#he and Porsche serving CURVES

[takeadeepbreathandexist]

Adding Tharn as the co-chair of the itty bitty waist committee

[shivayagojo]

JAPAN GP, hometown stint

masterlist

f1

And we're back. It's race weekend in Japan. Round 3 kicks off in Suzuka. Lando is leading, but it's Ava who's brought the consistency. Who will take it today?

see comments below

carloslover_27: Suzuka is always a vibe. Hopefully we'll see the hometown heroes do well.

> motorsportqueen: Let's manifest it! Ava for the W 🙌🙌

terriblysourdolla: No one's talking about Max tho? He's lowkey lurking in the background 👀

> f1guru99: He hasn't been in the background for a long time. But he always rocks in Suzuka.

> avafansworld: Ava's the one to watch today. Forget Lando and Max, she's taking the crown 👑

sportsbabe: Ava's been on fire in first two GPs. Can't wait to see how she handles the race today 👏🔥

> florence4ever: Mark my words, Ava's got that W locked down. Watch and learn. 💅

> delulu: Home town win!💥

avaflorence

Growing up in Belgium, my family always made it a point to visit the other half of my heritage at least once a year. And now with F1, I get paid to do it. Love you Japan. This weekend is for you.

see comments below

yukitsunoda0511: GO JAPAN 🇯🇵🇯🇵🇯🇵

> avaflorence: If you're not on that podium with me tomorrow, I'm going to kill you 🔪

> yukitsunoda0511: 😨

> toasted_melon: average conversation with your brother be like

max2themax: Love how connected you are to your roots. Representing both sides like a queen 👑🌸

> racingfreakz: Ava always knows how to make us feel special. Japan's got nothing but love for you! 🇯🇵💕

racefam_24: Spa and Suzuka?! You're winning in life 💯👑

> avafansworld: Two of the most beautiful tracks in the world.🌍💖

racevibes_only: You're the definition of goals, Ava 💖

porschef1

It's a special race for our girl which means a special livery too. Presenting the 2025 Suzuka Porsche livery.

see comments below

f1fanatic_92: That livery is INSANE 😍😍 Can't wait to see it on track!!

florence4ever: Porsche is always bringing the heat 🔥🔥 Ava's gonna look even better in that! 🙌👑

vcarb: We see you Porsche 👀

> porschef1: You don't get to talk to us

> drssupremacy: lmao they're defending Daniel. I love it!

missingkimi: Porsche is serving and I'm here for it 🙌🙌 Let's get that dub, Ava!! 🏆

> delulu: This is gonna be legendary. Ava + Seb + Porsche + Suzuka = magic 🔮✨

SUZUKA QUALIFYING — always a THRILL! Predictable? Perhaps — but never lacking excitement! The Red Bulls, as expected, rocketed to the top five in sector one. And who could ignore Aston Martin? Fernando Alonso surged forward, squeezing into Q2 — and then squeezing again into Q3! But the McLarens, despite a few struggles, retained the formidable pace they brought to Suzuka last year.

          AND THEN — a shocker! Yuki Tsunoda, for the Racing Bulls, unleashed a magical performance. P3! A staggering two-tenths clear of Max Verstappen! WOW! As if that wasn't enough, Sebastian Vettel — YES, in that Porsche — grabbed P2! A redemption arc after his misfortunes in China. Now perched on the front row for the Japanese Grand Prix.

          YET ALL EYES were on Eva Florence — the hometown hero. She dominated practice—Friday sessions one, two, and three. Can she extend her reign to qualifying?

"Here we are, ladies and gentlemen, riding on board with Ava Florence. She's been past all the sessions. Let's see what she makes it off it in this lap."

"Indeed, Crofty, as she comes down the main straight... and we begin her lap. Burst down the main straight. Power into the first curve — mid-corner deceleration. Navigate the tight right curve with finesse. Now into Turn 3 — a high-speed left kink — preparing for Suzuka's iconic S's."

"Turn4, Turn 5, Turn 6 — the S curves! Left, right, left — a dance for the brave, and Ava doesn't flinch once. Just look at the grip she gets in these corners."

"Absolutely crucial for this track. Into the Dunlop curve, that fast left bend—gathering speed. Then to the uphill portion, then a slow-speed right hand kink—careful with the gravel on exit! Through the Degner One and on to Degner Two—the track tightens, but she releases—gorgeous exit through Turn 9."

"She's done beautiful so far. Under the bridge now—flashing! Turn 10, flat out! Turn 11, hard on the brakes—a hairpin, delicate but executed with mastery.

"Swooping through Turn 12, a full-throttle right-hand bend—approaching the Spoon Curve, Turns 13 and 14. Brakes, drift: this double-left, a challenge! She skirts peril, just right."

"And TURN 13 — the ICONIC 130R — with the pedal to the metal! All sectors LIGHT UP PURPLE — SHE'S FLYING! Into the Casio Chicane — a deceleration dance: third gear, left, right, left, right!Relentless, furious — and now, across the LINE! AVA FLORENCE HAS JUST TAKEN HER FIRST POLE POSITION F1 HISTORY! — WHAT A LAP! What a moment for the rookie — the hometown hero writes her own legend at Suzuka!"

HENRY And that's pole for Sunday. What a lap.

FLORENCE HAH! YES! Unbelievable! Thank you so much!

f1

Porsche front-row lockout and two hometown heroes in the top 3. It's anyone's game in Suzuka on Sunday.

see comments below

marshedmellow: LET'S GO!!! Porsche locking it down 🔥 Suzuka's gonna be WILD 🔥🔥

> avafansworld: Ava's gonna show them how it's done from the front row 👑💪

f1fanatic_92: Porsche at the front and Ava showing up strong—this is gonna be EPIC. 🏎️💨

delulu: Manifesting a Ava-Yuki podium!

heturnedintome: Can we just have this as our podium?

JAPAN GRAND PRIX STARTING GRID

Ava Florence

Sebastian Vettel

Yuki Tsunoda

Max Verstappen

Lando Norris

Fernando Alonso

Oscar Piastri

Liam Lawson

Lewis Hamilton

George Russel

Charles Leclerc

Andrea Kimi Antonelli

Lance Stroll

Pierre Gasly

Nico Hulkenberg

Ollie Bearman

Isack Hadjar

Gabriel Bortoleto

Esteban Ocon

Carlos Sainz

Alexander Albon

Jack Doohan

IT'S SUNDAY. The adrenaline is high - the FORMULA 1 JAPAN GRAND PRIX is about to ignite. 22 drivers, engines roaring, lined up on the grid. The third round of the Championship calls! Ava Florence is comfortable in P2 in the championship, but she's even more comfortable knowing she's on pole and her main championship rival is down in P5.

PORSCHE ecstatic - a FRONT ROW LOCKOUT! They're hungry to convert this golden opportunity. Meanwhile, Red Bull aims to reclaim glory, propelled by the unexpected charge from Liam Lawson breaking into the top 10. A big ask from him, especially since Yuki Tsunoda, the man he took the Red Bull, shines brightly in P3!

"Ava, Ava."

"Martin! About damn time I get interviewed by you."

"It's a been some time. But it's here. How's it feel? On the verge of glory in your home country, second in the Championship, but so close to the crest? A win today could flip the standings for you."

"Oh, Martin, it's amazing! Belgium is the country in my heart, but I can't forget about Japan. I love every time I come here. I love the fans, I love the country. My first pole here...it's a dream. The Championship tables? Honestly, I didn't think too much about it until the engineers at Porsche told me. But Lando in P5? It's great. I've got my own script today."

"But Eva, the elation of a hometown victory, how will it feel to cross P1? Your second win, a jubilant homecoming?"

"Every win is amazing, Martin. But this one is a bit more so. To take this one, with my family watching, it'd be indescribable. Emotional? Yes. Tearful? No, maybe not today - but if there's a place for tears, it's Spa."

"Well, we'll certainly look forward to seeing this race. Good luck to you."

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the electrifying Japanese Grand Prix in Suzuka! The SUN is SHINING, the sky's clear, and we've 53 laps of hard, gritty racing ahead of us. Let's dive into this iconic track... One DRS ZONE sets the stage on this 5.8-kilometer circuit. 307 kilometers in total length. And the lap record, set by Lewis Hamilton in 2019, 1:30.983. Alright, Martin, let's get this race started. It's five lights in Suzuka... AND IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!!! AVA FLORENCE ROCKETS off the line—a perfect start. Vettel and Tsunoda give chase. Verstappen behind. Lando loses out on his position to Fernando Alonso. Alonso is breathing down Verstappen's neck."

"It's a battle royale behind. That was the perfect start by Florence. Just stick it and drive. No need to play defensive. You've got your teammate behind you acting as rear gunner. Just make it through the first corner."

"Eva Florence is FLYING, the gap stretched to three tenths. Sebastian Vettel is protecting her hard, holding off Yuki Tsunoda. Oh, there's Russell—taking on Hamilton! The former teammates. Side by side into Turn 11—Hamilton HOLDS! Russell backs out neededly, and now he's got Charles Leclerc in his mirror. Leclerc—after a poor qualifying—he's CLIMBING! We've seen his comebacks in Australia, in China—what can he do here?"

"Hard braking at the spoon curve. Russsell goes wide, Leclerc hits the apex. Russel just too much on the curbs and Leclerc gets the better exit. He's up to P10."

"Here we as the drivers begin the third sector. Ava Florence still far and away the leader, but the gap between Tsunoda and Vettel has lessened. Tsunoda showed great pace in qualifying and now he's staring down the back of the four time world champion. There go through 130R. There's Russell trying Leclerc. Both drivers flat-out. And the Mercedes has that speed on the fast corners. Russel back into P10."

LAP 3:

"It's the battle that people saw a portion of in 2023. Let's see if we get more this season. Fernando Alonso and Max Verstappen. Fernando makes the lunge into the first corner, tight on the inside line. They're side by side. Can Fernando squeeze ahead? Yes he can! Fernando is put to P4, but here's Verstappen, trying to regain the position on the outside. He does. Max remains P4."

"So already we're seeing some back and forth action here. No driver in this circuit wants to give up their position as here comes Sainz on Hadjar."

"Isack Hadjar has not been able to recreate the same magic as his teammate. That car is not the best for this track, but you would think he would get more out of it considering we're Tsunoda is at. And Jack Doohan, for the second race running, is towards the back of the grid."

"There have been rumors going around that Doohan's contract is potentially only for five races. No confirmation whatsoever, but if it is true, this is certainly not the results Alpine wants."

LAP 13:

HENRY Okay, Ava. This is where we're going to potentially see some drivers coming in. Let's try to extend this stint as much as possible.

"There is Ava Florence told to extend these tires as much as you can. She is on the C3 compounds here, so she could be running a one-stop strategy."

"That certainly seems like it. Especially since she doesn't seem to be losing any time. Perhaps Porsche is looking to get her out as long as possible on these soft tyres and then just run it through until everyone pits the second time."

"Yup. That seems to be the plan for that Porsche, but not for Sebastian Vettel. He comes into the pitstop. So now, Yuki Tsunoda is up to second place. And the Japanese fans go wild as they have two home town features leading the race. Ava Florence and Yuki Tsunoda."

"Now that Tsunoda has that free air, I wonder if he'll be able to catch up to that Porsche or if she's too far away for this stint. Vettel comes out of the pits. Not a bad stop. He's in P6."

LAP 15:

"And it's a battle in the pitsotps between Verstappen and Hamilton. Hamilton gets out a bit earlier, but it's anybody's game who's gonna make the jump into Turn 1. Is Verstappen feeling ambitious? No, he remains cautious."

LAP 19:

"There's Leclerc in the pits. He'll change for a fresh set of hard tires. Comes out P8."

"Yes, that's interesting, but Ava Florence has still not pitted. Yuki Tsunoda has. He came out in P6 earlier. But Florence looks she's committed to the one stop. And he'll be a mighty one stop if she can make it work."

LAP 25:

"Ava Florence finally comes in for her pit stop. She's made these soft tires run for a long while and now she'll put on a new pair of hard compounds. Oh, but what's this?"

"The right here wheel had trouble being put on! The gun just got stuck there. And that's a bad pitstop for Florence. They were expecting to come ahead of Verstappen, but instead they're going to behind Hamilton."

FLORENCE How are we behind Hamilton?

HENRY Keep calm, Ava. We're still the only one on the one-stop.

"It's going to be a game of patience for Ava Florence as she's gonna wait for all these drivers in front of her to make their second pitstop. In the lead, Yuki Tsunoda a second ahead of Verstappen. What a race he's having!"

LAP 29:

"And there comes Lewis Hamilton jumping at Lawson on the Casio chicane. He'll get the inside line and it's Hamilton ahead on the main straight! That Red Bull was faster than Ferrari on this track, but Hamilton has the experience to pull away from Lawson."

LAP 32:

"Verstappen is the first of the top ten into the pits for this second stint. He'll give up that position to Fernando Alonso, who now, will be attacking his former rival, Sebastian Vettel."

"A great many battles these two have shared. Let's see if Fernando can close that gap and we can see some overtaking."

"Ava Florence. It's going smoothly for her. She passes Lawson on the straight. The DRS gave her a nice boost to get into P5."

HENRY You're doing great. Hamilton ahead has not pitted.

FLORENCE Should I try to overtake?

HENRY Negative.

FLORENCE But I'm loosing time.

HENRY Tsunoda is within pit window. No need to rush.

"It seems you were right, Martin. Porsche is playing a very patient game here."

LAP 35:

"And here comes Hamilton into the pits. So, now, Ava moves up another position. She'll be right behind Piastri, who's going for a longer second stint. And then she'll have to wait for Vettel and Tsunoda to make their pits too."

HENRY Okay, Ava. You can push.

"Very interesting to see what she'll make of it."

LAP 37:

"Oscar Piastri into to the pits. So it's another easy move up for Ava Florence. Now she's chasing Sebastian Vettel. He's been dragging these tires longer, hasn't he?"

"He has. So we're expecting if he does stop, he'll probably go on the soft compounds at the end of the race. For now, let's see how much Ava catches up."

LAP 39:

"Ava Florence has caught up to a second behind her teammate. She will be in that DRS zone as we come down the straight. She's picking up speed, but Vettel has a comfortable gap not be overtaken yet. Through the S's it's Vettel and Florence, the two Porsche inches apart. When will Florence make the move? It's now — she's gonna emerge on the outside of Turn 7. They're side by side, but Vettel forces her back. She switches over, dives down the inside of Turn 8 and MAKES IT STICK! Ava Florence with a beautiful move passes her teammate."

"That was a good read by Florence. She knew the outside wasn't going to work in Degner 1, just wasn't fast enough. So she moved over to the inside to get the apex before Vettel. Superb driving."

"Certainly she's been on fire all weekend and now she's going to have good, comfortable gaze at Yuki Tsunoda who has to pit."

LAP 42:

"Yuki Tsunoda can just about see Florence in his rea-view mirrors and what must he be thinking? He's leading his home Grand Prix, but his Japanese counterpart is looking to snatch that home victory for herself. Down the main straight, Florence has DRS. She's closing in that gap."

"Tsunoda has to be careful here. I'm sure his engineers have warned him about Sector 2, just how flying she is on this middle portion of the track."

"Down the inside of Turn 8 she goes once again, but from too far back on the grid. Doesn't get it. Tsunoda skids on the entry to Turn 8. Florence closes in further. She knows she can get on the hairpin, just has to get there.

HENRY Okay, Ava. No need to overtake Tsunoda. He has yet to pit.

FLORENCE Yeah, but satisfaction.

"As they head past 10, Tsunoda is early on the breaks and that's just enough time for Florence to SQUEEZE THROUGH! Round the hairpin, smooth exit. And Ava Florence is leading the Grand Prix."

"She said she wanted that satisfaction of passing Tsunoda and boy how satisfying must that move be? That corner is very easy to get wrong but she just slides on in there."

LAP 53:

"And it is a masterclass for the Japanese hero. From start to finish, there was nothing that stood a threat in the face of this woman and now she'll see the checkered flag fall for her home race. AVA FLORENCE WINS THE JAPANESE GRAND PRIX!"

HENRY And that is win Ava!

FLORENCE HAHA!!! WOHOO!! YES! What does Seb say? RING-DINGA-DING-DING!!

f1

SATISFACTION INDEED! Ava Florence wins the Japanese Grand Prix!

tagged: avaflorence

see comments below

burnttoast: WTF WAS GRAND PRIX?? 2025 is insane!!

> orangedelusions: A young driver fighting for the championship, new team, old f1 legends. Welcome back 2012!

adoptmycat: Yuki on the podium baby less go!

> vettel4life: SEB ON THE PODIUM 💪

> capybara: this podium is making me cry 🥹

el_plan: Ava Florence went to the Fernando Alonso school of celebrations.

cassettes: I've seen enough. Give her the companionship!

porschef1

It's a double podium for this team in Japan. What a race!

tagged: avaflorence, sebastianvettel

see comments below

madmax: Words cannot describe how beautiful it was to see Vettel on the podium again 🥹

> balencia: Vettel on the podium out retirement feels like when Schumi got it in 2012.

> chrome: SO DO I LOOK LIKE HIIIM?

florence4ever: What a race from both Porsche! One stop on both of them!

motorsport: Whoever allowed Porsche strategist cook, tell them to keep cooking 🧑‍🍳

JAPAN GRAND PRIX RESULTS

1. AVA FLORENCE (+25)

2. YUKI TSUNODA (+18)

3. SEBASTIAN VETTEL (+15)

4. MAX VERSTAPPEN (+12)

5. FERNANDO ALONSO (+10)

6. LANDO NORRIS (+8)

7. OSCAR PIASTRI (+6)

8. LEWIS HAMILTON (+4)

9. LIAM LAWSON (+2)

10. GEORGE RUSSELL (+1)

11. CHARLES LECLERC

12. ANDREA KIMI ANTONELLI

13. PIERRE GASLY

14. LANCE STROLL

15. NICO HULKENBERG

16. OLLIE BEARMAN

17. CARLOS SAINZ

18. GABRIEL BORTOLETO

19. ISACK HADJAR

20. ALEXANDER ALBON

21. ESTEBAN OCON

22. JACK DOOHAN

JAPAN GRAND PRIX POST-RACE INTERVIEW

Interviewer: Ava, what a spectacular win this for you. You drove amazingly well. How are the feelings win this race?

Ava: Now, look who's flirting? But, yes, it's a great feeling. I think we did great from start to finish. The team did a great job with the strategy. So, super proud of this moment —

Vettel taps her shoulder from behind. When she turns around, he wraps in a hug and pats her back.

Seb: Unbelievable race.

Ava: It was good, no?

Seb: You were crying on the podium.

Ava: No, no—

Seb: You couldn't see it, but I looked over at her on the podium. I saw a tear drop her cheek. She was crying.

Ava: Okay, a little. But it wasn't as much as you in Abu Dabhi. I controlled myself there.

Interviewer: Yuki that a brilliant race here today. Your highest finish at the Japanese Grand Prix. What are you feeling?

Yuki: It's amazing. Super amazing. In front of all the fans, to win like this, it's incredible. And I am super happy with how everything turned out. The team did a great job. And it was a fantastic race.

Interviewer: Sebastian, your third Grand Prix back from retirement and you're sitting on the podium. Is this a sign you're getting back into form?

Seb; Maybe. Obviously, I'm not going to be as good or fast as I was before, but I still love racing and I will continue to love racing. So, just an incredible day for me, the team, and for Ava for winning that race.

avaflorence

Japan gave me three things in life: a mother, ramen, and a dream win. Love you with all my heart. ❤️

see comments below

ovenisonfire: Oh she's an icon ✨

florence4ever: GO MAMA GO!! STUNT ON THESE POSERS!

burnt_orange: No, Ava. Save some of the poses for El Padre to do when he wins!

> avaflorence: Don't worry Nando. I'll carry on your legacy once you retire

> fernando_alonso_official: I am not retiring anytime soon (but you have my full permission 👍)

> burnt_orange: Oh she got the thumbs-up of approval. El Madre is full swing!

porschef1: Show them, queen!

> avaflorence: Luv ya, please come hang out with me for dinner 😘

> delulu: Not Ava flirting with the Porsche admin 🤣

WORLD DRIVERS CHAMPIONSHIP

WORLD CONSTRUCTORS CHAMPIONSHIP

(lemme know if wanna be included)

taglist: @freyathehuntress

[silkendandelion]

Million Dollar Baby (completed), A One Piece fanfiction

Sir Crocodile x OC (male) Words: 40.8k Genre: Comedy, drama, smut, fluff

Summary: Crocodile finds company for the evening in a charming man. Back to the hotel, the pair find it hard to get comfortable until Crocodile suggests dinner, a strange request for his guest.

Rated Mature for mild sexual content and language. Rating changes published per chapter.

Chapter 2

After driving several almost identical blocks with no apparent laundromat in sight, Crocodile was beginning to think he had been swindled.

“I’m going to kill those kids. Worse, I’m going to find their mothers,” he growled to no one, flipping on the radio for a brief moment before deciding the silence was better. At the next red light, he fished out a cigar, and the car behind him laid on their horn to remind him he was going to miss the green.

I despise this city.

Somehow, the number of bars along the street increased, and Crocodile found himself on the center strip in this outskirt of the larger city. At least now the bars were being competed by late-night hole-in-the-wall eateries and convenience stores hoping to get through the night selling single serving beers and prophylactics. He scanned the crowded parking meters, looking for a place to stop and buy something to drink or eat while he gathered his bearings (and hopefully got better directions this time), but that plan swiftly fell out under a cerulean neon sign that read “East Blue Bar and Grill”.

There, leaning on the parking meter, he saw him: tall to anyone except Crocodile, the silhouette of a young man standing alone, watching the cars with a swivel of his pretty head. His hair, cropped to the back of his neck, shone a deep blonde in the neon lights and—as Crocodile drew closer—was obviously a wig, no matter how handsomely the bangs fell across his cheeks. His suit was carefully ironed but obviously off the rack, hugging the long, elegant line of him only by the grace of some higher power that Crocodile couldn’t pretend to entertain, except to call upon to curse whoever had the gall to release the beauty’s tacky, snake-pattered blazer upon an unsuspecting world.

As he watched him step off the curb to approach the car at the light, a deep-seated jealousy rose from his stomach, stoked by the curve of the man’s body when leaning down to the open window pulled his suit tight to his back. Never—well, maybe not ever, but certainly not for awhile—had he been so magnetized to a stranger. It should have frightened him, yet he only wanted more. Needed, perhaps, the same way one needs a cigarette or dark liquor on the rocks.

He considered ramming his car into the back of the silver Porsche, instead pressing his fingertips into the horn with a curt ‘beep’. Stale ash fell forgotten to the wood-grained console. The beauty lifted his head up to meet his gaze, annoyed for just a moment until Crocodile replaced his cigar safely between his lips, and gestured him closer with a crook of his finger.

From the moment he had stepped off the curb, Crocodile knew exactly what kind of man he was, into what part of the city he had wandered. He was a man, after all, and not one who could refuse such an inviting offer, when their violet eyes shone in the lights of his dashboard, and were polite enough to offer curbside service.

“Has anyone ever told you not to honk your horn? It’s rude,” said the beauty, lips pursing to hold back a smirk until he knew Crocodile wasn’t looking for a fight.

“Yet here you are.” The beauty studied the car’s plush interior—and him—from roof to floor for suspicious items, additional passengers. The longer he stared, the more Crocodile wondered if the tilt of his handsome mouth was the precursor to a rejection.

“I hurt his feelings, I think, coming over to you when he called me first.”

“You didn’t have to come over.”

“Well, you looked polite enough.”

“I thought I was rude.”

His smirk turned to a genuine grin, licking the edge of his glossy lips and sending Crocodile’s insides twisting even further. Not that he gave anything away, idly sending his cigar smoke out his own open window, and waiting for the beauty to finish his assessment.

Up in the rear view mirror, the traffic was beginning to congest behind him. “I had meant to ask you for directions. You look like you know your way around here.”

“If you know that, then you also know nothing on this street is free,” the beauty teased.

“Would you like to come with me? I’m afraid my sense of direction matches my manners.” He reached into his breast pocket and placed his money clip, a generous, healthy pad, in the console behind the ash tray. “You can show me how to navigate this city, and I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” With consent, they were off, and the beauty slipped into the passenger seat as Crocodile pulled the car away from the curb.

“It’s a lovely car, is it yours?”

“While I’m in town. Put your seat belt on.”

“Oh? Are we actually going somewhere?” He settled himself into the leather seat. “I thought you were just teasing me, that we would go around the corner to some place around here.”

Crocodile wrinkled his nose at the windshield, taking the brief pause in conversation to stub out the last of his cigar into the ash tray. “As if I would take you anywhere so rundown. We’re going back to my hotel, I’m staying at the Rain Dinners on Alabasta Drive.”

He waited within the silence patiently for a moment, then less so, glancing back and forth at the beauty leaning against his window before nearly snapping: “I really don’t know where I’m going, you’ll have to—”

“Oh! I’m sorry, turn here!” His lean body suddenly invaded Crocodile’s space, and the car jerked abruptly in the direction he pointed.

“Are you still not in your seat belt?!”

“Sorry!”

The beauty’s laughter warmed him even more than his flush, more than the realization as they drove along that his cheap dress shirt was nearly see-through in the city’s golden lights, back-lit by flashes across the window to offer glimpses of a smooth chest and a ruddy nipple.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how much?”

The other cigar in his pocket called to him, but he stayed his good hand to the wheel. “It doesn’t interest me.”

“I suppose a Rain Dinners man who rents a car like this doesn’t have to be. Interested in cost, I mean.”

“I’d rather know your name.”

“Promise me you won’t be surprised.”

“At your name or the cost?” There it was, that handsome giggle, the flash of pretty teeth that made Crocodile want to pull over to the side of the street and press him into the backseat. Till dawn or the police arrive, until the windows were completely fogged and the seats were in such a state that his friend was sure to never loan him a car ever again. Of course, he would pay extra for any inconvenience, and laundry fees.

“Both, maybe. Call me River.”

“So, River. Where am I meant to turn next?”

“Oh,” he made a contemplating, inviting sound, what must have been deliberate because it came with him leaning back into his space, careful to keep his seat-belt secure while he splayed one hand across Crocodile’s thigh, and the other pointed down a side road. “Right there.”

His answer, a pointed brush of his nose behind his ear and an authoritative rumble, elicited an excited shiver. “Be good and sit down for me. We’re almost there.”

River blushed where his skin still prickled. “Yes, sir.”

“Call me Crocodile.”

As they arrived at the front curb of the hotel, the valet greeted them with a respectful nod, opening both their doors while the head attendant extended his palm for the keys.

“Welcome back, sir.”

He nodded back, cordial but clearly focused on the beauty on the curb who fidgeted with his hands in his pockets. “Come. You can smoke upstairs.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“It’s all right to be nervous.”

But when he spent too much time gawking at the lobby’s crown molding and crystal light fixtures, one of Crocodile’s fingers hooked onto his belt loop to tug him along.

“However—” He leaned down to whisper in his ear. “It’s not all right to look out of place. People might get the wrong idea.”

“The right idea?” River raised his eyebrow.

“It’s none of their business. Let’s not give them anything to talk about, hm?”

But as they waited for the elevator, the urge to be a little (his idea of little) mischievous became too much, especially once another couple walked up to wait beside them. Based on their sideways glances and tilted frowns, it could be assumed they were already making their own assumptions without anyone having spoken a word.

River made a show of yawning, stretching in a curvy line along Crocodile’s arm and giving an exaggerated moan of relief. The man of the other couple shifted his focus to the extra sliver of toned chest that peeked out where River’s slinky gesture popped another one of his buttons—of which there was just a few left before he was completely exposed.

“Darling, can’t we have champagne brought up for bath time?” He simpered, saccharine-sweet and emphasized by rubbing his cheek on Crocodile’s coat, making sure to arch just right to show the strangers the outline on the back of his trousers that was certainly not a pair of boxer shorts.

Lucky for Crocodile, who was determined to ignore him by staring perfectly forward at the elevator door, he was saved by the resonating ping when it finally slid open.

“Pleeease—oh.” River broke into an easy grin. “Hurry, darling. I’m absolutely aching.”

“W-welcome back, Sir.” The concierge fixed their eyes to the control panel. Frankly, anywhere was more professional than at the slinky faux-blonde that spread his thighs over both of the elevator’s couch cushions, resting his arms across the back with all the air of suggestion. “And guest.”

“Let’s go—” The stranger grunted when his wife jammed her elbow in his ribs. “I mean, we’ll catch the next one.”

Crocodile’s patience was beginning to run thin when the beauty had the gall to wave.

“You will behave yourself as long as you accompany me,” he said once the doors closed, hard and commanding obedience as he glanced at the concierge, who had yet to press the button for the top floor.

“I’m sorry, you’re just too fun to mess with.” River giggled without the barest hint of remorse.

“Try.”

Upon the opportunity to reflect in the cloistering silence, River startled to realize he meant it, that Crocodile was fun to provoke, more fun to tease, right before he found the self-awareness to reel himself in, remembering that in a little over an hour, two if he was lucky, he would descend in this elevator alone, cash in hand.

Ping was their signal to depart, with River venturing out first to explore ahead.

“Left,” Crocodile called after him, at the same time he gave a pointed stare to the concierge that leaned out of the elevator’s door to leer at River’s superfluous walk, meant for the tall businessman that trailed him, but with the unfortunate side effect of distracting anyone who happened to look.

“Step aside,” he grumbled where River crowded the door.

River side-stepped the barest amount to tempt Crocodile’s broad shoulders to bully him the rest of the way over as he finagled with the key-card. After several long, tortuously quiet tries without success, all with River watching at his elbow, he clicked his tongue.

“Whoever’s idea it was to get rid of keys should be hanged.” Mercifully, the lock eventually allowed him inside, only after more bargaining and a little unexpected humility.

Inside, Crocodile hung his coat, about to offer River the same courtesy but he was already wandering the suite, popping in and out of every room like a dog that needed to aquaint himself with his new territory before he relaxed.

‘This place is huge!’ His muffled voice echoed around the stone bathroom before he reappeared on his way to the balcony.

“We must be on the top floor,” he marveled, wide eyes curious. “And the view is beautiful. Do you spend a lot of time out there?”

“I’m not particularly fond of heights.”

“And yet you have this room on the top floor?”

“The penthouse is the best they offer, and I don’t have to go out there if I don’t want to. Part of the rental agreement, you see.”

As if he was alone, Crocodile began looking over the papers at his desk with little care to entertain his guest. Suddenly, sitting there in his waistcoat, it was never more apparent to the other man that his left hand was fake, still gloved in leather compared to his bare right that flipped through the pages.

The warm, golden lights of the suite were almost overwhelming compared to their time outside in the night, highlighting all of their secrets, from Crocodile’s obvious avoidance to River’s left hand that shook with the need for a cigarette.

Well, as long as Crocodile was stalling, so could he.

“I’m going to have a smoke before we begin, if that’s all right.”

“Go ahead,” he said, continuing to flip through his documents like it was the middle of the afternoon and they were meeting to sign a contract, instead of exchanging a service. Perhaps they were.

His pen scratched along the top-most paper, a faxed copy of his schedule, now marred with his indecisive scribbling about moving meetings. ‘Clear schedule for funeral?’, the black ink said, smearing along the punctuation when he slid it aside. That was out of the question, he wouldn’t make it in time even if he wanted to—which he didn’t. Truly, no matter how the guilt twisted his insides, having the audacity to pretend to be anything more than obligation. He supposed that to want your parents pride was a harder addiction to break than nicotine. The fax smeared further when the beauty came to sit on his desk, pressing his papers beneath dark gray trousers.

“It makes me lonely to see you so far inside your own head. Didn’t you bring me here for some fun?” He flirted, heavy-handed but smooth as silk.

Crocodile allowed himself a single touch, to run his hand down the shin of his pant leg and rest on the top of his derby dress boot, clean despite the creases along the toe and hand-painted leather sealant that implied the soles had been replaced at least once.

“Have you eaten dinner?”

River leaned back on his hands, sighing despite the tilt of his amused smile. “Your time began the moment we arrived to the room, Crocodile, surely you don’t want to spend it having dinner? Unless that’s a euphemism. Ah—sorry, I think I’ll spend the rest of my life getting used to English.”

“I already told you cost wasn’t an issue—”

“And I have a hard time believing that, no one doesn’t care about the cost—”

“Then how much?” Crocodile snapped at him, though he tried to pretend he hadn’t by stepping away to hover near the bar.

When he turned back, the beauty was still sitting on his desk. But, the guarded calm in his eyes told Crocodile he was exactly one more mis-delivered phrase from him fleeing the room. And then he would be alone.

Which was exactly what he couldn’t bear, not now.

“I apologize for raising my voice. Perhaps I’m more tense than I believed… Do whatever makes you comfortable, your usual disclaimer,” he said, and then poured two short glasses of a dark liquor from the hotel’s selection.

“Do you drink?” He asked, struck by the realization he had made another assumption. To his relief, the beauty seemed to relax a little, sighing a second time and coming off the desk to approach him.

“Not spirits usually. No sense wasting what you’ve poured already.”

Crocodile knocked his back in a single swallow, worrying the man beside him until he replaced the crystal decanter among the wall. Watching such a rigid businessman take a shot for courage, removing his cravat and setting himself down in the armchair beside the phone was decidedly amusing, believing he was nervous about the intimacy and not for… extenuating circumstances that he could not begin to guess.

After swallowing his own, he took a seat on the adjacent ottoman, letting his hands rest on Crocodile’s knees in a gentle press that he hoped was both enticing and comforting. “We can have dinner if you want. I like seafood.”

And champagne, Crocodile thought to himself as he reached for the receiver. “Yes, the kitchen, please.”

Once he had rattled off everything he thought his guest might like, topped with champagne and an uncharacteristic “surprise me” when offered dessert, he finally acknowledged the impish hands that had begun to absently massage at his thighs.

“Mischievous, aren’t you?” He teased quietly, careful to be gentle with the thawing air between them.

“Who, me? Never,” replied River as he stood. Crocodile watched him shed his jacket, eyes drifting down the length of him as he draped it over the back of the couch and began to roll up the sleeves on his dress shirt.

“Are you married?” River fished for small talk in the comfortable silence.

“No, never,” he answered easily. Either honest or a very good liar, River decided.

“Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

“Not for a long time. My business keeps me away for long periods.”

“A charming personality cannot float a relationship alone, after all,” River said, coming back to lower himself into Crocodile’s lap, slowly to not startle him away. The gentle press of two arms slipping around his waist, firm but suggesting their hold could be broken in an instant—tempted him to sit.

“So you’re a comedian too? Not just gorgeous,” Crocodile rumbled at him, his good hand rubbing his spine through his shirt.

“I am so many things: lover, poet, amateur cook—karaoke champion.”

“Is that so?” Crocodile gave him his first honest smile of the night, pressing his grin into the hand that touched his cheek, scratching the beginnings of his stubble.

Such honest, innocent enjoyment, that flickering expression of happiness, made River’s chest tight so abruptly it nearly startled him off his lap. He couldn’t ever recall wanting to kiss his client, certainly not before anything had even happened. Moreover, he would rather leave empty-handed than make tonight the exception.

The doorbell startled them apart while Crocodile gestured for the food to be taken to the dining table.

“If there’s anything else you want, tell me. I can call them back,” he said, pointing to the spread the staff had laid out, including an ice bucket for champagne and a chilled selection of chocolate covered fruits. It felt wasted, when he was putting in the level of effort expected of a lover, and River was simply on the clock.

He swallowed around his dry throat, hoping his resolve would steel. A lot of clients had bought him dinner, it was not an exception.

Crocodile loosened the top button on his shirt, and reached for the champagne. He had used dinner as an ice breaker for a lot of intimate endeavors in the past, this wasn’t any different.

And so, dinner became dessert on the couch, touching only where their thighs brushed, and where Crocodile slipped chilled pieces of chocolate between his lips. They abandoned the empty platter soon after, taking the ash tray to the sitting area for a night cap, reaching for the same glass and pretending to watch the TV that droned on with a movie neither could recall the name.

“It’s getting late,” River said suddenly, quietly in the dark, the room lit by just the television and some semblance of lights in other rooms.

“Are you allowed to stay the night?” Crocodile ventured, even quieter.

“I can do anything I want.”

He didn’t ask if he wanted to stay, didn’t speak aloud that he would pay fairly for the hours he had kept him already. Even if the answer was “no”, he was sure the champagne would allow him to sleep, though he wasn’t sure his pride would ever recover.

So, he chose not to elaborate. After all, he believed leaving the decision up to River absolved him of any culpability for what transpired between them next.

Instead, he sat hypnotized as he watched him reach for the remote, flipping the TV volume to mute and rising to his feet. Up close, a beauty mark beside his eye caught his gaze, among another near his navel when he removed his shirt completely. His belt jingled loud in the silence, trousers falling to the floor as he stripped himself down to almost bare.

Crocodile’s hand squeezed the arm of the chair to resist touching without permission, or he might foolishly press his thumb to the silvery whisper of a scar on the soft plane of his hip, cut by the tight line of his panties—black, silk, and little more than a string on the sides.

The cool blue light from the television slipped into all the rivers and valleys of his toned body, carving him out for the sweep of Crocodile’s dark eyes as they roved over every endless inch. If either of them heard the stitches of the arm chair creaking when River lowered himself to the carpet to crawl to him, well, they didn’t mention it. To Crocodile, the world had become so small suddenly, narrowed down to the beauty between his legs, the one heating his skin where he opened his shirt to slide warm palms into his clothes.

“You have to tell me what you want,” Crocodile spoke first, all tobacco and smoke in the inches between their lips. Tell me what I’m allowed to have.

“I want whatever you want.”

Right. Regardless of the fluttering in his stomach, he understood any amount of prying that might make River voice his own desires would hardly be worth making him uncomfortable, especially when he was so good at his job the way the manual wrote it.

“What do you do?”

“No kisses on the mouth, but I can top or bottom for you, whatever you like. And I’m prepped already,” he replied, like it didn’t make Crocodile’s breath catch. “The night is still young, so don’t think you have to choose only one or the other.”

While River’s handsome cock was an offer by itself, a respectable weight between his legs even half-hard and pulling his panties taut, Crocodile knew exactly what he wanted from this night: to lose himself in someone, and loose his frustrations on a willing participant.

A playful hum between his knees captured his attention, and he stared down at the traitorous monument of his cock, having burst from his open zipper most presumptuously when mischievous fingers helped themselves. Whatever teasing words River had for him, he couldn’t bring himself to be irritated as gentle fingers tested the pull of his foreskin.

“He is the most honest part about you. Why don’t we let him lead?” said River, ending his question by guiding him between his lips and over the velvet of his tongue. Behind him, the sumptuous curve of his back was surely deliberate, determined to please with all five, vulnerable senses.

Crocodile believed if he could also manage to please him, all the misfortune in his life that led him to this moment would be worth it.

And oh, was it worth it.

Chapter 3

[the-iceni-bitch]

Hi love! I spun the wheels for your 3k celebration and here are my results :)

- one night stand/anonymous sex

- bryce langley

- i’m here to fuck your brains out

- i’m not here for small talk

- tell me why i just found them in your drawer

Ok, ok, ok. I can so see this for Bryce! And I was a little unsure how I was going to fit in the third prompt but I think I'm happy with my solution.

Straight smut and semi soft!dark (non-con panty stealing, stalking), so no minors!!!

God, you hated charity events.

If you had to listen to one more rich asshole talk your ear off about the plight of the white man you were going to jump off a balcony. The complete lack of self awareness as they wrote giant checks to help feed starving children in third world countries would have been laughable if it wasn’t so depressing.

At least there was an open bar, which you were taking full advantage of. You weren’t entirely sure how many whiskey sours you had tossed back, but you were actually laughing while some salt and pepper asshole who was definitely having a midlife crisis regaled you with stories of sailing around the world. Maybe you should slow down.

“Christ’s sake, Dick, you lying to another pretty thing about sailing to Brazil?” You felt a warm hand on the small of your back and turned to see a very pretty, younger man smirking at the dumbass who was trying to impress you. “He barely made it to South Carolina before running back with his tail between his legs.”

“Oh no!” You fully turned away from the older man with a sloppy grin, placing your hand on the new guy’s chest as you giggled. “That’s so pathetic.”

“Uh, excuse me.” Dick did not look happy with this turn of events, pouting when you glanced at him sideways.

“Go back to your disappointed wife, Dick.” The way his eyes were raking over you made you shiver, arousal flooding your panties as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

“It’s Y/N.” You gasped softly when he stepped closer, his hand running up your spine until he was running his fingers through your hair. “Yours?”

“Bryce.” His lips brushed against yours and your knees buckled, your hands gripping his lapels to keep yourself upright. Yeah, you definitely should have slowed down. You had never come apart so fast for anyone in your whole, kinda slutty adult life.

“Hi Bryce.” How were you supposed to focus on anything when his mouth was tracing your jaw like that? “Um, enjoying your night so far?”

“Listen, gorgeous, I’m not here for small talk.” He pressed you even closer and leaned forward so he could murmur right in your ear. “I’m here to fuck your brains out.”

“Oh.” Your voice was upsettingly small. “Cool.”

Neither of you said anything for the next two hours. Not when he had you pinned to the wall in the corridor and devoured your mouth with his while the two of you dry humped each other. Not when he drove the two of you through the city in his Porsche at an inadvisable speed while you swallowed greedily around his cock. Not even when he ate you out like a starving man while you were sprawled across the stairs to the second level of his penthouse apartment, but that was mostly because he had shoved your panties in your mouth to gag you.

You finally made it to his bedroom and he ripped your dress down your shoulders, leaning back to let you step out of it while he worked on stripping off his tuxedo. The tiny huff you let out when he tossed you on the bed made him grin, each small wanton sound that feel from your lips only serving to make his cock ache even more. And, god, what a fantastic cock it was. You practically started drooling when he finally stepped out of his pants and you got a good look at it, it had been to dark in the car for you to really appreciate just how yummy he was.

“Wait, Bryce.” You placed a hand on his chest when he bent over you, not wanting to lose yourself in another one of his kisses before it was too late. “Condom?”

“Are you fucking serious?” He looked slightly annoyed when his eyes met yours, but you weren’t backing down from this one. “You didn’t seem to care about a condom when you were swallowing my cum an hour ago.”

“Yeah, well I can’t get pregnant from swallowing.” You murmured, trying not to moan when you felt his shaft ghost over your clit. 

“Aww, pretty thing like you isn’t on birth control?” The smirk he was giving you was absolutely wicked. “That seems awful irresponsible.”

“Bryce, ah, shit.” His mouth started tracing your throat and made it very difficult to stay firm in your stance. “I’m serious, if you don’t have a condom, I’m pulling the plug.”

“C’mon gorgeous, I just wanna feel you.” He flicked his tongue out to lap up an errant bead of sweat and grinned at the whine you let out. “What if I pull out?”

“Oh god.” You were practically suffocating from the attention he was lavishing on you, finally grabbing his hair and yanking his head up so you could look him in the eye and regain some control of the situation. “No condom, no pussy.”

“Ugh, fine!” He pouted when he rolled off you, pulling his nightstand drawer open and drawing out a small foil packet. “Happy?”

You just grinned at him when he knelt between your legs again, brushing you fingers over his nipples and running your knees up his sides while he rolled the condom over his length and scowled at you. That scowl disappeared pretty fast when he gripped your hips tight and pulled you down on his length, his eyelids fluttering as a low groan left his throat while he curled over you. 

When his hips finally met yours you dropped your head back against the mattress, locking your heels together at the small of his back and letting him nip at your throat as he started moving his hips. It was just enough to drive you crazy, but all you wanted was for him to fuck you like an animal until you were screaming.

“Goddamn it.” You dug your fingers into his scalp and yanked his face back up to yours. “I thought you said you were gonna fuck my brains out.”

The only warning you had was his feral snarl and the way his pupils dilated even further and then every thought was flying out of your head when he bent you backwards and shoved your chest into his face, his teeth digging into your soft flesh and making you scream while his hips started slamming into you violently. 

His teeth were marring the soft curves of your chest as he fucked into you viciously, the tip of his cock punching you in the cervix with each brutal shove. It barely took anything for you to come apart with a sharp cry, your vision whiting out as your entire body tightened around him. The way he was holding you to him had your body bent in a series of odd angles, making every wave of pleasure that coursed through your system feel a thousand times more intense. 

Your orgasm didn’t even faze him, his hips still pistoning into yours at a wild rhythm that pushed the breath out of your lungs until you were a panting mess. He just kept sucking and biting at your breasts, the skin of your chest slick with your sweat and his saliva as your cunt throbbed around him.

One of his hands moved under your hip and tilted you so he could somehow drive into you even further and a coil you hadn’t even realized was gathering snapped. Your body jerked frantically underneath him, your pussy clenching around him so hard he couldn’t stop himself from filling the condom with a muffled growl. 

“That good enough for you, gorgeous?” He was grinning wickedly when he lifted his face to gaze at you. “C’mon now honey, did I fuck you stupid?”

“No.” You panted, returning his smile when he moved to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. “But maybe we should go another round so you can try again.”

“Oh, I knew bringing you home was a good idea!” He called from the bathroom. “I’m gonna turn that pussy out.”

You were still smiling when you moved to grab another condom from the nightstand, your face freezing when you got a look at the pair of soiled panties that was nestled inside. That wasn’t totally weird, lot’s of guys probably kept little souvenirs from their sexual conquests. 

What was weird was that they looked an awful lot like the panties you thought your washer had eaten a few weeks ago, and when you picked them up to examine them closer you felt bile rise in your throat when you spotted the tiny rip you had told yourself no one would notice because of the pattern of the lace.

“Bryce.” You rose on unsteady legs and staggered to the bathroom, confusion and fury coursing through your veins. “I’ve been missing these for weeks, tell me why I just found them in your drawer.”

“Ah, fuck.” He only looked mildly perturbed when he got a look at what you had clutched in your fist. “Why’d you have to go snooping, baby?”

“Don’t call me baby, how did you get these?” Your chest was starting to feel tight as panic took over your system. “Have you been in my house?”

“Do you really need me to answer that, Y/N?” 

You realized you didn’t. You’d noticed weird shit happening for a few weeks. Things not being where you’d left them. Pieces of clothing missing. Weird deliveries of flowers or fancy pastries from a supposed secret admirer that you just chalked up to the slightly creepy guy who had been flirting with you at work.

“But, why?” You had never even seen Bryce before tonight, this didn’t make sense.

“I saw your photo from the save the polar bears, or whatever, event last month in the Times.” His shrug was dismissive as he started stalking towards you. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so beautiful looking so annoyed at one of those things. Mostly because they’re all hookers.” He didn’t seem to mind that you were in the middle of an anxiety attack, wrapping an arm around your waist and shushing you softly as you started to cry. “But you weren’t a hooker. You were a little spitfire. Everything I found out about you just made me want you more, which reminds me, you’re gonna need to make some serious updates to your online security settings.”

You were sobbing into his chest now, only barely registering what he was saying as he moved a hand up to run through your hair absentmindedly.

“I still remember the first time I was in your house. I admit, I lost myself a little once I was in that cute little bedroom of yours, thought for sure you were gonna notice how messed up your sheets were after I jerked off in your bed.” You cringed against him at that admission, you were pretty sure you remembered that day. “It was so hard to keep myself from just taking you right away, but I wanted to make it organic. You know, have our relationship grow and evolve the right way.” He gripped your chin and tilted your head back so he could glare into your eyes. “Then you had to go and ruin it.”

You whimpered when he suddenly lifted you and started to carry you to the bed again, your body frozen in shock. He basically threw you onto the bed, the look of rage on his face softening slightly when he watched you curl around yourself then climbed in next to you. 

“Oh, shh, it’s ok, honey.” He cooed against your hair, stroking your arm softly as you continued to cry. “I forgive you. I’m gonna make you so happy.”

[magnumdays]

Magnum PI 3.13 - Cry Murder review

I’m not sure I need to say something about this episode. I mean you all saw it. It was just good. Frankly all of season 3 serves a ‘Atta girl’. You're going above and beyond. And this episode... pure gold!

Seriously I had to think for like 5 minutes for something to put on my 'like less' points because this was fantastic (and that one thing was ‘where my Ferrari? I luv Ferrari, me wanna see rarrri’ uhm yeah, my brain is part fluffy baby mush currently, you have been warned this review might be a tad bit off)! 

Every moment was on point. We got 2 adorable story-lines and a good case. 

Because it’s the least exciting and I’m feeling contrary, let’s talk about the case first. Because this could the start of a beautiful and lucrative friendship...

You see some insurance companies have “recovery specialists” inhouse and some hire PIs for bigger claims / stolen stuff / prove their clients are lying. Insurance companies, as mentioned on the show, also have money. Like lots. (Trust me, I worked as a temp at an insurance company and the money they throw around is ridiculous.)

If the show was smart they could have this lady be regularly brining them cases to do with weird insurance stuff. It could make for some pretty interesting conflict further down the line too because they’re helping the fat cats suddenly rather than the underdogs.

(I’d also like to point out that they actually stopped/ revealed a planed insurance fraud so they should still get paid a chunk for that, different firms have different policies but they should get more than their daily rate + expenses. Just saying.)

Also I want more of the cute insurance chick looking at Magnum all 'he’s fine' and Higgy not liking it. Seriously, if Ethan is going to stick around into season 4 Magnum needs a faux love interest too. 

#wearenotpleased

Even though this episode wasn’t very case focused, what we got was fun and a little twisty and just a good backdrop for the rest of the stuff. Of course they had to throw in a murder but still PI appropriate. I wish they’d do more smaller cases where no one dies or a million dollars is missing (more kind of Burn Notice inspired) where maybe the cops can’t help because the case isn’t ‘serious enough’ but is still ruining the person’s life.

Next up is Magnum getting his finger stuck in the mouse trap, telling Higgy about his pet mouse and then at the ends Juliet giving Magnum a mouse! Roberto the II! Does it get more adorable? IDK.

I love how Higgy is trying. She’s not quite sure how to express herself or how do thing always because she’s so out of practice and probably never had to before (quite the Magnum makes her want to) but she really cares so much even though she’s piss poor at expressing it sometimes. 

Them talking about wanting kids themselves was just... come on! Don’t make me want babies ever after for these two anymore than I already do!  Also two instances of Magnum/Higgy being mistaken for a couple and this lady thinking the baby is theirs? If season 7 don’t end with these idiots married and expecting a baby I will seriously strangle someone. 

 Other golden nuggets in this episode

Juliet singing and playing peekaboo on the phone.

Hiapo’s mom being “they seem like a really nice couple”

(”Not a couple?” #shook.)

TC + Rick being the cutest with the baby! Rick making a baby carrier thing from a backpack? It was just so perfect! As good as shopping cart for a stroller! 

Magnum and Juliet actually being out of breath after running (!!) 

(because authentic! But must have been totally weird to film because how do you fake being out of breath? Run a block before each shoot?)

and the heart-eyes. So many heart-eye moments this episode.

The whole gang saying they want to keep being part of Hiapo's life and then more heart-eyes! 

I really do hope we get to see Hiapo in the next season, even just for a minute. Same with Roberto the Mouse. But they have been a lot better with continuity and bringing things back so maybe!

Yeah. This was possibly one of my favorite episodes of late. It was also on my wish list for season 3 (a baby/kid episode)!

Only minus I got for today is the fact that title is a little lackluster and I missed the Ferrari (but the Porsche is nice too!). I'd love to have a scene of Magnum trying to put the baby seat in the Ferrari and Higgy being all. "That's not going to work." (fic idea...)

Also next week promo is kind of vague and the summary (“A psychic hires Magnum and Higgins to prevent a murder she claims to have foreseen... ....and Higgins struggles with whether or not to tell Ethan the truth about her past”) makes me think we’ll get at scene or two with Ethan but let’s pray we’ll get mostly our faves bickering about psychics, how predicting the future is impossible and them talking about whether she should or not tell Ethan about her spy life! 

I wonder if she really will, because next week is the second to last of the episode (OMG only 2 more episodes of Magnum this season? How will I survive?). If she is supposed to ride off into the sunset with Ethan (or start to and then change her mind?) they can’t really have him be all that upset about it? Not that I think he would but maybe it would throw him for a bit of a curve ball since I figure Richard would be one of the things she told him about... 

Also wondering how it will come up? I’m picturing them walking along a dark street after a nice dinner and a guy tries to rob them (at gun point) and Higgy does a ninja move and takes his gun and is all “run along now before I shoot you” while Ethan does a Surprised Pikachu face. Then Magnum calls with a case and she’s like “Um, gotta go, we’ll talk about this later alright?” #IGotMyPrioritiesStraight

Last thing, bummer about the MacGyver cancelation. Selfishly (because while I like MacGyver, Magnum is my baby) I’m thinking this ups the odds of Magnum getting season 4 (and it does look kind of hopeful from what I was seeing on insta/twitter from someone higher ups, right?) I still signed the petition for season 6 for MacGyver because they deserve at least a last half season to wrap it up nicely!

[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 7/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife's friend and his friend's wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Part Seven: Zemo keeps his promise

Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo's wife's name is Heike because of comics.  I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact).

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won't say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

You looked beautiful that night, beautiful in a way he never quite noticed before.

As Helmut held your hand to guide you from the seat of the car, feelings of guilt, and fear, and hope, and longing all swirled around his abdomen. And when you smiled at him, your eyes deep and pooling with emotions he wasn’t really ready to confront yet, electricity sizzled in the air.

You stepped inside with a word.

“That was really fun,” you said, breaking the silence as you toed off your shoes. “We’ll have to go again next time.”

“I’d rather not return there,” He replied, pulling his dark coat from his shoulders. "I much prefer the classics.”

Helmut knew those were fighting words, words that would keep you in his company for just a moment longer.

“You need to be more open-minded,” You scolded him, a playful challenge in your voice. He accepted it with ease.

“I’m open to plenty of new possibilities, I assure you.”

“Are you?”

“Indeed.”

There was something more to your banter that evening, something that spoke of many new possibilities.

*

He received a message from Oeznik one day, a reminder to check on one of the other estates.

He didn't really want to go — he finally narrowed down the identity of the Winter Soldier's handler and it would only be a matter of time before he found his hiding place — but he needed to investigate some financial discrepancies and make an effort to preserve his family's legacy.

So he invited you to accompany him and together you traveled to Italy, to a massive building miles away from any city. The building itself was ugly, a horrific mix of Romanesque and Rococo architecture, but the surrounding land was a lovely stretch of woodland and soft plains.

“How many estates do you own, exactly?” You asked, gazing out the window of the car as it entered through the gates.

“Only a few,” he shrugged. “You know about the 1908 Revolution, don’t you? When Sokovia’s nobility was forced to give up their land claims? My family lost claim to our Barony but my third Great Grandfather invested assets outside of Sokovia as a safeguard to his wealth." It’s a story he was told many times. It was meant to be a point of pride for the Zemo family, but all he came to realize was how paranoia drove a wedge between his family and the nation they claimed to serve.

For generations, his family held influential government positions and made the rules for others to follow while placing their money, and their trust, elsewhere. "Though this particular estate was passed down through my Mother's side of the family. As you can see they had a...interesting sense of design, much like you."

When the car stopped in front of the estate, a lovely older woman with a long nose and round face escorted you to the Sun Room.

The large windows offered an impressive view of the gardens and expanse of the woods beyond them.

“Hey,” you turned, calling for his attention as he dipped his fingers in a basin of soapy water. “What’s that over there?” Beyond the trees were tall lights, LED panels stuck to the side.

“A racetrack,” he answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh. Doesn’t it get loud?”

“No, why would it?”

“Because of all the people? And the cars?"

“No, no, you misunderstand, my friend. The track is mine.”

"Huh?" You snapped your head back at him.

“I like cars,” Helmut shrugged, “remind me again to show you the collection in Berlin.”

“The collection in Berlin?” You raised both your brows. It wasn’t your first time hearing about it, but you must have forgotten. “Is there anything you don’t have?”

“Beach-side property?” He suggested, a sly smile on his face.

“Oh, no! Whatever will you do without one, Baron?” You rolled your eyes exaggeratedly.

“I suppose I’ll have to buy one quickly. Where would you like to visit next?”

A maid wheeled in a cart before you had the chance to reply. She nodded toward him politely but looked at you as though she were confused. She had the skittish look of someone who had something to say, but remained silent as she began to set the table.

"Leave it," Helmut told her with a raised hand. She paused again.

“Baron?”

“Leave it,” He repeated, much lower this time. The maid lowered her head before retreating, leaving the room with a puzzled look on her face.

You shot him a concerned glance.

“You ok?”

“Of course,” he told you, “have a seat.” He

set the table instead.

Helmut wasn’t particularly angry. Rather, he felt annoyed. He didn’t appreciate the look the maid gave you, as if you didn’t belong there.

He could certainly understand the confusion.

News of Heike and Carl’s demise spread throughout his network of employees, even the ones he himself never checked in on (he counted on Oeznik to do that for him.) So when he arrived with you as his company, they must have assumed he already moved on.

You took a seat at his request and allowed him to pile food upon your plate.

“If you’d like to go for a ride,” He began, returning to your prior conversation, “I can have someone prepare the track for us. I have a collection here as well, though it isn't large.”

"I thought you said you had to work." You met his gaze.

"I can spare time." He said, because at that moment, as the sun poured into the windows and framed your face like a halo, he’d do anything for you.

*

The delectable smell of sun-dried tomatoes, garlic, olives, and warm buttered bread wafted through the air as Helmut told of the time he spent here as a child. He had many stories of running through the gilded halls, playing with decorative swords, and badgering Oeznik with questions about his supposed history as a soldier and spy.

You spent a long time talking. He eyed the bottles that lined the shelf on the wall but ignored them for the sake of keeping sharp senses.

And when your lunch settled, he escorted you outside.

A car needed to be called to reach the garage through the thick patch of trees that surrounded it.

The garage was another monstrosity, a wide cement structure that resembled a bunker, but it served its purpose well. It was warm, and the fluorescent lights gleamed off the paint of his sports cars, vintage and modern alike.

Someone, his mother, he believes, had a viewing lounge built behind a thick glass wall. Sheets covered the couches and chairs, but he knew it to be a comfortable place.

“Take your pick,” he offered you, gesturing to the cars all parked in a line.

After a few moments of wide-eyed gaping, you settled on a Bugatti in electric blue. Helmut approved of your good taste.

Like a gentleman, he opened the passenger door for you. He grabbed a pair of gloves from the glove compartment as you marveled at the soft leather and strapped yourself inside.

He smiled and, unlike a gentleman, lied when he told you, ‘I won't go too fast.’

He sped up quickly.

"Slow down!" You demanded, bracing yourself as he neared the car's top speed.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you, arrogance heavy in his voice, “I’m an excellent driver.”

The track wasn't perfectly symmetrical, in fact, it was quite abstract with its curved roads and the long lanes flanked by trees.

You eased up little by little and by the time of your third go around the racetrack, your eyes were wide with unfettered joy.

“See? What did I say?” He offered you a smug smile when he turned into the garage once again. You might have laughed at the look of disappointment on your face when he didn’t go around a fourth time. "Would you like to go around again?" He adjusted the fit of his gloves nonchalantly.

"Yeah, let’s do it again!" You nodded.

"The same car or a different one?"

"Do you have one that's faster?"

"Do you truly have to ask, Драга? Of course I have one faster."

Your excitement was infectious. He nearly forgot what it was like to truly let go and lose himself in the fun of the day. Instead of working or plotting or even thinking of those things, he showed off each of his favorite cars—the red Porsche, the orange McLaren, the silver Lamborghini—and took you for a ride in each of them.

And then, you asked about his darling—perhaps not his; it was produced and acquired nearly a decade before his birth, but he adored it all the same— the silvery-blue Jaguar E-Type Roadster.

There was no particular reason why he adored it, (‘aside from the fact that it was beautiful, he thought. Like any man of his means and interest, Helmut admired beautiful things.

He watched you admire the sleek, rounded design.

“What about this one?” He imagined, for a moment, sitting with you inside the convertible, your legs stretched before you, your hair pushed back by the wind, your form, and your laughter the only thing in focus as the world blurred by.

“This one isn’t for driving.” He decided quickly, because the road might not have held his focus and driving wouldn’t have been what he wanted to do. “And the clouds are coming through.”

It was meant to rain that evening and, true to his words, clouds gathered and grayed the sky.

When it got dark, he turned on the bright lights that framed the road and took you out one last time.

"I'd let you drive one if you wanted," he told you, before adding, "on the straight road," rather quickly.

"We can do it again tomorrow? You won't be too busy?"

Your smile was free of worry, free of doubt or hesitation; it was beautiful. He's glad he didn't take you out in the Jaguar.

"We can do whatever you want, Драга."

"I just want to spend more time with you, it doesn't matter what we're doing."

*

After dinner, Helmut escorted you to your bedroom.

You bid him goodnight and disappeared behind the ornate door.

Helmut retired to the library, not quite ready for bed. It was a large room with tall shelves stuffed with books of many shapes and sizes. He spent nearly an hour perusing the shelves until stumbling across a worn copy of Il Principe, The Prince. He was well familiar with the text. He was tempted to pick it up, to slide into a chair near the window, and read to the soothing sound of rain outside the window. He flipped through the pages with idle interest and wondered what you thought of Machiavelli. ‘You certainly wouldn’t agree with his philosophies,’ he thought. He considered bringing you the book, anyway.

But then he sighed. He spent the entire day ignoring his responsibilities in favor of spending time with you.

But just as he moved to slide the book into place, he heard soft footsteps moving toward him. The person approaching was used to going unnoticed.

“Oeznik,” Helmut greeted when the man reached the edge of his periphery

“Good evening, Sir.” Oeznik greeted, bowing his head respectfully. “Did you enjoy your day out on the tracks?���

“I did,” Helmut answered truthfully, the book still in hand. “Were you able to speak with the staff today?”

“Yes, I believe I’ve found the source of the discrepancy.”

“Thank you, Old Friend. I’ll take care of the rest.” He slid the book back in place and planned to leave, but Oeznik watched him carefully as if he was considering something.

“Was there anything else?”

“Forgive me Sir; I was just thinking. The rain will clear soon, so you should enjoy the new day.”

Helmut raised a brow. Helmut’s known Oeznik for far too long to think that his seemingly innocuous comment had anything to do with the weather.

“You think I should spend another day without working?” Spend another day with you.

“Time off is good for your health, Sir. I’ll handle what needs to be done.” Oeznik stood with his back straight, his eyes focused and clear. He trusted Oeznik with many things, but he wouldn’t leave his mission to anyone else.

“Regarding the staff?” Helmut asked, leading him toward the conversation he wanted to have. But Oeznik was old and stubborn. He’s known Helmut since he was a child and knew each of his games.

“Whatever else needs to be done.” Was his stern reply.

“I appreciate your offer but I’m fine.” Oeznik didn’t answer, he simply hummed. And that hum, that simple sound of dismissal, annoyed him. “You think I’m not?”

“You are. And it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this way, sir.” It was Helmut’s turn to hum now, to demise what he knew Oeznik wanted to say.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen him happy.

“Perhaps you should take a stroll out in the garden,” He says suddenly, turning to leave as he does. “It’s still nice for this time of year. Goodnight, Sir.”

“Goodnight.” Oeznik exits the library and disappears from view. Helmut presses his lips into a thin line and returns to his room and go to sleep—but not before taking Machiavelli down from the shelf and calling for a glass of whiskey.

*

“Would you like a tour of the estate?” Helmut offered after breakfast—he needed to inspect everything anyway. You agreed.

So he offered you his arm and took you through the gilded halls, recounting the building's long but turbulent history.

"I'm surprised you don't have a horse or something," you joked, looking over the southern balcony and into the grounds below.

"Would you like a horse?"

"Find me a unicorn and I’ll buy it myself.”

After the tour, you put on your jackets, and Helmut took you through the garden path. The warm weather plants weren't thriving, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

"This is nice," you sighed as you sat together on a bench. "I'm glad you invited me here, it's like a vacation."

"As am I," he answered, and the truth in his words surprised him.

Helmut was happy you were there, sitting beside him on a bench on a wild winter day in Italy. It was simple, but Helmut something inside him stirred and his heart swelled with affection for you.

You stayed like that for a while, relaxing beneath the shelter of winter flowers.

But then a chilly wind blew., you pressed a little closer, and he turned your way.

Your eyes met briefly.

“Are you cold?” He covered your hand with his own, warming them between the soft leather of his gloves. You met his gaze again and then your eyes fell lower, over his nose, his mouth, his neck, down his chest, and to the place where his hand held yours.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You released a shuddering sigh and then, with newfound confidence, gazed into his eyes again.

"Helmut," you said, voice just above a whisper.

"Hm?"

“Is this ok?” It was an open-ended question, one that could have meant anything and everything all at once. But somehow he knew exactly what you wanted to say.

“Maybe,” was his honest reply.

And then, as if pulled by some magnetic force, you both leaned forward as if the answer could be found in the space between your lips.

Neither of you made it very far before and he pulled away, turning his gaze toward the garden path.

You both looked away, the silence that settled between you louder than any words either of you could say.

"I just wanted to thank you…” You said softly. “I know you were supposed to be working today. It must be hard to have so much to manage. With...Dominik,” You said his name with some measure of difficulty, “There’s just money in the bank he left, a few stocks that manage themselves but you...it must be hard to be a Baron." You rambled nervously.

"... I'm glad to spend this time with you." He confessed.

There was little else he'd rather do.

*

Neither of you acknowledged what happened—or rather what failed to happen—and how it left you wanting, aching for something that couldn’t be said.

So instead you smiled politely, exchanged the usual pleasantries, and went about the rest of the day.

You were right; he had work to take care of. There were contracts to renew, work orders to approve, and papers to file.

So while you got cozy with a lovely charcuterie, he acquired an entire bottle of whiskey and set to work.

*

That night he thought about what happened in the garden, what might have happened had he not pulled away.

He let himself imagine the sweet press of your lips against his own, the hesitant glance you might have shared before taking the plunge and moving into deeper kisses and maybe something more.

The very thought made him yearn for you—and he certainly wouldn’t find an answer to that in a decanter.

Helmut sat up in his bed and glanced at the wall. You were there, just on the other side, and he wondered if you felt the same, if you felt the same need for him as he felt for you. But before he had the chance to rise, to knock upon your door and take you in his arms, he received a message on his phone.

Oeznik, true to his word, had done some work. He uncovered a piece of important information, something about the UN meeting setting a date for late March.

There was to be a vote on legislation meant to limit the power of the Avengers.

He was out of time, he realized, dread bubbling up to the pit of his stomach.

He had to leave.

*

You ate breakfast together the next morning and once again went your separate ways.

“Come find me when you’re done working, ok?” You said, looking as though you had something important to say. He ignored your expression and nodded, taking the last bite of food on his plate.

Helmut took his time to survey each of the rooms, talk to the staff, and confirm that everything was in its proper place.

Next came the troublesome part, the part where he needed to plan for you. He needed to make arrangements to ensure your wellbeing and prepare you for a future he couldn’t be a part of, no matter how much he longed to be.

The work was tedious, and though he cursed himself for failing to have done so months prior, Helmut persisted. He spent the entire day tucked away in his office, talking to various lawyers and financial advisors.

Unfortunately, their ‘advice’ was all but useless.

He poured a drink.

Within a few hours, Helmut learned it wouldn't be wise to give you his entire estate under the contingency of his death, imprisonment, or other incapacitation. There was very little that obligated you to uphold the ‘Zemo Legacy.’ Though Helmut knew they only cared about lining their own pockets.

At first, he didn’t care. But then he realized how the act of giving you his fortune would place you under public scrutiny.

The last thing he wanted was to cause you trouble, for rumors about mistresses or infidelity to fly. Marriage was completely out of the question, but a partnership... a partnership would work.

He had the paperwork faxed to him right away and had someone draw up an addition, something stating that you, by right, would inherit his assets and estate. Later he'd assemble a team of trustworthy people to assist you and ask Oeznik to guide you through everything.

He paid a fortune in expedition fees, but it was worth it in the end.

The only thing you had to do was sign.

*

By the time he found you, it was dusk. You were in one of the sitting rooms, a mug in hand as you caught up on some American show he never quite saw the appeal of. The main character was charming and savvy but the romantic subplots were repetitive and tiring.

“I’ve concluded all my business here,” Helmut told you, lingering near the door. “We can return home as soon as you like... unless you’d prefer to stay.” Helmut didn’t mind the idea of leaving you in there, in that estate.

It was large, remote, and fully staffed. You'd want for nothing living there.

“It’s been fun, but I should get back to my work soon.” You gave him a noncommittal shrug, placing down your mug down on a coster.

“I can have your supplies sent here,” He offered.

“Vacations have to end sometimes, Helmut,” you teased. “At least they do for us normal people, maybe not so much for Barons.”

He pressed his lips together in a tight smile.

“It doesn’t have to,” he insisted.

“Do you want to move?” You paused the show you were watching and sent him a wary gaze.

“Would you?”

“Well... I never thought about it. I mean...it’s been fun but I don’t think I’d want to live here. We’re miles away from... everything.” You gestured toward the window, out to vast stretches of land that seemed to go on forever. “It’s been nice to have people wait on me hand and foot but if we moved, I’d miss my friends—And I’d rather live somewhere less... remote.” You decided.

We.

Your choice of words wasn’t lost on him—your plan for the future included him. You expected him to be in your life. ‘As a friend?’ He wondered, ‘Or something different?’ Helmut opened his mouth to speak but shut it again just as quickly. He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“I see then. I'll return you home whenever you’re ready.”

“Return me home? Is there something going on?” You ask, shifting out of the blanket you were wrapped in. You looked confused, afraid of what he might say and what it would mean for the future you hoped to have together.

“Something came up, Драга, I’ll be leaving again.” He confessed, falling back to half-truths.

“Oh.” Though your voice was a soft whisper, your disappointment hardened that simple phrase, turned it into something piercing.

“I hoped you’d consider staying here while I was away,” He continued, “but if not I’ll hire a housekeeper, someone to keep you company—”

“Where are you going?” You pressed.

“To take care of business.” Had he met your gaze then, Helmut might have broken completely.

“When will you be back?” You pressed again, a deep scowl coming across your face.

“I don’t know.” He replied softly, and silence enveloped the room.“I thought we moved past this, Helmut. Why are you keeping secrets from me?” He didn’t have an answer.

“I have no intention of receding my promise to you. You’ll be taken care of-”

“Are you coming back?” You cut him off.

Helmut could feel your gaze burning through him. And when enough time passed, he turned to face you with a heavy heart.

“I don’t know,” he finally replied. He hated himself at that moment, more than he had in a long time. Because you didn’t look angry, you didn’t even look sad, you looked as though you’d just been betrayed.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, but you weren’t interested in apologies.

The breath you released was ragged as you struggled to hold back your confusion and outrage.

“Is...is this about what happened in the garden?”

“No,” He said quickly, closing the distance between you. Helmut stood an arm's length from the couch, hoping you would understand. But you turned your gaze away.

Kneeling, Helmut cupped your face between your hands, forcing you to turn his way once again. “This isn’t about you. This is about my work. I have enemies-”

“Helmut,” you cut him off, placing your hand upon his chest, your tone softer now, pleading. “Please don’t run off again. Please don’t leave me. I'm sorry about what happened, I’m sorry I tried to kiss you-”

"Don't apologize." You offered him far more than he deserved: happiness, stability, love—a good life. But as he stared at you, gazed up into your beautiful eyes, he knew that a happy future would never come to be.

Because if he kissed you, he would never want to stop. He would stay, and he would be happy by your side. But happiness in a world without Carl, without Heike, without his Father or his friend...it was far too much to bear. He wasn’t strong enough to bear it. He would always be a broken man. And you deserved something better, something more than the shattered heart he could provide.

“I hope one day you can forgive me.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But I must fulfill my promise.”

And he left.

He didn’t answer your calls or your texts—he didn’t even open them. There was no need. When he used his phone, it was to listen to his voicemail, to hear Heike's voice.

Because what he needed was conviction, an anchor to his grief. He needed to remember what he lost, not what he chose to leave behind.

***

Helmut rises from bed and prepares for the day ahead; He cleans, shaves, and dresses before heading to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.

There’s a subtle connection between love and cooking, one that Helmut feels as he sets about quartering one cup of strawberries and combining them with sugar and water over heat. After all, he wouldn’t make syrup for just anybody (Sam and James will have to accept whatever bottled variety of syrup you kept in the pantry.)

He then rolls up the sleeves and sets to work, mixing flour, eggs, milk, and sugar into the base of a waffle batter and pours it into the heated cask of your beloved waffle iron.

He pours a cup of coffee into a mug and takes a drink.

As the delicate aromas fill the air, he hears a quiet conversation between Sam and James grow louder as the two approach the kitchen.

“Gentleman,” Helmut greets, not bothering to turn around and meet their collective gaze. He opens the waffle iron and shuts it once more because they weren’t finished yet. He decided to give the test batch to James.

“Zemo,” Sam says first, “They found Madani—dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea. We have to get moving.”

Helmut quieted for just a moment. He underestimated the severity of Madani's condition, overestimated the time he had to share with you.

“I see,” he speaks, finally turning toward the two.

Sam appears to be well-rested, but James... James looks about the same as always, tired and tense. “Riga, you say? I have a place we can go.”

“Any more surprises we should know about?” Sam asks, nodding his head toward the stairs, to the room where you still slept.

“Nothing of the sort. I’ll have the plane prepared and we can be off by noon.”

Helmut wanted to spend more time with you, but it seems he was out of time once again.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Chizuru Town: The Dark and the Cold

TW: perverts TW: Death TW: Blood TW: Dragon Raja LMAO

Caesar and the MC should have been best friends. I kid you not. Revamped Story Quest in Chizuru below the cut!

In Siberia, winter hung long and low. Just as the tropic summer never seemed to end, the frigid canopy of arctic air never really left the place. For a few months, the sun didn’t rise over the horizon. At the peak of what should have been day, you only saw the glow of what looked more like the start of the dawn, before the sun rolled over and fell back under the horizon. Darkness descended in full and the stars were your only source of light unless you made your own.

The cold was so oppressive that it froze the sea. At night, instead of waves crashing on a golden shore, the ocean groaned like someone dying. Only in the summer, when the ice and permafrost softened, did you see hints of green. But they were always short. Eventually, the winter returned. Those who wanted to pretend it would not return were caught out by the fierce wind, unprepared, and froze to death in seconds.

Darkness and cold were embedded in you, MC, more than the weather. You understand the harshness of the world. Even though Caesar was doing his best to ‘play by the rules’ that icy law of ‘survival of the most deadly' was creeping up to surround all of you, like frost on a window. It had swallowed up Kitty and now Ms. Makoto. Only Caesar, Chu Zihang, and Lu Mingfei were left.

If that icy law dared threaten them, you would not hold back or play by any rules.

Caesar glimpsed this reality and tacitly acknowledged that Kitty’s death and Makoto’s offering to serve as bait for the gangsters was not in his game plan. He was looking outside down the drainage pipe through the hole in the wall of the dilapidated locker room. He could see the street below.

A heavy rain storm had moved over the city of Chizuru. EVA had darkened the city to help you escape the eyes of the Hydra underworld gang, but soon her grip would lose out to Kaguya, the Hydra’s own supercomputer.

Below, Caesar saw cars parked, engines still running, lights still on. Doubtless, these gangsters thought this would be a quick and easy job. Plus, the headlamps of cars served as good illumination. So they didn’t worry about them getting stolen. After all, they ran this town. No one dared touch their cars for fear of getting killed over it. Caesar nodded once. “Let’s see how good these kids are at racing.”

Kids. The word makes you want to spit acid. They were quite young but had nearly killed you countless times!

Caesar turned to look at you, gauging your reaction. “They are just kids. I hold the adults behind them more responsible.”

You stare back at him in silence but your expression is blank, listening. Your mind offers no arguments against the facts. Caesar’s logic seeps through, melting your frozen emotions. They had pursued you relentlessly, as if under strict orders not to leave until you were confirmed dead. Some of their weapons were military grade. It was true that children -- sixteen to twenty year olds -- wouldn't have been able to acquire such immense firepower without some sort of help from a higher authority.

Caesar’s eyes drop from your face. “Is that a local high school uniform?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice unexpectedly hoarse.

“Change out of it into one of the cheongsams here. I’ll be taking the car and I don’t want to be seen in a sports car with someone who looks like a high schooler. They might mistake me for one of those perverts!”

Even now, he was thinking of something like this? He could have escaped immediately but was concerned about his image? You quickly obey, snatching one of the red and gold cheongsams with a Chinese dragon embroidery off the hangers and stepping into the dressing room.

As you remove our clothes, you hear Caesar say. “Fold it up neatly, so we can return it to whomever you got it from.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. Well, of course, you needed to steal it. But you never thought once of taking it back. As you slip into the cheongsam, the smooth fabric falls over your skin. A mirror lays against the wall and you use it to pull the zipper up in the back. The cheongsam clings to your form like a second skin. 

Caesar wasn’t just following the rules. If he was just following the rules, he wouldn’t have cared about any of this.

You had told Caesar about your experience in watching your young friends get killed. He wanted to get back at those people, not become one of them by killing anyone young himself. No matter how hard things got, Caesar was the same because he believed in what he did and required everyone around him to rise to the same standard of morality.

You step out of the dressing room and Caesar nods. “Alright, let’s go. Zihang, you can pick whatever granny car suits you best. I’ll be in the Black Viper!” He grinned broadly.

“Will Ms. Makoto be alright?” Lu Mingfei asked.

Chu Zihang nodded slightly. “She wasn’t seen with us. And they’re under orders. If they were going to hurt her, they would have done so right then and there. She’ll be fine.”

“Excuse me, my lady.” Caesar bends over to pick you up and keep you out of the dirty water.

You take the pipe two streets down and then hurry back to the running cars. Even now, Caesar opens the door for you first and then slides over the hood to the other side. The car interior is shiny and black with an LED touch panel lighting it up like a spaceship. In the center console, you spot a bag of white powder.

“Heroin?” You ask.

He points to the door on the other side of you. “Put on your seatbelt. How did you know it was heroin?” 

“We used such medicine in Russia, I should know how to identify it.”

“To you, it’s medicine. Here it’s illegal drugs used to hype up the gangsters and also to make money. No wonder they were so crazy and could afford such vehicles.” Caesar opened a fuse box and started pulling out wires. While he worked, he asked, “Have you ever been in a car like this?”

“No.” You say, tucking the high school uniform under the seat. “Where I’m from, the only way to get around is either by ship or by dogsled.”

He grins. “Good. You’re about to get the ride of your life!”

“Ah, in return, then I will take you dog sledding.”

“You mean it?” Caesar immediately whipped his head around. His eyes glowed with excitement and joy, like a child being told they were going to Disney World. He was so enthusiastic that you felt embarrassed. In that sudden smile, you realized that he was actually quite good looking. 

“It’s… It’s not all that special.”

“What would be more special than riding on a dogsled with a beautiful lady?” He sat up and put on his own seatbelt while continuing to work on the car’s controls.

The car isn’t free to move however. There are vehicles parked around, blocking your way out. But you don’t see Chu Zihang or Lu Mingfei in any of them.

“Beautiful?” You look at him with a confused expression. No one had ever called you beautiful before. You shake your head. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better about Kitty.”

His eyes narrow and he suddenly grins in a way that reminds you of a devil. “No, this is how I get back at them for Kitty.” He yanked on the gear shift between the leather seats and slammed down on the accelerator. The car leaped backwards and smashed into the blue Porsche behind them, folding the front end of it.

He shifted again, this time the car leaped forward right into a Mini Cooper. Caesar, eyes shining in furious joy, turns the wheel and rolls over a custom green vintage Buick to their left. The car you were in had turned into a vicious beast in his hands. It smashed doors, windows, mirrors and headlamps until you were surrounded by destruction.

“Hey MC,” He laughed, “Check out the rearview mirror.”

He reaches up and turns it so you can see. Behind you, the boys all run out of the cafe, holding their heads and wailing in despair at the millions of dollars in damage Caesar had caused. He watches with clear delight as your face breaks into a sunny grin.

Suddenly, a burst of gunfire sends the boys scattering. The squeal of tires is heard and you see Chu Zihang and Lu Mingfei speed away in a Red Viper. Caesar clicks his tongue. “Why does he have to pick the same car…?” He laments.

The engine roars as Caesar commands the car to push the front end of the Mini Cooper ahead of you and shove it out of the way. But he’s still looking back at the young men who are scrambling to find undamaged cars and climb inside.

“There’s a lovely mountain road near here. With really nice curves. You don’t get sick do you?”

“You mean motion sickness? No, I’ve been on ships before. I don’t get dizzy.” You look behind you into shining headlights. The boys are prepared to give chase. It wouldn’t be much of a fun race if Caesar got too far ahead. He wanted them to see how much better a driver he was.

He let the headlights of the Maserati behind him get just close to kiss his bumper, then downshifted and floored it. MC squeaks and is pressed back against the seat. The headlights of the car, so close one moment, faded quickly behind you, like the other cars were standing still. The main highway up the mountains climbed steeply into a curve ahead but Caesar didn’t tap the brakes. The engine kept up the steady purr and took the turns perfectly smoothly.

It felt like flying, rising into the sky on a great beast. The trees passed you by in a blur and the guard rail looked like a shiny silver ribbon in the headlights. The feeling of delight tickles your chest and you giggle.

It was such an unfamiliar feeling, one you shouldn’t be having right now. Yet, now it was being teased out of you. It was as though the sun had peeked over the horizon in midwinter. Caesar had actually won. In the side mirror that remained from the demolition derby earlier, you see the lights of Chizuru burst back into bloom. The gangsters had returned to town and left you alone.

You’d never met anyone like Caesar. So you didn’t know it was possible to live like he did and still be able to survive. You doubted him at every turn and you were forced to reconsider again and again. This world that created predators like you could also create someone else. Someone who survived bloodlessly, cleanly. Something like this was mythical, like a unicorn.

Or a dragon.

A musical tone sounded in the car. It was coming from Caesar’s pocket. He pulled out his cellphone and held it to his ear. You don’t know what was said, but his expression suddenly changed from one of breezy confidence to blazing fury! He slams the brakes hard and the car spins in a complete one eighty to face the opposite direction.

“Did they say the name Makoto Aso?”

The hairs rise on the back of your neck. 

Caesar takes a deep breath and lets it out but his hand is gripping the steering wheel so tightly that the leather cover squeals under the pressure.

You can’t help but think that she’s dead, that the gangsters had killed her.

“What did he say last?” Caesar asked.

A pause.

“Oh.. he won’t have long to wait to get his car back.” Caesar’s voice was low and his smile was threatening.

Was it nice to stand in the sun for a while? It sure felt nice. You say goodbye to it in your heart. You would never see it again. The world had made its true nature known. It was darkness and winter.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut our joyride a little short. They have Ms. Makoto.”

“Is she dead?”

“No. Hold tight.”

You let your breath out in a whoosh and, for a second, you think that maybe there would be another chance to end this bloodlessly. The thought pops into your head and then disappears like a comet, a last glimmer of hope before you change your mind. No, it's really over. These people were not going to let you go.

Caesar observed the light leave your eyes and picked up the phone again. “Mingfei, tell Zihang to take you a few blocks away from the Cafe. Use the back entrance he used before, if possible. Find her and rescue her, I’ll buy you time. Mingfei, be ready to provide us cover fire. Yes, I know you only have one gun left! That will be enough. You’re a good shooter, even by Cassell standards. You’ll outshoot those boys easily.”

He was still trying.. But the icy cold had gripped your heart again and you could no longer believe him. They’d been outgunned and now outsmarted. As you return to town, you see that the cars that had been pursuing you turned back, not out of respect for Caesar’s driving skills, but to create a barrier between you and the cafe. Sitting on the hoods of those cars were the workers at the Cafe, still in their cheongsams, shivering in the rain, serving as human shields.

Ms. Makoto was on the roof of the building that was set ablaze. It wasn’t a steel structure but made from old wood construction. So not even the driving rain could put it out. The wind ruffled her skirt as she stood on the edge of the building. The heat must have been terrible. If you don’t hurry, she would either burn to death or jump to her death.

You don't look at Caesar. You’re still, as if your whole body were completely frozen. He was not a magical unicorn or a mighty dragon. He’d just underestimated his opponent. 

The man in the striped suit who had been caught stealing Makoto’s panties danced on top of a van in sheer glee at seeing you again, a shotgun in his hands. The gangsters cheered and chanted in victory. Rather than being the weak person you thought he was, he was the one who had ratted Makoto out. He’d hid in the locker you’d shoved him in, perfectly aware that she had helped you escape. He’d just pretended to be intimidated. 

He was actually the leader of the whole group.

“Maybe I should have let you have that Beretta.” Caesar’s voice was cold.

You huff once through your nose as your only acknowledgement. It was too late to regret now. Part of you feels sad that you were right about needing to kill those gangsters. But you don’t request he give you a weapon. There was a principle in hunting that you don’t shoot until you’re very close to your quarry, close enough to see the pattern of light in the beast's eyes. That meant a lot of time, and a lot of patience. The goal was one shot, one kill. Instant. The deer or elk would drop without a struggle.

If you rushed in now and poured your violence onto them, Caesar would have reason to doubt you because you didn’t give him time to implement his plan. You feel bad for Ms. Makoto, but you’re going to sit on your hands.

After all, if Caesar could pull a miracle out of this, maybe he would truly be a magician.

But if things went wrong, and Caesar’s life was at risk, he could put forth no further arguments against your actions and you would be free from objections, not only now, but in the future as well.

So when he says, “Stay in the car.” you nod obediently.

Caesar has parked just out of range of their bullets. Even if they had more high powered weaponry, they were unskilled and would likely miss at this distance.  Caesar takes his own gun and shoots through the windshield of the car. It shattered into a spiderweb of cracks and now you can’t see anything. He uses the butt of the gun to make a hole in the glass to see through. The rain pours in, running over the leather interior.

Caesar’s phone rang again. “Mingfei?” This time he put it on speaker.

“Yes, he’s on the phone with us again.”

“Translate. Don’t leave anything out. Understand?”

“Okay. Is… MC alright?”

“She’s more than fine. With me right now. What is he saying?”

The man was on the phone, seated cross legged on the roof of the van, smiling like an imp. 

Mingfei translated: “He says he was grateful to the young master of the Gattuso family for bringing his car back.”

“Tell him I’ll bury him in a coffin full of ladies’ underwear.”

“Boss, don’t make threats in this situation, okay? They have Ms. Makoto!”

“I’m aware. Just translate.” Caesar was calm, focussed.

Mingfei sighed. “No need for you to worry about me, Gattuso-kun, I’m already prepared.”

The man in the striped suit produced a pair of silk panties from his pocket, pressed them to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Ah! Ms. Makoto really smells pleasant!”

Your eyelids stretch a little wider. His lack of fear was chilling you even deeper, like an icy wind over an already frozen sea. Without moving your head, your eyes shift to Caesar.

This man wants Caesar to come to him. He wanted to fight. There had to be a good reason for his bravado. However, Caesar was falling for it. You could see the veins pop into relief on his neck and forehead. And just like with everything Caesar decides, you know, deep down, there’s no point in talking him out of it. If he turned around now, Ms. Makoto would surely die.

Caesar’s eyes scanned the defensive line, moving over the huddled victims on the hoods of the cars. Now it was Caesar, not you, who gave off the killer’s aura, like a bull elk, stamping the ground and tossing his mighty antlers.

He lifted his shoulders in a deep sigh. You relax your hands that had begun to grip your skirt, a habit that hadn’t appeared in you since you were ten years old.

“Who’s giving you orders?”

“Orders? Does Akabe need orders? Hahaha! No one instructs Akabe except the Lord Takeda Shingen himself!” The man is practically falling over himself in glee.

“Whatever that man is offering, the Gattuso family offers three times as much!” Caesar said with measured calm. “I guarantee that you will get the money alive.”

“Hehehehehe! Luckily, that Lord has already told me what kind of family the Gattuso family is, otherwise, I would have really been tempted by that price!” The suited man, Akabe, suddenly stopped laughing, like a switch had been turned off. “I’ll get the money alive, but I’ll be shot in the head before I can spend a cent of it… right, Gattuso-kun…?”

Caesar had nothing to say, since he was right. The people who blackmailed money from the Gattusos never lived long enough to spend it. He finally gave in. “Then what do you want?”

“You have a gun in your hand, right? Use the gun to shoot yourself in the calf and wrist. We know that you, Gattuso-kun, are a Class A hybrid, and Chu kun is also a Class A hybrid, and we’re too scared to get close when heroes like you are able-bodied.” Akabe said smoothly. “We don’t want to kill you either, our mission is to bring you to that Lord, for disposal.”

His words fell on your ears and they stirred you inside. Right now, Chu Zihang was running around a burning building. Mingfei Lu was going to start a gunfight, one against dozens, and Caesar and Chu Zihang were the targets. They said nothing about you. It’s like you weren’t even here. They can’t see you through the broken glass so you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Wait.” Caesar says.

The man in the suit scowls. “Wait for what?”

“Mingfei! Why did you translate that!” Caesar hissed.

“What? I wasn’t supposed to?” Mingfei squeaked.

You slip out of your cheongsam, not caring if Caesar saw or not. His morality no longer applied. Following it was obviously  going to get them all killed. “Tell him you’re going to offer me as a payment for your lives. It will buy you more time.”

“How do you know you won’t shoot me in the head once I’m unable to fight back? Translate that Mingfei.”

“Because I’m a man of my word!” Akabe said.

“How can I trust the word of a man who sneaks into the women’s locker room and steals underwear?”

You’re putting the schoolgirl uniform back on, buttoning the white shirt. “Give me your knife…” you whisper. Much to your delight, he hands it over. The word ‘Dictator’ is etched into the side and you use it to slice off the hem of the skirt, leaving just enough fabric for decency.

“It’s just entertainment, who doesn’t have a hobby? I just like the fabrics that smell good after coming off a girl’s body. It’s the same reason you like cigars, Gattuso-kun!” The man shamelessly takes several deep whiffs of his newly pilfered underpants.

“Okay.” You said confidently, “Tell him that you’ll offer me as payment instead. It doesn’t matter if he accepts or not, we're just buying time for Chu Zihang, right?”

He hesitates, his eyes flicking towards you. 

You lean on the center console. “I promise, I won’t do anything. I trust you to handle this.” 

He nods slowly. “Then. How about I offer you a fresh cigar?” He says to Akabe.

You open the passenger side door and step out. Caesar made it clear that he wasn’t lying when he said you were beautiful and you felt that, if you could stake your odds on anything, it would be his sincerity. After all, Caesar had seen many beautiful women before you. He had a beautiful fiancee. You just had to make it work so that you were irresistible to this man.

While browsing the comic book store, you picked up a manga. In the first panels, a girl walked in a school uniform, holding her black bag in front of her. Her hands were clasped, her arms framing her oversized chest, the fabric wrinkling just so, to show the outline. In the next panel, a gentle breeze lifts the hem of her skirt, showing a peek of the hem of her panties. Lu Mingfei saw what you were looking at and snatched it away, screeching that it was inappropriate.

You had no doubt that this man read comics like that though.

So that’s why you cut the hem of the skirt and when you stepped out of the car, you held your hands in front of you, just like the girl in the manga. The rain soaked you in minutes and, though you still were far away, the fabric soaked up the water, and clung to your young body as you walked slowly. 

Your black hair was loose, falling over your shoulders and sticking to your shiny face. All the boys in front of the Internet Cafe were in stunned disbelief. If that weren’t enough, the universe conspired with you and the wind came and lifted your hair and the hem of your skirt. The eyes of every boy followed that hem, entranced to see nothing but skin and then, a tiny, peek of black lace.

Chu Zihang only knew your size. He didn’t care about the style of women’s underwear. He just reached into the vending machine, grabbed what was nearest and tossed it to you, unaware that he was handing you sexy lace.

The man in the striped suit suddenly ran his sleeve over his mouth and chin to clear his drool.. You could no longer hear the translation, but from the look of his wide eyes and his breathless gasping in the phone, you figured you’d done a good enough job.

He screeched at the boys who snapped out of their trances and hurried to get behind you. He was roaring at them, even pointing his gun at them, making sure they knew that you were his personal prize. Once you reached the van, he reached up to you and helped you climb on top of the van to sit with him, all the way, screeching at the boys below you, who averted their eyes obediently.

He wrapped one arm around your waist and sneered at Gattuso some more before turning to lick your cheek and smell your neck. His eyes are wild as he talks on the phone, laughing, gleefully delighted. He was talking rapidly now. Though you couldn’t understand, it was clear he thought he’d won and won beyond his wildest dreams!

Then, he suddenly stops. His smile fades and he turns to you. He asks a single question and you hear the name, “Chu Zihang.”

Then a sudden explosion! Your eyes rise as the flames have exploded on the rooftop! Where was Chu Zihang? Did he die? Why did this weirdo say his name? Were you too late?”

The man grabs you and presses the shotgun to your back. He’s screaming at Caesar now, fiercely gleeful, but not in a way that was from a pleasant heart, but from the heart of a predator who had his prey.

The headlamps on the black Viper flash in the dark and the engine roars to life.. A blast of suppressive gunfire streams out from where Lu Mingfei is hidden, just as the car is accelerating straight towards you.

The gangsters and their hostages scatter and fall to the ground,  but they’re too stunned to react. They don’t know whether to find the unseen gunman or fire on the car that’s nearly on them!

The man in the suit sits still, holding you close, gun to your back. His eyes are now on Caesar.

Caesar is crouched on the hood of the car, his long blond hair bristling on his face, a cold determination in his eyes. But those eyes were no longer blue. 

They were a blazing, solid gold!

The boys are out of time to pick their target. Now Caesar pulls his own gun and fires on them from the hood of the raging car. Now they have to flee both the gunfire and the charging vehicle!

Caesar’s voice rings out like a church bell. “Makoto! Jump! I’ll catch you!”

The sight of his heroic pose, roar of the flames, the gunfire, and the screams -- They should have been traumatic. But now, they’re beautiful to you. If only Caesar had been at Black Swan Bay. How many people could he have saved? If you had fallen from the cliff in that case, he would have caught you, right?

An unnatural burst of wind surrounds the car and launches Caesar from it. His eyes are clear, straight ahead as he straightens his body like a rocket, easily clearing four stories.  His hand is  reaching out to Ms. Makoto. She jumps to meet him, completely trusting. 

Lu Mingfei is keeping the boys below pinned. Nothing can stop him. He was going to do it.

A cold laughter sounds in your ear.

Among the hundreds of shotgun blasts, a shotgun very close to you flashed. Dozens of lead pellets formed a sheet to catch Caesar in their deadly net. Caesar reacted instantly, arcing his body to avoid the shot. The pellets shredded his shirt, barely missing his neck.

But he had made a fatal mistake. He flailed desperately, brushing the fingers of Ms. Makoto as she fell past him.

Makoto Asou slapped the ground heavily. The flooding on the street lifted up in a splash that was stained with the red of her blood. In the next moment, the out of control Black Viper smashed into her body. Caesar landed on the car as it and drove her into the front of the building. Her blood spattered on the windshield as it crashed through wall after wall, disappearing inside.

“NO!” Caesar’s desperate cry, a wail of fear and despair, made you close your eyes.

You knew that feeling so intimately, as if you and Caesar now inhabited the same brain. You lost Vera just like this -- right in front of you. Only, you didn’t have the ideals like Caesar. The world wasn’t really supposed to be a certain way, it’s just the way it was. Still, you can’t help but feel sad for Makoto and for the shiny star of hope that Caesar had been and never would be again.

What would he do now, now that he had lost the fight like you did back then? Would his eyes harbor the darkness of Christmas over Northern Siberia, the Winter Solstice, where there was no sunlight to appear for another month and a half?

You lift your eyes to the overcast sky. You could no longer see the stars of Chizuru either.

[matchamorphosis]

𝑆𝑈𝑀𝑀𝐸𝑅 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑆

𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑖𝑓 𝑣𝑢𝑙𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛’𝑡 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠?

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 || a lovely picnic on the beach is where you two lovers find yourselves although the faults and cracks of your relationship start to come to shore.

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 || avenger!bucky barnes × [black//woc]fem!reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒 || fluffy angst

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 || 2.5K ➳ 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡 || @firefly-graphics

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 || 18+ sfw content; anxiety episode, depression mention, emotional and mental vulnerability, crying, unworthiness for love, this is just very angsty but I promise it does get better, minor dni

𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑠 || electric love by børns .  televised by hunny .  ease by troy sivan, broods

𝑤. 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 || for @burninmatches 🎊🌺 happy very late birthday poppy bby! 🌺🎊 i do hope you enjoy this!

as the stressful elements of your work environment and his demanding job pull you apart throughout your relationship you two do not allow the tense faculties to disrupt your summer off.

the only summer vacation in years that you both have to yourselves.

so the blissful moments when the streams of dandelion yellow sun rays flowed through the cracks of your sheer curtains rested on your closed eyelids, you awoke blissfully.

body facing your lover fast asleep, naked bodies breathing in sync. legs twined together harmoniously, you feel the moments of happiness and peace rushing the blood through the crevices of your heart.

feeling alive and at ease in the best emotional way.

it is now that you spring up the mattress, you needed today to be magnificent— to be absolutely magical. to be memorizing yet most significant to you and Bucky and what was a more satisfying summer trip then the glorious sands and soothing turquoise waters of the beach.

waking up Bucky with your pillow hitting against his sleepy face, he awakes with a tired lazy grin. knowing he felt the vixen energy radiating your atoms the moment you raised from your spot on the bed and started to wonder when you would wake him.

so at that moment after the mini pillow war Bucky just had to start and finish you both raced to the kitchen and started your simple breakfast. by simple it had to be contrived of fluffy eggs, smoked bacon, warm toast, juicy fruit and delicious tea all while listening to the blasting rusting root coming from the mini stereo in the kitchen.

finishing the prepping and cooking, you both sat at the small kitchen table as you spoke about your beach plan as Bucky had his egg toast and you ate your fruit salad. biting bits of bacon and feeding each other, licking the buttery grease off your fingertips.

pouring your cups of herbal mint tea you both chat while Bucky read his paper and you writing in your journal. the sounds of the singing morning birds and the light classical music in the background serve well in filling the spaces of welcomed silenced.

breakfast, well mornings in general, are most significant to you and Bucky because it is where you both are in your truest soft forms.

at this time the rushing anxieties cannot keep up and the stressful expectations of reality don’t exist — because it is just you and him with your bed hair, wrinkled silk pajamas and blue porcelain cups of steaming tea.

as both of you spoke about your individual thoughts and expectations of today you both couldn’t help your eyes colliding to find each other every other minute. a smile gracing both faces and laughter reminisces with the shy and childlike nature you both hold.

both your comfortable positions find the natural comforting silence as you both finish your breakfast. underneath the table both your feet touch against each other, just finding comfort in the presence that it is just you and him.

after your simple morning meal and the cleaning up that took longer than you thought, only at the hands of Bucky blowing soap suds in your hair and you exchanging the childish act by spreading jam on his cheeks with the tips of your fingers.

the both of you rushed to the bathroom to get ready for the day ahead of you. fits of laughter and chatter bring peaceful chaos to the apartment as the two of you bath together.

afterwards you are in your pale yellow sundress smelling sweet of vanilla bean, lemon zest and the woodsy elements of Bucky’s cologne. your favorite dress of the summer in your opinion brought a strong contrast to your others that consisted of reds, pinks, blues and greens.

finally after settling on a dress, you beam at yourself in the mirror. placing your brown straw sunhat on your head, giving a quick twirl you were complete.

at the other side of the room Bucky smiles softly, you had his hair in a small bun yet the little strands of hair around his face slip out.

although you do not mind as you spring to your feet walking to his side by the doorway. pecking his mouth sweetly, Bucky can taste the watermelon gloss on your lips and it’s all a blissful dream as he feels your curves through your sundress.

a giggle escapes through the opening jaw of your white teeth and plump lips, you lightly smack his hand that’s gripping your hips you run to the kitchen. hurrying to prep all the necessities of your picnic to the beach, as well as trying to find the picnic basket which Bucky claimed was lost for good.

well, not nearly as lost as he put it if after a good five minutes of searching you found it deep in the shelves of your pantry closet. but in the rush of placing the watermelon slices and fruit cubes of cantaloupe, honey dew, orange slices in containers you were pacing to finish!

fresh rolls and baguettes of baked bread, finely sliced deli meats, creamy cheeses in brown paper bags as well as glass bottles of wine in the picnic basket. so so much to do and you nearly jump in surprise noticing what time it is!

the clocks hand rested at two and you both rushed helplessly to get what you both needed before walking out of the little cottage you two reserved for the summer to Bucky’s shiny white porsche. both laughing and hurrying as quickly as possible while stuffing your beach-things in the backseats.

“I hope you didn’t forget anything Bucky. it be such a waste of time to keep going back and forth,” you giggle smiling brightly up at him while he starts the engine, he returns the smile and laugh taking your hands in his.

“plum, with you here time can’t reach us,” a rising bashful smile blesses your face and with that he pulls the topless car to the highway like streets crowded by the green trees and clay cliffs.

the sun shining brighter and more yellow than before, the cotton clouds floating heavenly against the blue skies, a breeze flows against your face and you smile delightfully while the music from the radio makes you sing along.

stringing Bucky into your loud singing you both laugh when you forget the words and you both smile as you sing on and off key, the smell of the salty waves get closer you hold onto his hand tighter.

when you two get closer to the more secluded area of beach the excitement rises between the two of you and both of you have a right to feel overly excited, feeling free of job related restraints.

you two take your time getting your items from the cars trunk and backseat and walk hand in hand towards the lines of rippled blue water and shell scattered sand.

the beach, surprising wasn’t at all crowded as you thought, for only a few bodies (families, groups of friends and couples young and old) massing the sands you walk a decent space away from them placing your pale blue picnic blanket on the warm sand you settle the other things before situating yourselves on it.

digging into your personal bag you search for the sunscreen while Bucky worked the antennas of the mini radio, searching for a station to listen to as his eyes wash over the sparkling tide.

grabbing the little beige bottle you apply the honeycomb scented sunscreen on his face and forearms, with a tug to his mint green shirt sleeve and a unintentional pout he strips himself of the tee shirt.

smiling from that kind gesture you continue spreading the sun protection lotion on his shoulders, back, and chest while a focused compassionate expression clouds your face.

which could be mistaken with lust to any person as there is an Adonis in your presence and your head shifts to kiss his lips softly, tenderly slow as your hands hold onto his biceps as he returns the kiss back.

backing your lips quickly afterwards with a smirk, which Bucky just scoffs at you in playful rage “what do you get out of not returning my kisses, dolly?” a sense of mock hurt laced in his low voice makes you giggle.

you can’t help the wide smile that spreads “maybe… for a chance to kiss you again,” you say and Bucky can’t help but laugh along with your corny remark.

lying his back besides yours he faces you, the scent of the cool salty winds hit against both your hair. the sound of soaring birds in the skies, the radios chatter, and light washing waves against the sand is muffled within the background

the worlds universal elements and distractions may captivate your sensory devices but the present glow of love between you and Bucky, is much stronger than the universes hold on reality itself

“I love you y/n,” Bucky whispers, each breath in his voice airing in pure devotion and admiration.

but you can’t figure out how to handle that, because now the sun disappears in the cloudy blue palette. the land goes and fades into a foggy grey, and the feeling of warmth is replaced with a cold shiver.

those three remarkable words honeyed on his tongue and you wish to feel so assured- Bucky is so assured that he will forever love you.

you hate it, you hate that your heart clenches in denial, how you hate thinking you doesn’t mean it.

hate the idea that you will never truly feel loved.

eyes watering and throat gone dry, the hand that is in Bucky's hand begins to shake and you can’t look him in the eye

“what’s wrong plum?” Bucky whispers attentive, cupping your cheek your eyes leave the rushing water before aligning with his, internally wishing the tears that slip from your eyes were invisible.

you do not know what exactly is wrong with you, maybe it’s the high expectations that drag you through not fully enjoying experiences like these or maybe it’s the constant whispers in your head that make you think you don’t deserve to enjoy moments like these.

this mess of internal and external tells and instances may seem irrational to assemble or to lead to the core of the issue is impossible for people to understand, but not for Bucky.

with the knuckle of his fingers he wipes the tears that continue to fall, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck his lips brush against the shell of ear.

“y/n, I love you,” he whispers but it croaks, the little sobs you let out continue and they’re growing louder minute by minute.

getting up on his knees he glances down on you, your face hidden in the sad blue blanket; you continue to let out the small sobs and rigid whimpers.

it’s all too much, too much for your heart and mind to contain.

Bucky understands this— it’s heartbreaking but true that you both haven’t been true to yourselves and to each other when it comes to your emotional well being. the both of you figured that a healthy relationship can still persist despite the sorrow you both harness unhealthily.

the droplets of his own tears on your skin makes you look up to him, his expression equally as emotionally broken as yours, you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck.

you don’t want to weigh your personal issues on his shoulders but what is this relationship that doesn’t consist of sharing your thousand heartbreaks and exposing your deepest scarred atrocities.

so instead of pushing him away from you, from wiping your own tears and denying this barefaced episode you clench him against you tighter.

shaking hands holding to the back of his neck and your hand in his hair as you release your world shattering tears and ground breaking sobs, Bucky does his best not to worry you, whispering his sweet words that always brings you down from the storm swirling in your head.

he is your anchor, your lover, your flesh and bone that is forever tied to you in this earth and the whole beyond.

the embrace a strong life gripping hug until Bucky lifts you up and carries you in his strong arms bridal style, walking on the sands to carry you into the pacific blue.

he looks no where else but your red watery eyes, this significant impairment is far to much for the two of you, for how could your relationship seem so simply untainted in the most harmless form yet so hurtful to the inner demons that hide in the crevices of your heart chambers that feast upon your hesitation.

Bucky hates that his tears haven’t lessen, the moments he’s walking knee deep in the cold water the realization in the drastic flaws of your relationship become so bare to him.

what is love between you two if you pretend to be okay, to pretend the hurt you two faced that still plagues and haunts you both isn’t real?

how could the two of you outrun the emotional and mental sorrow when it’s making you run away from each other?

what exactly is love if vulnerability doesn’t present itself stripped within all sentimental moralities?

“do you love me Bucky?” you both can’t recognize the voice shattered and broken, the tears are clear that they have not ceased; Bucky's jaw clenches hard to keep from screaming at the top of lungs that he does.

he doesn’t scream it for the world to hear, he doesn’t control the way his lips shake as they struggle to voice his truth, he doesn’t let you wipe his tears that cling to his lashes.

he takes a few more steps into the cold blue till he’s waist deep and your legs are wet, he captivates your peach soft face within his coarse palms, he holds you closer against him till his face is in the crook of your neck again.

he shakes against your now calm stance, it scares you more than he will ever know, it hurts when your lover cries like you.

you hold him tighter, rubbing his back trying your best to soothe him as you feel his wobbling lips against your ear while more warm tears rain down against your shoulder and the waves crash against his stature.

“I do, I do love you y/n l/n,” his voice broken yet those words are enough for him to feel whole, he crashes his lips against yours and you welcome them.

this is happiness he could be apart of.

this is love he can’t deny, this is a heaven he can believe in.

the clouds above cry with you, thundering and raining their tears the sound of the crashing waves and heavy shower soak you both to the brink but your lips do not dare separate from each other.

the tears replaces with raindrops the strong hold you two have within each other is not, you two have loved each other so hesitantly, trying your hardest to hide your broken pieces as if they were faults.

the smile that blossoms from your once pouting lips is beautifully spectacular, the tears not present anymore as well as the sniveling yet it goes hand in hand with Bucky's trembling smile and cerulean glass eyes.

a smile doesn’t cross is face easily, he clenches you closer and there you two run through the deep depth of the ocean as the rain continues pounding, with your love fueling his need to take you away from both your conflicting fiends in imaginative and ordinary incarnations.

“I LOVE YOU Y/N L/N! I LOVE YOU!” his voice emphasizing raw devotion it only harmonizes with the crashing ocean waves against their bodies and the thundering dark clouds above that sing along.

laughter bubbles against you as the shivering cold water hits against you, your soaking yellow sundress clinging onto your goosebump skin, the predicament was nowhere near expected in your affirmations of today’s outline but that in itself only makes you laugh louder.

the grey clouds crowd the heavenly blue but who needs the sunshine when you shine bright — oh so brighter than sun itself.

the waves crash against your bodies, gripping Bucky's shoulders that shake with cold and roaring laughter the tears in both your eyes aren’t riddled with sadness anymore but with compassion and vulnerable kindness.

he loves you, with all his heart he does.

[meaningofmotorsport]

Rome ePrix Race 1 Review

It may have been six weeks since they last raced, for the season opener in Saudi Arabia, but they made up for it with a barnstormer of a race, which saw ex-champions battling for the win, crashes, and our fair share of drama.

Starting from the beginning, the call to start behind the Safety Car, was a bit on the safe side in my opinion, although I can see why they did it. 23 cars barrelling into a tight first turn, on a slippery track, could cause a huge crash which would take a long time to clear up. When we did get underway, the action came think and fast, with Lotterer sending one up the inside of Vandoorne for the lead, however Stoffel did not yield and meant they both crashed. My view is, that both drivers have a part to play in the end result, it was a bold move from Andre, which was late and could have gone either way even if he had been left room. Then Vandoorne didn’t need to close down on him, it is early in the race, the Mercedes we saw had probably better pace during the race, so it was unnecessary on his part too.

Rowland’s tough day continued, as he overconsumed power in the race, had to serve a drive through, and lost the lead as well as any hopes of points. That left us with Di Grassi leading Vergne, who would battle it out for most of the rest of the race, with the help of Attack Mode. Both of them seemed as fast as each other on the whole, it was simply the slipstream I think which was aiding those behind, to save energy and overtake. The racing was hard as you would expect, with wheel banging and late moves, as you would expect from Formula E. Di Grassi got ahead after the last attack mode, with an inspired dive into Turn 4, and did deserve to win, but luck did not shine on him today, as we believe his driveshaft broke late on in the race.

That meant that Vergne brought it home to win, showing that the new DS powertrain has what it takes to fight for another title this year. He was as deserving of the win as Lucas, as he battled well and used strategy to keep in the mix. Can he build on this to take his third title?

The fight for the win was just the tip of the iceberg, in terms of the action for that race, as in behind them, we had Porsche battling Mercedes, Virgin and Nissan, trading paint, and touching the walls. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, comes the two Jaguar cars, who started mid pack as a result of being in Q1, and as the others fought hard, on top of their good use of Attack Mode, they ended up with an amazing double podium. This solidifies their teams title lead, and firmly puts them as a threat for the rest of the year, the pace the car had, and the way that both drivers could do opportunistic moves, may put them as the best pairing out there.

In a race of attrition, drivers like Rast and Wehrlein were able to make the most of their opportunities and grab a good haul of points. Frijns and Buemi may be disappointed with how the race ended, given they started ahead of the Jaguar’s, but neither could really match them as the race started to come to a close. Another honourable mention should go to Cassidy, who recovered from a poor qualifying, admittedly with the help of the chaos, to get some points in tricky conditions.

Mercedes may be the most disappointed team of all today, even if we ignore the early incident for the lead, they had a P4-5 result comfortably in their hands with 5 mins to go. However, when Vandoorne went around a slowing Di Grassi, who maybe could have moved offline himself, he caught a bump which sent the car into the wall, and left his teammate nowhere to go. I feel that their car was as fast as the Jaguar’s today, they just didn’t use their opportunities well enough, after such a great first race of the year, they need to bounce back soon!

I was initially worried about the change to the track layout in Rome, as the previous one had given us such great action in the past, however, today has won me over. There may still be a lot of 90 degree turns, yet the cars stay close and there is a lot of character in the track. My one worry is, that the bumps in some places, as we saw with Stoffel, are rather dangerous and if possible, should be looked at for future races. Also, having the grid on a curve can lead to the issue we saw in Practice 1, where an unsighted car not knowing the protocol, can plough into a load of stationary cars doing practice starts.

Looking to tomorrow, expect to see some teams improve a lot having learnt from today, nevertheless, Mercedes and Jaguar will still be ones to watch. Energy saving didn’t really play too much of a part in today’s race, due to the Safety Car’s, so that could make Race 2 even better!

-M

[tangled23works]

No Time To Die

The bonus chapter of my @olicitytropes fic is finally ready! Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Or keep reading here:

Felicity’s morning could have gone better if she weren’t stuck in a semi-formal brunch with the Queen family. Among the potted plants and decorations stood three people who couldn’t have been more awkward if they tried. On the surface, they were just waiting for Thea and Roy to start eating. The side looks and pursed lips however were telling a different story.

Thea’s insistence was the only reason why Felicity had woken up this early on this beautiful Sunday morning and driven to the orangery, a structure built inside the Queen property but not attached to the mansion. This place was always used for Sunday brunches when the temperamental Starling weather allowed it.

Felicity stared at the building in awe every time she visited. The roof was glazed and the sides were all covered in tall windows to allow the sunlight in. Moira Queen had surprisingly developed a green thumb somewhere along the way and had filled the space with orchids. The plants were really mercurial and demanded a great deal of attention but Felicity had heard her say that gardening was the only thing that got her through Oliver’s absence. The word of course conveyed none of the actual hell that the family had survived while losing both Oliver and Robert in a boat accident.

Felicity had been just a junior IT analyst when she met Thea two years ago. Needless to say she had been intimidated at first by Thea’s perfection, lack of incoherent babbles and overall coolness. It didn’t take long though for her to realize that there was something wrong with the 17-year-old girl. Thea’s pupils were always dilated, her visits to QC were not frequent but always ended in disaster and one rainy afternoon she had found her in the company’s bathroom trying to inhale some kind of white powder. Felicity had freaked out so much, she had called her friend Roy for advice. 

Considering the events of last week, she might owe Roy a gift. A really big gift. Felicity might have been the reason he met the love of his life but he had helped her out of a tight spot again. Twice now he had run towards danger when she needed him. Felicity sighed, making a mental note to buy Roy tickets for the Starling Jets VS Central City Rockets game. He would try to refuse but she was certain that deep down, he was dying to go.

“You’re here!” Thea squealed as she finally arrived.

Sometimes Felicity felt so much older than her 19-year-old friend.

“Your majesty called?”

Thea smacked her arm affectionately. “You know you love me, Liss.” Then she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “Ollie’s in a mood.”

Felicity resisted the urge to roll her eyes. When was Oliver NOT in a mood?

“Where’s Roy?”

“He couldn’t make it.”

Thea didn’t say it out loud but they both knew where Roy was. Iron Heights penitentiary. Visitors were only allowed every two weeks on Sundays.

“It’s just gonna be the four of us?”

Thea twined her arm around Felicity’s. “Mom threatened to invite the Bowens but Ollie vetoed her suggestion.”

They approached Moira and Oliver who appeared to be in the middle of a standoff. They reminded Felicity of that famous scene in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly where everyone was ready to shoot their gun but waited for the others to attack first. Huh, that was probably the reason why Thea had invited Felicity in the first place. As a buffer between her mother and older brother.

“I’m here,” she announced. A little too enthusiastically in Felicity’s opinion.

“Good. Raisa’s pancakes are better eaten warm,” Moira said, sounding cold and extremely polite.

Oliver’s expression was thunderous but at least his welcome was warmer and less threatening.

“Hey, Speedy.”

“Ugh, worst nickname ever!”

According to Thea, Oliver was not staying at the mansion these days. No one knew where and with whom he spent his nights but he at least had - begrudgingly - agreed to be accompanied by a bodyguard.

The light was shining on his handsome face and Felicity got distracted by his jawline. It reminded her of something but she couldn’t figure out what… The biggest injustice in the world was that she routinely made a fool of herself in front of Thea’s brother; the most handsome man she had ever met. In one infamous occasion he had declined a Mimosa and asked her simply to pass along the juice which had caused an epic babble about how she had noticed that he paid attention to what he put in his body. Thea and Roy, gleeful jerks that they were, still teased her about that one. 

“How are you, Oliver?” She spoke slowly and carefully. That way she would have fewer chances to embarrass herself.

“Fine. I did not expect to see you here.”

Could he be any less welcoming?

“Shut up, Ollie,” Thea interjected. “Since I can’t go anywhere these days, I’m allowed to invite my friends over.”

“You wouldn’t be under house arrest if you hadn’t wrecked my Porsche.”

Thea stuck her tongue out at her brother and he shook his head at her antics. Their bickering made Felicity smile. Oliver always seemed uptight and tense as if he expected someone to jump from behind the furniture and attack him. Thea’s foolish behavior was the only thing that could make him laugh.

“Children, please. Let us enjoy this beautiful morning without further discussion about this family’s propensity for accidents.”

They sat at the beautifully set table and Raisa served them a spread worthy of any high end restaurant. Felicity inhaled her cup of coffee - hey, it was only her first - and smothered her pancakes in Nutella. If she had to suffer through brunch with Moira and Oliver, then she could at least enjoy it.

She looked up and found him staring at her plate with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” She tried to raise an eyebrow of her own and failed.

“Nothing.”

He got a serving of scrambled eggs and salmon on his plate. A more healthy choice but one that could make Felicity gag. Especially this early in the morning. It was so ironic that Starling City’s prodigal son, the one who used to end up intoxicated in various events, was now such a health freak.

“I can feel you judging, Queen.”

“I can see your blood sugar rising, Smoak.”

Thea started coughing which probably meant that she was laughing her butt off. On the inside, of course.

“I hope that you don’t mind but I asked Walter to join us.”

Oh, boy. It was no secret that QC’s CFO, Walter Steele was enamored of Moira Queen, CEO. The relationship (and Felicity wasn’t sure she could actually call it that) had come as an unwelcome surprise to Oliver when he had returned from the dead. According to Thea, her brother had asked Walter point-blank if he intended to sleep with his mother. Walter had reacted with dignity to the accusation but his next visits were infrequent and always when Oliver was out of the house. Thea was kinda mad about it because she loved Walter and viewed him as a surrogate father.

“Is this visit necessary?” Oliver asked. He put down his fork and seemed to be concentrating on a point beyond Felicity’s left shoulder. During their interactions he rarely ate more than a bird as her bubbe used to say. 

“Yes, it is,” Moira replied, decisively. “There is your mandatory court appearance to discuss. Or have you forgotten?”

“What does it have to do with Walter?”

“It affects QC. Darling, your name is on the building. One day you might decide to follow in your father’s footsteps-”

The chair fell down with a bang as Oliver got up suddenly.

“I didn’t study business management in any of the four colleges I dropped out of,” he remarked.

“Did I tell you that Felicity met the Hood?”

Thea’s question fell like a grenade. Felicity blushed scarlet when both Oliver and Moira focused on her. 

“Meet is an overstatement. I didn’t actually meet him. I just saw him,” Felicity said while trying to kick Thea under the table.

“Don’t be modest, Liss. You saved his life. My best friend is a badass!”

“Thea!”

“Sorry, Mom. I would have said she’s a badbutt but it sounds ridiculous.”

Oliver’s lips curved. Of course it didn’t exactly reach his eyes but for him it was like a full blown chuckle. He sat back down and focused on Felicity.

“So, Miss Smoak how did you meet the vigilante?”

Felicity fidgeted under the scrutiny of both Moira and Oliver. Describing her encounter with the vigilante seemed disloyal. It sounded silly because he hadn’t actually prohibited her from discussing their meeting but she was protective of him. And she was sure that Oliver would end up mocking the Hood. Felicity couldn’t imagine two people as different as Oliver Queen and the man who dressed up in green leather and fought bad guys in the Glades. One had lived a pampered existence, with the exception of a few years in a jungle of course, and the other risked his life everyday to save the lives of people he didn’t know. In fact she was willing to bet that underneath his cashmere sweater Oliver Queen had a body built at the gym, nice to look at for sure, but nothing like the Hood’s lean, mean, fighting machine.

“Oh no, I’ve lapsed into song lyrics.”

“Excuse me?” Moira was looking at Felicity as if she had grown a second head.

Felicity turned to Thea who was fighting another smile, “I didn’t say that outloud, did I?”

“Yeah, Liss.” Felicity resisted the urge to bang her head on the table while Thea, the traitor, kept pushing, “You didn’t answer Mom though. Tell them how you met the vigilante.”

Felicity poured milk into her second cup of coffee.

“It’s not a big deal. I found him hurt on the street and kept him safe until he was well enough to leave.”

“But you took him into your house, Liss. You were really brave-”

“And incredibly stupid. That man is a psychopath.”

“He isn’t, Ollie! He saves people!”

Moira put down her fork, gently. “Nevertheless, Miss Smoak took a great risk welcoming a man like that into her home.”

Felicity’s cheeks were burning. She just knew that the older members of the Queen family would disapprove of her actions. After all, the Hood hated one-percenters with good reason.

“What would you have done in my shoes, Mrs Queen? I couldn’t very well leave him alone to die in the Glades.”

“If I had found the Hood, I would have called the police,” Moira replied with a superior smirk that grated on Felicity’s nerves.

Thea must have sensed that Felicity was about to go off on a tangent so she interrupted them quickly.

“What do you think, Ollie?”

“I think that this guy needs a better nickname than the ‘Hood’.”

They all laughed at his irreverent comment.

“How about the ‘Bow’?” Thea suggested with a twinkle in her eyes.

“The ‘Quiver’?” Oliver countered.

“The ‘Arrow’,” Felicity said. Which actually was a decent code name. Much better than the ‘Hood’ and a lot more defining than the ‘Green Guy’ which is what detective Lance usually called him during press conferences. “Nicknames aside, I still think that he can potentially be great for our city. He might be obsessed with stealing from the rich to give to the poor but in my eyes and in the eyes of everyone that lives in the Glades, that man is a hero.”

Felicity’s passionate speech was met with silence.

The Queens were celebrating Oliver’s official return from the dead with a lavish party. There was just one issue. The man of the hour was not home yet.

Oliver leaped the gap between the two buildings and landed on the roof with ease. 

Tonight he was not Oliver Queen. He was the Hood.

He heard someone gasping and the subsequent click of a photo being taken but he didn’t stop long enough to check. It was dangerous to engage in Hood activities before night fell but he didn't have much time. After all, he had a party to attend.

The tip had come as Oliver was leaving the court. After being officially recognized as Oliver Queen, returned to the living, he had been antsy. He wanted to be active, to be doing something useful for those who needed him. He didn’t want to be the son of a dead man and heir to Queen Consolidated. He wanted to direct this anger, this feeling of being trapped somewhere. He wanted to fight. So when his phone had beeped with the information that someone was abducting teenagers in the Glades he had jumped at the chance.

Oliver ran along the roof and shot an arrow with a grappling hook to cover the distance between this building and the next. The buildings in the Glades were not constructed as thoughtfully as the rest of the city. Sometimes they were literally one on top of the other, other times they were so far apart that they required special arrows.

Arrow was what she had called him. 

It was weird but during the last three weeks no matter if he was dressed in Armani suits or green leather, he couldn’t help but think of her. 

Felicity Smoak. The bane of his existence. The woman who had protected him that night after his fight with Helena and then defended his alter ego passionately to him and his mother.

She had called him a hero. If only she knew how wrong she was… Oliver Queen was not a hero. At best he was this city’s revenge against the people who had wronged it. At worst he was a man made for darkness.

But Felicity knew nothing about it. This was his mission. His burden to carry. And somehow, she was dangerous to him. He could sense it with the part of his primordial brain that had saved his life countless times on the island.

Vowing to stay away from her, he climbed on a balcony and saw that he was over Tempest, a well-known dive bar where low-life criminals hung out. His leg was bothering him again but he ignored it. The first thing he had learned on Lian Yu was how to shut down pain. It was a military trick and Slade had warned him it could be dangerous if you were fatally injured and ignored your body’s signals but since this wound was already healing, Oliver would be fine for a few hours.

In the alley behind Tempest, a lone figure was waiting.

“What took you so long?”

Sin was far too young to be living alone in the Glades and definitely too young to be going out for a drink at Tempest but she was also his best informant. He had promised Sara he would keep an eye on her when he got to Starling and he would make good on that promise.

“You said they’re taking teens off the streets.”

“Yeah.”

When she didn’t volunteer anything else, Oliver crouched low and jumped from the fire escape. He landed with a soft thud which made her smile.

“You said you were hurt.”

“I was. Now I’m better.”

He wasn’t used to people asking about his wounds. Oliver Queen might have a few friends but the Hood had none. And that was how he liked it.

“My friend Max was taken last night. They found him in an alley with blood leaking from his eyes, nose and ears. They say he OD'd but they’re wrong. Max was a pickpocket but he wasn’t a junkie. He didn’t even smoke weed with the rest of us.”

Oliver shook his head at the thought of Sin smoking at all but that was a fight for another day. If someone was indeed taking teens off the streets, he had to take them out. And fast.

“I’ll look into it,” he promised.

“Good,” Sin nodded with satisfaction. 

The faith she had in him reminded him of Felicity Smoak again.

“Did you find anything more about the book?”

The question was not unexpected. Ever since she had tried to pick his pockets and found the old notebook, she had been fascinated by it. Oliver could understand her obsession well. Back on the island he had examined it compulsively every day, trying to figure out why his father would give him an empty notebook and order him to keep it safe. There was nothing written on it so the reason for secrecy was lost on him.

“There’s something else,” Sin said.

He tilted his head in question. Sin was familiar with his lack of verbal communication so she didn’t hesitate.

“There was a man poking his nose into a warehouse around here last week.”

“What kind of man?”

“One of the bigwigs you always see on TV. Like the Queens or the Merlyns.”

Now that was interesting.

“Describe him,” he ordered.

“Ted saw him. Black, polite, asked Ted for directions.”

That didn’t give him much. 

“Anything else?” he asked roughly. He was beginning to feel a little impatient.

“Yeah. Ted said the dude was British. Spoke with a real funny accent.”

The blaring sound of police sirens interrupted their conversation.

“You better pick up your feet. You might be hang-up on that book but your friend detective Lance is hang-up on you.”

Oliver appreciated the warning but it was unnecessary. He was well aware of Lance’s current obsession with the Hood.

He gritted his teeth and climbed back up the fire escape as fast as he could. Sin gave him a mock salute and disappeared quickly.

The sirens sounded closer as he resumed his running and jumping from one rooftop to another. 

Escape via the roofs seemed ideal until he came up to a gap even he couldn’t cross by arrow. Growling under his breath, Oliver was forced to jump down and cross the empty street.

“I see him,” a voice yelled.

Running away from detective Lance wasn’t Oliver’s idea of fun. Especially since he had to be back at the mansion for his ‘welcome back’ party.

He flattened himself against the nearest wall and waited for the threat to pass. Lance and his men were like a dog with a bone. According to his mother, the Mayor wasn’t happy with the fact that a vigilante was loose on the streets targeting this city’s upstanding citizens. So the Mayor kept pushing Lance for results and Lance kept hunting Oliver with maniacal dedication.

“We’ll get the bastard tonight,” Lance vowed but his voice came from far away and Oliver felt safe enough to attempt another escape.

However, the detective had become wiser during the weeks they played their cat and mouse game. This time he had actually asked his officers to double back so when Oliver emerged from the alley, he fell into a trap.

Oliver didn't know who was more surprised. Him or the poor officers.

The man in front of him recovered first and pointed his gun at him.

“Don’t move!”

Not moving was not an option. The bow would be no use in such close quarters. Hand to hand combat was the only choice.

Oliver stretched his arms overhead and jumped, grasping one of the nearest fire escape rails. The move saved him from getting shot because the officer had fired his gun reflexively.

Oliver used the momentum he had gained and kicked with his feet the man closer to him. When the officer fell unconscious to the ground due to the force of the hit, he swung and dropped, rolling away as he hit the asphalt. He didn’t want to hurt them but they left him no other choice. Detective Lance would have heard by now the shot so he was about to have more company.

The blow from behind brought him to his knees. One of these fuckers had managed to get close to him when he wasn’t paying attention. Oliver twisted and grabbing the officer’s legs, he managed to topple him to the ground. His head hit the pavement with a sickening thud but there was no time to regret the action. 

The third officer was approaching and he didn’t seem in a mood to retreat. Oliver charged him and it was clear from the surprise on his face that he wasn’t expecting that. Oliver slammed his fist into the man’s face repeatedly but the officer was clever enough to try to knee him in the balls. He avoided the sneaky attack and felt a savage satisfaction when the next punch broke his attackers nose.

Only the sound of sirens coming closer than ever stopped Oliver. He was running before he had the time to process his next thought. A dumpster at the corner of the street gave him enough leverage to jump and then he was climbing again, his fingers straining for holds before he managed to reach the roof.

He stayed hidden only for a few moments just to make sure that he hadn’t killed any of these idiots and then he ran like hell. He had to have an important talk with his mother’s suitor. Luckily, he knew exactly where to find Walter Steele.

There was no ‘Oliver Queen is back from the dead’ party without Oliver Queen himself.

[transformersaesthetics]

Gender in G1

Hey gang!  This article will be the first in a series going through the history of female transformers. We’ll be talking about character designs, relevance to the plot, and toys to analyze the role of female characters and figures in our beloved franchise. We will first observe traits, and then conduct analysis. I’m going to start with Generation One and work our way through the history of the brand. 

    There’s been a trend, starting in the 2001 Botcon fiction with the Beast Wars basic figure Sonar, of retconning toy only characters that were not explicitly established to be men as women, especially through Ask Vector Prime and more obscure fiction like the comics.(Crockalley) While this reflects an admirable desire to increase representation, it says more about our values today than it does about the history of the brand and the development of female characters, while still being an important part of that story. As we shall see, the existence of the conventions and exclusive toys complicates things a great deal. For example, technically, the first female decepticon is Nightracer, a Botcon 1994 exclusive go-bot, but most people never had the opportunity to purchase that toy, or have even heard of the character.(Elita2)   This does create, retrospectively, some ambiguity about who exactly gets to claim the title of first female transformer to have a toy, and other things of that nature. I started writing this essay with the intention of examining prominent female transformers, with the idea that, while people do indeed read the old 3H comics and scour Ask Vector Prime, the bulk of exposure most people, and operatively most children, have is to the primary fiction, and to the characters thrust into the spotlight by the good folks at Hasbro. 

So, without further ado, let’s jump right in with Generation 1! 

    While Arcee is the character who most immediately springs to mind when we examine female transformers in the Generation 1 fiction, there are in fact several others of note, and interestingly, several who appear first. The very first female transformers we meet are in the episode the Search for Alpha Trion.(ChrisMcFeely) We’re introduced to five whole female characters. The first one on screen, making her the first female transformer to appear anywhere, is Chromia.(Derik, Chromia) One of the first things we hear about them is that Shockwave thought they were extinct, and… There’s a lot to unpack there, and instead of doing that, I’m going to say “80’s cartoon sensitivity to issues of gender” and leave it at that.(ChrisMcFeely) These characters form a guerrilla unit of soldiers who have been harassing Shockwave as he tries to run Cybertron.(ChrisMcFeely) The character models are reasonably homogenous. The color palette used for them consists of traditionally female colors, such as pink, light blue, and lime green.(ChrisMcFeely) Rather than the blocky build exhibited by most of the G1 cast, they are slim and curvy.(ChrisMcFeely) Also unlike the rest of the cast, they wear lipstick and have sizible busts.(ChrisMcFeely) This really sets the tone for the majority of female characters going forwards. While the men exhibit a variety of body types and different degrees of blockiness, the women are almost invariably voluptuous and slender, and frequently rather busty.

 As far as the plot goes, there’s a bevy of pluses and minuses. In the opening scenes of the episode, the female autobots are shown operating independently.(ChrisMcFeely) However, Elita-1 is quickly captured and Optimus Prime races to her rescue. Later on, she saves him, but at the cost of her own well being, which forces Optimus to once again rescue her.(ChisMcFeely) Every named female autobot (Chromia, Moonracer and Elita-1) is romantically involved with a male autobot.(ChrisMcFeely)  A couple of the female autobots, Greenlight and Lancer, didn’t actually receive names for 25 years.(ItsWalky, Greenlight; Lancer) In the larger context of the G1 cartoon, these characters have essentially no impact. This is the only episode most of them appear in, with the sole exception of Elita-1, who would go on to appear in the episode War Dawn.(Omnisvalidus)

As far as toys go, Chromia didn’t receive a general retail toy until 2014.(Derik, Chromia) Elita 1 and Moonracer didn’t get general retail toys until 2018, although all of them did get a convention or Timelines toy in 2005-6 or so.(Vanguard; Derik, Moonracer) The most revealing thing about these paragraphs is that is more or less literally all there is to say. Elita-1 got a model kit in the 90s, but only in Japan, Chromia shows up in some BotCon comics… And that’s all.(Vanguard; Derik, Chromia)

    Then, in 1986, the transformers movie came out, and we got Arcee, the first really prominent female transformer.(S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) She’s pink, she wears lipstick, and she’s got curves and a chest, planting her squarely in the traditional female aesthetic. Like Elita-1, she got a couple of model kits in the 90’s, but her history of receiving toys is famously abysmal. There were no fewer than 3 separate G1 toys of her that were canceled.(S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) She finally got a toy in 2006, a convention exclusive redeco of Transmetal 2 Blackarachnia, but she only got a toy that actually turned into a car in 2008, again as a retool and only in Japan.(S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) She only received a toy based on her character model in 2014, almost 30 years after her introduction.(S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47)

 We encounter here for the first time a pattern that will haunt us for the rest of our survey. Female transformers characters tend to not receive toys. In my personal collection, I have exactly 3, two of which are minicons. In my collection of approximately 200 figures, 3 of them are women, and only 1 is a deluxe. 

Arcee’s record of fictional appearances is not much stronger. In the ‘86 movie, Arcee basically hangs out and does vague crush things on Hot Rod or Springer, depending on who wrote the scene.(S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) She also takes care of Daniel, and that’s pretty much it, not only for the movie but for the rest of her cartoon appearances.(S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47) I’m not sure she ever got an episode focusing on her, if she ever once drove the plot, or did anything much really other than hang out with Daniel, god rest her soul. 

    That’s actually not the bottom of the barrel yet. There are two other female characters of note in G1, both from the Japanese Super God Masterforce cartoon. The Masterforce characters were not actually transformers themselves, by and large, but human pilots of Transtectors, giant robot bodies that allowed Takara to sell headmasters and powermasters, figures where the head formed a separate little robot, represented in fiction by the human.(Singularity) Accordingly, the characters discussed here might not exactly count as Autobots or Decepticons, but, since they were main characters in a main show, they still form an important part of the history of women in transformers.  Minerva is part of the core cast of Autobots, and serves as a medic.(Derik, Minerva) The other is one of the primary antagonists, Mega, the… owner? Pilot? Of one half of Overlord. (Derik, Mega) 

Minerva is actually the first female character to receive a toy, in 1988, four years after the launch of the franchise.(Derik, Minerva) Minerva’s toy shares a mold with Nightbeat, and unfortunately we don’t have any information about who the mold was designed for “first”, as it were, so we’re going to have to wait a while for the first toy designed from the beginning to be a female character. Minerva’s toy is remarkable because it lacks many of the hallmarks of female toys released even today. It’s as blocky as any other Autobot car, doesn’t have high heels or a sculpted busom, etc.(Derik, Minerva) The proportions are also rather generic, rather than featuring the slender and voluptuous build that will haunt our survey. Minerva turns into an ambulance (Nightbeat’s Porsche mode with a lightbar), befitting her status as a medic. 

Mega’s toy is also very interesting. She controls one half of the rather generically proportioned Overlord transtector , which turns into a jet and a tank, two decidedly male coded vehicles. (Derik, Mega) Overlord is also absolutely bristling with guns, which is also not a traditional quality of female characters.(Derki, Mega) Indeed, Mega actually presents an intriguing dichotomy. While she herself is robustly and obviously female, Overlord is simply a robot, and in every subsequent depiction is male. 

In terms of character model, Minerva is quite interesting. One would expect that the model would be very similar to that of Nightbeat, and indeed to some extent it is. (Nightbeat never actually appears in the G1 cartoon, so he only has a character model for the comics and some commercial appearances.)(ItsWalky, Nightbeat) It features the same helmet, and hallmarks such as the chest and general kibble. However, some important liberties have been taken. Her color palette is not Nightbeat’s blues and yellows, but rather, white, pink and red, a decidedly more feminine set of colors.(Derik, Minerva) While not nearly as curvy as the original female Autobots, her proportions have been altered so that she fits a more traditionally feminine body shape.(Derik, Minvera)  Rather than the idealized Dorito of masculinity, Minerva's robot mode had relatively slender shoulders and waist, and relatively broad hips and large thighs, all hallmarks of traditional female body imagery.(Derik, Minerva) Minerva actually doesn't have breast analogues, largely because of the Nightbeat mold's aggressively flat chest.(Derik, Minerva)  

Minerva walks a fascinating line of being female while still clearly being a giant robot, and not a person covered in metal as with earlier G1 women. This represents a really interesting way of presenting female characters visually. They can have traditionally feminine characteristics without being consumed by them. Unfortunately, that's not something we really see too much more of in the brand, at least not for quite some time. In terms of her human character model, Minerva's got a suit, and her proportions aren't too disgusting, particularly for anime.(Derik, Minerva) It looks like she gets sexualized some of the time, but who doesn’t in anime (which is a can of worms quite outside of the scope of this article.) 

Mega is also an intriguing blend of different ideas. Her human character model wears a skin tight witch princess outfit, and is very traditionally feminine in terms of proportions, accessories etc.(Derik, Mega) The robot that she shares control of is a massive, male robot with guns poking out of every possible surface.(Derik, Mega)  Without consciously trying to make a statement about women and gender, the Masterforce team created a blend of signals of masculinity and femininity that, while not necessarily forward thinking, is at the very least a departure from the homogeneity of traditional portrayals. 

Minerva's character is quite a bit more disappointing, with the caveat that I have not personally seen Masterforce. All of the male characters run around trying to gain her favor, which she bestows occasionally etc etc.(Derik, Minerva) She is a pacifist, and this keeps her confined to the sidelines of battle, treating the injured. Her pacifism appears to be presented largely as her not having the stomach to do what needs to be done because of her womanliness and desire to protect everyone.(Derik, Minerva) Apparently she has also been given a very “traditional” upbringing, learning all sorts of feminine skills like dancing, music, and cooking.(Derik, Minerva) 

Mega, in addition to being eeeeeevil, also appears to feel very maternal towards the younger Decepticon cast, to the point that it hampers her fighting. (Derik, Mega) The evil aspect of Mega’s personality is actually really remarkable. There is a surprising dearth of female Decepticons, much less ones who serve in important leadership positions. Indeed, Mega is one of three or so evil aligned females to have a position of command, the other two being RID 2015 Glowstrike and Beast Machines Strika, and one of a bare handful of female Decepticons more broadly.(Abates; ItsWalky, Strika) 

    The character models, absence of toys, and almost non-existence in terms of plot weight all conspire to sideline the very earliest female transformers. For the first two seasons of the cartoon, female transformers appear in two episodes. After the movie, there is a single female character who, while frequently present, doesn’t really contribute anything. Moreover, she is placed in the traditionally female roles of maternal style care of a child and being a love interest to several male characters over the course of her appearances. Being female is the personality of these characters. They do not have any other defining trait or motivations. While eventually other female characters become present, and do have motivations and characters outside of being women, there are only two of them, and they exist only in Japan. Mega and Minerva do have intriguing character models and toys, but in terms of their fictional portrayals, they still are largely confined to the traditional role of women, either the sidelines of battle or care based roles. 

 The fact that not a single one of these characters received a general retail toy until 2014 also serves to minimize their presence. People remember characters in no small part based on the toys they had in childhood. The absence of toys eliminates the opportunity for this to occur for any female character, creating the possibility that people won’t even remember that they existed. Fortunately, the Masterforce does break this trend for the first time, giving us toys of not one but two female characters. Unfortunately, Minerva has yet to receive another full sized toy, and Overlord has since become a separate character, sharply limiting the influence of Minerva and Mega in the brand at large. 

The character models also directly contribute to this marginalization. They evoke some of the purest signals of womanhood, such as lipstick and breasts. Minerva and Mega buck this trend in some respects, but in others, especially in their human forms, they contribute to it. The models are also remarkably slight, which contrasts sharply with the warlike bulk of characters like Optimus Prime and Megatron. This contrast creates the impression that the female autobots are less capable than their male counterparts, even though they are depicted in combat situations. Their bodies are drawn to be aesthetically pleasing, whereas those of characters such as Grimlock are unequivocally designed for function. 

 Of course, these narratives of comparative weakness and strength tap into larger societal narratives. The G1 cartoon would not be able to communicate these things so readily if slight and curvaceous builds were not already associated in the larger culture with femininity and a lack of capability. Indeed, what the Generation 1 cartoon does with respect to women is to evoke the most essentialized and distilled version of womanhood -buxom, romantic partner, mother- and then unquestioningly transmit it and it alone, not out of malignant sexism (for example, the writers were not seeking to communicate that a woman’s place was in the kitchen as part of an ideological agenda) but because it simply was not the focus of the work, being targeted to young boys as it was. They needed female characters without exerting a huge amount of effort, and pulling the societal narrative from the ether was the simplest solution. 

    This is the core dynamic of gender in Transformers. We live in a world where there are gendered toys and concepts. It makes sense for Hasbro, Takara Tomy, and the supporting fiction to cater to those invested interests. People don’t buy things for their children that challenge their values. Interestingly, it is not that people actively seek to buy things that serve their values. Rather, they buy things that they can understand, things which make sense to them. Hasbro selling toys that are vehicles, robots, and war related, all things that are strongly male coded, makes intuitive sense to purchasers on a level below conscious understanding. It plays well with the societal narratives in which they live, and to a large extent have constructed their identities upon. Young boys will want car toys and robot toys, legitimately and from their own desires, because they have absorbed what society tells them it means to be men into themselves. For all of these reasons, Hasbro will always default to conservatism to turn a profit, and that means not trying to sell female coded things to boys, (creating a dearth of female characters), or trying to sell male coded things to girls, (creating a lack of representation that would appeal to a potential female audience.) 

However, all is not doom and gloom. As we will see in further installments of this series, Hasbro has been making an active effort to increase representation in recent years, especially since 2014. Moreover, since G1 is the source material from which much subsequent fiction draws, when people in more obscure settings, such as convention exclusive comics, do reach for female characters, they tend to reach for one of the female autobots established in The Search for Alpha Trion. Accordingly, in subsequent years, many versions of Chromia, Moonracer, Elita-1 and Arcee have appeared in various media. Arcee and Chromia in particular have had many incarnations. The Michael Bay films, Transformers Animated, Transformers Prime, and the IDW comics all feature their own iterations of Arcee, and the comics and the films feature Chromia. So, in some senses, the presence of female autobots in G1 gave writers a framework to build on in the future, even if the characters were not impactful at the moment of their inception. 

    The presence of female transformers in G1 is more or less exactly what you would expect from an 80’s cartoon. The women are voluptuous, irrelevant, and confined to romantic and maternal roles. Although there are some characters who do occupy an interesting space in terms of gender, namely Mega, and there are some that are not as overtly female in terms of design, namely Minerva, the overall impression is one of homogeneity of build and personality, as well as insignificance. Fortunately, these characters continue to appear almost 35 years later, and are increasingly receiving the attention and toys they once lacked. Many of these characters will be our near continuous companions in our examination of female characters throughout the history of the brand. That being said, in terms of an analysis strictly confined to G1 on its own, we find almost a complete absence of female characters and effectively no female characters of significance within the plot. Generation 1 is a boy’s club. Thank goodness it’s not the 80’s anymore. 

Works Cited

Abates et al. “Glowstrike” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Glowstrike Accessed 5/11/2020

Crockalley et al. “Sonar (BW)” TFwikihttps://tfwiki.net/wiki/Sonar_(BW) Accessed 5/11/2020

Chris McFeely et al. “The Search for Alpha Trion” TFwiki.https://tfwiki.net/wiki/The_Search_for_Alpha_Trion Accessed 5/11/2020

Derik et al. “Chromia (G1)” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Chromia_(G1) Accessed 5/11/2020

Derik et al. “Mega” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Mega Accessed 5/11/2020

Derik et al. “Minerva” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Minerva Accessed 5/11/2020

Derik et al. “Moonracer (G1)” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Moonracer_(G1) Accessed 5/11/2020

Elita2 et al. “Nightracer (G2)” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Nightracer Accessed 5/11/2020

ItsWalky et al. “Greenlight” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Greenlight Accessed 5/11/2020

ItsWalky et al. “Nightbeat (G1)”, TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Nightbeat_(G1) Accessed 5/11/2020 

ItsWalky et al. “Lancer” TFwiki.  https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Lancer Accessed 5/11/2020

ItsWalky et al. “Strika (BM)” TFwiki.  https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Strika_(BM)#Toys Accessed 5/4/2020

Omnisvalidus et al. “War Dawn” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/War_Dawn Accessed 5/11/2020

S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47 et al. “Arcee (G1)/Generation 1 cartoon continuity” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Arcee_(G1)/Generation_1_cartoon_continuity Accessed 5/11/2020

S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 47 et al. “Arcee (G1)/toys” TFwiki. https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Arcee_(G1)/toys Accessed 5/11/2020

Singularity et al. “Transformers: Super-god Masterforce (cartoon)” TFwiki.  https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Transformers:_Super-God_Masterforce_(cartoon) Accessed 5/11/2020

Vanguard et al. “Elita one (G1)” TFwiki.  https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Elita_One_(G1) Accessed 5/11/2020 

[tkmedia]

HubAuto: Le Mans pole can inspire other privateers to try GTE Pro

The Taiwanese outfit in its first competitive appearance with the Porsche 911 RSR-19 claimed a major upset in Thursday's hyperpole session, following a red flag for Kevin Estre's crashed #92 factory Porsche, as Dries Vanthoor clocked the fastest time of 3m46.882s. Making his return to Le Mans for the first time since 2017 in an ultimately successful GTE Am class tilt, the Belgian stormed to the top spot by 0.181 seconds over the #52 AF Corse Ferrari of Daniel Serra with what he later described as the "lap of my life". HubAuto's technical director Philip di Fazio told Motorsport.com that the feat should serve as a means to show other private teams that it is possible to race against and beat the better funded works squads. "This is actually a conversation Morris and I were having last night, we brought this topic up exactly," he said. "It is an example and I think it would be an inspiration to other teams to say, ‘look, it’s actually achievable, as a privateer we can go there and make a good result if we work hard and we do our homework and do the job properly’. "So maybe you’ll see some other teams in future maybe doing the same, or trying to do the same."

#72 Hub Auto Racing Porsche 911 RSR - 19 LMGTE Pro, Dries Vanthoor, Alvaro Parente, Maxime Martin Photo by: Marc Fleury The Le Mans test day last weekend was only the team's second day of running the car, and Di Fazio explained that the team has found the Porsche a "huge step in terms of the amount of data that’s available" from its previous experience of running a Ferrari 488 in the GTE Am class last year. "There’s so many channels, there’s really a lot to look at," he said. "Mechanically, in terms of the vehicle dynamics of the car, it’s very responsive, it’s extremely sensitive in terms of aerodynamic performance, so that’s probably been the biggest thing to come to grips with and understanding how sensitive it really is. "Porsche have been quite supportive with a certain degree of information and they gave us a decent starting point so we weren’t totally in the dark. That’s been a big help. "It has been a steep curve, and we don’t have obviously the abundance of stuff that the factory teams have, there’s only myself and one other data engineer, so it’s impossible for us to get through all the data and look at everything. "We do it the best we can. It’s exhausting, I’m looking through data and analysing performance to the point of exhaustion." Vanthoor told Motorsport.com that a "risky" set-up change had been key in improving the car's straight-line speed to the point of being able to challenge for pole. "I would be lying if we said that our first free practice sessions were running like planned," he said. "We tried a lot of things and they weren’t really improving where we would have liked. But at the end we made a call, it was maybe a risky call, but in the end it worked out. "The car was never really bad, we just were lacking top speed at the end of the straights. And at the end this is where we made a change and it worked out really well for us." shares comments Read the full article

[anisanews]

Rapper Rick Ross On Real Estate, Hot Wings And The Benefits Of Mowing Your Lawn

FAYETTEVILLE, GA – JANUARY 27: Atmosphere at Rick Ross’ Birthday dinner at Ross’ home on January … [+] 27, 2019 in Fayetteville, Georgia. (Photo by Thaddaeus McAdams/WireImage)

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Miami rapper Rick Ross knows a thing or two about music. In 2006, Ross’ “Port of Miami” debuted at No. 1 on the U.S. Billboard Top 200 albums chart and made “Hustlin'” a breakout hit that had music lovers singing, “every day I’m hustling, hustling, hustling.”‘

No one-hit wonder, the Grammy-Nominated rapper stayed true to his words, founding Maybach Music Group in 2009 and making Forbes list of Hip-Hop Cash Kings in 2017.

Fifteen years after he first hit the charts, Ross stands atop a growing empire, a boss, a true entrepreneur with a vast reach and an unstoppable drive.

Friends call him “Rozay” (pronounced rosé). The name came to him when he was just a young dreamer, admiring VIPs and celebrities and their sparkling bottles while partying at Prince’s Glam Slam Club on Washington Avenue in Miami’s South Beach before Rick “The Boss” Ross could afford rosé champagne. 

FAYETTEVILLE, GA – JANUARY 27: Rick Ross attends his Birthday dinner at his home on January 27, … [+] 2019 in Fayetteville, Georgia. (Photo by Thaddaeus McAdams/WireImage)

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The moniker has served him well. Forget wishing. Today, Ross is a certified VIP. He has released 10 studio albums and long been an ambassador for Luc Belaire’s signature rosé premium sparkling wines and champagnes. Some special edition bottles feature an image of his face. Ross has authored two books: “Hurricanes: A Memoir” in 2020 and “The Perfect Day to Boss Up: A Hustler’s Guide to Building Your Empire” (available Sept. 7). Oh, and he owns more than 25 Wingstop franchises. 

“I couldn’t believe it when I got to 10 Wingstop franchises. Then, we got to 25, but we are still expanding because Wingstop is doing so great,” Ross says.

2020 was lucrative for Ross. Covid-19 did little to slow his ceaseless hustle. He partnered with Cookies, an international cannabis brand, to launch three specially curated pot strains, and invested $1 million to sign on as an equity partner, advisor and spokesperson for Florida-based startup Jetdoc, a telehealth company. And he recently worked with luxury car designer Rich B. Caliente and producer duo Cool & Dre to turn a Porsche 911 into a unique piece of car art.

Whether a luxury lifestyle brand, a colorful car, a restaurant, or a home, Ross likes to invest in tangibles.

NEW YORK, NY – SEPTEMBER 06: Rick Ross performs at FINALE on September 6, 2014 in New York City. … [+] (Photo by Shareif Ziyadat/FilmMagic)

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Born William Leonard Roberts II in Clarksdale, Miss., Ross, 45, grew up in Carol City, Florida, and says he learned much of his business acumen from his mother. 

“When I became a young millionaire for the first time, I went to my mother because she had always been a registered nurse and worked two and three jobs. She always bought real estate. She came from Clarksdale, where the real estate was a lot cheaper. She would just keep buying houses. And I would say, ‘Mom, what do you think about the stock market?’ And she would say, ‘Son, I don’t really rock with the stock market. I don’t know much about it, but I know about real estate . . . So when you buy something, make sure you can touch it.'”

Rick Ross (R) and his mother celebrate Rick Ross’ birthday party hosted by The Source Magazine on … [+] February 6, 2010 in Miami, Florida. (Photo by Johnny Nunez/WireImage)

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When he moved to Georgia in 2008, he bought a house two blocks from world heavyweight boxing champion Evander Holyfield’s famed 54,000-square-foot Fayetteville estate so that he could ride by the home each day. Rumor is that the fighter spent $20 million building the 235-acre estate and paid more than $1 million annually to keep the lights on and the grass cut. 

Ross wasn’t thinking about upkeep. He admired the property. 

“I looked at every curve and every up and downhill on the lawn. I was looking at the geese as I rolled by. I did that for years until one day, I saw the red for-sale sign on the gate and made a U-turn,” Ross says. 

FAYETTEVILLE, GA – JANUARY 28: A general view of Rick Ross’ 40th Birthday Celebration on January … [+] 28, 2016 in Fayetteville, Georgia. (Photo by Paras Griffin/Getty Images for The Vanity Group)

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Real estate followers know what happened next. Ross bought the Fayetteville estate for $5.8 million in 2014. He’s since made some changes and purchased another 87 acres adjacent to the main estate in 2019 for $1 million. While the estate, which includes a 350,000-gallon pool and a dining room that seats 100, is home, Ross is not afraid to put the property to work. For example, the estate served as the Zamunda Palace in Eddie Murphy’s 2021 sequel, “Coming 2 America.” Ever the businessman, Ross says he secured more than $2.5 million to let producers use the estate as one of several locations (Tyler Perry Studios was another). 

Owning one of Georgia’s most iconic homes is impressive, but Ross is always searching for his next acquisition. So in March, he paid $3.5 million in cash for a 2.3-acre resort-style estate in Southwest Ranches, Florida, a suburban community 22 miles northwest of Miami, formerly owned by the NBA All-Star Amar’e Stoudemire. The 8,600-square-foot home has six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, two home offices, a gym, an indoor theater and a stunning pool and outdoor space.

The view to the waterfall and the waterslide in the backyard is just stunning, says Rick Ross of the … [+] Florida home he bought in March.

photography as provided by Kimberly Knausz of ONE Sotheby’s International Realty (VHT Studios).

During a moment away from building his empire, the rapper turned mogul sat down with Forbes to talk about real estate, investing and the benefits of mowing your lawn. 

Michelle Hofmann: You recently bought a Southwest Ranches, Florida, home that belonged to Amar’e Stoudemire? Did you know the house belonged to him?

Rick Ross: No, I have a friendship with Amar’e, but that’s not how I found out about the house. I had my mother and sister looking for property in the Miami Beach area. My mother saw the house on her phone and immediately called me. The home had been listed for less than a week. My mother knows the things I love, what I am attracted to. When she sent me the link, I looked at the acreage and the nine-car garage and said, ‘Let’s look at this now.’ They arranged for me to see the property. I think I was in the home 10 minutes before telling the agent, ‘This is my house.’

When it comes to decorating, Ross says he is not afraid to change colors. “I want the space to feel … [+] ancient yet new. There is this balance in decorating,” he adds.

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Hofmann: You made a quick decision? How did you know this house was right for you?

Ross: There is a feeling I get walking in places. That’s the only way I can describe it. I’ve been to so many beautiful homes in my life. I’ve been in Dr. Dre’s house and Diddy’s mansion and some of the most expensive homes, so I have a keen eye for detail. The garden area at the home in Southwest Ranches is immaculate and so spread out. This is the first one-story home I’ve owned. I thought it would be good for my mother and keep her close to me. There are so many pluses down to the detail on the wallpaper and the size of the closet in the master. 

The Florida estate features an home theater with room for the rapper to entertain.

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I love the area. The empire is continuing to grow. So we need spaces to conduct business and invite people in to discuss possibilities. I love marketing, and I love putting brands on the table. It’s a beautiful thing when you’re busy and doing what you love. 

Hofmann: Do you have a favorite room in the new Florida estate?

Ross: As you walk through the main entrance, there’s this excellent view through the house. The view to the waterfall and the waterslide in the backyard is just stunning. I negotiated to keep the custom glass table that feels like it weighs 5,000 pounds with the custom chairs. I wanted that table. I added a beautiful extravagant piano that plays itself. I’m still moving things around and moving furniture in and just having fun being creative in decorating the house. Right now, I’m standing in a new office in Southwest Ranches, looking at the walls and waiting for my Luc Belaire signature rosé signs to come in.

Ross paid $3.5 million in cash for a 2.3-acre resort-style estate in Southwest Ranches, Florida, in … [+] March.

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Hofmann: The Fayetteville, Georgia, estate is immense. Does owning such an extravagant home ever feel overwhelming?

Ross: To a lot of people, it would feel overwhelming to buy a property like that. I get it. The Fayetteville house is like 55,000-square-feet and 100-plus rooms and over 300 acres [with the added land I purchased]. But being an artist, I understand that it takes time to do great things, so I didn’t approach the Fayetteville house as if it was something that I would complete in a year or two years. I wanted to look at this as an investment, take my time and do something great with it. 

Creations from a variety of artists fill the rapper’s homes and add color to the space.

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Hofmann: How would you describe your decorating style?

Ross: I’m not scared to change colors or change things. With the way I decorate and add statues, I want the space to feel ancient yet new. There is this balance in decorating. I have a lot of fun with it. When people walk into the Fayetteville house for the first time, the easiest way to describe it is that they are breathless and captivated. I understand that and just let them take 10 minutes in the foyer and the entrance and look at the double staircase. There is a basketball court downstairs and a bowling alley and an indoor swimming pool, and lots of one-of-one, custom art pieces. It’s a fun thing to me when people walk into the home. It’s exciting. I love decorating.

It is easy for me to make decisions because there is no grey area. It’s either amazing or it’s not. It either fits or it doesn’t. We’re not making exceptions. We know what we want to see. We know what we are looking for. And we know how it should feel. I want the space to bring you peace. I want you to feel comfortable because these homes represent decades of work that I’ve put into my life.

Art and unique timepieces fill Rick Ross’ homes.

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Hofmann: You love luxury but are pragmatic. Can you talk about this?

Ross: I don’t have a big jet. I try my best to fly Delta. I love swap meets and antique stores. I love finding beautiful things that cost $8 or $20. When I bought the Fayetteville estate, locals would see me walk out of a restaurant and scream, ‘You know Holyfield spent $1 million a year to cut the grass.’ So I decided that I was gonna cut my own grass. And that’s what I did.

I went down to John Deere and asked to see the biggest tractor, the most efficient tractor. I told them I had 200-plus acres that I wanted to keep cut, and they pointed out the right tractor. I bought it right then and there. I bought the extended attachment on the back that would cut even wider. Once I got it back home, I filled it up with gas. I may have sat in the same spot for two hours before I got everything working, but once I got it going, I didn’t stop. I cut grass for about five hours.

Rapper Rick Ross sits on a John Deere tractor and prepares to mow the lawn at his 235-acre … [+] Fayetteville, Georgia, estate.

Yvette Davila

Rick Ross says mowing the lawn on his Georgia estate gives him another level of peace. “I look at … [+] the property and can appreciate my struggles and my triumphs, the rough days,” he adds.

Yvette Davila

In doing that, I realized that this was something I wanted to do. It was subconscious. I bought a tractor that is enclosed and has air conditioning and a radio. I had the windows tinted so I wouldn’t cause too much confusion with the traffic right next to the estate. People still know it’s me, but when I get in the tractor, it’s a whole other level of peace, a whole other level of connecting with the estate and the animals and the birds and the wildlife.

I sit there and have my cannabis rolled up, and, man, I look at the property and can appreciate my struggles and my triumphs, those rough days. It’s the smallest thing, but it keeps a smile on my face. So, you know, for anybody who doesn’t cut their own grass, I would say take time out every two or three months to cut your grass because it is such a great and peaceful sensation. 

A red-on-red 458 Ferrari sits outside the Southwest Ranches, Florida, estate rapper Rick Ross bought … [+] in March.

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Hofmann: So getting in touch with the land helps you stay balanced? 

Ross: Yes, I’m not about throwing money away, but it’s important that people enjoy the fruits of your labor and stay ahead of the curve. With 17 partnerships, you might wonder how I do that. But I make sure that I am surrounded by love and inspiration and motivation. Through the window I am looking out of right now in the Southwest Ranches, I can see my red-on-red 458 Ferrari, and it is inspiring. The work is inspiring, but it can drain you. So while I want people to understand that everything is possible, you have to separate yourself and find balance.

Hofmann: You bought some additional land near the Fayetteville property. What is the plan?

Ross: It’s called the Promised Land, where dreams come true. I like to have nicknames for everything. I have so many creative ideas for the Promised Land. I woke up one day thinking of building a gated community of homes. I’ve entertained the idea of creating a golf course. I thought of putting in an amphitheater. To have space to be creative, you need land. And I feel like there is value in real estate because the county is continuing to grow. Two months after I purchased the additional acreage, I had an offer that was $500,000 more than I paid. So, of course, I turned that offer down. But real estate is holding at a great pace, so why not invest.

Hofmann: Do you have any advice for investors?

Ross: The best advice I can give you is to invest in yourself. Whether that is time or energy, invest in yourself. When I’m sitting with young artists, I always tell them to spend their energy wisely. Your energy is more valuable than your money. So spend your energy wisely and make sure that whatever it is that you’re doing, do whatever you’re best at and master that. Whenever you do that, the work becomes easy. 

DEERFIELD BEACH, FL – MAY 26: Young Breed and Rick Ross meet and greet fans at Wing Stop on May 26, … [+] 2014 in Deerfield Beach, Florida. (Photo by Aaron Davidson/WireImage)

WireImage

Hofmann: Did you always have an interest in owning a restaurant franchise like Wingstop?

Ross: Yes, but it was just a dream. [Wingstop CEO] Charlie Morrison did something that he didn’t necessarily have to do when he let a hip-hop artist come sit at the table and buy a franchise when he knew that I knew nothing about being a franchisee. But here we are. I’m not sure how many franchises we have now, but I love the whole Wingstop team. My sister and my mother help run the franchises. It’s never been stressful to me. It’s always been fun. I have 17 partnerships right now, and I feel that I could manage 50.

PEMBROKE PINES, FL – OCTOBER 03: Rick Ross performs at Gucci Mane Live at Cafe Iguana Pines on … [+] October 3, 2016 in Pembroke Pines, Florida. (Photo by Prince Williams/Getty Images)

Getty Images

Hofmann: What about your partnership with Cookies?

Ross: My partnership with Cookies cannabis kicked off right at the beginning of the pandemic. It’s been a plus and stress-free. It’s been easy on my side partnering with the No. 1 cannabis brand. Once again, we are doing what we love. I am letting the hippy side of myself enjoy life. 

Hofmann: Would you consider yourself a hippy?

Ross: Sometimes I would. When I’m looking around with my friends, who I’m smoking with, and reflect on where I’ve come from, I think there’s a little hippy in Rozay. 

Hofmann: When you are not decorating or creating new partnerships, what do you do? 

Ross: When I’m at home, that’s when I get to talk to my horses. I get to tell them what my week was like. I get to rub them on their noses and their heads. They love me. They try to kiss my ears. When they see me walk up to the gate, they stop doing what they’re doing and they trot to me like they are saying, ‘There he is. We hope he has carrots and apples.’ And I do. Remember, a boss always comes bearing gifts. You’ve gotta bear gifts.

from Anisa News https://ift.tt/3cBq54r

[summerfitzy]

morning drive

Fandom: Skam Ship: Noora x William Summary: Noora and William on their way to Nissen. Set during 4x09. ao3

For the anon who requested this! Thank you so, so much for the insanely kind message <3

“I can’t believe we’re driving to Nissen in this car again.”

Brushing her fingers across the familiar leather of William’s Porsche, Noora rests her ponytail—well, what remains of her ponytail after the ten entirely unplanned minutes William spent kissing her by the passenger door—against the window and watches her boyfriend pull onto the road, his grey hood cloaking his head and his dark hair falling into his eyes. The Oslo sun beams around them, all lightness and chirping birds and other late springtime clichés.

It could almost be a flashback, if it weren’t even better than any of the memories she’s spent the last eight months replaying on loop.

“Did you miss it?” he asks, his eyes geared on traffic and blind spots even as his lips curve. It’s a familiar smile, one that he only really seems to give to her. He always has, even when Noora had no interest in drawing his smiles.

(Or so she used to tell herself.) (She used to tell herself that a lot.)

“The car? No.” Even a stranger would be able hear the answering smile in her denial.

He’s still looking ahead, but Noora catches his grin anyhow, the way it grows rather than falters. “You missed it.”

Noora wishes he had his hood down so she could drawl her fingers through his hair. She settles for saying, “Maybe I missed it a little.”

Keeping one hand on the wheel, William reaches for her palm with the other and pulls her fingers to his lips. A kiss for each knuckle. “If you skip,” he murmurs, almost into her skin, “we can go for breakfast.”

Noora rolls her eyes, pulsing their grips before guiding his hand back to the steering wheel. “We already had breakfast.”

“Second breakfast then. Somewhere that serves hot cocoa.”

Noora cants her head, presses her lips together, and—“No. You’re not bribing me into missing school with cocoa.”

“It’s the end of June,” he says, shooting her a deadpan look. “I promise you’re not learning anything today.”

“William.” His reasoning actually sounds reasonable, but she can’t let him know that; can’t let him know just how thoroughly he’s ruined her. 

(So thoroughly.) (Insanely thoroughly.) (She can’t stop smiling.) 

“My phone is dead,” she continues, “remember? I need to let my friends know that I’m alive.” She wondered throughout the weekend at the lack of messages from Sana and Eva and Vilde and Chris. Then she grabbed for her phone this morning, found it very dead, and the radio silence suddenly made sense. “And I need to let Sana know that I’m not mad.”

Only a few minutes left until they pull into Nissen. And even though she does want to see her friends, even though does want to talk things through with Sana, Noora can’t help but lean over until her palm lines are crossing William’s denim-clad thigh. She also wants their long weekend to last longer—would cling to it, tangibly, were it possible.

(It’s not.) (She knows that.) (She still keeps her hand on William’s leg.)

He looks over to raise an eyebrow at her. “Just ‘not mad?” he teases. Noora doesn’t know that William ever had a favorite out of her friends before, but thinks it’s safe to assume that Sana has won the spot.

“I might,” she concedes with an exaggerated sigh, “be happy.”

“Just happy?”

“I can come up with a few more synonyms if you’d like.”

She's close enough now that it’s easy for William to peck his lips across her cheek. “Smart girl.”

Laughter curling her lips, Noora prods his attention back to the road. “And what are you?” she asks.

William’s lips twitch. “I’m happy.”

“Just happy?”

“Really—” they’re almost to Nissen now “—fucking happy.”

“Me too.” Pulling her backpack up onto her lap, Nora tilts a wide smile at him. “Effulgently happy.”

William calls her a show-off.

Noora retorts that his car is the showiest thing she’s ever seen.

“And yet here you are inside it with me,” William says, turning his face now to take in her whole face.

She means to roll her eyes, but ends up staring into his instead, exasperated with herself but too blissfully content to care all that much about the sappiness of it all. “Will you just—”

“Shut up and kiss you?” William glances back to the road. He looks really, fucking, effulgently happy. “Yes. Just let me park first.”

(And Noora can’t even tease him for it, because, when she steps out of his car, she’s pretty sure she does too.)

[lharvey250]

THE NIGHT THE LIGHTS WENT OUT KAREN WHITE MY RATING ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ PUBLISHER Berkley/Penguin Audio PUBLISHED April 11, 2017 A fabulously sparkling southern book about new and unexpected friendships and the keeping of secrets.

SUMMARY Karen White tells a story of friendships that develops between three intriguing women when Merilee Talbot Dunlap moves to Sweet Apple, Georgia, not far from Atlanta. Merilee has just divorced her husband of eleven years after discovering he not only was having an affair with, but had also gotten their daughter’s third grade math teacher pregnant. Devastated, Marilee and her two children, Lily age 10, and Colin age 8, give up their house, furniture and Mercedes SUV to begin a new life.

The first person Merrilee meets in Sweet Apple is the long-time widow Sugar Prescott who greets the trio at her farmhouse with a batch of chocolate chip cookies. They had sugar on sell at Kroger, she says. Sugar is the town’s 93 year old matriarch, her family had at one time owned much of the property in the county, before her older brothers had chosen to sell it off. Sugar has agreed to rent Merrilee the old cottage behind her farmhouse. Having heard about Marilee’s divorce from a realtor, Sugar suspected that Merilee was suddenly and unexpected on her own and in need of help. She understood that need. Sugar is quick to disapprove of Merilee serving her children pizza, and even more appalled to find out that Merilee can’t cook. Sugar takes it upon herself to give Merilee cooking lessons. Merilee and Sugar form a strong bond as they share stories, and ultimately the secrets from their past.

Merilee meets Heather Blackford the first day of school at Winwood Acadamy. Heather is the epitome of southern perfection: rich, blond, glowy, dressed in tennis whites, and driving a Porsche SUV with a trunk full of gift bags for all the kids on their first day of school. She is just to much. She is the class mother and heads up the school upcoming Gala. While there is no love lost between Heather and Sugar, Heather takes a shine to Merilee and just demands that she chair the fundraising auction at the gala.

The gala is held at Heather’s beautiful mansion on Lake Lanier. It’s a huge success and everyone is dress to the nines. At the end of the evening Merilee discovers a body floating in the lake. Several days later, Merilee is brought into the police station as a suspect for the murder.

“You only need one really good friend to get you through the hard stuff.”

Humor, southern charm and wisdom are being dispensed to the Sweet Apple, Georgia community in the form of a new blog titled “The Playing Fields: Observations of Suburban Life in Sweet Apple, Georgia…” which is tagged as “Your Neighbor.” Sweet Apple folks are abuzz wondering who this anonymous blogger could possibly be and how do they know so much.

REVIEW This was my first book by the best selling author, Karen White, and l was so impressed by the depth of her character development and the breadth of the story she tells. This story was both immediately engaging and entertaining. Can’t wait to read more Karen White books! Thanks to my friend, Marion Hoffman for the recommendation!

The overall story alternates between Merilee and Sugar. Sugar’s portion of the story occasional jumps from the 2016 to the 1930’s and 1940’’s for Sugar’s backstory. These transitions and jumps in the book are effortless for the reader.

I absolutely loved the inclusion of the “The Playing Fields” blog. The posts are creatively interspersed throughout the book and add much humor and levity. And while White keeps the the Sweet Apple community in the dark about the identity of the blogger, you will know who it is at the end, if not before!

And what’s not love about Sugar Prescott. She is by far my favorite character in the whole book. She reminds me so much of my grandmother, Mamie, who was born and raised in Magee, Mississippi. Everyone in town knew Mamie. She was always baking something wonderful. Mamie cooked lunch for the Lion Club every Wednesday for 30 years and she made the best fried chicken, chicken and dumplings, and sweet pickles ever! And she was not shy about telling people what she thought, just like Sugar.

The Night The Light Went Out has so many intertwining stories that the book is definitely not boring. There are friends to meet, stories to uncover, secrets to share and mysteries to solve. Throw in a romance, a tornado and the lights going out and this book is just down right great!

Favorite Quotes: “Life shouldn’t be an unbroken road of wonderful. It’s the curves in the road that build character and show us our mettle.” “Life’s journey doesn’t mean much without friends.” “Every path has its puddles, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t travel them. We just need to remember to wear our boots and bring our friends and those who love us.”

[jesusvasser]

The 700 Horsepower Club

BOWLING GREEN, Kentucky — Nashville is no stranger to spectacle, a place that serves as a mecca to rhinestone-gilt pop-country singers and outlaws alike. The town, and its neon-laced Broadway District in particular, has seen everything but this: three of the most powerful production cars for sale today, all in a tidy row.

There’s nearly three-quarters of a million dollars’ worth of carbon fiber and forced induction between us, better than 2,100 horsepower split among the three. The Broadway crowd couldn’t get enough of them, taking photos and video, cheering and begging for any one of us to be delinquent enough to snap a throttle open and let our miracle engines shriek above the blaring honky-tonks. When we inevitably obliged, all eyes for two blocks were on us, the cheers nearly as loud as the drums and guitars spilling from every open bar. Behold the mad, reality-distorting power of these three goliaths of automotive engineering: the Porsche 911 GT2 RS, Chevrolet Corvette ZR1, and McLaren 720S.

These are the standard bearers for the new frontier of performance. There are more machines surpassing 700 horsepower for sale today than ever before, even now, as electrification and regulation conspire to snuff out piston-driven automobiles altogether. But a handful of manufacturers are committed to pressing the internal combustion engine relentlessly forward in a heroic and dumb and perfectly human gesture. None of these machines will give your mind the half second it takes to send a curse to your lips. Each has a way of consuming mental bandwidth and asphalt in equal proportion, gathering them until you’re forced to choose between remembering to breathe or brake. That’s what happens when there’s 700 or more horsepower tethered to your big toe, when the bolt to 60 mph takes less than 3 seconds, and when 150 mph snaps past in a blink.

We spent three days in these cars. Three days ripping around the gorgeous and twisting asphalt south of Nashville, hunting out perfect, lonely two-lane apexes and ragged ridge sides trying to wrap our minds around these machines. At times they didn’t seem real, but rather a fantasy dreamt of across decades, an unrealistic vision of performance not long ago reserved for true racing sports cars. Performance levels and experiences that for most of the automobile’s history were off limits to all but officially licensed professional race drivers, those talented men and women who were at times left grasping for ways to explain to the rest of us just what true speed is all about.

The GT2 RS is the sharpest point of the model’s history, the notion of a 911 drawn out to its wildest fulfillment.

To that end we stopped at the National Corvette Museum’s Motorsports Park (MSP) in Bowling Green, Kentucky. It’s not a track that forgives transgressions. The full course shoves 23 turns into 3.15 miles, the asphalt a rippling ribbon that works its way up and over the rolling countryside. Blind crests and close barriers mean a mistake might cost you more than some body panels. But where else can you get to know the upper capabilities of cars like these? Their limits are so far beyond the bounds of public-road legality that to explore even some small fraction of them requires the freedom only an open track provides.

We added water to the 911’s reservoir as needed then hit Broadway and felt plenty cool ourselves.

It was 80 degrees at 8 a.m., the midsummer humidity a heavy exhale on our skin. Aesthetically, the cars could not be more different. The 911 GT2 RS might be the sleeper of the bunch despite its wild, exposed carbon-fiber wing, fender vents, and NACA ducts. The car is gorgeous, but only in the way that all 911s are. To anyone unfamiliar with the smattering of letters and numbers stuck to the doors and tail, it might simply look like another Porsche. That’s a shame, because as of this moment, it is the sharpest point of the model’s history, the notion of a 911 drawn out to its wildest fulfillment.

The GT2 RS is more than that blistering engine, a modified version of the 3.8-liter twin-turbo flat-six found in the 911 Turbo S. Larger turbos, more boost, a unique intake, and new pistons help produce 700 hp and 553 lb-ft of torque, but less obvious tricks borrowed from Porsche’s motorsports arm make the car a functional weapon. Steel ball joints in place of the usual rubber suspension bushings throughout, dynamic engine mounts, and control arms robbed from the 911 GT3 RS help make all that power usable. And massive Michelin Sport Cup 2 R tires, essentially the same compound as the Corvette wore. The rears are 325/30-R21, the exact size as found on Porsche’s hyper 918 Spyder.

If the GT2 RS appears familiar, the 720S looks and sounds like the future. Low and tidy with beautiful, organic curves, it is not ostentatious or brash in the way so many supercars are. Dipped in our tester’s dark blue paint, it reeks instead of quiet competence, an impression that’s only underscored by its 4.0-liter twin-turbo V-8 with 710 hp and 568 lb-ft, numbers that help give it the best power-to-weight ratio of the three. It is a machine that has nothing to prove— until it’s time to prove it.

The ZR1 is a shout by comparison, its tall, vented hood hiding a 6.2-liter supercharged V-8 good for 755 hp and 715 lb-ft. In this group of hammers, this is the sledge. And with its wild, canard-laden fascia and towering rear wing, it wants everyone within a city block to know it. It needs the power. At 3,560 pounds, the ZR1 weighs 319 pounds more than the Porsche and is heavier than the McLaren by 432. The fact it is here at all is a marvel. Chevrolet has made a habit of punching above its weight with the Corvette, but this car takes that American notion to a new plane. As equipped, it costs less than half of either of its more svelte rivals.

As we watched from the flag tower, Pilgrim lit the Chevy’s fuse, the V-8 snapping at the sky like glory as he ran out the half-mile straight. By Turn 10, the car’s hazard lights were flashing. It wasn’t until he returned to the pits that we figured out why. The repeated, abrupt change in lateral g force was enough to trick the car’s OnStar system into thinking Pilgrim had collided with something. He spent the lap yelling over the screaming exhaust, trying to convince the nice lady on the other end of the line that he was just fine, all while on his way to a lap of 2:08.77. The time was still exceptionally fast considering the ambient temperature was now in the 90s, and it landed the ZR1 smack between the GT2 RS and 720S. Pilgrim had, weeks before, set MSP’s official production car track record of 2:05.59 in a different ZR1; he put the time difference on this run down to seeing lower speeds on the straights, most likely due to the temperature being 35 degrees hotter, and this test car’s automatic transmission not always giving him the lower gears he wanted. (He set the lap record in a manual-gearbox car.)

The Porsche recorded the fastest time, an impressive 2:05.92, just more than 0.3 second off the lap record. The GT2 RS’ power was seemingly unaffected by the brutally hot conditions, thanks in part to its system that sprays the intercoolers with cooling water.

Three cars, and three philosophies—front engine, mid engine, and rear engine—prove equally thrilling at speed.

On this day, the McLaren set the slowest lap of the three, for several reasons. First, Pilgrim only had a chance to do one timed lap, 2:12.06, before a thunder cell rolled over the horizon, the only thing more powerful for miles. Additionally, in the 720S Pilgrim felt a lack of aerodynamic downforce compared to both the Chevrolet and the Porsche, which are similar to each other in terms of their downforce-to-speed ratio. The 720S also sports narrower wheels and tires, which result in almost 20 percent less rubber on the road. Plus, this particular car’s tires were the less sticky Pirelli P Zero Corsas, not the optional Pirelli Trofeo R tire. The harder tires alone probably gave away 2 seconds or so to its playmates, especially at a place like MSP, which features numerous long, sweeping turns. Pilgrim believed the 720S would run close to the ZR1’s time with the stickier tires; even on the Corsas, he would have probably clocked a 2:10 if he’d had a chance to run a second hot lap.

The lap times, though, are irrelevant to the fun. With the three cars clawing and ripping their way around corners, it was hard to tell what was lightning and what was a downshift, the bark of both echoing off of the buildings behind us.

These cars are the mechanical deep end, and with that in mind, I belted into the ZR1. From the driver’s seat, the only indication you’re in something other than a standard C7 Corvette is the towering hood rising up from the cowl and turning the windshield into a thin slit. It’s like looking at the scenery from between the folds of a bandanna—the outlaw’s view. On the track, Turn 3 opens up into a long straight, followed by an easy right, and the sight of that wide road was too much temptation. I planted the throttle, the supercharger got busy cramming Kentucky air into those eight eager cylinders, and the world cracked wide.

These aren’t wild rabid dogs. They are playful big cats, happy to have their bellies rubbed, but with fangs as long as your middle finger.

The thrust was eye-widening and lung-arresting, a brief moment of traction loss followed by an eruption. I was upon the right-hander in a blink, positive I’d overcooked the thing. I tucked in anyway, and by the grace of General Motors, the car obliged. That’s the real miracle of the ZR1. It’s not some knuckle-dragging hot rod. It’s simply more Corvette in every way. There’s more power. More grip. The massive carbon-ceramic brake rotors have no problem bringing the machine back to sane speeds after dipping a toe into the car’s ludicrous acceleration. But there’s the sense that this is the Corvette pulled taut, all of the performance Chevy can possibly squeeze from the platform. This tester’s optional eight-speed automatic transmission delivers quick shifts, but they sometimes lack the immediacy this engine deserves, and the gearbox, as Pilgrim noted, doesn’t always yield the requested shift, especially when temperatures are blazing hot. Both the 720S and the GT2 RS benefit from seven-speed dual-clutch gearboxes.

Extracting maximum performance requires a maximum driver, seen here getting ready to engage the afterburners.

Wherever you might choose to uncork these devils, the downforce levels—until relatively recently not something significant when discussing road cars—are a more important variable to consider. The GT2 RS arrived in its most aggressive aerodynamic configuration, the same one it used to blister the Nürburgring on its way to the production car lap record (a lap of 6:47.3, bested just weeks ago by a Lamborghini Aventador SVJ at 6:44.9), and at 124 mph it generates 313 pounds of downforce. That’s more than double what the present 911 GT3 manages, and on a quick layout, it matters. Like a race car, the faster the GT2 RS goes, the stickier it gets.

It was a strange thing to step from the Corvette to the 911. The ZR1 is fast around a track, but it requires a certain amount of daring from the gambling end of your lizard brain. The GT2 RS is a wicked enabler, effortlessly quick. Swinging the car through NCM’s decreasing-radius, off-camber challenge of Turn 6 at what I thought was the upper limit of adhesion, the Porsche strolled through without so much as a twitch of its wide hips. Given the lack of an engine over its front axle, the steering is delicious and immediate. The brakes, also carbon ceramics, have near-perfect pedal feel. The power is one long, zealous pull, free of the peak and twitch that earned this car’s old 930 predecessor its dark nickname: Witwenmacher. Widow maker. It all combines to create the most confidence-inspiring machine of the litter, whether you drive it on a public road or a closed course. Whoever imagined saying such a thing about a 700-hp, rear-drive 911?

Gorgeous in green, the new Porsche 911 GT2 RS is one of the world’s most devastating road cars.

The only thing that could pry me from the German’s seat throughout our three days of Kentucky and Tennessee touring and raging was the promise of the 720S. Of all the brazenly capable cars on hand, the McLaren is the least orthodox. Its cockpit is open and airy, and the windscreen wraps around you like a bubble that sits as far to the center of the vehicle as possible. As for the track, Pilgrim offered a word of advice: “It doesn’t have the grip of the other two.”

Nor should it, due to the less gooey rubber and lower downforce. But these tires are perfect for this car. Of the three, none executes the sense of speed as well as the 720S. The world wraps past the big, open windshield in a blur, the gasp and thrust of the engine in your ear. And it’s playful because it isn’t welded to the pavement, sliding and dancing around its perfect center, a gift of that mid-engine layout. Turn 19 is a nail-biter, an off-camber drop into what’s affectionately called The Sinkhole. The road simply falls away. It’s a tricky bit to manage for any car, but the 720S made it the most hilarious part of the track. Simply point the nose with your toe, dive down, and ride up the other side. If roller coasters were this fun, Disney World would have a line all the way to Georgia.

Once upon a time, cars like these were at home only on the track. Not so nowadays.

Most astounding is how quickly the cars coaxed us into real speed. These aren’t wild hares or rabid dogs. They are playful big cats, happy to have their bellies rubbed but with fangs as long as your middle finger and jaws strong enough to crush your skull. It’s incredible. As much as purists love to rant and rail against the heedless press of technology, the microprocessor is a godsend in these cars. Exquisite traction and stability control not only make each of them wieldable but also make them faster. There might be no better display of just what can be accomplished by the marriage of man and machine.

That’s why none of us thought twice about pointing the cars south for a run to Nashville and a day of romping around the winding two-lanes south of town. There, gunning down Natchez Trace or winding our way out toward the small town of Franklin, Kentucky, the cars showed themselves ever more impressive. Even with its buckboard spring rates, thin glass, and lightweight carpeting, the GT2 RS proved acceptably civil, thanks in part to its active dampers and switchable sport exhaust. There are compromises to be made, for sure, starting with the front trunk. Porsche hides the reservoir for the intercooler water sprayer up there, and on our hot day, there was enough condensation up front to soak one of our bags. Such is the price of dominance.

This trio should feel underwhelmed by legal speeds, but that’s not what we found whatsoever. Each is a joy to spit through traffic or waltz up a country byway. Out there, the 720S came into its own. If it is a good and fun track car, it is a blissful street car. Light and playful even at posted speed limits, it feels like real progress, how those of a certain age hoped cars would be when they gazed toward 2018 from the dim horizon of childhood. The car is also occasionally infuriating, with cabin controls that seem to have been designed by someone who has never seen or interacted with a human form. Basics like adjusting a from Performance Junk WP Feed 4 https://ift.tt/2oqd4kP via IFTTT