! you DO know your racing stuff actually. ohhhh good shit

because you know lewis is a cocky bastard (honorary, he's earned it) and when he's still high off the adrenaline of the race, perhaps when he's just scored a podium, he relentlessly flirts with you over radio. tells you he never could've done without you, right, sweetheart?, in that suave voice of his. on LIVE TELEVISION??

oh the twitter girlies are eating that up. and you are fumbling over your words, trying to congratulate him in a way that doesn't give away how putty in his hands you are.

but you're the one he runs to as soon as he's off the podium and free from the clutches of journalists and cameras, without fail.

planet F1 practically implodes after saudi arabia 2021, not only from the actual race which is already a good enough reason to go crazy tbh but also because lewis hamilton, breathless after racing past the checkered flag, seemingly asks you out point blank.

"congrats, lewis! you did it! that's first in the world again!" "... i believe this means i've won my bet, and i can finally take you out?"

we won't talk about the grand prix that followed, lol. he may have lost the world championship but at least he won the girl of his dreams, or something <3

you guys are so silly together it's actually disrespectful to the whole paddock. like there are people working here, loves. doing their 9 to 5. stop giggling and taking the piss at toto wolff in hushed whispers like school children!!

but you won't, and though they may not say it... all the other drivers love you two together <3 less so when knowing you are watching seemingly gives lewis wings during shootouts, however...

[lliminall]

*crawls in here* do you .. have any thoughts on yan Phinks.. any general headcanons or anything of the sort 😶‍🌫️

oh phinks. in my head he is so whipped for his darling. thinks they’re just the neatest thing and kind of wonders if they’re maybe out of his league, which is part of the reason I imagine he goes yandere for them to begin with. can’t have them finding someone better and realizing they could raise their standards after all, lmao. he is like a sopping wet towel to me

@isaut put me onto the idea of him and yung gravy being sort of alike, so now I always think of him as dollar store yung gravy. he’d like to believe he’s the type to fuck milfs and ooze this suave, machismo kind of charm. slaying all the ladies but can’t be tied down to any of them. he’s not, but this becomes especially apparent when darling comes along and suddenly he’s tripping over himself for slivers of their attention.

in my mind it’s almost comical, because he’s not some sweetheart or even particularly endearing. he’s just like. this scowling, intimidating presence following you around trying to be boyfriend material. and he really does try. takes you out on dates (and doesn’t notice how nervous you are when he offers to choke slam some poor fool who spilt their drink on you), brings you food, buys you shit. in his head the “good boyfriend” formula is a simple one to follow: be man, provide for partner, beat shit out of anyone who threaten them :) he’s a protector and a provider! what more could you want lmao

his desperation for your approval could be cute — if you weren’t so aware that there’s just something wrong with him, and that he doesn’t seem to know how to hide it

[milflewis]

🎤 Telepathy au unless you’ve forgotten about it, then Pacific rim au

1.

George is really nervous about the whole becoming teammates and connecting their minds together. If only Senna and Prost were able to keep their crap together for one bloody day.

He’s being cool about it though. Proper suave. No one can tell. Probably. Maybe.

“Mate, can you stop your knee for, like, one minute, yeah? It keeps shaking the table.”

George does not stop his knee. It stays bouncing. It is not shaking the table.

Alex rolls his eyes at him. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Shut up,” George tells him because he has yet to learn how to tell Alex Albon to go away. And nothing Alex says here will help.

His foray as a teammate in Formula One does not inspire any feelings of relaxation in George. Having Max Verstappen in his head might possibly be the worst thing George has ever heard of in his life.

2.

It is somewhat comical that one of the things that makes George feel good about the bond in his head is bloody Nico Rosberg.

It is just — Lewis is so. So.

Lewis is so quiet. And not only as he moves around in the world, physically like. That, George is used to. That, he understands. Has seen before.

But he is so quiet and silent and not fucking there in George’s head, he could have died and George isn’t sure if he would’ve even noticed.

That, possibly, might be an exaggeration. There is a sea in George’s head, and it is still and calm and deep and, the water looks so warm, and it scares George to bits. He wonders if Lewis knows he is the sea.

Valtteri is so in tune with Lewis, even now. Yuki likes to watch them, pointing out when one unthinkingly kicks someone out of the seat next to them right before the other arrives, or when they turn, not seeing yet but knowing who it is that taps their shoulder. George thinks he does it to rile Pierre up. George wishes he would stop. Or at least, do it where George cannot hear.

George has not asked Valtteri what having Lewis in his head was like. If he was quiet for him too. He thinks he would rather chew off his own foot.

And then, Lewis talks with Nico Rosberg. In public. It doesn’t even last five minutes. Rosberg is lit up from within, blond and plastic and smug. The internet breaks.

The sea stays still and calm and deep. Lewis is quiet. It no longer looks warm.

George is cold to his toes.

Lewis takes one look at him when he is back in the garage, all bundled up in a huge coat and shivering, and frowns deeply. Bono hovers at his shoulder.

There is a twist to Lewis’s mouth that George does not recognise.

“Here, man,” Lewis says after he pops back up from wherever he disappeared to. Not that, you know, George is tracking him or anything. “Drink.”

The mug he pushes into George’s hands is hot to the touch and steaming. He breathes it in.

“Thanks, mate.”

Mouth twisting, Lewis says, “Yeah, yeah, well, like. Yeah. Least I could do, right? Sorry. About that.”

And he’s walking away then, shoulders broad, steps light. Lewis is never small, but there is a strange little misery slope to his neck. George swallows. His finger itch with warmth, tingling.

3.

“What’s he like?” Sebastian asks, leaning against the railing beside him. He waggles his eyebrows and taps at his forehead like Lewis didn’t understand what he was asking. He looks ridiculous.

Bet he drives you crazy, Valtteri had said, weeks earlier. He had been smiling. He was letting his hair grow out, freshly tan. He had looked good.

Lewis had ignored him and turned away to talk to Guanyu, Valtteri laughing. Guanyu had perked up at the mention of fashion, content to not get involved in whatever Lewis and Valtteri were going on about.

Lewis looks around. The camera and microphone is down at the other end of the parade.

“Skittish,” Lewis tells him quietly. He leans forward, elbows on the metal railing. It is cool and slick with the mornings rain. “Spooks easy.”

“Lewis.” Sebastian is using his Serious Voice with his Serious Face. Lewis squints at him suspiciously. “You do know that he is a person, right? Not a horse. Or a dog.”

Lewis rolls his eyes. “Funny.”

Sebastian grins at him, bright. His hair is pushed back by a headband, curls loose. “I try.”

“Not hard enough,” Lewis mutters, and Sebastian ignores him, chattering away about the recent Fernando-and-Jenson drama.

4.

George tries very hard to keep any Valtteri Bottas thoughts locked away around Lewis.

None of Lewis’s friends dislike Valtteri. At least, not openly. Not where George can see.

This feels important.

Sebastian — is easier. Even with the depth of history that he and Lewis and the whole world only ever hint at.

5.

George shows up with a slight black eye one race weekend. It is not a sex injury.

None of the reporters actually ask that question, though they get close, eyes smirking. Lando, unfortunately but not surprisingly, has no similar inclinations to keep the joke to himself.

“Mate,” he calls out when he walks into the driver’s briefing. “You know you’re doing it wrong if she kicks you in the face, yeah?”

George flushes bright red. His mouth opens but nothing comes out.

Normally, he can deal with Lando. Normally, he even enjoys. But he didn’t prepare himself this time and the room is full with drivers and Lewis is looking at him, face unreadable, and Valtteri’s eyebrow is raised and, and, and.

“Speaking from experience?” Alex asks Lando, cool as anything. He is leaning back in the chair beside George.

There is not a ripple in the sea. It could be a windless day.

Lando laughs, flipping him off, and drops down in the seat next to Daniel.

It is not a sex injury. But it does involve Lily and Alex, and Lily throwing the dildo with the number 44 written messily across it in Sharpie at Alex after George opened his birthday present and, promptly, swore. George cannot say this, for obvious reasons, the least of them being he cannot ever ever say anywhere Lewis might hear that Alex have him a sex toy and made it Lewis-personified.

Furthermore, George has a sneaky feeling that telling people Lily and Alex were involved with whatever happened would just make the rumours worse.

Lewis sits down across the room, next to Yuki and Pierre. He catches George’s eye, the opposite one to George’s injury, and winks slowly.

George looks quickly away, grinning. His neck is terribly warm.