#however Oscar moves me on occasion

[maxpadelchampion]

people wondering why ferrari fans hate mclaren when they are the original rivals of the sport 😭 literally ferrari and mclaren used to hate each other so bad like this is nothing… we need to go back to our ROOTS

[bad268]

I had a thought.... and I don't know if its a good or bad one, so let me know what you think

I was thinking Arvid or Ollie were reader is apart of the royal family (maybe Prince Edwards daughter) and they go to silverstone.

love your writing btw 🙈

Everybody's A Ferrari Fan (Ollie Bearman X Royal! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (it's not bad, i love royal readers <3)

Warnings: None

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 2027

Summary: Silverstone weekend gets a little more interesting when Ollie learns the reader is a royal.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Silverstone was a spectacle. It always has been, and it always will be. Being part of the royal family meant you were expected to attend. Your older sister wasn’t into the sport, your younger brother found it cool but didn’t care for it, and your parents were just there for appearances. You, however, would go to the race with your grandmother anytime you could, and you found it all fascinating. You were even there to meet Lewis Hamilton on multiple occasions. 

Since you were 18 now, you were hoping to convince your family to let you go alone. You promised to uphold all of the normal obligations they would do. It did not take nearly as much convincing since they had more pressing royal duties related to your grandfather to attend to. They let you, as long as you behaved. No problem there! 

When the day finally came, you walked down the pitlane with a few of your guards. Despite wanting to support your favorite teams, it was against your dress code. You could not have any logos, so you hid a few bracelets under your sleeves. You also had a few extras in case you met some new friends or drivers. 

Yesterday was Friday, so there was not much for you to do on track. You just visited with some of the British drivers. You met with Lewis again. He introduced you to George and Lando, and when you met Lando, he introduced you to Oscar. 

“Did you know I’m 1/16 British?” Oscar joked. It was something you had seen, and it was funny to see it play out in front of you.

“No way!” You joked back. “Maybe we’ll find out you're related to the royal family!”

“Oh don’t tell him that!” Lando groaned, immediately walking away. He walked over to Andrea, and you saw them having a discussion before looking over to you and Oscar.

“I guess that’s my queue to leave,” You sighed as you moved to head out of the garage. “Good luck in the sessions today, and if I don’t see you for the rest of the weekend, good luck in the race.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Oscar responded with a bow as you left. You had a few minutes before your guards were meant to take you up to the viewing box, but you were interested in meeting some of the Formula 2 and Formula 3 drivers. 

You sent a quick text to your head guard where you were going before sneaking off to a bathroom. You changed into some Ferrari merch you bought because everyone is a Ferrari fan and put on a mask, so no one would recognize you. You threw on a hat to cover up your hair and sunglasses to hide your face before taking off toward the support paddock. 

Given that free practice 1 was starting, there was not a lot of traffic in the support paddock, so you were able to walk freely between trailers. Since there weren’t a lot of people there, you pulled the mask down. You looked around in awe of everything. Maybe you were distracted by everything, but it did not take long for you to run into someone. A tall boy around your age immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you from falling down. Your hands grasped at his shoulders in shock as you looked up at him. 

“I am so sorry,” You said after a beat, still in too much shock to move, but he didn’t move either. 

“Don’t mention it,” He responds before helping you stand up straight. He glanced down and took note of your attire. “Ferrari fan?”

“Isn’t everyone?” You joked, gesturing to his shirt. “Where did you get that? It looks like one of the team kits! Either that or it’s a really good knockoff.”

“No, it’s official,” He chuckled as he blushed. Your eyes widened as your jaw dropped, realizing he was a driver. “I’m in the Ferrari Driver Academy, but I race in F2. My name is Ollie.”

“Y/n,” You responded in awe. “Wait, Ollie as in Ollie Bearman? You made your F1 debut this year and you swept Baku last year, right?”

“Yeah,” He said bashfully as he looked anywhere but at you. 

“Well, first off, congrats,” You praised, “Second, are you excited for qualifying? That’s happening later today right?”

“Yeah, it’s in a couple of hours, and I love Silverstone,” Ollie started. “I love racing in front of my home crowd and I think I have a good chance to win or podium at least. I topped practice, so I’m confident we’ll have the speed to be at the top.”

“I have full confidence you will do your country proud,” You smiled as you heard him rant. It was nice to hear someone so passionate about winning in front of their home country. Then you realized you were probably keeping him from something. “Oh, I should probably leave you to whatever you were going to do before. I’m sorry for holding you up and running into you.”

“I was just heading to my garage if you want to come with me,” Ollie offered, holding out his hand for you. “I can get you in a good spot to watch the race.”

“Only if I can sit in your car,” You giggled as you took his hand and followed him to the Prema trailer. That’s where you stayed on Friday. You sent update texts to your guards every 30 minutes, so they wouldn’t come looking for you. Even then, that didn’t stop them from trying to find you. They couldn’t.

You made sure to tell Ollie you would see him on Saturday, and that you would be supporting him.  You got his number, promising to text him when you got to the track. You left the Prema garage and changed back to your original outfit. You hid the clothes back in your bag along with the mask before finding your guards and leaving for the night.

Saturday morning, you went to the track super early. You wanted to go to the Prema garage again, but everything was stacked against you. Well, not exactly.

You wanted to separate from your guards, but it seemed virtually impossible. Thankfully, they trusted Lewis, so when Lewis and Toto decided to watch the F2 sprint from the Prema garage in support of Kimi, you asked to join them. You were allowed to, but the guards would be outside of the garage the whole time. Once you three got into the garage, you pulled Lewis aside.

“If I change out of this, will you say anything?” You whispered, pulling Lewis down a hall. You were always close with Lewis, and you knew he would vouch for you. “I just want to enjoy the race as a spectator.”

“Yeah, I’ll even cover for you,” Lewis said as he pointed toward the bathroom. You ran over to change back into your Ferrari outfit and put the mask, hat, and sunglasses back on before returning to Lewis. “Ferrari merch? Really? What happened to Mercedes?”

“Everybody’s a Ferrari fan,” You chuckled again, “And you’re going to be in Ferrari next year. I’m just ahead of the curve.”

“Are you sure it’s not because a certain Ferrari driver caught your eye?” Lewis teased as you walked toward the pitlane. Since there were no guards, you were free to let loose a little. 

“Oh Lewis, I see you’ve met my new friend!” A new voice joined as you two stepped outside of the garage. It was Ollie preparing for the sprint race.

“Oh, not who I thought,” Lewis said to himself as he turned and walked over to Toto and Kimi. Just before he got too far away, he turned around and shouted, “Good luck getting your parents’ approval!”

“What was that about?” Ollie asked as he walked up behind you.

“My parents are hard to please, and Lewis reads me better than I read myself,” You chuckled almost to yourself, but Ollie heard it.

“What do you mean about Lewis knowing you? How do you even know Lewis?” Ollie retorted as you both walked around his car. “Before you get into that, did you still want to sit in the car?”

“Yes, please!” You replied enthusiastically as you took his hand. He helped you get into the car before handing you the steering wheel, so you could have the full experience. You turned the wheel a few times, jokingly making car noises as you did so, causing both of you to laugh. “This is so cool and bigger than I imagined.”

“Could be because I’m taller than you,” Ollie answered offhandedly, leaning over the halo.

“Ollie, I loved hanging out with you yesterday. It was so fun to just be a normal person, doing normal people things for a day,” You started, looking up at him.

“Well, I don’t think this is considered ‘normal people things’, but okay,” Ollie chuckled, not understanding where you were going with this.

“It's more normal than I’m used to,” You chuckled as well. “Ollie, does my name ring any bells to you?”

“Not that I can think of,” Ollie trailed off, confused. “Should I?”

“Should you? Maybe. Do I want you to? No,” You admitted, looking back at the steering wheel. “Ollie, I like being with you, and I want to explore something with you. I’m just afraid when you find out who I am, you’ll leave. Everyone always does.”

“I won’t leave,” Ollie said immediately. “Anyone would be a fool to leave you because I’ve enjoyed being with you too. You’re fun to be around, and you make me feel like a normal teenager and not Ollie Bearman, the F2 driver.”

“And you make me feel like a normal teenager and not Lord/Lady Y/n Windsor, heir to the British throne,” You whispered back, shyly looking up at him. His jaw was dropped, but as soon as you made eye contact, he snapped his mouth closed. “Does that intimidate you?”

“Not really,” He tried to play off, but you saw straight through him as you gazed at him through your lashes. “Okay, a little, but so what? It’s only a little scary, but I’m willing to work for it.”

“Even if it means proving yourself to the Prince Edward and the Dutchess Sophie of Edinburgh?” You were afraid of the answer, but his response shocked you.

“I ready to work for it,” Ollie said immediately. “They’re Ferrari fans right?”

“They don’t really care about F1,” You chuckled. “They couldn’t care less, so you’ve got that going for you. They’ll probably appreciate that you’re British.”

“At least my nationality is benefiting me,” Ollie joked, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “At least I have that going for me.”

“And if you know any other languages, that might help,” You joked back. “They like multilingual people.”

“And luckily, I have to speak Italian to be in Ferrari and Prema,” Ollie quipped back quickly. “I also live in Italy, so it would be hard not to know the language.”

“Hate to break up a possible love story here, but Ollie needs to get in the car,” Lewis interrupted, and that’s when you noticed the mass amount of people staring at you. “He does still have a race to do.”

“I guess I can get out then,” You chuckled as Ollie helped you out of the car. He kept his arms around your waist as he steadied you on the ground. You pulled the mask down momentarily to place a short kiss on his cheek before whispering, “Good luck out there. I expect to see you on the top step.”

“I’ll try my best, but I’m starting 10th,” Ollie whispered back with a smile. “One of the cons of being on pole for the feature.”

“I’ll be manifesting for you to pull a Baku sweep again,” You said as you pulled away to stand by Lewis. You and Lewis walked over to the pit wall as the cars went out to the grid. Hopefully, Ollie could win this weekend.

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[adventuringblind]

Can I request Lando x Sainz! reader, Maybe she is younger than him and she was previously dating Charles but always being bff with Lando and how Carlos would react

I love you, please save me.

Lando Norris x Sainz!reader

Genre: angst and fluff

Summary: when readers relashonship with Charles leaves her broken, Lando and Carlos are there to help pick up the peices.

Warnings: talks of cheating and toxic behavior.

Request: Yes, and I hope you like it! My requests are open for Lando, Max, Oscar, Daniel, and Charles.

Notes: written in second person.

Masterlist // part two

Charles leclerc had been a dream on a boyfriend. He was everything you could have asked for. But Lando was there for you after the fall.

You spent lots of time around the paddock. Usually trailing after your older brother or attempting to find his girlfriend.

With all the time you spent there, it was only natural you got to know Lando. Your brother being a driver for McLaren meant getting to be a menace to your brother with Lando.

The two of you became fast friends. Oddly enough, because of the age gap between you and your brother, it meant that somehow he'd convinced Lando to also take on a more protective role.

You basically had personal body guards if you went anywhere.

When Carlos moved to Ferrari, you found yourself spending more time with a certain monegasque. Carlos and Lando both like Charles, so when he asked you out they were happy for you.

Carlos knew felt bad for the Brit as you had told them. The subtle hurt over not finding the courage to confess his feelings earlier, did not go unnoticed by the Spaniard.

You stayed good friends with Lando. Splitting your time evenly between the McLaren and Ferrari garages. Even staying with Lando on multiple occasions over breaks and spending time in his hotel room watching movies.

You’d started becoming distant as of late. Concerning both Carlos and Lando. The two determined to know the reason behind your eye bags and mildly defensive manner.

“Do you think it’s something with Charles?” Asked Lando to the Spaniard on day over lunch.

Carlos pauses for a minute to consider. “I don’t think so, Charles has seemed fine. I feel like we would know if something was going on with them.” He then tilts his head, pondering over every situation that could be happening. “Right?”

~

This, however, was the beginning of a downward spiral. The first nine months wth Charles was great. You two got along well and have a shared interest in music and art. There hadn't been a dull moment.

Now you felt stuck in an endless cycle. Charles had started being secretive. Going out late at night without you and not coming back until the morning.

He'd been blowing you off and avoiding your questions. Anger rising in his voice when you did so.

You blamed Ferraris back luck. He blamed the bad luck on you.

But then he'd come back to you. Tell you sweet words and make you feel loved.

You didn't know how to leave, and if you did, it might affect your brother. You didn't want to put that kind of strain on their relationship.

So you stayed. Even now. Almost two years into your relationship.

Everyone has sensed something wasn't right, but you could never find the words to make it known.

Your brother had become more gentle with his tone. Hoping you would let him in so he could help you.

Lando had become your rock. Taking advice from Carlos to be gentle with you. There might be more going on than what meets the eye.

And he'd confirmed it one day after a race.

Another bout of bad luck hit Ferrari, and the Monegasque driver was far from happy.

Carlos happened to be walking by Charles driver room when he heard the yelling. The male switching languages so fast it gave him whiplash.

Concerned, Carlos presses his ear to the door. Fire building in his bones when he hears your broken voice attempting to soothe him only to be berated back.

Carlos knew it wouldn't go well if he picked a fight. He needed to be smart about this.

If this was how charles had been treating you, no wonder you were so tired.

Last week, you'd fallen asleep at Lando's apartment. Lando had tried to get you to move away from him. Not wanting to push any boundaries.

Eventually, he'd just settled on giving you his bed and trying to get a hold of Charles to come get you.

When Charles picked up, he could hear the loud music in the background and Charles slurring his words.

He'd tried to explain the situation only to met with an angry grunt and the sound of the call ending.

Heaving in frustration, he'd settled on taking you home himself in the morning.

He woke up to your tears the next morning. Staring at your phone and begging him to help you.

You'd told him everything that morning. Going as far as to confess, you'd had feelings for the Brit. You just couldn't get away from Charles. Trying and failing multiple times.

Lando kissed you that morning and promised to help get you out.

Now Carlos was on the phone with him, but he couldn't hear anything past Charles had once again made you cry.

He was angry, to say the least. You were so kind and funny, and you were one of the best listeners he'd ever met. You didn't care that he's a picky eater and cheered him up after rough races.

Everyone knew to stay out of his way. He was a man on a mission. Determination fills his lungs with each breath.

He ignored the confused looks of the Ferrari staff. Pushing past as they tried to ask him questions.

After what felt like an eternity to him, he made it to Carlos. The two are now waiting for someone to open the door.

"Can't write just open it ourselves?" Lando questions. His foot tapping a hole through the ground out on anxiety and impatience.

Carlos shakes his head. "Already tried it."

They hear the lock click and watch the door swing open. Without hesitation, Carlos is on Charles trying to understand the yelling. Both boys are getting defensive.

Lando finds you balled in the corner. Your eyes are red and puffy. Hands over your ears to block out the noise. He's immediately down by your side. Cupping your cheeks in his hands.

You embraced him. Using his heartbeat to steady your own.

You two stayed like that. Lando as your shield.

"Stay away from my sister." Carlos seethed. Having pushed Charles so far back, he created an opening big enough for Lando to heave you up and guide you out of the room. Carlos marching close behind you two.

It felt like a breath air being out of the garage.

You immediately detach from Lando and hug your brother. Your thanks being muffled by his chest.

He stroked your hair. "I wish I could've helped earlier. Also, I think someone else is more deserving of your love."

He looks behind you at Lando, who is now awkwardly waving at you two.

You smile through the tears. "Thank you for saving me."

Lando throws his arms around you and gently places his lips on yours. "It's my honor. Even better is that I get you all to myself now."

[lottie1824]

i wish you would write a fic on….landoscar rivals in a championship battle

or

i wish you would write a fic on…bearnelli at ferrari and mercedes being the second drivers and working together to get through the emotional pressures

Ask Game:

Send me an anymous (or not) summary of the fic you wish I would write. (maybe I will write a tidbit)

Hello Anon, thanks for the ask 🧡 I hope you like what I came up with and if anyone wants to take the ideas and run with them then go ahead

Landoscar championship battle:

I'm going to give my thoughts first of all on the scenario. There would be angst and miscommunication. It would be a fierce battle on track between them both with the potential to have a couple of clashes and when they realise that they are in a championship battle together, Oscar sensibly suggests that they should put their relationship on hold for the time being. Something happens in the middle of the season where one of them has what looks like a bad crash (like Lando's Vegas one last year) and they realise that actually the championship isn't more important than what they had started to build off the track.

"You can't just make a move like that down the inside!" Lando yelled, furious ever since his boyfriend, could he still call Oscar his boyfriend, had crashed them both out of the race.

"Lando," Oscar responded calmly, refusing to let any anger that he may feel, bubble out of him. "The door was open for me, I had all the right to attempt that move. It was only once that I was fully alongside you that you closed the door. I know that your frustrated but yelling at me isn't gonna get you anywhere?"

"Of course you have to try and take the moral high ground," Lando all but spat. "Always trying to be the goody two shoes. Doesn't always translate to on track unfortunately."

Oscar forced himself to take a deep breath to try and hold the tears at bay that were threatening to slip out. He knew that Lando was frustrated at them both and unfortunately had the tendency to take out his frustrations on something. Usually it was a pillow or something similar however this time it seemed that Oscar was the target. Even though he tried not to show it, Lando's words were hurting him.

"I think we should take a break," Oscar said quietly. "From our relationship. That and the title fight clearly can't work alongside each other so we should break it off until the end of the season."

With that, Oscar all but ran out of the room, not stopping to see that his words had hit Lando like a ton of bricks. Not seeing that Lando was watching him leave, frozen solid, tears beginning to roll down his face as the gravity of what had happened began to sink in.

Bearnelli:

First come the thoughts. Both of them get seats for the 2025 season after Lewis ends up retiring at the end of 2024 due to an injury sustained towards the end of the season. Ollie gets promoted immediately into the Ferrari seat. They both had seats at top teams and that should be that right? Wrong. Immediately the pressure begins to press down upon them until they begin to crack. There's only so much one person can take until they break completely. Kimi breaks first. Breaks down in Ollie's arms after a dnf due to mechanical failure. After that, instead of them both dealing with the weight alone, they bare each other's as well, making it much more manageable. Come the end of the season their support of each other has led them to getting more points than their respective teammates

Ollie could sense that something was off with Kimi. It had been for a while. There would be periods where Ollie would happen upon him, just staring into space with a vacant expression on his face. He was much more jumpy and on more than one occasion, Ollie suspected that he had interrupted Kimi crying. Yet Kimi hadn't said a word.

So, it surprised Ollie when he heard a knock on his hotel room door just past midnight. It hadn't woken him up as he couldn't get to sleep. For the past few hours he'd just been staring at the ceiling, his mind whirring with what could have been in the qualifying session.

When the knocking came again, more urgent this time, Ollie hurried out of bed and to the door, wondering who on earth wanted him at this time of night.

He opened it to find Kimi stood there tears streaming down his cheeks. Without thinking Ollie immense scooped Kimi up into his arms.

"It's okay baby, I've got you know." He didn't know where the pet name came from but there was time later to analyse it.

[cutielando]

addressing the hate.

i have a lot to say about this entire weekend, so buckle up.

there have a lot of ups and downs for us this weekend, we can all agree with that.

hope was there on Friday, with both cars up there both in FP1 and Sprint Quali.

then came the Sprint.

i support both Lando and Oscar, and i can admit, and proudly at that, that Oscar 100% deserved to win that Sprint. but at the same time, he knew that at that point, Lando was close to Max in the championship and needed every possible point that he could take. so, Oscar played the team game. i know some people don’t agree with it, but in my opinion, it was kind of fair play. Lando took one for the team when he switched positions with Oscar in Hungary (for this one, i blame the team and the team only because they fucked up their pit stops and made the whole thing much worse than it needed to be), Oscar took one for the team today in the Sprint, which realistically does not bring a lot of points for the top 8.

qualifying for the race was when things started to not go in our favor. Lando barely managed to get in terms with the car to make it to Q2, by the skin of his teeth, and even though he put an incredible time on the timesheets and got Pole, the race was where it all went to hell.

losing the lead after the first corner, admittedly making mistakes that had no room to be made yesterday when the opportunity to close the championship gap was so great, the team once again fucking up his race with that pit stop (which Russell also suffered from), nothing went in his favor.

despite everything, i am very proud of Max and his performance yesterday. to come from P17 to P1 and finish the race with a 19 second lead to 2nd place is something beyond amazing, and Max truly deserved that win. he has shown, once again, why he is a master in the wet and despite everything that has happened in the past few weeks that we are not proud of, he has shown why he is a soon-to-be 4 time World Champion. i bow my hat to you, Max Verstappen, because you are the best driver of your generation and one of the best drivers the sport has ever seen.

however, this brings me to my main point.

the hate that i’ve seen thrown Lando’s away from the moment the race ended is baffling to me. i know a lot of people are saying that Lando never deserved to win the championship, that he’s not talented enough or he’s just lucky to have won.

let’s not forget that Max has been undefeated for 3 years straight, especially last season, and this time around Lando is the only driver who has managed to get even remotely close to him in the championship battle. you don’t have to like Lando, but you have to give some credit for putting in the work and making it at the top.

i find it very funny that a lot of you talk about how mental health is really important for these drivers because of the insane pressure they’re under, but you jump at the occasion to send death threats to one of them like it’s nothing. you defend your favorite driver when someone hates on them and you complain about the people that hate on your favorite, but you do the same to Lando, someone else’s favorite driver. you guys are no better than the people you complain about and claim to hate.

these drivers are first and foremost human beings. they know what’s at stake, they know what they’re dealing with, and they feel these wins and losses on a different level than we do.

Lando has been very vocal about his past struggles with mental health, and now everyone is sending him hateful messages and threats? when he’s proved time and time again what a kind soul he is?

you people have no decency.

these are human beings. how would you like it if your every move was scrutinized and judged to the maximum? how would you feel if you were in their place, seeing so many people’s hateful comments and wishes of harm towards you?

think about how you would feel if you were on the receiving end of your hateful comments.

please, do better.

stop the hate.

congratulations, Max Verstappen, for this incredible win.

congratulations, Lando Norris, for all the work you’ve put into becoming better and actually fighting at the top.

shame on you, the people who pretend to be their fans.

do better.

[theroseceleste]

Pilot Miguel - Part 11 - My Hero

Miguel seems to be in a bit of a mood and a celebrity passenger only seems to worsen it. However, all problems have to be put aside in an emergency situation.

Word count - 4172

Minors DNI

If you don't want spoilers, don't read the 'contains' bit below.

Contains : Jealous behaviour, flight incident - bird ingestion / engine failure, emergency landing - no casualties. Smut : Fingering, mutual masturbation, penetrative sex.

Enjoy! xx

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

There’s excitement in the staff lounge at Adolfo Suárez Madrid-Barajas airport. A celebrity is going to be on your flight and obviously, you’ll be serving him in first-class. Sergio Velasquez, who is only just the handsomest actor in the film industry; nominated for many Oscars and seemingly the nicest man in the world.

You and Miguel turn up in the staff lounge, on a rare occasion where he flies you back to Nueva York after having flown you to Madrid just a couple of days before.

The last forty-eight hours have once again been magical and you have enjoyed spending time with your man, wandering around the city and making mad, passionate love together in your hotel room.

“Oh my God, oh my God…” you mutter under your breath excitedly when you hear about Sergio Velasquez.

Miguel looks down at you, as he thrusts his phone into his pocket.

“What’s the matter?” he asks you, looking slightly irritated, but not at you.

You stare back up at him.

“Sergio Velasquez… You know; charming actor, famous, really nice guy…”

Your tone almost sounds dreamy as you imagine what meeting him is going to be like.

Miguel huffs in a disinterested manner.

“So what?”

You blink at him in surprise, but it’s clear that Miguel really does not understand what all the excitement is about.

“Just another passenger to me…”

Rolling your eyes slightly at him, you scoff.

“So what? He’ll be the first celebrity passenger I’ve ever served, and the one I’ve been most keen to meet.”

“Ahh, well, you know what they say, (Y/N). Never meet your heroes,” Peter interrupts as he steps into the conversation.

“Peter!” you cry out happily and give him a hug.

So much has happened since you last saw the co-pilot and you’re thrilled to see him. He always makes your flights interesting and full of good humour.

“Hey Migs, how are you doing? Good to see you again,” Peter says as he holds his hand out to the Captain who audibly groans upon hearing the name ‘Migs’.

He reluctantly takes Peter’s hand and shakes it.

“Let me guess, Lyla told you that nickname?”

“Sure did!”

“Here’s some advice – forget the name.” Miguel replies as he lets go of Peter’s hand and adjusts his tie.

Despite having an amazing time with you for two days in Spain, it seems his mood has plummeted even lower than normal. You notice he’s received a few texts which you feel troubles him.. And now his mood has worsened at the mention of the celebrity. Is he… jealous?

Peter shrugs and moves on to say hello to another member of the cabin crew, leaving you alone with Miguel once more.

“You’re not - jealous are you babe?” you whisper quietly so only he can hear.

He scoffs as he raises an unimpressed eyebrow at you.

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous of Sergio Velasquez?”

He’s totally jealous…

“Okay, so Migs is a ‘no-go’ for you, so what can I call you?” Peter asks as he takes his seat on the right of the cockpit.

Most of Miguel’s attention is on the weather report. Decent conditions are forecast until approaching Nueva York in the evening.

“Checks, Parker.”

“Checks? That’s an odd name-“

“Tch…” he tuts, “not my name! Do. Your. Checks!”

Peter goes red in the face, partially out of embarrassment but also frustration. No one struggles warming up to him, so why is Captain O’Hara being super prickly?

Without another word he does his once-over checks on his side of the controls. Everything looks in good working order.

Miguel is now reading the plane’s log-book. Once again, a squeaky clean history. No issues or malfunctioning equipment. Feeling satisfied, he stuffs the book back where he found it.

“You can call me Miguel,” he finally responds to Peter, unable to shake off feeling a little bad about his outburst earlier.

Since his recent contact with Xina, and her persistent pestering, he feels a little on edge most of the time.

“Miguel - nice name,” Peter replies with a compliment, but it doesn’t match his usual warmth.

The Captain frowns. He’s finally managed to shut Flight Officer Parker up, but at what cost? Then he casts his mind to you while he does his equipment checks. He wonders what you’re doing and if you’ve met Sergio Velasquez.

“Good afternoon Mr Velasquez, such an honour to be serving you today,” you stutter ever so slightly as you greet the actor you’ve liked for quite a while now.

After taking a look at his ticket you show him to his seat and offer him a glass of champagne. He gives you a weak smile and he continues to wear his sunglasses despite being inside the plane.

“Thanks,” he mutters to you quietly as he takes the glass and makes himself comfortable.

Your immediate thought is that he’s probably faced a bunch of fans at the airport and simply wants some time to himself, which you can understand, of course.

There is a slight delay as it takes a while to get all passengers on board. Some are running late and have put everything on hold. During that time you check on the pilots to see if they need any quick refreshments before they’re committed to takeoff. Peter asks for water, but Miguel just shakes his head in response.

After a quick trip into the galley you return with a cup of water for Flight Officer Parker as the last few passengers come on board and put their bags in the overhead lockers.

“How’s Sergio?” your boyfriend asks with mock interest.

“Awww, you do care,” you tease Miguel, ruffling the back of his hair as Peter looks away to get his checklist ready.

“He’s alright - quiet. Not quite like how I expected.”

“Never meet your heroes,” Peter repeats from earlier, but you sense he’s in a mood now, too.

Silence fills the cockpit as you look at both of the pilots with a concerned frown.

“Is everything o—“

“Hello?”

You hear someone calling out near the entrance to the cockpit, grabbing your attention immediately.

“Shit, that’s him…” you mutter.

As you step away, Miguel opens his grumpy mouth to speak as he smooths over his now messy hair.

“Yes, you go deal with him.”

His words make both you and Peter look at him with a stunned expression. This is unlike him when you’re around…

Stepping back towards Miguel, you allow yourself to wrap your arms around his shoulders in front of Peter - you trust him. A quick, soft and tender kiss is delivered to his cheek, making him freeze on the spot, eyes fixed on the apparatus before him.

“Be good,” you whisper against his cheek while your hand strokes the other, immediately causing his heart to pound hard in his chest.

Pulling yourself away, you give a flabbergasted Peter a wink before leaving the cockpit to deal with Sergio.

Miguel can feel Peter’s eyes on him.

“Don’t even think about saying anything…”

Peter raises his hands placatingly.

“Absolutely. Staying out of this one.”

Despite not saying anything, he wonders just what has happened between the both of you since he last saw you in Acapulco. He hopes that Miguel treats you better than how he just did too.

“We need to start pre-flight checks…” Miguel mutters quietly in hope to get out of this awkward situation.

Despite still feeling your kiss on his skin and the sound of it lingering in his ear. An unignorable and uncomfortable squeezing around his heart continues. Jealousy is an ugly feeling and he hates the fact he’s behaving the way he is. It’s suffocating and heavy in his chest. He trusts you, but despises the fact that another man that gets you excited is receiving your attention right now…

You sigh as you finally strap yourself in the jump seat. Sergio has been giving you the runaround, whilst not being particularly pleasant about it either.

He asked for a new glass of champagne as his first drink was ‘too bubbly’ for his liking, and insisted that the cabin was too dark despite you telling him numerous times it was because he was still wearing his sunglasses. It’s safe to say you’re not looking forward to the rest of the flight, but feeling thankful for this respite as the plane begins its journey to the runway.

As you wait for the plane to take off, you hear the usual sound of passengers talking to their neighbours, a calm and peaceful atmosphere until the engines start to roar. You get thrusted forward a little more than usual out of your seat as your back faces the front of the plane.

You might be a little paranoid, but you can’t help but think Miguel’s foul mood is reflected in how the plane behaves. Perhaps he’s a little overzealous with the thrusters today?

The air above the runway shimmers in the heat as the Boeing-747 tears its way along it, engines screaming as all four of them push hard to get 397 tons at the right speed to take flight.

The familiar dropping sensation in your stomach tells you that all wheels have left the ground and the back of the plane looks like it’s at the bottom of an incredibly steep hill.

Inside the cockpit, both pilots are silent as they monitor the equipment. Miguel presses a switch that calls back the landing gear, stowing them away in the plane’s belly. A clunking sound indicates that the automatic doors have shut the wheels in.

Everything seems completely normal until the two men hear a loud bang, shaking the whole plane and making them flinch. Lights on the cockpit dashboard illuminate, highlighting that engine three is in total shut-down.

“Mierda!” (Shit!) Miguel yells as his mind runs rapidly, remembering the emergency landing procedure.

The bang is heard throughout the fuselage, followed by panicked screams and yelps of shock on the right hand side of the aircraft. Some passengers witness one of the four engines suffer a catastrophic failure. Flames burst out of the back, spurring chaos.

Your heart pounds as various thoughts rush through your mind all at once. What the hell has happened and if Miguel and Peter are okay?

If there is ever a time to panic, now is not it. After the initial shock, both pilots revert to their extensive training that got them here in the first place.

“Mayday, mayday, flight AA-1610 has suffered what we suspect is a bird ingestion in engine three. Requesting priority to circle round and land immediately.”

Peter sounds calm and collected as he radios the air traffic control tower. As he does this, Miguel levels the plane out to stop it from climbing any higher.

“Understood flight AA-1610, can you confirm you still have control of the aircraft?” a man in air traffic control asks.

“Yes, we can still control the aircraft,” Peter answers plainly.

“Okay, I will be advising all flights in the air and on the ground to hold until you land. And I will request the assistance from airport emergency services.”

Miguel has been given the all clear to land. He banks the plane in a gentle turn to loop back and approach the runway for an emergency landing.

Back in the cabin, you hear Miguel inform the passengers and crew of the emergency landing and suspected bird ingestion resulting in the engine failure. To your relief, he sounds unphased and calm. Unlike Sergio who has suddenly gone very pale and begun whimpering. You’re starting to see him in a new light, and it’s not very flattering…

Passengers try and peer out of their windows to try and see the engine. Thankfully they’re not screaming or yelling. It seems Miguel has done a good job not to incite panic with the passengers with his announcement.

You feel the plane tilt as it makes its final approach. As it lines up with the runway, other planes loop around higher in the sky as they wait to be cleared to land.

Another clunking sound is heard through the fuselage, causing the already nervous passengers to worry even more, but you know that is the sound of the landing gear lowering and locking into place.

As Miguel brings the plane lower towards the runway, he can see emergency vehicles poised to roll along after the aircraft, ready to assist if needed. Some of them are fire trucks and a few others are ambulances in case there are any casualties should things become dire.

Despite being down one engine, the plane is flying exceptionally well. It still handles perfectly to get them back down on the ground safely.

The landing gear connects with land as smoothly as he can make it. Flaps on the wings extended at the fullest setting to slow the plane down before taxiing off the runway.

Cheers and applause are heard throughout the cabin as passengers feel great relief to be back on terra-firma. You spot Sergio blubbering, pressing his hands together as if to thank God for surviving a traumatic experience.

Despite rolling your eyes at him, you, too, feel like crying, but out of sheer pride for Miguel and Peter for dealing with the situation so professionally and efficiently. Everyone is safe on the ground thanks to them and their ability to fly and remain calm in an otherwise stressful situation.

Thankfully, there is a spare gate for the damaged plane to park at. It is safe to go near the terminal as the flames on the engine went out on their own after it died completely.

All on board are going to have to re-enter the terminal to wait for another plane to be organised by AracnAir for their flight to Nueva York. Some passengers feel thankful to be alive, others know this is the beginning of a painful wait in the airport while things are re-organised.

You itch to see Miguel but you have to do your duties of saying goodbye to all passengers and assisting those who need help. Sergio takes his time to leave as his phone is blowing up after tweeting about nearly dying on a flight. It seems the drama extends beyond the films in which he plays… Yes, what happened is serious, but the plane can fly pretty well with one or two engines out - it’s just not advisable.

Finally, everyone is gone, including Sergio. You’re glad to see the back of him. Peter is right and you begin to wonder if he’s ever run into his hero and regretted it.

You loiter in the galley, pacing it with anticipation while your other colleagues have already left. You know better than to interrupt the pilots when they’re completing their final checklists, shutting the plane’s systems down safely.

Eventually, the cockpit door clicks open, and the brave pilots emerge. The Flight Officer holds up his hand for a high five but you plough into him for a friendly hug, surprising both him and Miguel.

“Well done, you,” you mutter to him, giving him a squeeze with your arms.

Peter pats his hand against your back, obviously touched by your sweet gesture.

“Thank you (Y/N),” replies as you release him and then turn to face Miguel.

“And you too…”

Your man catches you in his arms, holding you close in his embrace. Finally, a smile breaks across his lips.

“You both did amazing and I’m so proud of you.”

Peter can’t believe what he’s seeing. He’s not entirely sure he’s seen a smile that wide on Miguel’s face, he pinches himself to see if he’s dreaming - nope, definitely awake.

“I’ll uhh, leave you two to it…” Peter begins, but Miguel steps forward, still holding you with one arm.

“Wait.”

Flight Officer Parker glances back up to the Captain.

“Thank you, Peter. I’m glad I had you with me today. And…” he pauses for a second as he puts you back down. “I should probably apologise to both of you. I was being a dick earlier and, I’m sorry.”

“Water under the bridge,” Peter replies, he’s not the type to hold grudges.

He extends his arm and pats Miguel on the shoulder.

“I’ve got to go and call my wife - excuse me.”

The Captain nods and then looks down at you as Peter makes his way off of the plane. Miguel wraps his arm around you, keeping you close.

“Come on chiquita, I guess we have at least one more day in Madrid,” he whispers to you, despite you two being the only ones there.

As you both walk into the terminal through the gate, you’re completely alone. The rest of your colleagues are way ahead of you.

Miguel holds onto you tightly, his arm firm around your waist. There is no longer any care for if anyone does see the two of you. He wants people to know that you’re his, and he is yours. Sergio Velasquez’s presence did make him jealous, he admits that now - to himself. But also, before he knew it was the engine that got destroyed, his first thought was you after hearing the concerning sound that shook the aircraft. For a split second, he thought something awful happened to you. It seems strange that he felt relieved it was a catastrophic failure of an engine instead. In that moment, his mind prioritised you over four-hundred passengers and cabin crew.

He looks back through the large windows of the gate at the giant, wounded, metal bird. A darkened, charred engine hangs under the right wing. The damaged turbine, missing blades, while the remainders are twisted and warped. It reminds him just how much worse things could have been and he’s thankful that he and Peter worked together like a well oiled machine to bring the plane safely back to the airport.

There’s a bathroom ahead along the corridor leading back to customs. After what has happened, he’s left feeling the urgent need to shower you with love. To make up for his jealous behaviour earlier.

With a quick glance around to check that you both are truly alone, he pulls you into the bathroom with no warning. You squeal at the sudden change of direction but you don’t complain when you find yourself shut in the room, alone with him. His lips against yours in a matter of seconds and his hands roaming your body as though he has never touched you before.

“Necesito tenerte, ahora,” (I need to have you, now) he whispers against your lips, his breath shaking with overwhelming need.

He takes your breath away with his urgency. You feel the bathroom door press against your back and you hear him sliding the lock into place.

“People will hear when they walk past,” you gasp out as he pulls the hem of your skirt up over your hips.

“I don’t care…” he moans as his fingers massage your clit through your panties.

Your moan follows soon after as you open your legs slightly to allow him better access.

“Lo siento chiquita…” Miguel groans against your lips.

“What for?” you ask breathlessly, brows knitting together as pleasure rushes around your body.

Eventually his fingers find the edge of your panties and pull them to one side. Running the tips of his digits against your aroused entrance.

“I lied,” he pauses to kiss you on the lips. “I was jealous.” Another kiss is planted on your cheek. “I trust you.” Another kiss against your neck. “I just didn’t like that Sergio was getting your attention.”

Now it all makes sense. You’re not mad at him. He was rude to you, yes, but he’s apologised for it. You can even understand him, remembering the times when your female colleagues were practically salivating over him. It feels like a punch in the gut, even though he never entertained the thought of being with anyone else.

His fingers plunge inside of you, making you tip your head back in pleasure and almost cry out at the sensation of his warm fingers massaging you.

It’s irresistible, you can’t help but grind yourself against his hand, seeking more contact against your clit and a deeper reach of his fingers.

“Ride my hand, that’s it chiquita,” me murmurs against your lips again as you hear the clinking of his belt buckle.

“I want you nice and wet for me.”

His fingers reach deeper, as the heel of his palm rubs against your swelling, sensitive bud. The words he uses and his actions always get you aroused - without fail.

As you remain pressed against the bathroom door, you see that he’s unfastened his belt and unzipped his pants. Reaching forward, your fingers tug on the taut hem of his boxer briefs and pull them down, his twitching cock springs free, pre-cum already beading at the tip.

“Mmmm… touch me there, por favor…”

His hand guides yours to his length, wrapping your fingers around it and pulls it up and down to get you started.

“Like that baby, sí…” he moans as his hips thrust forwards gently.

You feel his digits pump into you harder, desperate to get you ready, although he doesn’t think you’re far off.

The bathroom is soon full of yours and his moans of pleasure as you mutually play with one another. He breathes deeply as if he’s trying to control himself. Champing at the bit to take you, to fuck you, to make love to you.

Your lips part wider as a gasp escapes your mouth. He pulls out of you, leaving you feeling empty before he grabs you under your ass and lifts you up. There’s a thud against the door as he presses you against it, preparing to fill you with his throbbing shaft.

“I need to be inside you, baby…”

His words are practically spoken into your mouth as he kisses and talks at the same time. Feeling fogged with need, he doesn’t know what action to stop and what to start. All that he does know is that he needs to feel you wrapping around him, clenching on his dick.

He lets you slide down the door slightly until he’s able to thrust into you, filling and stretching you instantly.

“Miguel~!” you squeal before covering your mouth.

“Say it, say my name, I don’t care who hears us…”

The door bangs as he pumps into you. At first, you’re on edge; worried who might hear, but when he starts hitting the right spot inside you, all your worries fade away. Care and concern seeps out of you as all you can think about is him panting in your ear, fucking you harder as each minute goes by.

“Fuck! So good!”

He grits his teeth and grunts into your ear. His fingers dig into your flesh as he holds you under your thighs.

Your hand finds the door handle for something to hold onto. His thrusts are beginning to push you over the edge.

“Baby - I’m gonna…” you gasp as he pumps even harder, those bangs getting louder.

“Yes! That’s it. I’m not far behind-” Grunt.

Your world comes crashing down, in the best way possible. Ecstasy consumes your body, washing over you like a tidal wave and you tumble along with it, following the flow it pushes you in. You’re lost to the feeling of him inside you, to his sounds vibrating in your ear and his hot breath against your neck.

Finally his body shudders hard as he groans, the ultimate pleasure overwhelming him too. He slows his movements and rests his head against yours.

“Two days with you isn’t enough chiquita,” he mumbles, trying to catch his breath.

“I need more…”

You nuzzle against him as you recover. Your legs wrapped around him, holding him still inside you.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, chiquita, I want us to go away on holiday. Where I can have you all to myself, somewhere sunny and warm so I can see you dressed in nothing but bikinis and pretty dresses.”

Your teeth bite down on your lip as you listen to his answer. A retreat sounds perfect.

“Where do you have in mind?” you eventually ask as you feel him prepare to pull out and lower you to the floor.

“I hear Tenerife this time of year is great.”

The both of you get yourselves cleaned up and fix your clothing.

“So, was it good to meet Sergio?” Miguel asks, as he does up his zip.

You give a shrug while you roll your skirt back down your thighs and smooth over the material.

“Peter’s right. Never meet your heroes.”

A quizzical eyebrow raises at your response. He can’t deny feeling a lot happier hearing this.

“Besides, I have a new hero now.”

The quizzical eyebrow is joined by another, completing a more surprised expression on his face.

“Oh? And who might that be?”

You lean into him, pulling on his shirt to get him down to your level.

“You’re my hero…”

I hope you enjoyed part 11!

Next chapter >

If you are interested in commissioning me, please click on the link below to find out more.

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[pb-dot]

Sliding into yr asks to request an infodump about His Impossible Brushstrokes now that I know there's Rivals-to-Lovers and Horror. I heard that treat tin shake from 15 blocks away.

I am simplifying a bit when I say Rivals-to-Lovers, it is essentially One-sided admiration both ways -> Awkward politeness -> Something More? -> Wait a minute something's wrong here -> [SPOILER EXPUNGED] -> Night Of Terror -> Rallying -> Fight to the death pt. 1 -> Uneasy Alliance -> Genuine (?) Love? -> [SPOILER EXPUNGED] -> Fight to the death pt. 2 -> [SPOILER EXPUNGED]

I suppose everything between "something's wrong here" and the end can pretty much be collapsed into a Rivals To Lovers arc, although the precise emotions in play at any given time is... more implicit than explicit let's just say.

This is perhaps all getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning:

Oscar Skerry is a San Francisco Art Critic with a singular artistic obsession. He loves the strange, bleak and jagged paintings of one Tomasz Gildebrant, a Polish-Dutch autodidact artist, at least he's assumed to be an autodidact, as nobody can find any documentation for his education. There's actually precious little known about Gildebrant, as he has not made a public appearance for decades, and the only a handful of photographs prove his existence.

Gildebrant's art isn't particularly popular, given how unpleasant many of his paintings are to watch in obscure but tangible ways, but a small community of fans, as well as the allure of his mystery, keeps getting his paintings sold. There might, however, be something more to it. Skerry follows a thread of brutal violence and odd obsession that seem to follow the Gildebrant paintings, and in stepping over a fair few ethical lines himself, he even secures an invitation from Gildebrant himself, to join him in his home in the Romanian mountains.

Once he finally meets the artist behind his obsession near the top of the Carpathian alps, Oscar can't quite get himself to believe that this refined, gregarious man produces art so bleak it is on occasion described as Depression Put On Canvas, but still, under the overwhelming almost-romantic friendliness, something else lurks. Try as he might, Oscar can't help but notice the cracks in the facade. Why are there so many different pairs and sizes of mountain boots at the entrance? What secret does the Gildebrant basement hold? Why does every door in the house lock automatically at midnight? Oscar simply must know, but what he will do, what he even could do, with the knowledge Gildebrant's house and mind contains, remains to be seen.

Oh shit, I almost forgot. The above isn't even the first time Oscar gotten himself into an antagonism-into-love situation. It's how he met his best frenemy, Mara. They met just after he moved from Minnesota where he grew up and went to University, and started hating each other in the most heteroerotic way possible just about right away. Oscar would belittle Mara, who in retaliation, or just because she felt like it, expose his parochial origins, mock his pretensions, or just throw shit at him. Things grew a bit messier, but much more interesting when Mara came to realize that Oscar had, and still has, a pronounced masochistic streak, and their relationship took a turn for the sexual. Hate-fucking turned into a more amicable sort of slap-and-tickle, and before they knew it, Mara and Oscar both had come to regard each others as whatever you call the overlap between friends, fuckbuddies, and rivals. Whatever you might call it, Mara and Oscar are still very close, and she provides much commentary on Oscar's ongoing descent into obsession in the earlier act of the book.

As for the status of this whole thing, the first draft is finished, but work on it is on a temporary hiatus as I do a final legibility pass on my previous work, The Clockwork Boy (which sadly contains no rivals-to-lovers at present,) but if you want to keep abreast of the developments when I start up working on HIB again, do feel free to check out my Tag List Post

[letsgolando-4]

Formula 1 explained (I think)

Here is a not-so-brief explanation of some of the important things in formula 1. Enjoy!

Free Practice

Free practice is drivers remembering how to not suck before they have to go and not suck in front of a lot of people with a lot more cameras. Whoever goes fastest gets people to momentarily hope (on the rare occasion that it is not Verstappen) that someone other then Verstappen will win a race. To put things into perspective, this never happens. Takes place on a Friday.

Qualifying

Qualifying is like a race but not a race. It’s short and if you suck in qualifying, unless you’re god (or again, Verstappen) you’re gonna suck in the race as well because however you finish is however you start in the actual race. If you manage to finish first in qualifying your on pole. Unfortunately, it no longer matters if anyone other than Verstappen is one pole because the guy somehow manages to clinch a race win anyway. Takes place on a Saturday.

Grand Prix (the actual race)

Finally, we have reached the actual race. There’s a lot of panic and stress for nothing and they make a big show of five lights going out and then people race. A lot of people go out in turn 1 so try to keep your head screwed on for the first few laps. If Williams are higher than P20 and P19, look outside because the world may be ending. Alfa Romeo disappear out of the points and tend to just suck in general. McLaren will either do really shit or really good but they can never actually WIN a race, just get onto the podium. Ferrari will occasionally let their fans sniff the air in P1 before either crashing or getting taken out by Verstappen. One of the two. The Mercedes will probably be nice and comfy having not moved from their cemented P4 and P5, and the Redbulls? Well, Checo doesn’t really get a lot of limelight but the aforementioned Verstappen will be winning. Not a negotiable fact. The other teams will be somewhere in between. Takes place on a Sunday.

Sprint Races

Occasionally the FIA are feeling quirky and they decide to have a sprint race which is like a race but not a race. It’s short so you don’t need to pit. Sometimes when they decide they don’t want blood on their hands they’ll stop a race halfway through if the conditions are dangerous and then resume it when the weather dies down. These are also technically little sprint races. They do regular qualifying on a Friday and then on Saturday they have what the FIA like to call a ✨sprint shootout✨ which is qualifying for a sprint race. Same rules apply. Then they have some fun with a sprint race and when they’ve calmed down a bit, have a normal race on Sunday.

Teams And Drivers

The current formula 1 grid has 20 drivers, two drivers per team, and in case you suck at maths, that makes 10 teams. Teams have first and second driver. This is a way of saying who is shit and who is not without hurting their feelings. These teams and their drivers are as follows:

Redbull: Max Verstappen (first driver) and Sergio “Checo” Perez (second driver)

Ferrari: Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz. No first driver because the team principal likes Leclerc more but Sainz’s father realised this.

Mercedes: Lewis Hamilton (first driver) and George Russell (second driver)

McLaren: Lando Norris (first drivers) and Oscar Piastri (second driver)

Alpine: Esteban Ocon and Pierre Gasly. Again, no first driver because the French civil war is too intense. At least I think.

Alfa Romeo: Valtteri Bottas (first driver) and Zhou Guyanu (second driver)

Alpha Tauri: Yuki Tsunoda (first driver) and Daniel Ricciardo (second driver) although Ricciardo had a bad crash and broke his arm so as of October 2023 Liam Lawson from F2 is stepping in.

Aston Martin: Fernando Alonso (first driver) and Lance Stroll (second driver)

Haas: Kevin Magnussen (first driver) and Nico Hulkenberg (second driver)

Williams: Alexander Albon (first driver) and Logan Sargeant (second driver)

So that’s the low-down on the bare bones of an F1 race. Tell me if I’ve missed anything or got anything wrong!

Danny out.

[dream-meister-translations]

OSCAR CHARACTER CARD #2

━

A few days later, I was attending a fruit market with Oscar, in order to better observe and understand his work for the guild. OSCAR : Not enough sugar. You've overwatered your fruit, it's obvious. FRUIT FARMER 1 : Yes! Yes! A gourmet is one that sees everything that makes up a dish. With just one bite, Oscar is able to instantly pick apart any meal and tell you what is missing. FRUIT FARMER 2 : Next, try our melons, please!

OSCAR : The texture isn't the best…I believe these were harvested three days early? You should always remember to harvest your fruit at their ripest. FRUIT FARMER 3 : Next look at mine! FRUIT FARMER 4 : No, no! Look at this huge melon from my garden! OSCAR : Now, now. No need to be so hasty. I'll get to everything in due time. The next thirty minutes or so were spent with Oscar eating one fruit after another, vocalizing his thoughts on whether they were tasty or not. And what the farmers could do better. They all listen and eagerly ask for more advice. It must be because everyone trusts Oscar's opinions as a gourmet. OSCAR : Emma, it's your turn. If you're to be the guild keeper of the gastronomy guild, you must be able to do this. Take a bite and tell me what you think. EMMA : You want to know what I think? Biting my bottom lip I hesitantly glance down at the fruit in Oscar's hand, before finally taking a bite of it. As I chew, I try to observe what it tastes like. EMMA : It tastes like a fresh breeze on the mountainside… OSCAR : Poetic expressions have no use in gastronomy. EMMA : (How dare he…!) OSCAR : I appreciate your attempt to express your thoughts on food in a multifaceted way. However, you still have a lot to learn. We have six more places to go before we call it a night. Pay attention to what I do and take notes. EMMA : Yes, sir! After many more taste-testings, we visited a small Western-style restaurant in the middle of the marketplace. So far I have managed to keep up with Oscar, but I can feel my stomach is about to burst. I don't think I can eat much more. EMMA : (Ugh…My stomach is suffering!) OSCAR : Is that the best you can do? EMMA : Yeah… OSCAR : Okay. You should never eat beyond your limits. Because you can't truly appreciate food on a full stomach. Do you think you can take one final bite of this cake? EMMA : Yeah, I think I can... With a smile tugging at his lips, Oscar picks up his fork and takes a bite from the cake, before holding it out to me. OSCAR : Here. Try a bite. EMMA : Eh!? OSCAR : So, you lied to me when you said you still had room for one more bite? EMMA : No…It's not that… He stared at me with so much expectation, I could feel the pressure weighing on me. Even though my stomach was full, I couldn't say no to him. With a glance down at the cake I took a bite of it. EMMA : It's delicious…! OSCAR : Naturally. After all, this is one of my favorite restaurants. EMMA : Still, it was kinda unexpected. OSCAR : What was unexpected about it? EMMA : Well, I thought you were really strict about table manners and decorum… OSCAR : Hm…? Oh, you mean because I fed you the cake? I wouldn't typically do something like that, you're correct. But, it depends on the occasion.

OSCAR : What if, for example, we were eating food from an uncivilized land? In that culture people may eat their food with their hands. It would only be fair to the food to eat it how it was intended to be eaten. The only thing that really matters is that we enjoy the food. Oscar flashed me a smile and took a bite of the cake. After finishing his meal, the two of us left the restaurant and headed down the road. OSCAR : Alright, we've taste-tested their newest cake, let's move on! EMMA : Oh, you're still going!? OSCAR : I've finished all that I planned for the day, but there are still more foods to try! Gastronomy is forever evolving! Oscar walked swiftly down the road. I chased after him, so that I would not be left behind.

[animalnarratives]

Bingo: logan ofc

tears i saw you rb the post and i was going to ask you about him too...

going in order. JUST A LITTLE GUY. Not much else to add. hes just a dude :( trying his best to drive the car :( me personally i am so moved. funny little dude of course. he jests a little during williams videos and i find it very endearing. yes king keep the shy tentative jokes coming i love you

i am addicted to traumatizing him is a DRAMATIC way to put it... though i have. a couple of. (coughs) wips of sorts. mostly i think he is especially compelling in unrequited/unbalanced love scenarios. thats my bad. i could make him worse but i could make anyone worse thats not exactly a flex. i could however also make him worse in that i could make an asshole out of him. i couldnt fix him because he doesnt need fixing <3

my opinions are not popular, because the popular opinions are WRONG. people wildly mischaracterize as this brash patriotic guy for some reason and i know its the patriotic american stereotype but come on ... literally All the interviews saying to some degree that hes quiet or shy. the gq (?) article saying the team says he says hi to the security guards and to a surgeon (???). he is so lovely. and nobody gets it. also people characterizing him as a fratboy that gets a shitton of pussy i am so sorry i think he is chronically rizzless. massive virgin if you will. and also that he would get a 100ish score on the raads-r

people liking him for the wrong reason is a very specific gripe i just mean people on twitter flocking to defend him from the trump supporter allegations because they like trump. now ill do you one better PEOPLE HATE HIM FOR THE WRONG REASON. And mischaracterize him by that same occasion. he is NOT an asshole he is NOT bad tempered he is NOT boring if you think he is that is a SKILL ISSUE.

i lied actually there is not One thing that makes me insane about him. there are MANY things. Again such a shy little guy... but also how hes an absolute touch freak. always in people's space. specifically oscar's and alex's and sometimes benny's (thank the Lord...).

Of course. i think its pretty obvious because i keep on rambling. he fills me with such an intense emotion... everything about him. maybe i shouldve ticked the gen compelling box actually. My boy... always fidgeting. touching his own hands. sitting weirdly. walking weirdly. And his weird right ear and his smile he almost never lets cameras capture but that makes his eyes crinkle... and how he says he's been so so unhappy until literally last year in London because he misses the sun and the sea and you kind of feel like an outsider in europe all the time. and again how hes a touch freak but he rarely puts his hands on people---most often nudging them with his hip or his arm or his shoulder. how he listens to drake the most and eminem of course but then hes also into that saxophone song he mentioned? how he asks benny about 90s rock? and i could go on and on. hes such a creature. i love him. he is my everything. genuinely havent been compelled by any of the drivers like i have been with him. and trust me in the almost 3 years ive been here ive been MASSIVELY compelled. Hes also a bit of a loser and thats the cherry on top

[faces-of-7th-art]

@juliettebinoche @ralphfiennes.official portraits. Cannes 1996. On the occasion of their appearance at the Thessaloniki International Film Festival, I am publishing two of my portraits of the iconic actors. I had captured them repeatedly in Paris and Cannes… Two great figures of the 7th Art who met for the first time in the iconic film "The English Patient" awarded with 9 oscars, (2nd female role for Juliette Binoche and nomination for first male role for Ralph Fiennes) by #anthonyminghella. However, the reason for the arrival of the two actors in our country was their new film signed by Uberto Pasolini and entitled "The Return". This is the third time that they have joined forces in their career after the Windswept Heights. "I visited your monasteries, walked your streets, felt your stones and the shade of your trees, tasted your bread, fish and vegetables, admired your Byzantine treasures! What a beautiful day it was!" said Juliette Binoche in her speech. "Your sky, your sea is an inspiration to me," added the French actress, referring to Sophocles and Homer, the great Greek philosophers and Saints. After greeting the audience in Greek, Ralph Fiennes expressed the gratitude he feels, both for the honor of the Festival and for the fact that he is "with this great woman". "Working with her is something like a dream. She's a great artist, unique, unusual in her energy, she inspires you to work, I haven't experienced that with any other co-star," he said visibly moved. … In the portraits I created with them, I noticed that they both had this smirk that revealed a restrained discretion, a "timidity", but at the same time an enormous stubbornness and will…

[gayferrari]

i'm not sure how the rumours first started in regards to franco>rb, but after franco himself pretty much denied the rumours there's been more talk from horner and helmut that's making me think it could be a possibility. also idk if ppl take this into consideration but he followed rbr and rb argentina on insta lol, doesn't have to mean anything but thought i'd mention it. personally for me tho the reason why i'd hate to see it is just the way rb loves to destroy the careers of drivers. i read a post recently that had an extensive list of all the drivers that have been fucked over by rb, and i'd hate for him to be added to that list. if the move did happen tho, rb would have to buy him out which could be costly as you say, cause they don't want him on loan. and i don't necessarily think he'd get the rb seat, probably vcarb and either liam is promoted or yuki is fired. but i think they're seriously considering it because franco actually shares a sponsorship with carlos slim (checo's big back backer. it's just one of his brands not like his full support), and carlos has said himself he's open to working with franco...provided it doesn't compromise checo. but idk, rich ppl are snakes. as long as rb gets to keep all the sponsorship money i think they'd fire checo in a heartbeat. then again helmut did also say recently that oscar was talking with them and oscar said old man is talking out his ass again, so i seriously don't know which side of the fence to jump to

Oh, I didn't know about Carlos Slim and I understand why that'd start rumours! However I don't think Horner shit stirring after he was directly asked means anything either way. He just loves to talk. I can't see Yuki leaving until 2026, but you're right he technically could get bought out.

(I'm aware of that post you mentioned and I have so much beef with RBR as a team mainly because of the role Marko has in the junior program, but — and I can't believe I'm typing this sorta defending RBR — I have some nitpicks wrt that post and I think it goes overboard; I'd only take it as 80% accurate, not 100%, in terms of the picture it paints of Red Bull. Which is still a lot. But I think given the situation, VCARB might be beneficial to Franco's career if the occasion showed up BUT if that happened I'd be wary. Because of said track record)

[desperately0seeking]

12.08.22

A DREADED SUNNY DAY

We’d marked Friday as the day to have a little picnic at the Eiffel Towel, an evening picnic, so after eating an okay falafel in Le Marais for lunch (i’ve had better in brunny) we bought a few cheeses and meat from some pretty delis for later. At the cheese shop the plan was to buy one hard and one soft, but with the little french we had between us we resolved to pointing at one that looked hard and one that looked soft to take to Champ de Mars, with no idea what kind of cheese we’d be eating. On the way back to the airbnb I split from my company to visit the famous cemetery down the hill from where we were staying. I’d hitherto spent many hours in the cemeteries of the cities and towns I’d visited, however none as illustrious as the Cimetière du Père Lachaise, resting place of Chopin, Seurat, Proust, Modigliani, et al. I had a lot of time to work with as I wasn’t picnicking with the others until sunset, and it was a sweet and warm afternoon. I took myself to the monoprix by the necropolis’ southern entrance and browsed the beer fridge. A tall, scruffy, and skinny man of about my age joined me in contemplating the various bottles chilling in front of us. He was wearing a poncho over his meek shoulders, thus giving his appearance the effect of a folded standing umbrella. He asked me, in french, if I spoke english and I replied and nothing else, in english.

He selected a large and dark bottle from the fridge with a gaudy label containing scrawling (french) writing and three plump tomatoes. He asked me if I had tried this before (I hadn’t), if it was beer made from tomatoes (I supposed), and what I thought of it (sounds gross). We continued our conversation beyond his peculiar drink choice and he mentioned that he was on the way up to the cemetery to visit a grave. I mentioned I was heading there too so we bought our beers and strolled up to the cemetery gates. It was a stinker of a day for my companion - he just learned he’d received a speeding fine back home in Bristol, the last he was allowed before licence rescission, and that this was a disaster as he lives in his van and, as his parents just moved to Paris, he will now have nowhere to live. As a remedy he wanted to have some beers by the tomb of his hero: Jim Morrison. 

My knowledge of Jim Morrison doesn’t go much further than his leading of The Doors, and his intense bon vivant lifestyle that lead to an early death, in Paris (one must either have lived in or died in Paris to be buried at Pere Lachaise). Mon ami passionately filled my Jim Morrison lacuna as we walked to the grave, finding it enclosed by graffiti-laden steel temp fencing around it and an array of flowers, letters, photographs and random knick knacks, such as small dog trinkets. The Bristolian was such a fan of the lizard king that he had committed multiple Morrison poems to memory, reciting one to me by the graveside. I offered to take a photo of him standing by the grave, a grave mistake indeed as I got sent back on three occasions before he was happy with the shot (and note we were not the only visitors at the time). I called on my friend to follow me up to what I thought was the cemetery’s main attraction, the tomb of Oscar Wilde. We broke on through to the other side of the cemetery where the great Sphinx-like sculpture levitates above its neighbours. One of the more renown tombs of the world, the tomb of Oscar Wilde is not just famous due to the dandy lying within, but its design, the controversy surrounding its construction and the ongoing engagement or vandalism, depending how ya brain works, by Wilde fans makes it a very intriguing site. The tomb, a great block of stone with a kind of naked sphinx carved out of it, had various priggish detractors when it was announced it would be living in the cemetery, and the sculptor, Jacob Epstine, was given fines and hurdles to jump over from hostile police when installing it. The angelic sphinx originally had genitals where a man would usually have them, but Epstine returned to the site one day of working on it to find the testicles covered by plaster. Compromise with the police was reached when Wilde’s executor agreed a bronze butterfly would be installed to cover the testicles. Epstine did not give permission for the artwork to be altered and refused to attend the unveiling, leaving the unveiling to Aleister 'The Great Beast' Crowley, of all people. It’s said that a short time later Crowley approached Epstine at a Paris cafe to let Epstine know his problem had been fixed: around Crowley’s neck hung a necklace with the castrated butterfly balancing in its centre. 

As Wildes name and reputation progressed from scandalous to marvellous, the tomb began to apply makeup. For years visitors made their own mark on the grave by kissing it with red lipstick and liner. After a while it was realised the lipstick, and its irregular removal, was causing damage to the stone, but nothing was done about it. This adoration went on for years to the point where the tomb’s erosion was so bad that longevity was genuinely at risk, and in 2014 a glass casing was installed around it. Those who still want to kiss the stone can do so by climbing on the neighbouring grave and jumping up, and a smattering of kisses were there on my visit, for each man kills the thing he loves. All this and more was pontificated to my fellow traveller, a little bit of payback for earlier. By now the shadows from the tombs were starting to stretch across the cemetery streets so, worried about my infamous unpunctuality and time taken to get ready to go out, I thanked my companion and wishing him well headed back to the accom. 

Showered, shaved and pampered for our picnic we borrowed some wine glasses from the accommodation and smashed all but one of them in our backpack on the way to there. We came armed with champagne and the aforementioned cheese and meats and sat on the grass watching many successful proposals. Both the cheeses were soft, and one of the cheeses smelt and tasted so abhorrently it had to be removed and disposed of far away. As is common in many touristy spots, walking salesmen with ciggies, buckets of iced beer and champagne patrol the area. While we were stocked up to begin with, the champagne went down with the sun and before long we were flagging the gallic Willy Loman down and paying too much for his champagne; ice cold and brought direct to your lap, we were not protesting.  

Reading us well, our champagne salesman began to make half hourly stops past our bivouac, where he’d prosper consistently, albeit for less euros each time. One bottle went then came two then three, then four and many more and then it was 5 and we thought we’d probably had a good look at the Eiffel tower by now, surrendering to the sunrise. 

[f1-ferraero]

We're sort of on the same page, yeah, and I've really enjoyed this as well! It's nice to be able to have a level-headed and objective discussion about something despite actually having very different personal opinions about it. Hopefully we'll get more good racing in Baku and Singapore!

I fully agree with everything you said about McLaren. They're in a difficult position and it would make sense for them to prioritise Norris, but it's just more complicated than that. We'll have to wait and see what they decide to do.

"...which is why I’m baffled that McLaren haven’t used their fancy brainy strategists to just look at the table and go from there." Respectfully, this made me laugh a bit because Ferrari have seemingly sent all of their shitty strategists to McLaren this season. They CANNOT strategize for the life of them.

I knew when I compared the MCL38 to RB19 that it was a little bit of an exaggeration, sorry about that! It's very track dependent, but I do think it's quite close in most cases, especially since I also don't think either driver have maximised it on any occasion other than perhaps Zandvoort. The RB19 was dominant because Verstappen made it dominant, I think the same could have been true for the MCL38. BUT here's hoping it does NOT gets better. How dare you accuse me of being a McLaren fan (/j). I thought all the everything about my blog made it very clear where I stand, but if I doesn't I need to make some drastic changes.

ANYWAY, I think we've said all that needs to be said about Zandvoort. We have pretty much the same opinion about it: bad start but good drive otherwise. However I think we're just on opposite sides of whether it was an underrated or overrated performance, with you being a Norris fan and me being very tired of the British media bias lol

About the Monza start, the only part I have to comment on is the "double DNF if Norris hadn't backed out", because I don't think that's quite fair. It's not false, but it does make the overtake seem out of control or more aggressive than it actually was. It was a clean move, Piastri took the racing line and therefore claimed the right to the corner, which meant Norris had to concede the place. It's not really a big deal, but I see similar phrases all. the. time and it's really not that dramatic. And of course Oscar is going to prioritise himself if the team hasn't explicitly ordered anything else.

Okay, tyre degradation time! Your source isn't necessarily incorrect but it isn't the best. I really really hope this doesn't sound condescending, as that's definitely not my intention, but I wanted to write about this because I think it's very important.

Data doesn't exist in a vacuum—there's always context. Unless two drivers are on the exact same strategy and both are in clean air the data, while still factually correct, isn't fully representative. It needs to be adjusted for strategy. (I know I've seen similar graphs which are adjusted, and I can try to find them again if you're interested!)

Looking at that graph without context leads you to believe Ferrari had some of the worst tyre degradation, when actually they had among the best, which made the one stop possible. While Norris and Piastri both did two pit stops, their stint lengths weren't the same. Piastri's first two stints were longer and the last was very short. His degradation allowed him to extend the stints to get the benefit of track position and having fresher tyres at the end. Doing longer stints meant the degradation of those tyres was higher, while he still gained time by having a better average speed. A strategy adjusted graph would show both him and Ferrari as having better degradation. It's kind of similar to survivorship bias.

I'll add this picture again, just so you don't have to scroll up so far. This graph is from f1 tempo: the y-axis shows the lap time range and the x-axis shows the race lap number. Every dot shows the lap time by the driver on every lap (orange for Norris and white for Piastri). Yellow dots represent medium tyres and white dots represent hards. The spikes are the inlap and outlap of their pitstops.

We're not talking about any huge margins, but the data still shows that Piastri's average pace and degradation was marginally-to-noticeably better than Norris's this race. But like we've already established (lol) their performances relative to each other bounce back and forth, so it doesn't really matter beyond this specific race.

I'm sorry if I'm pushing this a lot but, like you said, there's been so much drama about it and I've seen people throw around the idea that "Oscar obviously wouldn't be capable of a one stop, but Norris probably would have" so much that others have started taking it as a fact. It just annoys me because the data doesn't support that claim, even if Norris would have had free air.

Anyway, I really did enjoy discussing this with you! I'd love to be mutuals with you because you seem like a really great person, but I'm not sure if you're going to like my blog because I am 100% a McLaren hater, have zero respect for Norris as a person and do not rate him very highly as a driver, and I am sometimes a lot louder and less polite about it, just so you know. I'll let you make the call of whether you want to deal with me on your dash or not😂

The commentators being like "oh Piastri compromised Lando's race by overtaking him🥺 I don't understand why McLaren would do that to him🥺 they need to swap places🥺"

THEYRE RACING DRIVERS????? THEYRE GONNA RACE???? The FUCK?

[clockwork-angels]

TLH Will/Jem Moments That Break My Heart (part 1/?)

Part 1: Chain of Gold

#1

James’s father, Will, had often told him about the patrols he used to do with his parabatai, Jem Carstairs—now James’s uncle Jem—back when they had battled demons nearly every night.

》 i dunno why but for some reason this brings me to tears

#2

I think this next one is the part everyone cried at. But I gotta say i literally had to close the book when i read it and then i wept for literally 10 minutes:

The night after they learned of Linette’s and Edmund’s deaths, Will had been sitting on the floor in the drawing room, Tessa in the overstuffed armchair behind him, and Lucie and James had been stretched upon the fireplace rug. Will’s back had been against Tessa’s legs as he stared unseeing into the fire. They had all heard the front doors open; Will had looked up when Jem came in, and Jem, in his Silent Brother robes, went over to Will and sat down beside him. He drew Will’s head against his shoulder, and Will held the front of Jem’s robes in his fists and he cried. Tessa bowed her head over both of them, and the three were united in adult grief, a sphere James could not yet touch.

#3

this one is just purely hilarious, but also imagine Will teasing Jem about 'how proud he is that his parabatai has finally found a sense of humour':

On one memorable occasion, Jem borrowed Matthew’s dog, Oscar Wilde, riled him up, and released him on an unsuspecting James during breakfast.

James thought some of Jem’s training ideas were deliberate pranks—Silent Brothers had the best poker faces he could imagine, after all. His father assured him that it wasn’t in Jem’s nature, and that however odd the training, he was sure it was intended sincerely.

#4

i love crying about both Jem/Will and James/Matthew after reading a single paragraph

Jem’s violin had pride of place—a Stradivarius carved of mellow wood, it rested in an open case atop a high table. James had seen his father come into this room just to touch the violin sometimes, a faraway look in his eyes. He wondered if he would do the same with Matthew’s belongings if one day, he lost his parabatai.

#5

laughing through the tears

The door opened, and Will stuck his head into the music room. He looked weary, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, his shirt stained with tinctures and salve. Still, he smiled when he saw James and Jem. “Is everything all right?”

“Uncle Jem was worried about me,” said James. “But I am quite well.”

Will came up to his son and pulled him into a quick, rough hug. He said, “I am glad to hear it, Jamie bach. Gideon and Sophie have arrived, and to see them with Barbara—” He kissed the top of James’s head. “It does not bear thinking of.”

I should return to the infirmary, said Jem. There is much still for me to do.

Will nodded, releasing James. “I know Gideon and Sophie would feel better if you were the one tending Barbara. Not to insult Brother Shadrach, who I’m sure is an excellent and well-respected member of the Brotherhood.”

Jem shook his head, which was as close as he got to smiling, and the three of them left the music room.

#6

“The only equivalent in real life is memory,” Tessa said, looking up as Will Herondale came into the room, followed by Cousin Jem. “But memories can be bitter as well as sweet.”

#7

“Is it selfishly awful to worry that all this business will delay our becoming parabatai? I feel I will be a better Shadowhunter when it is done. Were you not one, after you became parabatai with Uncle Jem?”

“A better Shadowhunter and a better man,” said Will. “All the best of me, I learned from Jem and your mother. All I want for you and Cordelia is to have what I had, a friendship that shall shape all your days. And never to be parted.”

#8 Will being Will AKA Will seeking solace in Jem

Will had been angry at the world, and then gone to see Jem.

#9

Will wanting to immediately share the exciting news with Jem is something that can be so personal

A broad smile spread across Will’s face.

“Then we have no choice but to give our blessing too. Cordelia Carstairs,” he said, “the Carstairs and the Herondales will be bonded even more closely now. If James could have chosen his wife from all the women in all the worlds that are or ever were, I would wish for no other.”

Tessa laughed. “Will! You cannot compliment our new daughter only on the chance of her last name!”

Will was grinning like a boy. “Wait until I tell Jem—”

#10

Was it strange for Will, she wondered, to be aging and have Jem remain in appearance still a boy? Or when you loved someone, did you not notice these things, just as her parents saw no difference between themselves?

#11

any reminder that Jem and Will were parabatai brings me to tears

“But I did it for Cordelia!” she exclaimed, as her parents drew back, her mother seating herself on the bed beside Lucie, where she could hold her hand. “You would have done it for Jem, Papa, when you were parabatai.”

Will leaned back against a post of the bed. “You aren’t parabatai with Cordelia yet.”

#12

It was his father, but Will was not alone: Uncle Jem was with him, a noiseless presence in his drifting parchment robes. His hood was down, as it often was when he was inside the Institute. Will had told James many years ago that when Jem had first become a Silent Brother, he had not liked people to see his scars. It was strange to think of Uncle Jem having such feelings.

“Someone’s here to see you,” Will said, moving aside to let Jem pass into the room. He glanced from his son to his old parabatai.

#13

If you saw humanity as I can see it, Uncle Jem said. There is very little brightness and warmth in the world for me. There are only four flames, in the whole world, that burn fiercely enough for me to feel something like the person I was. Your mother, your father, Lucie, and you.

#14

“Will.” Tessa sank down beside him on the bed. “There is no war.”

She knew why he worried. For them, there had been war, and loss. Tessa’s brother, Nate. Thomas Tanner. Agatha Grant. Jessamine Lovelace, their friend, who now guarded the London Institute in ghostly form. And Jem, who they had both lost and kept.

(stay tuned for part 2 with Chain of Iron snippets and snippets from the Tessa/Will wedding short story)

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Patton and Monty at War: Unbelieving the unbearable rivalry.

Monty is trying to steal the show and with the assistance of Divine Destiny [Eisenhower] he may do so.

- General George S. Patton, on the Sicily Campaign, private diaries 16 July 1943

So every week I play my usual game of chess over a glass of wine with one of my neighbours in my Parisian apartment building. He’s a retired army general but remains active as a military historian and speaker. He’s curmudgeonly but one warms to him quickly as he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. He’s not a fan of women in the military but reluctantly concedes he would make an exception for me (besides who else could he play chess with?). We get on really well now because of the Covid lockdown this past year. We often have long discussions about military history and current politics until the bottle of wine is completely drained.

On one occasion he invited me to watch the 1969 classic war film, Patton, about the life of one of America’s greatest iconic World War Two generals, George S. Patton. It’s been years since I’ve seen it and I almost had forgotten how great the movie is with George C. Scott as Patton and Karl Malden as General Omar Bradley. We watched it in English and then discussed many things that came out of the film.

Hollywood and history usually do not mix. It is quite common for  filmmakers to take a historical subject and to distort it for their purposes and to dumb it down for entertainment purposes. In the case of the movie, Patton, there was no real attempt to distort the story of Patton. It was a fantastic and stirring Hollywood movie. Moreover it was an excellent study in character given Oscar worthy heft by the great George C. Scott as the crusty General George S. Patton. Francis Ford Coppola’s script was severely under-rated.

However there remain glaring inaccuracies such as Patton’s opening speech in the movie - admittedly a an iconic bit of cinema - but even this was based on his statements and captured the character of  the man, something even acknowledged by the Generals’ family.

Much  of the details of his role in the defeat of Germany are true. The only real omission was the lack of focus on Patton’s Lorraine Campaign, where he distinguished himself. There are some exaggerations in the movie and some minor distortions such as in the weather-prayer scene. In general,  the movie managed to produce a great overview portrayal of the  character and career of an extraordinary American leader.

The film does accurately relate the leading role played by Patton in the  liberation of Sicily. His daring use of armour was crucial in the defeat of the German army on the island.

However long after the film had ended I did think about one thing that irked me. And this was how the movie seemed to linger on the belief Patton was motivated by the desire to do better than General Montgomery, the victor  at El Alamein. Indeed the film probably reinforced the accepted conventional wisdom that these two driven and ambitious men hated each other.

There was a great personal rivalry between the two men.  They were both driven and wildly ambitious. The movie suggests that the rivalry between Montgomery and Patton was the main feature of the Sicilian Allied campaign and was perhaps a factor in why it ended so quickly with a  decisive Allied victory.

The rivalry was not as intense as the motion  picture suggests and the two men worked together when needed for the  good of the Allied cause.

Born two years apart, both were commissioned within a year of each other  and both were wounded in France in the First World War. Both men  encompassed very different but very valuable characteristics in combat:  Monty-careful and meticulous, Patton-dashing and diplomatic.   Despite  the differences, both generals demonstrated striking similarities:  commitment to their careers, a ruthless egotism, interesting when you  consider neither held superior command. This did not impede their desire  for the limelight and fame in warfare, arrogance and the manipulation  of colleagues in high places to advance their careers.  Both were  machiavellian in their own affairs and self-interested in their own  personal progression.

The great rivalries amongst the Allies that made a real imact were Marshall and Brooke over war policy, Nimitz and MacArthur over resources, Eisenhower and Montgomery over strategy; and then between Percival and MacArthur for incompetence,  Patton and O'Connor for aggressiveness, MacArthur and Clarke for vainglory,  (and possibly  Clarke and Wavell for the stupidity of letting defeated enemies escape),  were the issues that defined the war for the Western allies.

The idea  that a competition between Patton and Montgomery was more important is cute, but naive. I am not even sure where the idea comes from. 

Much is made of the bet between Patton and Montgomery over reaching Palermo in Sicily first, but in practical terms that was the only time in the war that Patton ever appeared on Montgomery's radar.

For the rest  of the war Monty was so much higher up the food chain than Patton that  he was unaware, or disinterested in Patton's opinions. Montgomery  was, by 1944, an experienced general who very successfully fought extensively in both combat and staff roles for 4 years throughout World  War One. (Patton got a combat command for a few weeks when the Germans  were already collapsing.) Montgomery led a division very successfully  through the Battle of France, and a corps through the crucial Battle of  Britain training and rebuilding years. He led an army in combat for two  years, through many successful battles both on defense and in attack.

By  1944 Patton had led a corps for a few months, and an army for a few weeks. For the very brief period of the Sicily compaign they were  theoretically equals in command, but probably only in Patton's mind. Montgomery saw Patton as an enthusiastic if amateurish old man but respected his aggressive boldness. Montgomery saw his HQ 'betting book' as a bit of fun (and was delighted when bet a  B17 by someone who should have known better).

When he and Patton met  and co-ordinated the Sicilian campaign Alexander seemed not interested in co-ordinating, Monty saw Palermo as a similar bit of fun to pursue, no bigger or smaller than the hundreds of other bets in the book.

Patton saw it, as he saw anything relating to his persona, as the most vitally important challenge of his whole life...up until the next one.  Montgomery lost a bet and moved on to the next challenge. Patton won but  didn't. (Or at least that is what bad writers have tried to suggest. I  think he moved straight on to the next challenge anyway.)

That  was the last time Monty and Patton were in direct competition, no matter what revisionists or romantics would say.

The next time Patton was  allowed in the field he was one of half a dozen army commanders in  Monty's Normandy army group, and, familiarly, he did not arrive until  the Germans in Normandy were already collapsing. Very soon afterwards Eisenhower split off Bradley's army group, and Monty had no control, nor much interest, in what Patton was up to thereafter.

The  romantics like to suggest that thereafter Monty railed against Patton's supplies, and that Patton railed against Montgomery's caution. The truth is less foolish for both of them. In fact Montgomery railed  against Eisenhower's broad front strategy regardless of which of the  other sub-commanders was benifitting (to the point of Montgomery making  an offer to serve under Bradley as long as someone got single control to  pursue a single strategy). He railed against the diversion of resources  anywhere not at the main point where a thrust might have achieved early  victory.

Leaving aside whether that victory could have happened,  Montgomery's beef was with Eisenhower first, his appalling chief of supply Lee second, fellow Army Group Commanders who couldn't control the excesses of their subordinates like Bradley (and to a lesser extent) Devers third, and only then with the several army commanders who each tried to do their own thing.

In practical terms Montgomery seemed more appalled by the negative effects of the incompetence of Hodges (1st US Army,) and  the obnoxiousness of General De Gaulle's orders to 'his' army (French First Army), and perhaps even  the ineffectiveness of his own subordinate Crerar  (Canadian 1st army) , than he did by Patton's enthusiasms. There is  hardly a mention of Patton in his diaries through this period, compared  to several comments on Bradley and De Gualle, and endless ones on  Eisenhower.

Patton too is being maligned by the pretense that his  war was taken up with a vain competition with Montgomery. Patton, like  Montgomery, was totally concerned with the main issue of defeating  Germany. But unlike Montgomery, he did not have Brooke  -  the Chief of Imperial General Staff - to rely on for support against  Eisenhower's broad front strategy.

Patton too was convinced that this was the wrong way to go, but to get his version of a thrust (with him at  the front) happening, he had to be a bit more manipulative than Montgomery.

Every word Patton used to wheedle and manipulate  support, or at least a blind eye to what he was doing, was designed to  get more resources from his superiors. Indeed, if he couldn't get them from Eisenhower, he was willing to steal them wherever he could, and  then get Bradley to pretend to not know what he was doing. In this he was quite willing to encourage Bradley's inferiority complex in relation  to Montgomery, and to happily manipulate Bradley into tantrums to get  what they both wanted, but it seems likely that Patton was more  interested in getting his way by making his superiors compete with  Montgomery, than in competing with Montgomery himself.

Patton is  actually a more complex and clever character than the romantics give him credit for. His 'kill them even if they try to surrender' speeches in  Sicily were part of his stage management of troops, not part of his innate personality. HIs 'us against the world' propaganda was more  manipulative, not so much like Bradley's inferiority complex. He wanted to win, and he would use anything to get what he needed to win, even  ramping up his superiors to distrust their allies. But his genuine competitiveness with Montgomery at this stage was less about him and Montgomery, and more about him and how he could maneouvre others to  support him. He would have shown the same level of competitiveness, and  the same willingness to undermine, any competitor at this point, British, French, Russian or even American.

Montgomery on the  other hand only saw Patton as one more junior general syphoning supplies  from an inadequate source. Montgomery was in competition with  Eisenhower for control, and possibly with Bradley for resources. Minor  army commanders in other people's army groups only registered on his horizon if he could get their armies assigned to his army group.

Just for amusement, it might be fun to consider how Montgomery and Patton might have worked together?

Montgomery was notoriously superb to serve under, no matter what your nationality.  British, Australian, New Zealander, South African, Indian, Canadian, French, Polish, and American troops who served under him  were all very happy to do so. So were their generals. Bradley certainly learned more  about being a field commander from a few months of Montgomery's distant mentoring than from anything Eisenhower ever did for him in their much closer relationship.

There is no doubt that Montgomery preferred effective subordinates to ineffective ones, and it seems possible that Patton would have made a preferable subordinate to Crerar or Bradley in his mind.

As for Patton, he would have served anyone who got him what he wanted. Had Montgomery offered him the chance to spearhead the attack into Germany, there is virtually no doubt that Patton would have  jumped at the chance.

Patton was not the racist that Bradley or Eisenhower were, and was happy to have black troops. He was not the American supremacist that Roosevelt or MacArthur were, and worked well with others (as long as they let him have enough lime light).

Had Montgomery been left as land forces commander, there is little doubt that he would have used Patton's aggression in a way that would have  made Patton much happier than Eisenhower's broad front strategy ever allowed.

It is fun to imagine Montgomery as land forces commander using Patton's 3rd Army in conjunction with British 2nd to leapfrog ahead at top speed into Germany. The best British tactics were never the  broad front strategy that the worst American's like Marshall and Eisenhower fancied. They were always the 'hold the enemy, crumble the  enemy, breakthrough the enemy, and pursue with as much force as fast and  far as possible' skills that had worked since the development of  mechanised warfare in 1918. (As demonstrated by the Germans in Poland  and France and Russia, the British and Germans in North Africa, the  Japanese and British in Asia, and the Russians in Eastern Europe.)

Montgomery would have used his traditional two corps up, one back, one resting deployment, adapted to armies, to keep up the momentum. Patton's preferred tactics were almost exactly the same, and he and his 3rd  Army would have fit it like a glove into Montgomery's thrust strategy.

Personally  I think that the limited reality behind their competitiveness paid trumps in Sicily, and I wish that it had been repeated in France. Patton could not have been a worse Army group commander than Bradley was, and would almost certainly have been better.

It is amusing to think of Patton and Montgomery effectively conspiring to destroy the broad front strategy while they got on with winning the war in the best spirit of competition. Although I have a sneaking suspicion that one of Patton's biographers was right to suggest that by 1945 he had suffered a few too many hits on the head, there is little doubt that he would have been almost as valuable to the Allied cause in Bradley's place against Eisenhower's policies directly, as he would have under Montgomery's army  group. That might have been a useful version of rivalry.