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loganlermanstanaccount · 2 years ago

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hear me out..what abt u and miguel in a hotub trying to hide that fact that you guys are literally screwing eachother in front of the others🤭🤭and he’s talking u through it..whispering in ur ear..telling u to be quiet while he’s literally roaming his hands all over u! 😋😋

this is a leeetle bit funny to me bc in real life, sex is the last thing i'd wanna do in a hot tub. But for Miguel..... 😍😍

Wandering Hands

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: Husband!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: You're on a trip away with your husband, Miguel. He gets handsy. (Hot tub sex + Husband!Miguel)

warnings: 18+ , fingering, p in v, instructional, Miguel talks you through it, teeny tiny bit of f!dom, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, very very sappy. Minors DNI

a/n: this is disgustingly sappy and cheesy at some points - I kinda have to apologise in advance. I've had a rough week lmao

very big thank you to my beta reader @tianyhi <33

wc: 2.7k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wandering hands: Miguel has wandering hands.

It's your anniversary, and that's the thought you're left with as he kneads your thigh, eyes low at a fancy resort. A resort you practically dragged him to, mind you. He's a workhorse; absorbed in his job and everything that comes with it. Your husband; diligent and devoted, as always; he needed a break. Somewhere hot, somewhere expensive. It’s what he deserved. And whilst he would never take the initiative to book one for himself, isn't that what a wonderful SO was there for?

To his credit, he's been 'unplugged' since the moment you got here - putting away his work laptop and ignoring all the calls he'd get from overbearing clients. His sole focus for this whole week is you; and he's made that abundantly clear. The lingering looks, gentle touches: everything about him screams love and warmth. And he's all yours - a fact that still sends you spiralling, every now and then. All yours.

"You're not paying attention, cariño." He says under his breath, swirling the wine under his nose like the man in front of him.

You're both at a wine tasting, like sophisticated adults (...who had made fun of the idea on the way over). Miguel's wearing pressed trousers that hang on his frame just right, and a tank top underneath an open button-up. The peek of flesh makes you hot under the collar like a Victorian housewife, and you flush when you realise you're staring. Miguel pinches your cheek with a laugh, soothing it with a simple kiss.

Huffing, you take a sip of the expensive wine without thinking. There’s a gasp from the sommelier, and the small group turns to look at you. Your face heats up when you realise what you’ve done - shirking from the pack of eyes silent with sharp critique. A man beside you taps your shoulder with a slimy smile.

“Miss, that’s a 1978 Monfortino. It probably costs more than your rent.”

“...I thought this was a wine tasting. So eventually, we have to… taste. The wine.” Miguel chuckles into his drink, squeezing at your waist. You make a fair point.

The man laughs, smug. “With all due respect, it’s an experience of the senses… maybe this is your first time somewhere with this kind of price tag, but it’s quite rude to-”

Miguel clears his throat, flashing a disarming smile at the man to your side. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, with a dangerous veneer you’ve seen before. The smile he gives before closing a big deal at work, calculated and shiny – when he smells blood in the water.

“With all due respect, watch your fucking tone.”

His face drops just as quickly, and he downs the rest of his wine, standing up - hand outstretched to take you with him. Gladly, you follow, click-clacking in your heels and little dress; hand tight around his.

“...Pinche idiota…vete a la verga…smug little-” It’s under his breath, but his intensity makes you giggle.

In the elevator up to your room, he stews, brow creased in little furrows. A force of habit, he pulls you closer, tucking away a stray strand of hair. With a smile, you knead his temples, smoothing the creases. He visibly softens and leans into your touch.

“You’re on vacation, Miguel. Relax, baby.”

“S’not that simple.” He grumbles, but chases your lips with his own, regardless.

Defiant, you move at the last moment, chin up in the air.

“No, I’m being serious.” He snakes a hand to your ass, dancing over the hem of your dress.

"I could think of a few ways to decompress, if you're up for it…" Voice low and silky, want pools at the base of your stomach.

"Miguelito, the bedroom voice doesn't work on me, anymore." You slather on the charm, batting your eyelashes in a way that makes him laugh. He rolls his eyes.

"Let's do something. I think…I think the spa's still open? We could get a massage-"

"I don't want a massage unless it's you, baby."

"...or go to the sauna-"

"Didn't pack the right clothes, m'afraid."

"God, don't be mean." It's your turn to roll your eyes. And you whack at his chest, admonishing him gently. "What about the hot tubs?"

He turns his head to the side as if he's deep in thought. Pondering, weighing up the options; when really, the only thought in his head was you in a tiny bikini.

"If you insist, cariño."

~~~

The spa isn't too far from your hotel, a stone's throw from the beach. You walk with Miguel in the pleasant evening heat, flip-flops and cover ups light on your back.

There at the back, open air, behind rows of beach houses and overlooking the sea. You settle into the tubs, each one sectioned by wooden slats and climbing plants - not visible from the main spa, but not completely closed off, either. You can still hear the quiet buzz of other people, although it's not too full this late in the day.

You slip the light fabric onto the floor, and step out of the cover-up. Miguel, already in the water, watches the light ripple off of your skin. You don't catch him staring, but you feel it. His gaze is heavy as he drinks it in; you are dappled and gorgeous, and his heart is full. You slip in, shuffling up close to him in the dull thrum of the water jets.

Eyes closed, you rest your head on his shoulder. "You're staring."

"Yeah." It's so soft, said in the press of warm bodies, that you almost don't hear it. Playfully, he flicks your forehead - in that little triangle between your eyebrows that appears when you're resting. It's cute, he thinks. "...you got a problem with that?"

Laughing, you shake your head. "It's not too much?"

He moves closer to you, hands on your hips and mouth pressing soft kisses into your neck.

"The trip, I mean. It was a little last minute, and there was that thing with our passports…" You sigh, turning towards him, hand on his chest to stop him. "I just thought you needed a break. And I know this isn't usually your thing, but I want you to enjoy yourself. If you're not, let me know, and I'll book the first plane out of here, I promise."

You're looking up at him, clearly worried, and his heart breaks. It's almost as if you've forgotten that an anniversary entails both people, together as one. The truth is, as long as he's with you, and you're having a good time…

"Doesn't matter where we go, cariño. I'm right where I need to be if I'm with you." He says it like a statement - so matter-of-factly it makes your head spin. Because, you suppose, to him it was a ubiquitous truth: that in every universe, every iteration, the both of you belonged together. What would sound over the top or cheesy coming from someone else, is made so simple by Miguel. A fundamental truth: his home, his happiness, his heartaches and highest highs, were with you, and you alone.

"Promise me."

"Hand on my heart, baby." He places a palm that spans the crest of his ribcage. "...I promise."

He guides you onto his lap, so your back presses to his. His kisses are so light and airy, you don't notice how his hand creeps towards your thigh and the gentle movement of his hips under yours.

"You always take care of me," His hand snaps the band of your bikini bottoms, making you writhe on his lap. "Let me return the favour. Relax, cariño."

You nod, gently, eyes blown when you realise what exactly that means. Miguel's large palms dance over your tummy, pinching at the flesh to make you laugh; and then down to your thighs, to paw at them. He shifts, directing you over the jet by the base of the seat, and there is delicious pressure at your clit.

He cups your pussy under the foam of the water, ripping a heady moan of which you try to subdue. You lean into it: the hand that's now migrated into your bikini, the rock of his hips, and the hickeys he sucks into skin. Coupled with the fact you were in public, he brings you to climax quicker than even he expected. You were so needy, everything about your body telling him you wanted more - needed more. He presses the pad of his finger over your clit, barely there, and you claw at his arms under the water.

"More?" He coos, dulcet tones brushing the shell of your ear. "Pórtate bien, okay?"

So lost in your haze, you don't register the steady padding of a pair of people coming towards you, behind the wooden divider. A head pops over, and you still his wandering hands.

"Oh, there y'all are!" You see the bronzed face of Jess and her husband, a couple you had met during the trip. She bounces towards you both with dizzying accuracy, donned in a bright swimsuit and sheer cover up around her waist. Her husband is quieter, opting for a nod to Miguel, behind you.

"Can we join you? Hope we aren't interrupting anything."

Miguel meets your eyes.

"Is it okay?" He says, a thousand words said in your exchange. We don't have to do anything, it's up to you.

"It's fine," You breathe and then louder, to Jess. "It's fine."

He kisses your forehead and squeezes you closer, shifting so you feel his growing length under his shorts. An action that would seem innocent to a passer-by but below the surface…

He starts off slow, imperceptible movements as he strokes your clit. It makes you impatient, irritated that he had the audacity to start something he couldn't finish. Or, wouldn't, rather. You make lazy conversation with Jess and her husband; innocuous little things that barely take your mind off of Miguel behind you.

Some time goes by, and he's somewhat conservative – hand pressed against your pussy like his fingers were made for you. You get used to the pressure, as Jess talks about her day.

"...they're having a sale, as well! We're gonna go back there tomorrow, because, God, there were these earrings that I couldn't take my eyes off of, real gold, and only-"

"Fuck!" He slips two fingers in, without warning, sinking to the knuckle as your little hole adjusts. Jess pauses, a little confused.

"I was just…" He scissors them ever so slightly, enjoying watching you squirm. "...t-thinking about how great that deal was. Like… fuck! Real gold!"

Internally, you wince, hoping she buys it. Jess isn't stupid, but you don't think she knows you well enough to notice your husband fingering you in a hot tub. You hope.

"Right." She gives you the benefit of the doubt. "Not gold-plated, real gold."

You nod, hoping the foam from the jets is hiding the way you rock into Miguels' fingers. They feel good, curling up into you at that spongy spot he knows too well.

"There's a good food spot, by the boardwalk. I think they do…" She turns to her husband, who has an arm draped around her.

"Pasta, baby."

"Pasta! Yes, of course. We had a gorgeous meal and they served mussels, with the dish you were on about, before."

A beat. And then another. There’s a pregnant pause, before Miguel nudges you gently. "Yeah, sorry. It was the… garlick-y… one that had, um…"

You can't concentrate, against his wide torso, his hands between your legs: your brain goes fuzzy. You catch a smile tugging at his lips; and you almost scream. It's cruel, and all he can do is laugh.

"Miguel's more interested in that stuff, m'afraid." You give her a weak smile, and Miguel rewards you with a thumb to your clit.

It takes you everything not to jump at the pleasure that rocks your core; and you clamp a hand to his thigh. You make eye contact and he smiles; the smug fuck; gently chattering on with Jess about your trip to a local market, the other day. He's as casual as can be, and seemingly unaffected.

You try your hardest to nod and smile where necessary; giving simple answers that wouldn't require much thought. In the cool night air, the conversation is pleasant enough, but your husband insists on stretching out your orgasm – watching for the tell-tale signs and pulling away. It's a game of cat and mouse; and whilst you just want to get off, Miguel takes pleasure in the chase.

"We should be heading off, I think." Jess says after a while. "Just wanted to catch up with you two."

Miguel smiles, dizzying and innocuous. "We're happy to, Jess."

They slip out with a splash, and she nods towards you. "You ok, sweetheart? You just seem a bit out of it, today."

Perhaps too hastily, you nod. "I think…I t-think it was something I ate."

"Oh." She looks a little worried, and it makes you feel guilty. "You get better then. I'll give you a call tomorrow."

"Thanks, Jess." And with that, they make their way out.

Once out of sight, Miguel speeds up, his other hand on your thigh to wrench your legs open. The speed makes you dizzy, melting with your head back on his shoulder and desperately humping his hand for some relief. The rock and slosh of water over tiles barely registers in your fog.

As you moan and writhe, he whispers filth into your ear.

"Quieter, cariño. What if someone hears?" You whine and all he does is chuckle, lowly. "What if they find you, spread on my lap, fucking yourself on my fingers?"

"You're being mean."

"Eso no es justo, amor." He titters, shaking his head. "You told me to relax, no? This is how I want to relax."

Tears prick at your eyes, as he uses his other hand to rub circles into your clit, the warm froth washes over you both, but all you can feel is him.

"¿Dime que quieres, hermosa?" What do you want?

"M'close, Miguel." You bite down another moan. “I’m ready.”

"Want to feel it, baby. Cum for me."

You tilt your head to the side, and he captures your lips with his own – in awe as you clamp around his fingers. Grinding down on his crotch, you ride out your orgasm. The way he makes you feel is hot, and wet and filthy.

When your shaking legs still, you turn around to face him. He's hard, and too much of a gentleman to take his own pleasure. You slip a hand into his shorts, hand hot against his cock. It's his turn to lean into the bliss: head back and lips slightly parted with pleasure.

You've always liked his lips, plump and kissable, a pretty pink that just fits against yours.

"You're teasing." He hisses softly.

You scrape your nails along his chest, and he keens, clutching your hand close to his heart.

"...and what exactly have you been doing all night?“ You make a tight ring with your fingers, squeezing his tip and his hips jump up.

"Vale, vale, vaaale…." He paws at you waist, a little desperate. "Fuck- I get it."

You give him a kiss, wet and needy, before slipping the gusset of your bikini to the side and sinking down on his length. He cries out and you swallow it, pressing yourself even closer to him. With your tits against his chest like that, he can't think straight. You shift against his length, finding a steady rhythm but it's too slow – and Miguel grows impatient. With a growl, he places both hands on your hips, forcing you downwards as you writhe on his length.

"Dámelo, dámelo…" He slams his cock into you - hard and fast and just the way you like it. "Just like that, baby, just like-"

That growing coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you clamp around him. But he doesn't stop, just fucks you through it until he cums, hot and sticky fluids spilling into you. Panting, you capture him into a kiss. You separate, and he's got a dopey smile on his face.

Content. Relaxed, even.

~~~

Jess calls you the morning after, and you answer.

"Hey, everything ok?" You yawn into the receiver, a little tired from last night's activities.

"I said I would call, didn't I?"

You hum. "...suppose you did."

"You feeling better now Miguel's not playing with your pussy in a hot tub?"

Shit. You almost drop the phone. "Jesus, we didn't-"

"Save. It." She grumbles something you can't quite hear; something you suspect you're better off not hearing, anyways.

"...Sorry. We weren't really thinking."

"Damn straight." She pauses. "I'm not mad, sweetheart. Can’t even judge you, to be honest. As I always say, it's not a real vacation until you fuck your husband somewhere you shouldn't-"

"Gross, Jess."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did the woman who got fingered in a hot tub just say something??"

You wince at the vulgarity of her words.

"....Ouch."

She laughs into the speakerphone, and you join her. Besides you, Miguel stirs, a little smile on his face. Half asleep, he thinks he’s heard an angel, voice light and airy in the space of your hotel room.

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @tea-earl-grey-thot

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #atsv #atsv x reader #miguel o'hara smut #kat_writes😼#spiderman2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #fine ass man #luv him

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wethotcrazy · 5 months ago

Text

SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 3727

this is loosely based off of sympathy is a knife by charlie xcx, it’s a lot of world building please bear with me i have a vision (-﹏-。) also expect cursing. this is quite a long one (im working on multiple parts), i'll try to post as much as can.

part ii part iii part iv

All children are encouraged to do their best, dream big, and reach for the stars. But let's be honest: how many kids actually achieve that goal? How many adults can say they have been fighting for their place for far longer than they can remember?

Not a lot.

That kind of passion was rare. But perhaps it was more than passion; maybe it was the sick sense of wanting something bigger than yourself. Maybe she was just a workhorse that never learned when to stop.

Growing up karting was where Yn found a love for motorsports, it was her dad that introduced her to it. A part of her felt for the older man; this had been his dream as much as it was hers. Back then, it had always been just a hobby, even though she had already achieved multiple wins. She never thought it would come this far.

At 16, she was picked up by the Red Bull junior team to race in various junior categories, eventually making it into Formula 3 and then Formula 2. Even then scoring points and race wins came easy. Years of hard work and dedication had done her well, with many saying that a Formula 1 career was surely in the cards for her.

And if she was being honest, Yn was hungry for that Formula 1 seat.

Yn’s laptop lit up with an email, enclosed was her contract with VCARB. She was going into Formula 1. Was it arrogant to say she had been expecting this? Could you blame her for asserting it wasn’t a matter of if, but when?

But signing the contract should have felt like a victory, a promise fulfilled, a chance for everything she’d worked toward to pay off. But as the seconds flew by, Yn could already feel the weight settling over her, heavy as a storm cloud. The stakes had never been this high, and the whispers were already there, quietly accusing, scrutinizing. Her entrance into F1 wasn’t just a testament to her skill and ambition; it was a flashpoint, a reason for some to undermine her achievements and question her right to be here.

F1 wasn’t just a men’s world—it was a battleground where “passion” for her felt dangerously close to “obsession,” and her relentless pursuit of victory was both her strength and her vulnerability. Yn knew that she couldn’t just be good; she had to be perfect, ruthless in her pursuit for wins and podiums, and undeterred by every sly remark and skeptic. Sympathy, after all, was nothing but a knife in disguise, and she’d long since learned not to expect it from anyone, even her team.

Her first day at VCARB was a whirlwind of meetings, briefings, and countless faces both excited and skeptical. The engineers studied her, sizing up the girl who was stepping into a seat she’d earned, but one they seemed to question if she could keep. Her jaw tightened with determination—she would prove every one of them wrong, and not out of spite but out of an unyielding hunger to carve her name in F1 history.

Yuki arrived in the afternoon, a familiar face in a sea of unknowns. With an easy grin, he crossed the garage, his demeanor effortlessly lighthearted as he joked with the engineers before catching her eye. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here so soon,” he teased, a glimmer of pride in his eyes that he knew she’d earned.

She let a small smile slip, and for a moment, the walls she’d erected came down. “Surprised? I thought you’d know better,” she quipped back, crossing her arms.

“Not surprised,” he replied. “Just excited. Maybe I’ll finally have someone here to keep me on my toes.”

But behind their friendly exchange was an edge, a reminder that this was a competition and that teammates or not, they were both vying for survival in the world’s most ruthless racing series. They had both clawed their way here, and no amount of camaraderie could change the fact that every second on the track was a chance to prove they deserved to stay.

Underneath Yuki’s easygoing nature, she knew there was a fierce competitor. She’d seen him race, seen the raw talent that made him as unpredictable as he was quick. Yn knew they’d push each other to the limits, that their friendship would inevitably become a duel of ambition. And she wanted that—it made her hungrier, sharper.

But there was something different about her fight. Being the first female F1 driver in years meant her wins were never just hers; every success and failure became ammunition for those who doubted women in motorsport. There was no room for mistakes, and any slip-up would be amplified, dissected in the press, on social media, even in private conversations she was never meant to hear.

One night, as she stared out at the empty track after hours, she felt Yuki’s presence beside her. “They’re going to be watching everything I do,” she said, voice low, a rare admission of vulnerability.

“They watch all of us,” he replied softly, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I know how hard you’ve worked to get here. And… well, if they think they can beat you down, you’re gonna prove them wrong. Just… stay hungry, yeah?” He nudged her shoulder gently.

“Hungry?” she scoffed, steeling herself. “I’m starving.”

Yuki chuckled, but it was laced with respect. “Good. Because that’s what it takes.”

The season had started on fire for Yn. Her first four races saw her consistently in the points, an impressive feat for any rookie, let alone one under as much pressure and scrutiny as she was. Headlines praised her talent, with journalists and fans alike marveling at her ability to keep up with more seasoned drivers. Her team, too, seemed to start letting their guard down, seeing her not as a gamble, but as an asset. But as is often the case in Formula 1, the success didn't last forever.

Her fifth race began with promise, but Yn knew almost from the start that something was off. The car felt different, twitchy around the corners, each lap feeling more and more like she was on a knife’s edge. Halfway through, she could feel her grip on the track slipping, but she pushed harder, unwilling to lose ground.

With just a few laps remaining, the inevitable happened.

The crash was swift and brutal. The car spun out in the third sector, her back tires skidding as she lost control. She hit the barriers hard, the sound of carbon fiber breaking echoing through her helmet. Her vision blurred as the world spun, then finally stopped, leaving her breathless in the cockpit, staring at the wreckage around her.

Her engineer’s voice came through her headset immediately. “Yn, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, trying to steady herself, adrenaline still pumping as she felt the sting of defeat sink in. “I… I’m sorry. I lost it. The car just—slipped.”

There was a pause on the other end, a moment that felt like judgment even through the crackling radio. “We’re glad you’re okay. We’ll get you back to the garage. We’ll review the data,” her engineer replied, his voice careful.

Yuki’s voice came through on her personal channel moments later, after seeing her crash on his onboard. “Yn? You alright?” His tone was laced with concern, stripped of the usual playfulness.

She swallowed, fighting the frustration building in her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… pissed off.”

“You’ll be back next race,” he assured her, but she could only respond with silence. The shame of letting her team, her fans, and herself down weighed heavily on her.

In the post-race interview, Yn struggled to find the right words. The cameras focused on her, the flash of lights overwhelming as journalists fired questions, each one cutting a little deeper.

“Yn, it was a tough day. Do you think the pressure got to you out there?”

She clenched her fists, forcing a composed smile. “I don’t think it’s about pressure. Today just… wasn’t my day. The car was giving me some issues, and I did my best to control it. Sometimes, that’s just racing.”

“But after four races in the points, are you worried this is a sign of things to come?”

The question sliced through her like a knife, and she could feel the weight of the implication: that she was fragile, a fluke who’d just been lucky.

“No, I’m not worried,” she replied, her voice steady but tense. “One race doesn’t define my season. I’m here to compete, and I’ll be back even stronger next race.”

When the interviews ended, she caught Yuki’s eye across the paddock. He gave her a nod, a silent show of support that reminded her she wasn’t alone, even if it felt like she was carrying the world’s judgment on her shoulders.

The news coverage the next day was ruthless. Headlines screamed with exaggerated disappointment: “Yn Cracks Under Pressure?” and “First Female F1 Driver in Years Falters After Promising Start.” A few outlets were kinder, chalking up the crash to typical rookie mistakes and downplaying any concerns over her ability to handle the car. But most took the crash as an invitation to dissect her every move, doubting whether she could handle the demands of the sport.

Social media was ablaze, fans and critics alike chiming in, and Yn could barely stand to look. She knew this was part of the game, that everyone in F1 was under scrutiny, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that for her, the stakes were higher. Every failure she faced felt amplified, a reason for the world to question her right to be here.

Yuki called her that night, his voice calm and soothing against the chaos swirling around her.

“I’m just so pissed,” she admitted finally, her frustration cracking through her voice. “I wanted to prove that I belong here, and now… it feels like all anyone sees is this one mistake.”

“You know that’s not true,” he replied, a hint of warmth in his tone. “Everyone makes mistakes, even the greats. They’ve all crashed at some point. Don’t let them take that fire from you. Because once the season’s over, they’ll see what you’re made of.”

She took a shaky breath, comforted by his words. It was strange—she’d started this journey expecting every teammate to be a rival, another barrier to overcome. But in Yuki, she’d found someone who understood the relentless, hungry drive that fueled her, and who respected it.

The next morning, her team’s engineers ran a debrief, analyzing the telemetry and tire data from the crash. They assured her that she’d made the right call in pushing the car, that the twitchiness wasn’t imagined. Yn felt a flicker of relief; maybe she hadn’t just cracked under pressure, maybe it had been an unfortunate mix of circumstances. But no matter the reason, she knew she had to rise from this stronger than before.

It had been a long race, Jeddah was grueling and relentless, yet Yn had been on the verge of a breakthrough. She was fighting tooth and nail for P8, going wheel-to-wheel with Fernando Alonso in the final laps. She’d been holding her own, each move calculated, each corner taken with the precision she’d been honing for years. This was her shot, her chance to show everyone she wasn’t a fluke or a face in the crowd. She was ready to prove herself.

Then it happened.

They clashed in the final sector, both fighting for space. Fernando took the inside line, edging her out, and she, desperate to hold her position, stayed close, too close. Their wheels touched, and in a flash, her car lost stability, skidding and spinning before colliding with the barrier. The jolt left her breathless, her hands gripping the wheel as the rage took over.

Her engineer’s voice cracked through the radio. “Yn, are you okay? What happened?”

She clenched her jaw, trying to control the fury building up inside her. “That fucking guy, Alonso! He squeezed me—left me no room!” Her voice was shaking, frustration and adrenaline spilling over. “I had that position!”

There was a silence on the radio as they processed her words. “Copy, Yn. We saw the incident. Just stay calm.”

Stay calm? She’d given everything, and now, twice in a row, her race had ended in ruin.

After the race, Yn felt the press of cameras and microphones on her as she trudged toward the media pen. She could barely contain the frustration bubbling inside her, a storm barely held back as reporters closed in, questions already on their tongues.

“Yn, this is the second crash in a row. Are you feeling the pressure of Formula 1?”

“What’s your take on the incident with Alonso? Do you blame him?”

Yn took a steadying breath, but the calm she'd usually conjure wasn't there. “Look,” she said, voice tight, trying to keep her tone steady, “I know what happened out there, and Alonso gave me no space. I was holding my line, fighting for position like we all do. I’ll review the footage with the team, but if people think I can’t handle the pressure—they’re wrong.”

The next question felt even more loaded. “Is it challenging to maintain focus, given the scrutiny you’re under as the first female driver in years?”

She forced a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not here to be a spectacle; I’m here to race. Everyone’s under pressure in this sport. It’s what makes us competitors. The scrutiny just makes me hungrier.”

Her words were pointed, but she could already feel the twisting of her words forming in the reporters’ minds, their pens scratching away, headlines already buzzing to life in their notebooks.

The news the next morning was merciless. Some articles analyzed her crash with Alonso, calling it a “rookie miscalculation,” while others openly questioned whether Yn’s composure was “cracking” under the scrutiny. The worst were the opinion pieces, suggesting she might be better suited to junior categories if she couldn’t handle the rigors of F1.

Yuki found her in the paddock later that evening, her expression set as she packed up her things, clearly wanting to avoid any more eyes on her. He walked over, hands in his pockets, a gentle smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Rough race out there. I saw the footage—Alonso really gave you no room.”

She shot him a look, her expression unreadable. “Thanks, Yuki, but I don’t need anyone to say it wasn’t my fault. I should’ve handled it better.”

“It wasn’t about fault,” he countered softly, unfazed by her edge. “It was a close fight. You held your ground. Besides, you’re doing something none of these people could even dream of.”

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shoving her race gloves into her bag. “Spare me the pep talk. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy. Especially not yours.”

He took a step closer, not backing down. “This isn’t sympathy, Yn. You’re one of the best rookies on the grid. Every one of us has crashed. I know what you’re going through, and I know how much you want this. But maybe don’t let their voices drown out what you already know—you deserve to be here.”

She wanted to tell him to stop, to remind him that it was different for her, that every mistake was fuel for those doubting her existence in this sport. But instead, she looked away, unable to bring herself to speak. She didn’t want to be seen as weak, as someone who needed reassurance.

Yuki sighed, catching the conflicted look in her eyes. “Alright,” he said quietly, his gaze softening. “Just… don’t forget that you’ve got people here who believe in you. No matter what the headlines say.”

She gave him a brief, reluctant nod, her voice a whisper. “Thanks, Yuki. But belief isn’t going to get me P8.” She turned and headed for the exit, leaving him behind as the words hung in the air, heavy with the reminder of just how high the stakes were.

Yuki knew things had changed since those days in the Red Bull junior program. Back then, it was just him and Yn, two kids pushing limits, sharing laughs and late nights studying data, feeling like the world wasn’t so big, like maybe they’d take it on together someday. She’d always been determined, sometimes stubbornly so, but she’d had that spark, that glint in her eye when she talked about F1 like it was the only thing that mattered. But now, standing at the pinnacle they’d dreamed of, Yuki could feel the distance growing between them, a wall she was building with every race, every misstep, every setback.

He tried to remind her of those lighter times, even when the racing got intense. On weekends, he’d linger in the garage with her, cracking jokes, trying to coax a laugh out of her, like they used to do after tough sessions back in Formula 2. But it felt different now. She had this look, as if there was a weight pressing on her that no amount of lightheartedness could lift.

The night after her crash with Alonso, Yuki tried again, catching up to her outside the paddock as she was leaving. “Hey!” he called, jogging to catch up. “Thought maybe we could grab a bite together. There’s this place nearby that serves ridiculous ramen—reminds me of the spot we’d hit after races.”

She hesitated, her gaze distant, before letting out a sigh. “Yuki, I’m tired. I just want to go back to the hotel and review the data. It was a messy race, and I don’t think I have much appetite.”

Yuki’s shoulders dropped, but he shrugged, forcing a smile. “We could just hang out, then. No data. Just us. I mean… it’s been a while since we’ve really relaxed, you know?”

She gave him a weary smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I appreciate it, really. But I need to focus. I can’t afford to mess up again, not with everything they’re saying.”

He could hear the bitterness in her voice, the resentment barely hidden beneath. It killed him to see her like this—so hardened, so guarded. She was always the toughest of the rookies, fearless, but now it seemed like her own passion had turned against her, trapping her in a never-ending battle against herself.

He tried again the next day, lingering by her side during their briefing, sending her a grin every chance he got, trying to bring back that easy dynamic they used to have. But it was like she was somewhere else, somewhere far away where his words couldn’t reach her. She’d nod along, respond, but always with that distracted air, her eyes flicking back to the screen, the telemetry, the data, anything but him.

By the time they were heading out after debrief, Yuki couldn’t hold back anymore. “Yn,” he said, his voice softer, catching her arm as she went to turn away. “I know you’re frustrated, I know it feels like everything’s on the line, but… this isn’t like you. You’re carrying everything on your shoulders alone. Let me be there, like we used to.”

For a moment, her expression softened, a glimpse of the Yn he remembered, the one who used to nudge him in the ribs and joke about who could get pole on the practice track. But it faded just as quickly, replaced by that same stony determination.

“I appreciate it, Yuki. But you don’t understand. It’s different for me.” She pulled her arm back gently, looking away. “Every mistake I make gives people more reasons to think I shouldn’t be here. Every crash, every missed point. Sympathy’s a knife in this sport, and I can’t afford to need anyone’s help. I just… I have to handle it.”

He let her words sink in, feeling the sting behind them, realizing that every race, every session was turning her into someone he barely recognized. But he understood, maybe better than she thought. Yuki knew that in F1, there were those who supported you, but there were also those who’d gladly let you fall, especially if you didn’t fit their mold.

“Maybe it’s different for you,” he said quietly, keeping his voice steady. “But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re teammates. We’re supposed to be here for each other. I’m… I’m supposed to be here for you.”

She looked up at him, and for a second, he thought he’d broken through. But she just shook her head, a faint, sad smile on her lips. “Thanks, Yuki. Really. But I need to be strong enough on my own. If I rely on anyone too much, they’ll use it against me. I have to prove myself, no matter what.”

Yuki watched as she turned away again, shoulders squared, that unyielding resolve back in her posture. He knew there was no convincing her, no getting her to see that it was okay to lean on someone every now and then, that it didn’t make her weak. But as she walked away, he felt the weight of her words settle on him, a sadness mingling with frustration. This wasn’t the Yn he knew—this was someone who felt like she had the world against her, like every race was a fight to justify her existence in F1.

Later that night, Yuki found himself with Pierre, staring at his untouched bowl of ramen, his mind churning. He’d always known Yn was strong, maybe even stronger than him in ways he didn’t fully understand. But it was painful to watch her shoulder that strength like a burden, pushing everyone else away, including him.

He thought about what he could say next time, some way to convince her that she didn’t have to do this alone, that he wasn’t there out of sympathy, but out of respect and genuine friendship. But deep down, he knew that as long as she felt the world’s expectations pressing down on her, she’d keep her guard up. For now, all he could do was be there, waiting, hoping that one day she’d let him in, let him remind her that even in the ruthless world of F1, there was room for someone who’d stand by her side, win or lose.

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thepastisalreadywritten · 5 months ago

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“I thought (cat cafe) owners would reach out to me – now it looks like I need to take the initiative and send the (cat’s) resume out,” she lamented to CNN.

Xin says Zhang Bu’er spends her days sleeping and “parkours” at night, making a racket and disturbing her and her husband’s sleep.

More annoyingly for Xin, Zhang Bu’er would always curl up on her laptop when she was working overtime.

“He just lounged around, watching me hustle away like a workhorse,” she said, jokingly.

“(My husband and I) want him to be a working cat to get a taste of the grind and earn his own food.”

Xin said she spends about 500 yuan ($71) per month feeding her two cats.

“I think (Zhang Bu’er) gets too bored during the day,” she said. “A job would help him burn off some energy.”

China’s first cat cafe opened in the southern city of Guangzhou in 2011.

The number of similar establishments has grown by 200% per year in the country, according to CBNData, China’s state-linked financial paper.

As of 2023, there were more than 4,000 cat cafe-related companies in the country.

Editor’s Note: CNN’s Joyce Jiang contributed reporting.

#pet cafe #dog cafe #dogs #cats #animals #snack money #Fuzhou #China #Zhengmaotiaoqian #working pets #cafe owners #pet owners #CBNData #samoyed #shiba inu #tuxedo cat

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vaultsixtynine · 1 year ago

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face in hands. i have three monitors (bought one, one was bartered off a friend, one came free with a secondhand desk i bought).

i also! have a drawing tablet, the kind that's basically a screen you draw on. i have. a projector for my living room. i have a used vr headset that i recently gifted myself for the holidays.

those last three items all are competing for the last 'slot' on my computer that isn't taken by the three Actual monitors i have. so i want to rewire everything so that the last 'slot' is a hot swap station that's easy to get to etc.

alright i got some new cords in so it's time for some extensive rewiring so i can get my "technically six monitors" situation under control

#i should Not have this many devices but i do. i do.#my desktop is my primary workhorse and i don't even want to use my old school laptop for anything except for maybe the projector

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nhaneh · 9 months ago

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I have weird feelings about the fact that my new work laptop doesn't support RAM upgrades

like ok, I get the logistics of it - the thing is so small and thin that providing even laptop-sized DIMM sockets risks taking up a lot of precious extra space compared to just soldering the memory circuits themselves to the mainboard, but like... the only thing you can really upgrade with this machine is the harddrive. Everything else is fixed in place, to be used until it gets outdated or melts down due to heat issues and then replaced. It's almost more like an x64-compliant tablet pretending to be a PC - a fairly powerful one at that mind you, but it somehow feels so antithetical to why we have PCs in the first place - that is to say, why most modern workhorse computers for both home and work allocations tend to be distant descendants of the now ancient IBM x86 PC.

There was a time when the expectation of being able to take your rig apart and modify what parts it had was the norm. I don't care overmuch for the idea of our computers gradually becoming much more like phones.

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lepistemologie · 19 days ago

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Listening to Les Mis and smoking a cigarette outside of the computer repair store after they tell me it’s going to cost $1k to replace my motherboard because someone decided she wanted a goddamn workhorse gaming laptop

#the acts of God lately are getting to be a little much

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cogumellow · 2 months ago

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Do you use film cameras or film apps? What are your recommendations for both.

Both!

These are taken over the course of 2 decades in which I have used probably over 20 different cameras, both film and digital. Even old digital cameras may produce images that resemble film more than newer cameras.

I wouldn't be able to remember all the cameras I've used, especially the old point-and-shoot film/digital ones. I do know I used to use disposable Kodak ones, and those were always fun. I had at least 2 Canon SureShots and PowerShots, and some Nikon Coolpix digital cameras, as well as various Olympus waterproof ones from the 2000s. But I'm pretty sure every film camera I've ever used has been a Canon. Currently, I shoot with a Canon Rebel G from the 90s (with new lenses), and a Canon AE-1 I inherited when my uncle died. (When I was learning film properly it was on borrowed a Pentax K1000 and Nikon F90 at art school, but that wasn't for very long. Only a few weeks.) If I had the money and need, I would buy a Pentax K1000 or KM, if not a Nikon F(N)90. (I'm never going to afford a Leica or anything like that so I don't even think about it. I'd rather spend it on glass.)

For film, I tend to go with Fuji film C200 only because it's much easier to find where I live (and I like it for landscapes better than some others), although I think I prefer the tones of Kodak Gold (or Portra 400/800) better (for people and urban environments). I'd say Ektar overall but again, where I am, it can be harder to source. And I've used Kodak Ultra Max 400 for like, friends and parties and stuff.

Just depends what I can get my hands on and what I will be shooting.

So, the film matters as much as the camera sometimes. As do lenses. As can your choice of flash (for low light). As can the scanner. Unless you have an incredibly excellent scanner, the photos are always gonna have a more rustic sort of blurry look. (Like mine. I had a decent scanner and still it was not true to life. The built-in scanner I have on my printer now is absolute shit for photos.)

I don't really have a recommendation as they're all sort of different cameras. It really depends how much you want to think and work to compose a shot. (The Rebel G is more beginner-friendly and can be used as a point-and-shoot. And since it's all plastic, it's super light. My workhorse lens is actually heavier than the camera lol.)

For my digital photos, which are a pretty significant number of photos I have posted so far (I don't have a good scanner anymore so I have a backlog of film...), they are all sorts of resolutions and lenses and cameras, some of which don't require any film "apps" to look more vintage.

I'm sorry I don't actually know what you mean by film apps. Like filters? It's not something I'm particularly familiar with. I work in Lightroom. But I wouldn't consider it a film app. (I don't use any phone apps. My only processing is done in Lightroom, usually on my laptop.)

If you mean presets, then yes, I do use those when posting photos here. (Mostly because I know what photo theft is like online, and I'd prefer not to post originals in full quality, which I do make some income from. And for the aesthetic, sometimes.)

The presets I use are my own. There's nowhere I can point you to to download the same ones I use. I have a whole library of my own presets for all sorts of photos I've designed over the years. I'll say the ones I use here usually involve a hell of a lot of grain added, lol. Decreased clarity and texture. Contrast can either be turned up or down, it depends on the original photo. I mean... since I used so many cameras and the photos are in such varying quality and resos, I don't have a set rubric for all. I adjust as I need to get a slightly consistent look. The older the photos, the more grain seems to ruin them.

I love Nikon for digital. It's my go to. I started with Olympus (E-500) but their 4/3rds system was just irritating when it came to upgrading and lenses. I won't say I didn't like Oly, I truly did. But in terms of growth, it was too limiting and the glass was just too expensive for me. I switched to Nikon and never looked back. Mostly because I prefered how Nikon bodies felt in my hands vs. the Canon ones.

I fully recommend any of the Nikon D7000 series for novices, but especially the D7200 as an intermediate camera is still a solid choice even now, and performs really well dynamically. Unless you want to get into full frame and high end print photography, you don't need to go the FX route.

I sometimes still take my old D7200 travelling since it is smaller and I kept most of my DX lenses. It's affordable and the quality is pretty good, and if you're putting your photos through presets anyway, the lack of sharpness or whatever issues you may have will be negligible. I currently use a D850, but I have shot D750, D3, and D5 for professional gigs. I'd love a D5 myself but I'm not making enough money to justify it.

I also have a Fuji X-T100 (mirrorless) but I'm gonna be honest, I don't love it. I find it finnicky, annoying interface, exposure is weird, don't like the colour tones, and lacks some je ne sais quoi that my Nikons have. I bought it to make travel photography easier and find I spend more time deleting all the shitty photos I took rather than being happy with the results. Allegedly, according to like everybody else, it's a great camera. So, tbh, I think it's me. I think I'm the problem. I think I'm also just biased and too stubborn to learn a new system. Nikon is like second-nature to me, any Nikon camera and I can just use it. But Fuji? Idk.

I prefer always to shoot full manual, but I get annoyed with my XT100 since it's all different and I am always forgetting the different menus and button combos to do what I want.

It also has no Lightroom integration for their raw files. (Or at least at the last update I did, they didn't.)

If you want the more vintage look, grabbing a cheap digital camera from the 2000s will accomplish a lot of that. There's a whole subculture now around 00s digital camera photography. And it will often mimic film slightly better because new digital cameras are really "smart", especially phone cameras which basically remove all control from you and automatically apply HDR or what have you. It's very difficult to genuinely mimic film with modern phone and digital cameras due to great sensors (CMOS) and (in camera) processing.

Note: CCD sensors do NOT give you "film-like" photos, no matter what. It's still digital. Really the old P&S digicams are great to remove all the "intelligent" features of new cameras. And when you use on-camera flash, it's like being thrown into the indie sleaze pool immediately lol. I will say, and without doing extensive research, but the moajority of photos you see posted online that say "film" or "i shoot film" are not actually film. They're digital with filters or LR presets applied to give a film look. There are probably 100s of designers of "film presets" to mimic all sorts of film. I tried a few but found they never really worked for me.

I know a lot of people have issues with Adobe Lightroom cos of their new TOS and subscription model, but at this point, I still haven't found a program that works as well for fast, stream-lined processing. (I used to use programs like Corel PSP, but Adobe is so much more powerful. I still have PSP, but rarely use it anymore.)

I don't know if any of this helps! I hope it answered some questions you may have had.

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daveknowstech · 3 months ago

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Where the Android Tablet is today, and what it might become in a post chromebook world..

There has been a lot of discussion about Google, chromeOS, and the future on this Discord, and this post isn't about that. this post looks at the current state of Android Tablets where they can learn from chromeOS and also where Google might go with this..

To do this I've recently purchased the very large Samsung Galaxy Tab10 Ultra. this is a very big, premium tablet device from arguably one of the biggest Android device manufacturers on the planet. A company whom while the rest of the world forgot about android tablets, carried on and paved a solid lineup of Galaxy Tab products.

The purpose of purchasing this behemoth as two fold. firstly I like big tablets, big real-estate. I take a lot of photos, and having the bigger screen helps a lot editing and working with both photos and videos. The second reason was. Its about the sweet spot for a laptop screen as well. So with the Samsung Folio keyboard, there is a familiarity as a Chromebook user to all of this..

So lets cut to the chase, what has a week using this device to do work been like?

At times it felt just like being on a Chromebook, others its as frustrating as anything.. However its frustrating for the same reasons a Windows User would be frustrated going to a Mac (or Vice Versa). things are not available..

Lets start with the good…

Putting the Samsung Folio keyboard on this tablet, and sitting down at a desk, turning on Dex and working was, because i've been using chromeOS, a seamless experience in the most part. I'm used to the Android experience or the web app experience. The tablet is quick. I'm able to edit Insta360 Videos, or in Lightroom or VCSO.. I get Slack messages and apparently look good in Meet calls because the webcam is where it should be (top middle in landscape mode). the battery has lasted all day and I've been able to do what I need to do (DevOps, Ansible, Terraform, sysadmin stuff)

The processor is more than capable of having 15+ apps running, multiple tabs.. the screen is crystal clear, the speakers are good. However i'd expect all of this, its a premium product (RRP: £800ish) just as I would from a similar priced chromeOS tablet.

However I do think this is the case because of the tablets screen real-estate. personally i think if i had got the Galaxy tab10 plus with a smaller screen, I'd have felt much more constricted in what I was doing..

Compared to the Ipad Pro experience, this is no matter what any tech bro influencer will tell you a huge leap over said device. Being able to actually multi task and run apps (in dex) not full screen alone takes this to a level above the Apple product.

However then there is whats missing.. These as i inferred above are things i've noticed having used a Chromebook as my daily driver for the last 5+ years.

As a huge Linux user on Native platforms and chromeOS, i really missed the Chromebooks Linux shell. this is something I've seen Google are working on with android. Both the full debian runing on the OS with Icons aoppearing when you install Linux apps with GUI's (OnlyOffice for example) which launch independetly of the shell is not a feature to be sniffed at and IMO make the Chromebook one of the best entry level Linux devices available today. Whatever Google have done here, they need to replicate.

I'd also like to see the desktop version of the Chrome browser especially on the bigger scren, the android version of chrome is ok for most things, having the desktop version however should not be a huge leap of development to get this working.. with a huge highlight on PWAs which i use a lot on ChromeOS

Finally there is Dex, I have a love hate relationship over the years with Dex, and the classic version has been my workhorse for the last week. with a keyboard, mouse and external monitor this is more than a workable solution for checking email, slack, meet meetings and even some coding. All the time however i am thinking why not chromeOS?

Dex for its time was a great and groundbreaking idea, and interestingly is the last of many convergence tools over the years, and its always made we wonder why when i plug in a Pixel Phone/Tablet into a USB Hub with a monitor I don't get a ChromeOS like experience.

So what are my thoughts on chromeOS becoming Android based on using arguably the top tier Android experience as my sole PC for a week?

It boils for me into these areas

While ChromeOS will run fine on a 4Gb Arm chip for browsing the web and a few tasks. 8Gb is the minimum you need to start using it properly.. The same will be the same with any new android tablet, for this to work, the 8Gb equivalent needs to be the base hardware, same with processors and storage. Google will need as they did with chromebook Plus to set a minimum spec for these new devices day 1. Or they will cause a lot of market confusion and again get that chromeOS low power second screen device label that they have never shifted from the tech press narrative. This i think has only worked for me because of the premium experience, i think had i gone mid tier i'd have been writing something very different.

The interface and app experience is somewhat comparable, however if Google do put the desktop browser on android as has been suggested they may do, this will make a big difference. OneUI for all its haters, does do a good job of presenting a nice desktop above the Pixel equivalent. Its, dare i say it, more "windows like" and having that as an option interface wise would be a good thing.

Expanding on Interface, the experience presnted to the user of Dex when plugging into an external monitor and adding a keyboard/mouse is important, I would like to see Google work here on something which looks like chromeOS appear when i plug an (lets call it Android Plus) Android Plus device into a hub. a step above dex and a more Usable desktop. this provides huge value ad, and really starts to differentiate Android from Ipad Pro and (i think its called) stage manager. This starts to become an easy drop in replacement for schools, businesses etc while staying familiar and enterprise admins can still do thier thing.

And finally there are things which google should 100% be pulling over from ChromeOS, i think the whole material you type experience is better on chromeOS (although this might just be Samsungs OneUI), the Linux shell experience is another huge thing. Better PWA support and the inbuilt VPN support would be nice too.

All in all a space I'll be hugely interested in over the next few years, if google is serious about making a dent in that lucrative iPad/Pro market it needs to make changes and the convergence of the two OS might actually be the thing which takes the Android OS everyone gave up on on Tablets and the chromeOS only good as a second screen device and makes them the thing you guy to get stuff done..

#chromebook #chromeos #android #mobile computing #tech

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