#he should have been looking at prost and he WASN'T

[polepositioned]

formula one is weird because you'll race against the man who cradled your malleable, deer-legged potential in his two hands and helped mould you into something better which he no longer entirely recognises. he doesn't recognise you but he recognises the handprints he left on you. your success is characterized by his. the love is there but so is disgust. so is contempt. you will understand eachother but never see eye to eye. you wish you were him. he wishes he was you.

[silveryhill]

The spectre of Senna hung over the season. Prost says he knew he would be coming for 1994, even when he did his own deal for'93, and the thought of pairing up with Senna again was intolerable. Not because he was running scared. That's too glib.

"When he impressed me I must say it was in qualifying sometimes, I don't remember when exactly. Never in race conditions. Never. In race conditions, in the warm-up, most of the time I was quicker."

But Senna's imminent arrival did trigger his own retirement, even if it wasn't about fears over getting beaten. Why on earth would he have wanted to put himself through that stress? Last time it had been utterly exhausting. Just imagine doing it again.

"You know how it was. When Ayrton wanted to have something...and Renault wanted him. Ayrton was calling them, calling Patrick [Faure, Renault Sport's president] all the time. He even called one evening when I was with Patrick. He said to him, 'You want to have a reason why you should take me? Because God is behind me.' Patrick Faure was really impressed by that."

There are a multitude of reasons why this rivalry remains the most celebrated-and the most dire. It was primarily from Senna's obsession with Prost. Even before he made it to F1, Ayrton had zeroed in on Alain as the man not only to beat, but to obliterate.

"He told me, many times after when we talked about it. I hadn't realised how much he had focused on me before he made it to F1. His motivation was to be world champion, but his biggest motivation was to beat me."

"There were three Ayrtons for me: the one before F1 when he was looking at my races, at everything I was doing, the way I was doing it; obviously the one when we were together, inside or outside the same team; and then the one when I retired." It was this last version that Prost says he grew to like adding he wouldn't have believed it existed "if I had not known this person myself."

In that short time between Adelaide 1993 and Imola 1994, Prost saw an entirely different side to his old nemesis.

"We were talking very often, every week, twice a week. I knew everything about the Williams, everything about his position in the car, everything about what he was asking, everything about the fact he was not happy in the team, everything about his personal life. Amazing."

— interviewed by Damien Smith, Motorsport. 3. 2024

ps. it also mentioned that Alain is ready to tell his side of the story. He's finishing his own (French) documentary and has plans to write a book.

[boxboxblog]

Rivals: Nelson Piquet v Nigel Mansell

Hello, this is part of a series I am doing on F1 rivalries throughout history. Enjoy!

(Mansell on left, Piquet on right)

This rivalry was in the mid 80s to the 90s, and often is forgotten in favor of the more bombastic Prost-Senna rivalry around the same time. But it is a fascinating tale, combining the typical contrasting personalities/driving styles and a marked dislike of each other from almost the very beginning of their partnership.

(Senna, Prost, Mansell, and Piquet in 1986)

So, both Piquet and Mansell had been in F1 for some time before their rivalry ignited after they became teammates at Williams, in 1986. Piquet, a rather analytical, smooth, and precise driver, was a two time world champion, and expected to be number one when he joined the team. Mansell, brash, instinctive and aggressive, was far less decorated but wildly popular. This wasn't just a clashing of driving styles, but life philosophies. Piquet played mind games, Mansell abhorred them. Piquet calculates his image and wins, Mansell was more emotional and transparent. They did not like each other very much, but 1986 was their least vicious year by far.

(1986)

Piquet did not really see Mansell as a threat at first. He was at Williams to win, was a world champion already, and he fully expected Mansell to bend the knee. This would prove to be an incorrect assumption, as Mansell hoped to prove himself and viewed Piquet as his direct competitor rather than his leader. The 1986 season saw both drivers in championship contention, alongside Alain Prost. Instead of Mansell helping Piquet to lock down the championship, as he most likely expected, it became a three way battle that both Williams eventually lost. Frequent on-track battles between the two drivers, and a lack of cohesive teamwork, meant that Prost was the one who won that year. At this point though there was no pointed hatred, just mild irritation. That would all change in the next season.

(1987 British GP)

The rivalry escalated in 1987. This was the year that Piquet seemingly started to view Mansell as a true rival, and he resorted to psychological mind games to gain the upper hand. He regularly belittled his teammate to the media, questioned his driving skills and mentality, and made aggressively rude remarks about Mansell's personal life. Famously he said that Mansell was ‘dumb’ and that his wife Roseanne was ‘ugly’.  Mansell on the other hand kept quiet about his own feelings, although it was quote clear he resented his teammate for it. On top of words thrown around, Piquet allegedly hid information from Mansell's engineers taht would help him, and did everything he could to get an edge over his teammate.

(1987 Austrian GP)

Despite this bitter dislike and rivalry, the Williams car in 1987 was so dominant that they had not other competition than each other. It was all out and allowed war between the two drivers, and they swapped wins constantly. In the end Piquet clinched the title, largely through his consistent results. Mansell's two crashes during the season were basically what ensured Piquet's win. After this year Piquet went to Lotus (most say to ensure that he was a number one driver) and the rivalry died down (although still existed).

(1987)

As stated before, these two did not like each other at all. Even more than Villeneuve and Pironi, this showed a newer style of rivalry where everything was deeply personal. They were never friends, and although years later the hatred seemed to fade and they could say a positive word for the other. Years later Piquet even said “I think if everything was good I should win ’86 and Nigel should win ’87" about their controversial years and the crashes/on track battles between the two that effected the championship. But regardless of this lightened hatred, this rivalry became a cautionary tale about intra team rivalries, driver egos, and the effects they can have on championship results.

Alright, that is the little look into the Mansell-Piquet rivalry. Much more vicious and bitter than most of the others I have written about. Piquet is a very controversial figure (and by controversial I mean highly dislike, oft for good reason) in F1 history so perhaps the fact that one of his major rivalries was so aggressive is not a surprise.

I hope this was informative.

Cheers,

-B

[asa-writes]

Aphrodite of Old Hall - 07

"The Ton dissipates"

Anthony Bridgerton x F!OC / Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC 18+ MINORS DNI Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: alcohol and smut if you squint

It hadn't stopped raining for over two days now and to add to insult, there was a beastly wind blowing through the grimy London streets. Elisabeth sat in front of the fireplace and read a book. It wasn't anything that interested her - Old Hall's libraries seemed only to contain religious and botanical books, much to her chagrin - so she looked up at every little sound, hoping someone would come in and talk to her. As always, her mind was all over the place. The sounds Anthony had made yesterday had turned everything inside of her into a hot, trembling jelly. Sweat dripping down his muscular chest and his strong arms holding her, roughly caressing her... She felt like a lovesick puppy. He was supposed to be the lovesick puppy, not her!

Putting the book down, she wandered over to her secretaire, out of which she pulled some of George's letters. At least he always knew right from wrong, maybe his words would bring her to her senses... Lifting the paper up to her lips, she tried smelling the perfume he had spritzed on it, but alas, it had faded away long ago. Like him, she thought and shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. He would've laughed at her sentimentality. Hearing gentle knocks on the door, she turned around to see a footman holding a silver tablet with a single red rose and a letter. "Milady, hand-delivered by Lord Anthony Bridgerton. He is waiting in the entrance hall." Damn. God damn that man, always coming to her when she thought of him.

She walked over to the footman and took the gifts. "Thank you. You may escort him up here." He went as quickly as he came, leaving her alone again, the wind howling around her sitting room, which Stephane had gracefully given her. Unclipping her pince-nez and straightening the front of her dress, she gave herself a small, reassuring smile and sat down on her settee, pulling her skirts in a way that looked more glamorous. The door opened and a wet, tousled Anthony walked in. "Good morning, Elisabeth, I hope I'm not disturbing you." Grinning, he walked up to her and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Elisabeth pushed him towards the chair next to the fire, shaking herself playfully like a wet dog. "Good morning to you too, you wet mop. Did you seriously just walk here in this weather? I'm surprised that you haven't been blown away."

Rolling his eyes, he grinned. "I have, just yesterday evening..." She shook her head, blushing. After a few silent seconds he pointed at her decanter of Schnapps. "That is not water, is it? I would strongly discourage you from drinking it. I wouldn't want you to get sick." Elisabeth grinned. "You believe me to be so foolish? Come, try a bit." Pouring him a short glass, she gracefully presented it to him. "Prost!", She said, winked at him and finished her own. Clearing his throat, he raised his eyebrows. "That was... Stronger than I expected." Giggling, she poured herself another one. "You'll get used to it. At least I hope you will - my cook prepares a mean schnapps pudding, which almost dissolves, for it is so drenched."

Anthony just shook his head and took off his jacket, trying to get it to dry in front of the fire. "Have you read my letter yet?", He asked rather impatiently. Sighing, Elisabeth shook her head. "Why-ever should I? You are here with me, you could just tell me!" Rolling his eyes, he gallantly offered to open it for her. "Gestures, not words, that's what you said, didn't you?" She nodded. "Well, then turn away please." He looked at her quizzically. "I wrote it for you, no need to hide anything from me." Bashfully looking down, she retrieved her pince-nez from her bedazzled black reticule. "I... I can't see well..." Damning his wet clothes, he stood up and sat next to her, carefully putting the ridiculously hideous things on her face. "There. No need to be ashamed, my dear. As long as you can see me without them..."

She looked up at him, her eyes bigger than teacups. He gently broke the wax seal and opened it for her, trying his hardest not to look at her. By god, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and known, but there was no way she would keep those if they were to be married. Surely, he could find someone to make a more agreeable pair for her. Then again, it didn't really matter that much to him. She knew, hopefully, what was best for her. "There you go, dearest."

"Unto my dearest Lady Elisabeth, Seeing as the majority of the Ton had scrambled away to their country estates, (there shall be no end in sight with this weather) I have decided to take my family and go to mine as well. May I take the liberty of inviting you to come with us? I had a most interesting talk with Benedict, who has told me that the die had been cast and that he shall not be courting you anymore. As soon as the weather will end, we will certainly return again, for Eloise has yet to find herself a suitor. Yours ever lovingly, longingly and adoringly, Lord Anthony Bridgerton P.S. Oh, might I add that your bedroom has a secret passage to mine that nobody knows of?"

It was most fascinating to watch her read; her eyes darted from one side to the other - she read faster than anyone else he had known. She gasped, blushed and fluttered her eyelashes. Quickly taking off her pince-nez before looking up at him, she beamed, her cheeks reddening gently. "I must thank you... You... you love me! When are we leaving? Are you sure that your family is alright with me coming with you? However might I repay you?" Anthony chuckled and kissed her. Her lips still tasted of (what he presumed to be cherry) schnapps. She looked so fascinatingly beautiful when she tripped over her own words, looking up at him like her life depended on it. Like yesterday...

"One after the other, Ellie. No need to thank me, my love. Yes, I love you... And have to damn myself for not telling you yesterday. We could leave now, if you would want us to, I am completely at your will. I am the family's head so no, they wouldn't mind at all. Do you even need to ask me about the repayment?", He said, whispering seductively at the end. Glancing at the windows, she quickly straddled him and took his face into her soft, gloveless hands. It took a lot of control to not just pick her up and lift her skirts... She did know how to drive him wild. "Anthony...", She whispered, caressing his cheek, "I'd be delighted. I'll tell my servants to prepare a suitcase. Until it is ready, I shall like to come with you to your house, so we could all leave together..."

He slid his hand along her thigh, looking at her face faltering as a look of pleasure had rolled over her. "Really? Looks like you enjoy this a lot more..." Stopping just short of her mons pubis, she took a sharp breath, quickly standing up and flattening her dress. With a sly grin, she shrugged. "We do have a long carriage ride in front of us and, not to mention, the connected bedrooms. Now, as I've said, would you like to escort me to your home?" In his mind, he would've very much liked to just do her on the floor, but having her teasing him was a thousand times better. Standing up and putting on his rather uncomfortably damp coat, he quickly walked up to her and smacked her beautifully plump buttocks. "Then that is what I'll do, dearest. Just you wait..."

[iblameashley]

#A Hot Summer Day

Part 3 of my descent into madness for CoD men.

Story W/ Civilian | Male | Gay

I have concerns I may have bitten off more than I can chew with this fandom. My bags are packed and I'm ready to move to my cabin when this blows up in my face.

Reminder: I'm Canadian and do not know German. I am picking words at random and hoping for the best. Do. Not. Roast. Me. lol. (But feel free to offer corrections!!)

(M!Reader (only cause its kinda self-insert), Ghost, Soap, König via text)

Fluff. Enjoy.

"This is the stupidest thing you've ever asked me to do, Johnny." Soap let out a sigh.

"I dun know 'bout that, Si." Johnny said. "Do you still have eyes on the target?"

"Yes. He hasn't moved in five minutes."

"I'm on my way." There was a click as Soap hung up.

"Fucking git can get me to do anything, I swear."

Ghost waited in cover for at least another five minutes. It was hot and he was getting irritable, but he kept his eyes on the target. He was watching something on his phone, but Ghost couldn't tell what from his position.

Soap finally appeared beside him. "Still there?" He asked.

Ghost nodded and pointed.

"Lets move!"

The two jumped from their hiding spot and bolted over to the bench where their target was sitting.

You suddenly realized you were no longer burning and sweating in the heat of the sun. You looked around to see two men standing behind you. One towering over you like König. You looked at the other guy. "Soap? Ghost?" You asked. You had only met them both once, but you remembered the skull mask.

"Yae remem'bre us!" Soap exclaimed.

You nodded. You were unsure what was going on.

"We saw you about fifteen minutes ago. We were going to come over and day hi, but--" Ghost glared at Soap.

"It'd been rude to arrive empty handed" Soap chastised. He held up a drink tray. "We brought yae some'tin to beat dae heat." He smiled.

Ghost grabbed his large coffee from the tray. He was wearing his mask, a black hoodie and jeans. It was 32 degree weather. You just… couldn't grasp how he wasn't keeled over from heat exhaustion.

Soap handed you a large iced drink. "Large iced coffee with a shot of hazelnut, very little ice and some whip."

"How did you know?" you asked.

"We text König, he's stuck at the base right now." Soaps face beamed with pride.

"This was all his clever little plan" Ghost said with a bit of mockery. "You shouldn't be out in this heat like that."

"Respectfully, I don't think I should be taking that advice from you." You chuckled.

Ghost tapped you on the shoulder and ushered you over to a bench that was under some shade. Soap followed behind him like a little puppy.

"Thanks for the drink." You said before taking a sip.

"Think nothing of it." Soap smiled.

They sat there with you for a good half hour. Ghost went mostly silent as he took small sips of his drink. Mask would slip down, he'd take drink, mask back up. Soap on the other hand… couldn't shut up. He reminded you of how König acted when he was excited. You understood why they were all friends.

You enjoyed the shade and the cool drink. You had actually been lost in the black-hole that was You-Tube videos, and likely would have passed out sooner or later.

Before they left, Soap managed to convince Ghost to take a selfie. You all held up your drinks, or what was left of them, and Soap sent it off to König with the tag "Prost!"

"Liebling!" He replied. A moment passed. "You better bring me something too, Soap."

Soap laughed. "Yeah, yeah. We're on our way. We cant bring your 'Liebling', so coffee will have to do." He sent back.

Soap got up from the bench and made his way back toward to coffee shop. "I got hase drink. Meet yae ou'side innae few, Si."

Ghost stood up and finished his drink. He was actually very handsome, so you wondered why he wore the mask. He took your empty cup and tossed everything in the trash.

"It was good to see you." He said flatly. He paused, thinking. "You're good for König." There was a softness to his eyes.

"Thanks. For that, and the drink." You said.

Ghost nodded and began to walk off.

"Hey Ghost!" You called. He turned to look at you. "How long you been dating Soap?" You flashed a cheeky smile.

Even with that mask, you could tell he was blushing. "Too long." He replied and then walked off.

[liaoakenshield]

This is something I always thought. Especially with everything that happened in 1989. A lot of the narratives around Senna make Alain a jealous, asshole, petty man who planned everything to make Ayrton look bad.

Which, in reality, is not true. They are right that Alain believed that Honda was giving preference to Ayrton but he already had experience in that!

His time at Renault was hellish after his fight with René and his own country called him a traitor and a crybaby for complaining about it. It's understandable that he thought that would happen again.

In Imola maybe his reaction was overreacting to Ayrton's lie, but that was just the straw that broke the camel's back. A mockery, that was for Alain. A way for Ayrton to show that he would lie to his face if it gave him an advantage and that no one would do anything to correct it afterwards.

Alain did something that very rarely happened to him: misjudge on track. Only Ayrton managed to disturb him in such a way to make him make a mistake.

Alain was foolish to tell a journalist about his anger. Whether he was his friend or not. He cut any bridge that would lead to a truce with Ayrton and that would reverberate psychologically for the rest of the season.

At Suzuka, Alain should not have shut it down. No matter what logic Alain gave, no matter his warning to Ayrton (which he must have known would fall on deaf ears), he shouldn't have shut it down. It was a stupid thing to do and probably cost him the recognition of his entire career.

All that because Ayrton had been playing on his patience.

And then in 1990 I don't understand how he thought all the drama with Ballester at the end of last season could be erased with a simple "let's put things behind" and a handshake he gave Ayrton. He was either a hypocrite or a fool.

Of course, all these things together wouldn't make the crash at Suzuka 1990 acceptable. That was appalling and showed Ayrton's anger and frustration. But there is no excuse for something like that and then blame Prost for it.

If Suzuka 1989 buried Alain's reputation, Suzuka 1990 earned him his title as a coward and villain. And the second one wasn't even his fault.

Both acted like children in many parts of their story. Angry, temper tantrums, ignorant and hypocritical.

So no, Alain wasn't an unfeeling machine, he was a pretty friendly guy to everyone. But Ayrton brought out the worst in him, made him fail as a man and as a driver. And in some way...

Alain had the same effect on Ayrton.

Yknow not to labour the point & maybe this is slightly my own naivety also but the more one thinks about it the funnier* the idea that alain is this like, unfeeling calculating & cold person actually is. I get WHY it exists (for various reasons, not least because it is easier to see him this way when his biggest rival is arguably INCREDIBLY emotional and very much so about feeling and so on even down to the way he drives) but like……actually if u think WHY alain did a lot of the things he did then really it seems like he wasn’t doing it in a calculated manner but rather fuelled by his own frustration and emotional reactions. He didn’t chat shit about ayrton to the papers to get the upper hand for example, he wasn’t being calculating in fact he MIScalculated that interaction, if anything, because he was so emotionally involved. It’s not untrue to say he, arguably because of his experiences before that time, was able to “benefit” from certain connections he had - even if it was a roundabout way - but like….by that time the world of f1 had already taught him that it was a necessity to survive, yknow? People say a lot for example that Ayrton’s behaviour changed because of how he was treated as a way to absolve him of the blame but the same is true of Alain’s situation: the things he experienced at Renault and from the press changed how he behaved himself. But it’s untrue to act like he did those things with some master plan because Ayrton pissed him off, rather it’s just that: he was pissed off. He was upset. Alain may drive in a very calculated’ ‘cold’ manner but the man is just as emotional as, yknow, anyone else.

[hardlyinteresting]

Risks Worth Taking 2/2

This is the second half, part 2/2 of the story, thank you to everyone who has read it! Professor!Zemo x Student reader Part 1 here The reader takes Zemo’s philosophy class focusing on Machiavelli. Posted in 2 parts because it exceeded the textbox limit. Apx 3k words.

Warnings: student-teacher relationship (the reader is of age, no real focus on power imbalance), implied age gap, consumption of alcohol, implication that the reader is sleeping with Zemo for better grades (she's not) and of course let me know if you want me to add anything else!!

Week five, he is not shocked to find she’s once again the first one in class. “Good evening,” he greets warmly, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck as he makes his way to his desk. She smiles back, “I left my paper on your desk there, I figured I’d get the pile started”. He laughs setting down his coat and bag, “Something tells me there will be few submissions for this class”.

He’s right. Less than half the class bothers to show up. Most of her peers seem to be getting a head start on winter break, at least the class is quiet she thinks content listening to Helmut summarize the most recently assigned chapters, providing historical context where needed.

“Enjoy your break Helmut,” she says softly as he shuts the lecture hall door.

“You as well. Do you have plans?” She shakes her head, “No, just reading”. He smiles, “Then I am sure it will be a good break indeed”.

The cafe is warm and cosy. She settles comfortably into her favourite booth with her favourite book and a second cup of tea.

The bell at the front door dings as a man enters in a long black coat and leather gloves. Fancy she thinks to herself as he approaches the counter to order. It's usually other students dressed in sweatpants and hoodies, the man’s put together dress piques her interest. He orders and then she watches over the top of her book as he drops a $10 bill into the barista’s tip jar. Oh, well dressed and exceedingly well mannered. She can't help but watch him as he waits. Removing his gloves he tucks them into his pockets and unbuttons his coat, she swears she can smell his cologne from where she sits; it's incredible!

“Cherry blossom tea for Helmut?” The barista calls sliding the cup across the counter.

Helmut? It isn't. Is it? He turns after saying a polite thank you, and she can feel her heart hammering as he turns and she sees his face. It is. She's not sure why she's shocked, she did tell him about this place after all. Do I say something? She wonders, weighing the pros and cons, but her thoughts are halted when she hears his voice,

“Hello,” he smiles softly, “I didn't expect you to be here--I know you pointed this place out, but I wasn't--”

He's worried he's intruding. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“No, no. It's okay! I don't own the place-- did you want to sit? You don't have to--”

He chuckles as her nerves get the best of her.

Silently he sets down his cup shrugging out of his coat, putting it over the back of the chair before sitting down.

“What are you reading?” He smiles, trying to peak at the cover.

Again, after their initial stiffness, the conversation flows smoothly, just like it had in his office. After several warm drinks, and a couple croissants ordered between the two of them it’s grown dark outside. Neither had noticed the cafe empty out slowly over the hours, the barista cleaning up for the night until she clears her throat from behind the counter. They both turn to look at her, finally noticing how quiet the shop is.

“Sorry, we’re closing now,” the barista smiles sweetly. “Not a problem. I apologise, we lost track of time. We’ll get out of your way,” Helmut apologizes. The pair collect their things sliding back into their coats and gloves. Helmut waits patiently for her to be ready to go his hand resting gently at the small of her back as she slips out of the booth and past him.

Helmut stops and puts another bill in the girl’s tip jar.

“Sorry for keeping you,” he apologises again.

Outside the winter wind is cold against their faces.

“Are you hungry?” Helmut asks.

“I could eat,” She responds. “Ever been there?” Helmut asks pointing to the pub across the street. “I don’t know if it’s your speed. It’s not super nice or anything, but their food is decent,” she says honestly. He laughs, “‘Decent’ is better than what I can make at home by myself”.

She bites her lip thinking about it, does he want to spend more time with me?

“Okay,” she smiles as they make their way across the street.

Settled at a table, they wait for their server, she asks, “Was that a fifty dollar bill I saw you put in that tip jar?”

He shrugs, “Yes”.

He says that as if it’s normal, she thinks.

“I know you’re not from here, but you do know that’s a lot of money right?” “Yes,” he shrugs again, “But she made excellent tea all afternoon, she let us stay as late as she could and she was polite. And I have been here long enough to know that servers of any kind don’t get paid fairly. I can afford it, she deserves it”.

She feels the smile grow across her face, she considers gushing that he’s such a good person, but instead what comes out is, “I’m really starting to consider becoming a professor”.

He laughs, “I told you, it’s family money, not my facility pay”. God, that laugh, sets off butterflies in her stomach, the warm, genuine sound of his laughter.

He continues, “Before Sokovia fell, my family were royalty. I was a Baron there”. “I knew your name sounded familiar,” she sighs, “I remember hearing about Sokovia on the news. I remember your name, you were building orphanages and relief centres”.

He nods sadly, “Many of us thought we could salvage what we had left after everything. We couldn’t”.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, without thinking she reaches across the table to place a comforting hand on his arm. His hand comes to cover hers, so much larger than her own.

There’s a silence between them for one of the first moment since he sat down with her earlier at the cafe. But it’s not uncomfortable, it’s the opposite -- a silence of understanding, both parties knowing there’s nothing they can say to make things better-- they can only ruminate.

The peace is broken by a waiter coming to take their orders. “Do you drink Helmut?” She asks with a mischievous smile. “I have been known to indulge,” he confesses, his eyebrows furrowed. “Two shots of ?” she turns to look at Helmut expectantly. “Vodka,” he replies. “Two shots of vodka, and an order of cheese fries to share please,” she orders, “thank you”.

The waiter returns not before long, placing the drinks and food on the table.

She holds her shot glass up waiting for him to do the same. “Prost,” he says raising his glass towards her. “Cheers,” she responds clinking her glass into his before they both tip them back.

And that’s how their night begins.

It’s nearing midnight when they settle their bill, Helmut insisting he pay-- though she put up a good fight. “Can I walk you home?” He asks looking at her under the light of the street lamps. She nods, her face feeling warm both from his attention and the alcohol coursing through her bloodstream. Her apartment is only three blocks away, but time seems to slow down as they walk arm in arm through the freshly fallen snow. At her door they stop, she looks up at him, him down at her. Without a thought, lips meet. It’s not rough or particularly sexy, but she feels her knees go weak when his hand comes to cup her cheek, his other splayed across the small of her back pulling her closer. This kiss deepens and she clutches the lapel of his wool coat before they both pull away. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Don’t be,” she sighs.

Then the thought hits her, “How are you getting home?” “Oh-- I was going to get a cab and go back to the cafe to pick up my car in the morning,” he explains. “Nonsense-- you can stay here,” she offers unlocking her door and stepping inside, he doesn’t follow. “Not in my bed,” she laughs flicking on the light, “I’ll set you up on the couch”. He steps inside.

In the morning he wakes to the sun shining through the window. It takes him a minute to orient himself remembering he crashed on her couch. He sits up taking a moment to look around the apartment, it’s cute. Books and textbooks and notebooks strewn about the place. It’s homey and inviting and every bit what he’d expect her space to look like. Carefully he grabs one of the open notebooks tearing out a page he writes a quick note:

Good morning, I find that I feel very sorry for having to leave before you wake. Alas, I have much to get done, and I do not wish to trespass in your home longer than needed. I am grateful for your hospitality, and even more, your company. If my memory serves correctly I must also apologise for making that advance towards you last night. It was ungentlemanly, and you are unquestionably deserving of much better. I hope you can forgive me, and that you might allow me to make it up to you. -Helmut

Week six.

“He should appear to be compassionate, faithful to his word, guileless, and devout.” Is written across the board. When she settles into her seat. She’s not early this week, rather just on time. Helmut notes the heavy rise and fall of her chest as she tries to catch her breath, he holds back a smile at the thought of her sprinting to his class. When the class is settled, he proceeds to hand back all of the submitted essays, now marked. He smiles as he sets hers on her desk, “Bravo,” he says quietly enough that just she hears it as he shuffles along to the next row of students. She anxiously flips to the last page, red pen scrawl reads 100%. Her jaw drops. There’s no way. She thinks back to the rumours she heard on campus at the beginning of the year, about how difficult a marker he is. Bullshit. Her blood boils, rage sizzling beneath her skin. She avoids his eyes for the rest of class staring down at her notebook as she notices the indents in the blank page-- indents left from where he had written her a note that morning. Her anger freezes replaced by the cold sinking feeling in her chest. All his kind words, all those moments shared-- did he really think she was just spending time with him for a better grade? What kind of handout does he expect to get from her? She scolds herself now for the little crush she’d developed-- how stupid could she be? The prince must appear to be virtuous in order to hide his actions, She remembers from her reading, a dagger to her chest as she thinks bitterly that she’s not shocked that the professor is practising what he preaches.

The class ends and he moves to collect his paperwork, sorting it back into his bag. She stays. “I’m glad you stayed behind,” he starts. “I’m sure you are,” she says sharply. Confused he puts his things down turning to face her. “Have I done something to upset you?” He asks seriously his head tilted to the side as he racks his brain for anything he may have done to make her so cross. Perhaps his note was not sufficient in conveying his apology? “Do you think I’m stupid? Or that I’m naive?” she asks arms crossed, “I’m not sleeping with you for a good grade,” she states firmly, sliding her essay back across her desk, “feel free to adjust my grade accordingly”. Is that what she thinks? His mouth goes dry, his mind and heart racing with all the different ways he wants to apologise, to tell her that she has it wrong. He approaches her, finally making eye contact with her, “Your grade will stay as it is. I mark all of my student’s work without looking at the cover pages. I have always strived to remain impartial. Your essay was marked no differently,” He explains calmly, “I would be wrong to say that I don’t hold any affections for you-- it is quite the opposite. I enjoy the time we have spent together, and I would like to continue to remain in your company; I hope to eventually find myself in your affections-- but none of this has any bearing on your grade. I am sorry that I have acted in a way where this was not clear”. Her throat clenches, oh. “I’m sorry--Oh my god--I’m so stupid!” her hand flies to cover her mouth. “You have nothing to apologise for-- I should be the one apologising,” he insists. She shakes her head standing to stand in front of him, “We’ve both been obtuse”. “I’d like to make it up to you. I’d like to take you out for dinner-- a proper meal. If you’ll allow me”. She nods her hand coming to rest on his cheek, thumb running gently across his cheekbone, “I would like that,” she says quietly, her eyes glazing at his lips, “But only after the semester is done and I’ve graduated”. “If that is what you want,” he nods understanding. She can feel him leaning in, her eyes flickering up to his caramel eyes and back down to his lips, his hand rests on her hip, but he waits for her to close the gap between them.

Last day of the school year.

She waits by the door to the lecture hall as he speaks to his class. She listens to the back and forth of conversing ideas from the students, her heart beating faster every time Helmut speaks. It takes a while for everyone to leave when the class is over, but he does his best not to make her wait too long, gathering his things as quickly as possible, he makes his way over to her.

“Maybe I should’ve taken this course, the conversation was much more lively!” She laughs. “Your intelligent thoughts would have been wasted here, my dear” He smiles shutting the door behind him, “your class needed a brilliant mind in it”.

The summer goes by quickly. Fine dining, nights in. reading during rainstorms. Nights of soft romance, followed by nights of passion. Pasts shared. Futures envisioned. In his bed the night before the new school year she rolls over to lay almost on top of him, laughing when he lets out an oof. “Old man she teases,” earning a playful pinch on the thigh from him.

She glances at his nightstand, a copy of The Prince laying there.

“And what are your personal feelings about Machiavelli anyway? You never speak about your own thoughts”

“You're so clever,” he laughs, “but you're right”.

He sighs pulling her closer. he tries to focus on his hand running up and down her arm, how soft her sweater is under his fingertips. He takes a deep breath before speaking, “every time I read it, my opinions change,” he confesses, “there was a time when I was young and stupid; thought I was invincible that I agreed with a lot of his ideals. Then I grew older, fell in love--I thought him stupid and lonely. I experienced an incredible loss--”

She squeezes his side as she hears his voice grow tense with tears, he swallows and continues, “and then I thought I understood him. I learned how to grieve and I thought him intolerable. In the end I learn more about myself than I do him”.

She smiles, “and have you read it lately?”

He nods kissing her softly, “I have”.

“And?”

“I learned to trust my instincts. To take the risks that are worth taking”

“You're kind of a sap,” she laughs, her face getting warm she buries it in his chest. Part 1 here

[shinynewtoysyndrome]

Previously on the Finale of Beywarriors: Cyborg, Part 1

Bran, the big bad: Sayonara, suckers. Hope you like Savage Destroyer! Don't feel too bad that your planet is a worthless piece of shit.

Ramon, el freaky fish guy: Language, amigo.

Abridger's note: Ramon is Hispanic here for obvious reasons. He wasn't Hispanic in the Toonami English dub.

Al: Fish guy got better abs than me. Alright fangirls. Forget blandie. Ship me with the fish guy!

Ramon: My name is Ramon. You're killing my homeworld. Prepare to feel our collective wrath.

Bran: As if. These human nations couldn't collude even if their lives depended on it.

Nico, in an over-the-top hero voice (which if you think about it is his normal everyday voice): THAT'S WHERE YOUR WRONG, FIEND.

Bran: You're lying, bland kid. Go home and, I dunno, emigrate to the Orb Union or something. You'd fit right in.

Nico: My patriotic fervor makes a nonsense of your obtuse attempts at making fun of my perceived lack of a personality.

Flame Trio, along with their Bey Warrior Bit Beast Cyborg thingies: 'Sup Vanilla.

Nico: I'm still not getting it. Why are you calling me that?

Flame Trio: Is it seriously not getting to you that we think you're bland.

Nico: Look, if we all took too much time on personal matters like you do, we're never gonna get the job done.

Al: Well that makes sense.

Flame Trio: A consummate professional. We respect that.

Nico: That's not what you said the other times.

Flame Trio: Just run and set the plan in motion. We've got this.

Nico: Good call.

Flame Trio: Nope, we don't got this.

Nico: Oh, come on. Do I have to do everything around here?

Flame Trio: Just go, you walking piece of cardboard.

Gai: You're not the only one who's got this.

Bran: Guy, I thought we had something evil together.

Gai: Oh, I've been saving such a redeemed hero speech for this.

Voiceover: Attention people of Teslandia. Apparently we've all been played like a bunch of suckers and the real enemy had always been that alien dude named bran. Uggghhh. He must dine on gluten and all that. Anyway, that trio of military dudes plus that burly vigilante guy are all playing hero.

Prime Minister of the Lightning State: Didn't we hire that no-nonsense cardboard kid to play our hero? Why hasn't he upstaged them yet #Lightin'FuckYeah

Ramon: Madre de Hydra Akheilos.

Nico: Okay, so we got Dragoon in place. What now.

Dr. Prost but now has Cryaotic's personality: Hey Blue. Red here and I were just about to use that blowhard's technology against him.

Nico: How long will it take?

Dr. Prost: It should be done by-

Sola: MOTOR SKILLS!

Dr. Prost: Agggghhhh

King August the Dramatic: Here I come for my heroic redemption arc.

Bran: So you're all betraying me left and right. Touching, you're all united now. Filthy swine.

King August the once bad but now good: Ahh, to be rounded and complex. Wouldn't you say. This is how heroes are meant to be. BYRONIC! EAT YOUR HEART OUT, uhh...

Marius: Nico, sire!

King August the temperamental: Smithers, release the Warriors!

Marius: Yes sir!

Bran: You can't win, I'm too powerful.

Nico: That's what you think!

Flame Trio, King, Smithers, and Gai: Great. Upstaged once again by off-brand Canadian hero product.

Bran: You were better off with Johnny Test.

Nico: The joke's on you because I have no idea what that is!

Nico: Oh you have got to be kidding me.

Bran: Awww, does widdle bland kid want to run home to his gramps.

Nico: I'm a brunet.

Everyone: YOU'RE A BLOND.

Bran: A dumb blond.

King August the Blond: I am offended by that.

Nico: Blond as in yellowish hair or bland as in nondescript and lacking in features.

Al: Darn it, why does everyone get to be a hero but me? I've got better abs than all these suckas.

Gai and Ramon: AHEM.

Nico: As if you need to be ripped to be a hero.

Gai: You bit thingy may be stronger than me, but I can still make things haaaa-

Gai: SHIT WHY DOES THIS HURT SO MUCH.

Nico: I know right?

King August the Observant: We dented it.

Gere of the Flame Trio: We'll dent it again.

Both: GOOOO SHOOOOOOT

Nico: I won't let your sacrifice be in vain!

All three of them: But we're not yet dead.

Al: Bring out your dead!

Nico: I understood that reference!

Ramon: Of all the references bland man could've gotten. Anyhow, ninos, while you were battling, I was making sure that Bran was distracted. Now go extract the energy from that behemoth and lets finish this. Vamos!

Bran: You can-

Ramon: And now you'll be done in by your own pocket dimension tech.

Bran: FUUUUUUUCCCK

Ramon: What do you know. The blue guy with the abs beat the villain.

Al: I don't think he's using the Spanish language correctl-oowwwww using Lightning Griffin as a shield hurts. But if this shared pain means being a hero, so be it.

Nico: They did their part. Now it's my turn!

Al: He did it.

The rest of them: All that character development to be upstaged by a talking piece of cardboard.

Nico: Awww, shucks guys. We all did it. Together.

Gere: Wait, so your normal personality is a humble, friendly, socially awkward teen?

Nico: I thought that was obvious.

Gai: We went around thinking you didn't have one, what with your near monomaniacal obsession with acting the part of the hero.

Nico: PROFESSIONALISM!

Prime Minister of the State of Lighting: Lightning, Fuck Yeah.

Ramon: Wait, amigos. Something isn't right.

Nico: Well, thank you, Ms. Clavell.

[zevranunderstander]

about what i said about the original manga being really dodgy about race, generally oda has a really horrible style when drawing black characters, with the weird lips and stuff, but as far as i know he never explicitly states that these characters are supposed to be black, and you may be kind of wondering why that would be a question in the first place, but he has this thing where there are a few characters that are, without color, drawn in a way where you would assume they would be black, but whenever oda releases colored material of the manga (like colored covers or just the anime, where i am 100% certain he has a big say in color palettes), the characters suddenly kind of aren't … black anymore?

even zoro or other characters that clearly are meant to be lightskin have darker tans than post-timeskip usopp, and im not sure im forgetting a piece of lore here but there shouldnt be a reason why brook had pale white skin when he was still a human etc. other than that i assume no one wanted him to be darkskin?

also in the tv show, usopps mom is black, but in the anime she looks like this:

and i think oda just forgot what usopps dad looked like every second chapter so it's hard to explain but occasionally he is a white man? especially in the beginning, you very often have to put a lot of imagination in to not see a random white guy

I guess at some point oda committed a bit more to usopp being black because prost timeskip yasopp looks like this instead:

here he at least has locs and only mildly offensive lips, but still his skin is arguably very white. i have only been up to speed until 2016-ish but to my recent memory i could not name one character where the show wasn't at least a bit dodgy about whether they should be black or not.

oda is also really really weird about homosexuality and trans women but that is a whole different can of worms, and actually one I also have some real hope for the show to do better because there are some hints to a popular fan theory being true in the live action adaptation, where fans speculated that a quite notable and pretty badass villain may be a trans guy, which for one piece standards is an insane level of representation tbh. i heard there was a trans woman in a later arc who wasnt played as a complete joke but like i said, i never watched that

I didn't know there are other people then me that are also scared of One piece. I feel a little less weird about it now.

adsfghj let's start a support group