#it’s entirely his fault

[burnthatbridge]

after comes the thunder

buddie | E | 1.3k | lichtenberg figure spec that picture oliver posted ruined my entire day so i wrote this at 2am when i should have been sleeping, ensuring that it will also have ruined my day tomorrow (very much nsfw) also on ao3

Eddie pushes Buck back on the bed and Buck goes. 

They should probably talk about this, and they will, later, tomorrow, in the light of day, when it’s not so fresh. But, for now, Buck knows that Eddie needs this. 

Buck’s puts an arm down as his body reaches the mattress, tries to limit the sound of his descent. Normally, Eddie would be more careful, with Chris asleep down the hall, but that’s clearly beyond his capabilities right now, so Buck makes up for it where he can. 

They should have been back before Chris’ bedtime, might have missed dinner but should have been back in time for last minute homework and some time to unwind together before bed. As it is, they made it home over the threshold some three hours after their shift was due to end, and Carla left into the full dark of night. 

But at least they made it home. 

Eddie leans down and fastens his mouth back to Buck’s, kissing as hard and as deep as he had in the hall, once he’d closed the door to Chris’ bedroom after checking up on him. Buck kisses back, as best he can with Eddie’s tongue in his mouth, Eddie’s teeth biting at his lips, trying to put every reassurance he can, his full depth of feeling into it. 

The end of the shift wasn’t good, Buck knows that. But a near miss with a collapsing beam in a house fire is far from the worst Buck has been through. 

Eddie rucks his hands up Buck’s sides, pushing at his sweatshirt. Buck leans up and reaches behind himself to help, to save Eddie battling with the fabric. 

That’s probably the point though. Buck’s close shave wouldn’t be warranting this level of desperation from Eddie if it wasn’t the first time Buck has had a close call since. Since. 

Eddie pulls away from the kiss so Buck can strip his shirt off over his head, toss it to the side, lie back, bare chested. 

Since the lightning.

Buck watches Eddie’s eyes fall to the reminder of it. 

The mark is still there, fading now, but not as fast as all the articles Buck read had said it would. It’s been two months and the scar still spreads down his shoulder, still crawls up his neck, still curls over his pectoral, over his heart. 

Eddie looks at it, but he doesn’t touch it. Straightens up and strips out of his own shirt, reaches down to the waistband of his pants. 

He has touched it before. Tentative, at first, before they were even together, when Buck had been staying with him on his first few shaky days out of hospital, and Eddie had found him in the bathroom, shirtless and staring at it, glassy eyed. 

With a smoothness that Buck could never achieve if their positions were reversed, Eddie manoeuvres out of his sweats, his boxers, while kneeling on the bed. Buck reaches up for him, eager to pull him close again, but Eddie takes hold of the fabric at Buck’s hips and leans back to pull his pants off too. 

After their first time, Eddie had traced his fingers over the whole mark, slow, soft, starting at the strike point and feathering out, for each and every branch. 

Once Buck is naked, Eddie leans back in and lays himself out atop Buck, his cock a hard, hot line against Buck’s hip, his weight heavy and grounding. Buck doesn’t need this like Eddie does, wasn’t the one who had to watch his partner disappear behind falling debris, who didn’t know – even if it was for the shortest of moments, only the time it took for Buck to reach for his radio – if he was okay. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it anyway. 

More than once, Eddie has kissed the scar, especially the part that reaches just high enough to escape from Buck’s collar, easy access when they hug. 

Buck moans as Eddie rolls their hips together, and then moans again, this time into Eddie’s mouth as he kisses him once more and worms a hand between them to clutch their cocks together. 

On one particularly memorable occasion during sex, Eddie bit down on the apex of the mark, then sucked dark purple bruises from Buck’s shoulder down to his nipple, obscuring it. 

Eddie jerks them together, the movement of his hand not quite slick, but not quite dry either, what with the precome they’re both leaking. It’s just the right side of rough and Buck pants open-mouthed against Eddie’s lips, coordination for kissing lost. 

And sometimes Eddie just lays a hand against Buck’s chest, over where the Lichtenberg figure is hidden beneath his clothes, in a quiet moment at work, while they’re bumping hips making dinner in the kitchen, during movie nights on the couch, when curled up together in bed.

Buck gasps as Eddie twists his hand around the head of his cock, groans when Eddie bites down on his bottom lip. 

In those moments, Buck knows Eddie is thinking about how he nearly lost him. Is thinking about how lucky, grateful, he is to still have him. Buck knows exactly, excruciatingly, exquisitely, what that’s like. Because it’s identical to how he feels when he touches the scar Eddie has in the spot a near mirror-image to where his own begins. 

Eddie rolls his hips and fucks up into his fist, cock sliding against Buck’s, the head of his catching against the crown of Buck’s. It’s nearly too much, the edge close. 

Buck has touched his fingertips to Eddie’s scar. Has pushed his lips up against it. Laved his tongue over it.

Eddie repeats the motion and Buck can’t do anything but take it, Eddie’s body a wave of searing heat against his, the aftershock a ripple of ecstasy. 

Buck has even had his whole palm, both his hands, everything he has, pressed to Eddie’s actual wound, something Eddie couldn’t ever have done with Buck’s injury. 

Eddie says Buck’s name, a rough, heartbroken gasp hot against Buck’s mouth. It hurts but it also sends Buck spinning, pleasure untold coursing through him. He comes over Eddie’s fingers, onto his own stomach, and Eddie strokes him through it, grip gentling and the glide easier with Buck’s release to slick the way. 

Buck can’t say he has done what Eddie does next. 

Letting go of their cock’s – Buck’s softening, Eddie’s still stiff – Eddie rises up on his knees. He curls his hand around his dick again, and strokes once, twice, three times, before he spills, aiming up Buck’s body so that he paints the mark with ropes of his come. 

Buck chokes out Eddie’s name at the shock of it, at the feeling of the splash of fluid hitting him there, at the devastated, devoted expression on Eddie’s face. 

When he reaches out for him, Eddie moves willingly back down, but lies to the side, chest pressed against Buck’s right side.

Buck kisses Eddie, tries to put into it what he has been trying to this whole time. What he thinks will maybe now finally get through to Eddie: that he’s here, that he’s alive, that he’s sorry, that he loves him so much he can barely breath with it and certainly can’t without it. That they’re together, and Buck can’t promise him forever or even necessarily guarantee a long time, but he can swear he will always fight to keep this. To come home with him. To come home to Chris. 

Eddie kisses him back, still firm, still a little desperate, but without the edge of terror Buck could feel before, and he lifts his hand to Buck’s chest, slides it through the mess, rubs his still-warm come into Buck’s skin, into the mark, stakes his claim over the lightning’s.

everyone: imagine eddie tracing buck’s scar with his fingertips, imagine him kissing it gently 🥰😭 me: imagine him getting his dick out and coming all over it 💦🍆

[doctorsiren]

The books reveal that Ford is actually a secret partier

(Available as a print on my Etsy Shop)

(wips under cut)

[basalting]

after jasons death bruce "accidentally" slips harvey a crowbar while hes in arkham and kisses his cheek and says, voice soft and colder than ice, "make him hurt for me honey"

it takes 6 guards to sedate and drag two face off the joker the next time two face sees him and for the rest of their lives as soon as harvey sees the joker he goes after him like a rabid dog.

[n4rval]

BUT YES.

family history.

[chloesimaginationthings]

So why is Vanny so determined to get on Michael's good side?

It’s mostly because every one on one interactions they’ve had so far has been negative pff

[adragonthatwrites]

I think, in our desire to make Shen Qingqiu a little guy who loves monsters in fics (very good, wonderful, we love this, BUT), we have missed the opportunity to make him the monster in the AU. I raise to you:

LiuShen Naga AU, where Shen Qingqiu is the naga.

Monster hunter/supernatural pest control guy Liu Qingge who gets called to a small rural town because there's some sort of monster about. The locals have not sighted it, but the behavior of their livestock and sudden dip in wildlife population indicates some sort of large, likely supernatural predator has moved in.

This can be modern AU or cultivator AU! The only important thing is this; nagas are not something Liu Qingge would normally deal with. They're huge and incredibly dangerous, with extraordinary stealth skills. If a naga's around you, you won't know it unless they want you to, and by that point it'll be too late. Their venom is also legendary. So whatever the context of the AU; a naga is something above Liu Qingge's roster of things he'll go after, simply because while bullheaded, he is not suicidal.

So, Liu Qingge investigates the mountains, but finds almost nothing to suggest the kind of beast he suspects to be there. He makes several trips over the course of several days, each time going deeper and deeper into the mountains beside the small village. He finds what he thinks are signs of something there, though he doesn't recognize exactly what could have made them (nagas are very solitary and exceptionally rare, and signs of their presence difficult to find or identify. Liu Qingge has never encountered one before this, nor is he expecting to, so he doesn't recognize up the signs for what they are)

The moment of realization comes when he's deep, deep into the mountains one evening and stumbles upon an odd object on the ground. Large, green, slightly translucent. He lifts it, and feels his blood run cold as he sees the pattern of massive scales and realizes he's holding the shed of a naga.

A fully grown naga, who absolutely knows he's here. Who's den he's probably standing dangerously close to, if there's a shed. A naga who, undoubtedly, has been watching him for the better part of his time searching these mountains, without him ever realizing it.

His heads whips around, searching the area around him. He's been allowed to move within and leave the territory unimpeded thus far; he may be able to get out now, provided the naga hasn't realized how close he's gotten to it's den. If he moves quickly...

It's at that moment his eyes catch on a shadow, falling strangely on the forest floor. He pauses, eyes faltering, before with a sudden harsh chill he finds himself starring directly into a pair of vibrant green eyes with sharp slit pupils. He can just make out the shape of a massive emerald green naga crouched in the underbrush, less than a hundred feet away from him.

And he feels the rush of cold harsh terror only experienced by a prey animal suddenly realizing it's in the sights of a predator.

[demigods-posts]

i really think the fandom kind of glosses over the trauma annabeth endured in ttc. like, the poor girl fell off the side of a cliff, was manipulated into holding the literal weight of the sky on her shoulders for hours, and (if i remember correctly) was tied up at one point. but this is all we can be certain happened because that's all of what percy saw. but what about what we didn't see? the poor girl probably spent the first few days immobilized and in so much physical pain once artemis took the sky from her. she was probably starved, or at the very least, not getting the amount of food and water she needed consistently. she probably spent most of her nights in an endless cycle of torment knowing that her friends were coming for her, but not knowing how long it would take them to find her. she probably quietly cried herself to sleep knowing the reason she was even in this mess was because of luke. i could go on and on, but you get my point.

[padfootastic]

i just remembered that canonically, sirius got to godrics hollow after hagrid.

which means that after he had his godson taken away from him (bc lbr that’s exactly what hagrid and dumbledore’s orders basically did) then he went into the house and saw james and lily’s dead bodies alone. no buffer in the form of harry crying out for his parents or even the godfatherly instinct of making sure his kid is alright.

he was there, with his brother and friend’s cooking body, all alone. stewing in grief and pain and rage and guilt. ALONE.

do we even know how long he was there? for all we know, he could’ve been catatonic right there besides james all day.

[denimscotch]

Behold! THE Commander workaholic.

[wickedcriminal]

Last Unicorn quote stuck out to me so I gave it to Spider-Fox

(the only person willing to be your friend and he didn't show up until long after you already lost all trust in other people)

[varpusvaras]

At some point, the amount of younger generation heroes in the Justice League gets bigger and bigger every year. It's kind of a bittersweet thing for all the mentors in the League: they are so, so proud of the people their kids and former protegees have grown up to become, but at the same time, it's always a bit hard seeing them grow up.

In any case, they are all a good addition to the League. Many of them have worked together in teams before, and have the whole teamwork-aspect of the League down a lot better than the older members had when they first joined. Batman and Green Arrow especially couldn't seem to contain their pride in their kids, and no one could really blame them for it. After all, both Nightwing and Red Arrow were exceptional fighters with a lot of experience in both teamwork and leadership under their belts, on top of being just really good people. Nightwing and Red Arrow seemed proud of each other as well, after all the hardships they had gotten through during their childhood and early adulthood. One of their oldest and bestest friends, they called each other often, even if the other was not there to hear it.

So it was a bit alarming to see them arguing at the corner of the room in the Watchtower, at least for Hal.

"I was there first!" Nightwing hissed at Red Arrow.

"So what?" Red Arrow hissed back. "This is important to me and you know it!"

"Are they okay?" He quietly asked Wally, who was leaning on the wall. Wally was also their old friend, Hal knew that. He would know if it was something bad.

"Yeah", Wally whispered back. "They just had a run-in with the Red Hood earlier."

The Red Hood? Hal thought that he remembered that name. A Gotham-based Rogue, of that he was pretty sure.

"I guess it didn't go well?"

"I guess not. Nightwing and Red Arrow both had a fight with him recently."

Hal looked at Nightwing and Red Arrow again, who were now hissing something about the other one ruined the whole thing for the other.

"I see." Hal knew how these things went. A rogue or villain wronged you, and you wanted to fight them and bring them to justice by yourself. "Let me guess, both of them wanted to catch the Red Hood, and with the both of them trying to do it, he managed to give both of them the slip?" It happened to even the best of team mates every once in a while.

Wally's face did a series of very rapid expressions, ones that Hal, even with all of his years of dealing with a speedster, could not quite catch.

Still, Hal thought that momentarily, Wally looked like he wanted to laugh.

"Something like that", Wally ended up saying. He definitely sounded like he knew something that Hal didn't.

Hal didn't get the time to ask, because Nightwing and Red Arrow were getting louder with their argument, enough so that Batman and Green Arrow saw it fit to come in and separate the two.

"Can't you two just apologise?" Green Arrow asked.

"I am trying! Nightwing just had to block me with his huge stupid a-"

"Excuse me-!"

Green Arrow and Batman gave each other disturbingly identical tired looks, and that was enough to send Wally laughing, and in the middle of all of it, Hal was trying to decide whether he wanted to know or not.

[deadsetobsessions]

Pt. 3

Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.

——

Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.

He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.

A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.

At least this time, the conception was consensual.

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.

How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?

It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.

His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.

He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…

How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.

The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.

“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.”

“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.

“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”

Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.

Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.

…Nevermind.

He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”

“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”

Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.

“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”

“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”

“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”

Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.

Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”

“Please. Always.”

Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”

“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”

“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-

“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’

“But…”

“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”

“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”

“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”

“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.

“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.

——

Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.

She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.

“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.

“You as well, my beloved daughter.”

‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’

Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”

The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.

——

A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.

She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.

“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.

The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.

She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.

She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.

“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.

(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)

“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.

(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)

“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”

She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’

“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.

‘No, you were smarter.’

And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.

“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”

Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.

On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.

“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”

She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.

She offered him a short nod.

——

“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.

The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.

But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.

No.

It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.

It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.

Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.

It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.

From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.

Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.

Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”

She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.

“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”

‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.

Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.

“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.

Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.

“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”

Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.

“I will bring your bags up to your room.”

She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.

‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’

“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.

“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”

Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.

Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.

Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)

“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.

Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.

Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.

——

She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.

“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”

Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.

“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.

She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.

(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)

‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.

“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”

Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.

No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.

‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’

“….you do?”

‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.

Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”

She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.

“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”

She waited.

“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”

‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’

Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.

“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.

——

She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.

‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.

It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.

Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.

She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.

——

“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.

‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.

“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”

His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.

An implicit challenge.

“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.

“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”

Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.

——

Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.

Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.

Alfred made a note to study some more magic.

“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”

“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”

“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.

Alfred made another note.

‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.

Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”

‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.

They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.

Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.

‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’

“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”

Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.

“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”

She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’

She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.

She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.

His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”

She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’

Alfred stiffened.

“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.

‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’

Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.

“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”

She nodded.

“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”

‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’

Alfred itched for his gun.

“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.

‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.

“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”

“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”

‘I have never tried it before.’

“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”

Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.

——

Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.

Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me

——

Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?

Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP

——

Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.

[post-it-notes7]

he sure knows how to scamper

[leona-hawthorne]

mattheo riddle is the type of man to not stop fucking you until you are BOTH crying from overstimulation. yes, both. he’s exhausted too, but he just can’t stop.

[abnomi]

EVERY REASON (that i can think of) AS TO WHY TURBO/KING CANDY IS NEURODIVERGENT 💥💥

i would like to make a disclaimer first and foremost about the obvious, being that Turbo/King Candy is heavily implied to have narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) and antisocial personality disorder (ASPD). Very often, characters with these disorders are portrayed as villains, and Turbo is no exception to this. There's nothing wrong with antagonistic characters having said disorders, per se, but when the only representation available for people with these conditions are found in characters you're not supposed to root for, it can be really disheartening. i won't be erasing these parts of him because i feel it would be in poor taste to gloss over those core elements of who he is, but plz keep in mind that having any kind of personality disorder doesn't make anyone inherently evil!!!🌞 your ACTIONS make you, not your brain

Also if anyone has any suggestions or other ideas for his neurodiversity, i would love to hear them! please do share!! I LOVE PSYCHOANALYZING CHARACTERS AND HEARING OTHER PEOPLE PSYCHOANALYZE THEM !!!! YAY🎉 if u agree or disagree with any of my points I'd love to discuss them further :-]

without further ado... click read more to find out…😈 be ready for a lot of reaches

💥 ADHD 💥

STIMMING

Turbo's constantly moving around in some way; he's a very expressive character! even as King Candy, he can't seem to conceal his frequent giggling. it's a big habit of his; he seems to do it involuntarily to regulate himself, including when he's nervous or uncomfortable.

he seems to display other repetitive behaviors as well, like doing his iconic thumbs-up pose, sticking out his tongue, or hopping around gleefully. he is but a jovial court jester..

i personally like to think that his phrases, "Turbo-tastic!" and "Have some candy!" are vocal stims of his, although i equally really love the interpretation that these (and the aforementioned stims) are tics :-]

another headcanon; i think it would make a lot of sense for him to have an oral fixation of some sort (ignoring the whole sigmund freud part of the term ermm...); just lots of biting, chewing, needing to have something in his mouth. It would align with the whole idea that he smokes, too

HYPERACTIVITY

we can clearly see throughout the film that Turbo has a lot of energy, made abundantly clear by his mannerisms and general behavior. he's constantly moving, using exaggerated expressions and gestures to communicate + express himself. He's one of the most animated and bouncy characters in the movie, next to Vanellope! it's silly how a character not very grounded in reality is such a threat, but i suppose that's what makes him so threatening in the first place...

another factor in this is how he is very adrenaline-seeking, craving activities that give him a rush (sugar rush...😂😂). more on that in a bit!!

HYPERFIXATION

Turbo's fixation with winning is all-consuming for him; it's an obsession. he doesn't appear to care about much else, if anything besides it. this could be interpreted as a hyperfixation for him (or special interest if ur all about that autism lifestyle), as it overtakes all of his focus and impedes every process of his mind.

it's clear that racing is much more than a passion for him, and while that fact is due to how he was programmed, it's a major character trait of his regardless that could be correlated to neurodivergence.

HYPERFOCUS

There seems to be a big theme of "all or nothing" when it comes to Turbo. he will either be fully dedicated to something or brush it aside without a second thought. it can't be denied that he fully wraps himself up in what he wants, whether it's a conflict he can't let go of or a new pursuit he's hungrily chasing after. 

ultimately, his dedication varies depending on if it is relevant to him and his interests or not, but this aspect of him still shares patterns with neurodivergent thought processes.

INSTANT GRATIFICATION

Seeing as he has a tendency to cheat in his use of code to spawn in whatever his heart desires, it can be assumed that this could do with Turbo wanting instant gratification to fill that bitter, empty void inside of him. while this could simply be brushed aside as greed and his belief that he is obligated to have access to whatever he wants, this trait is consistent with his generally dopamine-seeking behavior and wanting to be instantly rewarded by his actions. His obsession with needing to feel good directly relates to his need for another buzz, constantly after the next rush. (a sugar rush if you will☺☺☺)

ADRENALINE-SEEKING

Closely related to the previous speculation, Turbo always seems to be chasing his next high. he loves the thrill of action and being surrounded by crowds of people below him. it's why his big thing is racing! people cheer him on, he can do whatever he wants, he can go really fast and look cool..

it's possible that a big aspect of why he does this is to distract himself from any kind of pain, because pain = vulnerability. bro does NOT know how to independently cope with his own problems.. HE MAD AS HELLLLL!!! 😂😂

STRUGGLE WITH SELF CARE

(i know this is reaching but bear with me... 🐻) going off of his appearance and tendency to make poor decisions, it can be gathered that this man lacks skill in the self care department. his yellowing teeth and sunken eyes not only serve to complement his design, but also give way to the idea that he neglects himself in favor for whatever weird scheme he's up to.

of course, Turbo does prioritize himself above everyone else, but he doesn't strike me as the type to care much about how others think he smells. him being a bother to anyone isn't a concern of his. he cares about whatever gets him the most praise and attention from as many people as possible, which is winning and racing. Who cares about how clean he is when he's up on a podium holding a shiny, golden trophy, anyway?

It's likely that he had to step his game up when he went under disguise as king candy, which is why he looks well-groomed in comparison to his more corpse-like appearance. Ugly hoe. it can also be assumed that he's had more time to focus on himself because everyone loves him without question... Well, except for Vanellope, but who cares about her, right?

also, i know he makes a condescending comment to Ralph about how bad his breath smells, but it's made abundantly clear that Turbo is a massive hypocrite. his comment doesn't erase the possibility that he has suffered from such "halitosis" as well.

💥 ANXIETY 💥

GENERAL ANXIOUS BEHAVIOR

i know, i know, this could technically be chalked up to be "Turbo is nervously giggling and shit because he's scared of getting caught," but guys. g

even in the flashback scene, we can see how easily stressed he can become in an alarmingly short period of time. he is extremely insecure, therefore i am led to believe he is not only emotionally dysregulated, but also by extension, anxiety ridden.

yes, this is purely speculative, but who's to say that he wasn't like this before? being high-strung and intense are significant facets of his personality consistently portrayed throughout the film. as long as he is getting exactly what he wants, he is happy; the moment he loses even a blip of control, however, he immediately grows extremely tense.

if Turbo wasn't anxious about his disguise as King Candy before, he was anxious about how much attention he was receiving on a given day. if not that, then he'd be anxious over how he presents himself. He hates how he can't control how other people perceive him, which is why he is constantly trying to act like he's better than he is.

its why he justifies his behavior to himself, proudly making others refer to him as the "rightful ruler" of sugar rush and relishing in the attention of his countless underlings. Any secure and stable person would NOT ACT LIKE THIS!!!!😭😭😭

FIGHT OR FLIGHT

As we can see a handful of times on screen, Turbo's instinct to protect himself is very easily activated.

 his fear manifests in anger and aggression. we can see at multiple points how easy it is to upset him or fluster him; his anger is one side of the same coin, the opposite end being his fear and paranoia.

Going off of this point, have you noticed that Turbo is either satisfied or furious without much of an in-between? how the second something isn't under his manipulation, he lashes out and fights back? I'm led to believe that this is how he responds to fear (AAUAAYAUUUUGGHHH 🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡🐡). This guy is so against the idea of being vulnerable, that even when afraid, he will utilize violence to regain his dominance over the situation at hand.

CONTROL + PARANOIA

Turbo's always trying to writhe or fight his way out of uncomfortable situations, unable to exist outside of his comfort zone for seconds at a time.

his defensive, paranoid, and controlling behavior are all reflections of how deeply insecure this man is. He feels such an intense need for everything to go exactly how he expects it to go that the moment he senses any kind of threat, he instantly jumps to defend himself and what he feels that he has "earned," regardless of whether there truly is a threat or not.

this could potentially be a coping mechanism for his anxiety and sense of stability; can't forget to mention how territorial he is!! he jumps to conclusions about what others' intentions are before they even get a chance to reply, as seen with his first encounter with Ralph in the movie. 

the racer is so internally discombobulated that he seeks any sense of stability on his environment, including on those around him. his sense of self is so warped that he copes with constant distraction; being under the spotlight, being actively racing, having to be showered with attention, having others make him feel good because he doesn't know how to do it for himself. he needs to feel like everything is under control, lest everything falls apart.

"...if there's ONE thing I can't abide, it's ANYTHING out of order!"

💥 NPD 💥

INFLATED SENSE OF SELF IMPORTANCE

Turbo's most in-your-face trait above all else. It's made more than crystal clear in every scene he's in that his arrogance is a determining factor in how he interacts with others. This is exactly what drives him to desperately crave admiration, to chase after others he's envious of because he thinks he is obligated to take what they have.

he seems to genuinely think he is entitled to get whatever he wants, just because he is inherently "special" or "better" than everyone else. Why else would he have made himself a king, a step above princess?

EXCESSIVE NEED FOR ADMIRATION

Turbo's self worth is COMPLETELY dependent on the opinions of children and teenagers. I think i don't need to say any more than that, but i will. (Evil).

As cartoonishly massive as his ego is, i think that it's fair to assume that Turbo has a very unstable sense of self, distorting his perception of his own worth down with it. his near-constant flaunting and need to be the best is a dead giveaway to his deeply-ridden self-doubt. The foundation of his stability is built around how "good" he is (at racing and winning), how powerful he is, whether or not he is being prioritized above everyone else, whether or not he is the absolute best, etc. etc.

The racer outright manipulates others to shower him with admiration and undeserved appreciation. He is incapable of forming a true sense of internal value, instead heavily and codependently relying on others to form it for him. if he isn't the best, he may as well just be nothing.

INTENSE JEALOUSY

He reacts so severely to what he perceives as others taking away what is rightfully his that it only goes to solidify my previous points even further. the second someone else is getting more attention than him, Turbo will bend over backwards to rip back the praise he believes he so rightly deserves.

being extremely competitive, he will one-up against anyone he thinks of as a threat, dedicating himself to taking them down to the best of his ability, and making sure they STAY down to top it all off.

INABILITY TO HANDLE CRITICISM

if we really dissect the entire one-off joke with Turbo insisting that his stolen pink castle is actually "salmon," along with all of his other domineering behaviors, we can garner that he is very persistent in how he wants others to view him. i wholeheartedly believe that this would translate into him not only being defensive over his supposed "ownership" of Sugar Rush, but also over himself and his own insecurities.

He needs to feel good about himself or else he will die and quite literally try to kill everyone.

LACK OF EMPATHY

He appears to have a fondness for making jokes in very poor taste. Turbo has a big sense of humor, but it's always at the expense of others. Be it a pun about a "fungeon," or jumping to protect himself with a joke about "hitting a guy with glasses," he has a tendency to take serious situations very lightly. It's not that he's unaware of the weight of it; he simply doesn't take it Seriously.

its admittedly impressive how he was able to feign empathy so well for Ralph; it goes to show how he is very capable of understanding that what he's doing is wrong, but ultimately does nothing to change his behavior because it doesn't impact him personally. 

i would like to honor this part of him, because even in the possible alternate path of a redemption arc, his struggle with empathy can be explored in a variety of interesting ways :-] he can understand complicated emotions and situations on an analytical level, but he doesn't feel for them unless it has to do with him specifically. (this obviously doesn't make him inherently evil, his ACTIONS make him evil)

💥 ASPD 💥

LACK OF REMORSE/GUILT

One of Turbo's core characteristics is just how far he is willing to go for his own self-interest with lack of regard for how it impacts everyone else. he has absolutely no concern for how anyone else feels besides himself, willing to go so far as to attempt to mutilate a 9-year-old to achieve his petty goals.

Turbo is shameless when it comes to how he goes about getting his way. While I'd like to believe he isn't fully incapable of feeling regret, he doesn't showcase feeling it in the movie itself. The most regret he'll feel is when he slips up and exposes himself. anything else is the fault of everyone else; he is untouchable in his eyes.

DECEITFUL TENDENCIES + LYING

Where do i even start with this one.

well, first of all, let's acknowledge the... erm, horse? in the room? 🐎😅(Please someone help me there is a horse in my room help helphel) being that Turbo went under disguise as King Candy for at least a decade. Even before this, there's a good chance that he's already had plenty of experience with lies and manipulation. i'd be willing to bet on this!!

one of his specialties is being proficient in manipulation, be it the code of games or the minds of people. theyre basically the same thing to him, anyway... I'm sure you all know the scene where he uses 16 manipulation tactics against Ralph and wins. this was Obviously not the first time he'd done this.

REPETITION OF HARMFUL BEHAVIORS

Time and time again, Turbo can't seem to help himself when it comes to poor decision-making. he never internalizes that his bad choices aren't JUST bad for others, but also for himself, continuing to escalate further and further into very dangerous behaviors until he literally dies.

Here's a list of bad decisions he has made! (at least, that we know of)

Pinning himself above his peers

Harassment + stalking

Carelessly charging through GCS with his car, endangering countless civilians

Attempting to take over a game that isn't his x2

Vehicular manslaughter

Implied mass murder + attempted murder, attempted mutilation

Mass endangerment

Breaking and entering, theft, usurpation, plagiarism

and more!!!!!!!

AND HE LEARNS FROM ABSOLUTELY NONE OF THIS!!! with some of the items listed here, he's attempted to do multiple times! Absolute buffoon.

RECKLESS DISREGARD FOR SAFETY OF SELF AND OTHERS

Considering how he was willing to charge into a game that wasn't his own with the awareness that it could permanently kill him, going as far as to recklessly crash into another car (albeit it's possible this was unintentional), it's easy to gather that he doesn't seem to consider anyone's safety at all in the spur of the moment.

IMPULSITIVITY

his impulsivity and disregard for safety both go hand-in-hand. When it gets to a certain point, Turbo's emotions will boil over and blow up in a cold rage, thus causing him to spiral and act on impulse, becoming a detrimental force to himself as well as everyone around him.

What's interesting is how much restraint he is capable of; he typically is very strategic in how he orchestrates his plans! but once he reaches his breaking point, he snaps and leaves all of his hard work behind in favor of something that calls for his immediate attention.

💥 ETC. 💥

extra tidbits i didnt have enough energy to fully delve into :-]

BPD

Fear of abandonment

Blurry sense of identity

Feelings of emptiness

Self destructive tendencies

Emotional instability

Explosive anger

ODD (oppositional defiant disorder)

He seems so infatuated with his own autonomy that he gets to the point of being resistant and defiant

Resisting against the rules of the world that he directly caused as a result of his own actions, being that one shouldn't "go Turbo."

Enjoys upsetting/getting a rise out of others. this is more speculative as i am going off of the assumption that he thinks pissing people off is funny, based on his other behavioral patterns. (cruel sense of humor, wanting to feel above others via control & manipulation, enjoyment of inflicting pain onto others)

Forcefully defends himself and refuses any kind of criticism

Lashes out when he feels slighted

Excessive persistence despite all odds, whether it's beneficial to him or not

ok bye!! thank you if you managed to read this far ^^ peace and love take care of yourself! all in all turbo is so neurodivergent ok please Okay <3 get this thing his meds

[valyrfia]

I’m going to be so real with everyone for a sec: lando would have probably finished in p3 if mclaren had just told him to give the place back, or immediately encouraged him to build a five second gap after the overtake. instead they acted like they were OBVIOUSLY in the right and even went as far to preen on the radio about it instead of actually doing their job as a pitwall and realising that that was going to result in a five second penalty. this whole fiasco alone proves that they need to fire they entire strategy department if they’re going to be serious about being a formula 1 team.