#netflix white gold

[notasapleasure]

White Gold S02E05-06 (2019)

Roland Setra my beloved. 💗💗💗 SO MANY screencaps here my darlings, you deserve all the Roland Setra I can give you (so long as tumblr’s prude bots don’t intervene again)

Again, this is one I watched and responded to already, but also thoroughly deserves its own screencaps. White Gold is about double glazing salesmen in Essex in the 1980s and it revels in its setting - it’s on Netflix in the UK at the moment, 12 half hour episodes total. I never was a fan of The Inbetweeners, but at least two of them are involved in this, if that’s the kind of thing that sells it for you.

Mr Setra is a deliciously fruity money-launderer friend of the Essex gangster who owns Vincent’s double-gazing company (keep up). He likes to drop French words into conversation. He wears crisp white suits. He owns a yacht. He has that moustache. Absolute pinnacle of humanity.

hhhhhh

Vincent (iconic tbh): “I’m more offended when people don’t want to sleep with me.” But his wife would be pissed off if he left her out.

“Permission to walk your plank, Mr Setra?”

“You know you always have my permission, Vincent...”

WERK

(did I do that right?)

He asks Vincent to join him and his business partner in the time-share selling business, and he really enjoys Vincent’s complaints about the double-glazing selling scene

But there’s the matter of Vincent’s ‘dangerously psychopathic’ boss, Ronnie...

Episode 6 involves less screentime and a little wait for it, but it turns out that while everyone assumes Mr Setra has had Ronnie killed....Ronnie was just enjoying Roland’s hospitality:

Rating

Dead? No!!

Evil? NO (shush)

Affects the plot? Sure does!

500/5 perfect. Ear nibbles.

And I do recommend the show as a whole, though with reservations because the main actor is apparently a sex pest even worse than Vincent often is - it’s not clear whether they’re interested in making a third season, but my money would be against it given the lawsuit and the fact that season 2 wraps up so well. However, a (not-so-)tiny bit of me wishes we lived in a world where season 3 was desirable and would give the charming Mr Setra a recurring role.

[m00nb04rd5]

Can I have a moodboard for the Ghost of Christmas Past (from the Netflix film Scrooge: A Christmas Carol)?

Christmas Past (Scrooge: A Christmas Carol)

[thequietesthing]

I just finished The City of Brass (the first of The Daevabad Trilogy) and I need an adaptation of these books ASAP. But like, a true, accurate, not-white-washed, Adaptation with a capital A. No half-assed generic "Arab" bright coloured exotic kind of music shit that Netflix will pass as the "greatest series ever produced". I want to hear the differences between the languages (Divasti is different from Geziriyya that is different from Arabic), I want to see the different kind of clothes (appropriate to the specific culture and region they are drawn upon), and most importantly I don't want all actors with a British accent. It's not realistic, it never has been. I don't care if it's fantasy, I don't care that we are in the 18th century, they cannot all have a British accent; give me Persian, Afghani, Turkish, Arabic, East African accent. These books are so interesting because they draw from so many different cultures and folklore and traditions, let's try not to generalise them, yes? So the main point of this to Netflix in case it wasn't clear: DO A FUCKING RESEARCH, THANK YOU.

[afza147]

Ep4 Love Next Door short review

The almost kiss...I was like really ...really a kiss. But ney..

I was nervous as well..on this moment too..

But at least he relived again his feeling for her even going forward by asking don't like him on seok ryu😂😂

But love that he follow her even though she asked not follow☺️

Oh finally our two couple meet and second lead already entangled in the past as well..thanks for the photo

This moment when he gave her gold but she was going for another meaning..he did try his best by saying white day gift but seok ryu either dumb or she just brush it off by saying other things.

Nonetheless a new character kid which I right now presumed is second lead child as mo eun mother was about to say something but was cut off..love second lead going for love hate relationship but will this child bring them together..was not expected a child in the relationship but will do now..wonder if his or maybe uncle or niece kinda relationship 🙏🏻

A new mystery of 3 years missing seuk ryu wonder what's going on..

Based on next week ..more body reveal and we are not a kid anymore..let's go seung hyo.

[papirouge]

some of yall need to calm down with calling "socialism" "leftism" or "wokism" ANYTHING that your remotely dislike

[williamvapespeare]

"every day i'm fucking smiling;" a rant (cogent, intellectual character study) about Charles

We all know that Charles Rowland is THE character of all time. Obviously. Undisputedly (except by Netflix) blabla. I, a mixed race bisexual idiot with daddy issues, am about to fucking get into it.

I think there are a lot of ways to get into that end of ep 4 scene – I think we can look from trauma, we can look from model minority syndrome, we can look from a place of people pleasing to the extreme, but I think the best way to get into Charles (for me, personally) is to look at him as a character formed of intersections. Of in-betweens. In literally EVERY way possible, he is between things. He’s mixed race, he’s (probably) bisexual, he’s between life and death, he’s between good and bad, he’s probably sitting somewhere between trauma and healing – like, he’s CONstantly engaging in coping mechanisms and that itself is an in between.

Ok this idea of “I must be liked” very obviously will come from living a life where the opposite of not being liked is always violence, and that definitely can’t be understated. But I think this whole scene and this line in particular really speak to this very specific feeling that comes with inhabiting an identity that is ALWAYS seen as “not enough” in some way. Like, if you sit in a place where you don’t speak one side of your family’s language well enough and simultaneously aren’t white enough (or whatever enough) for the other side, you’re just like fundamentally culture-less and fighting to just be ANYTHING.

(Another GREAT example of this I think is the game Life is Strange 2, which is about two Hispanic American brothers, one of them speaks Spanish and the other one is much younger and doesn’t and there’s a bit where the younger brother doesn’t want to leave the US and says “I don’t even speak Spanish” and the other one is like “don’t worry, everyone likes you.” Like YES being “““Likeable””” is maybe the only way in when you are so fundamentally detached from a thing that you are also fundamentally part of, anyway!!)

Similarly, like all of us bisexual people know we’re constantly getting shit from both sides, from straight people and gay people and probably like, corpses decomposing in the ground who are throwing around terms like “gold star lesbian” or whatever the fuck. People just look at whatever relationship you’re in and they’re like ah yep that’s you!!

Like the whole thing is the most reductive narrow-minded stupidity, but it’s also just THE WAY. It’s the way of stuff. And being like ok, I AM NOT ENOUGH OF ANYTHING THAT I AM. How are you going to deal with that, you’re going to try and be likeable?? Because that’s something you can control!!!

And I’m low key so mad that we can’t see a continuation of this story where we get to see a character slowly come to terms with these in-betweennesses and say like, I’m not actually two halves, I’m two wholes. This is intentional in-betweenness. Like yes, blabla let the boy be bi, but it’s SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT. And I trust this show and I trust these writers to get that right and we were robbed of that.

So yeah idk tldr “every day I’m fucking smiling” was like the gut punch of the century. Whoever wrote that I’m omw to haunt your local Denny’s with my extroverted mixed race bisexual energy THANK U

[charlessainzz]

can do like reader with charles getting quite a few feature on dts here and there moments. thank you! i don't really like dts but I love the ferrari bits!!

My first request! Thank you for requesting this, it was fun to write! I hope it’s good! 

Drive to Survive’s Newest Star is… Not a Driver?? 

Take One: 

Cameras were everywhere. It was another Drive to Survive filming day. These days always made you nervous. More cameras than usual, more eyes than usual, and more opinions than usual. Luckily you were feeling good. You were decked out in head to toe Ferrari merch. White lace cami, vintage red leather Marlboro pants, red peep toe Manolos, with a number 16 cap. You looked the part of a die hard Ferrari fan. More importantly you looked the part of a die hard Charles Leclerc fan. And you were. His wonderful, supportive girlfriend of 2 years. His biggest fan. 

You felt the camera pan to you as Charles made his way through the garage you. He had just finished FP1 and well lets just say it wasn’t looking great… He needed you now and Charles could care less if the DTS cameras were watching. Your eyes light up as you see him getting closer to you. He grabs your waist and nudges your nose with his. 

“Hi,” you squeak, anticipating a kiss. 

“Hey..”, he whispers. “That was pretty bad wasn’t it”.

“Mmhmmm car looks pretty rubbish”, you giggle. “But that driver…. He’s pretty great. Makes a worthless car worth driving”, you say as you give him a peck. 

You both embrace in a tight hug and another kiss. Feeling the cameras rolling and hearing the photographers clicking away, you both start laughing. Oh this will be Netflix gold. 

Take Two:

Rain in October and in Austin, Texas. What are the odds! A usual dry race with an unrelenting sun had turned into a gray, storm filled race. The track was almost flooded. The radios of drivers shooting off justifiably angry that the race hadn’t been red flagged yet. The DTS cameras were here of course. Another perfect scene for them, they’d definitely be getting the footage they wanted.

Your hands enclosed in a prayer, begging for the officials to do something. To call for a pause, to cancel! There was no way the race could continue like this. Visibility is almost next to zero. You intensely listen to the radio, checking for Charles’s voice. He’s mad, he can’t see, and he’s ready to get out of the car. 

You’re watching the screen as the cars begin to slow around a turn, you see Charles and Pierre bump sending Charles off the track. It was all in slow motion. His car and your reaction moving at the speed of molasses. While the bump seemed minor, there were more cars headed his way. That’s what scared you. Just as that thought enters your mind, Checo’s car shoots down the track and narrowly misses Charles sending water crashing into him. You let out a shriek and cover your face crouching to the ground. The cameras all turn to you, documenting your reaction. You peek through your fingers seeing everyone staring and the lens facing you. At first you feel embarrassed but then you remember, that’s your man! You stand back up, straightening your posture, and brushing your hair off your shoulder. Arthur envelops you in a hug and points to the screen. 

Charles is being rescued by the emergency crew and he’s making his way back to you. He’s coming back to the safety of the garage and the safety of your arms. The DTS cameras know what’s coming next, and they stay on you waiting for the paddock’s favorite couple to reunite. 

Take Three:

Silverstone was always packed. But this year felt different. The crowd looked like sardines packed into a tin can. No room to move or even breathe. 

Charles held open the car door for you and grabbed your hand. He knew you didn’t love these crowds. He held your hand tight as you walked into the paddock. Cameras flashing, fans screaming, and DTS film crews lurking. You and Charles had one mission. Get to the Ferrari building as fast as possible.

Hands stuck like glue, you’re both practically running through the paddock. Of course, Charles being the man he is, has to stop and take pictures. But this leads to more attention and bigger crowds. You don’t mind, you know they love him. He deserves the love. Yet, the crowd becomes more…. pushy, more desperate for a glimpse at the Ferrari man. 

As he takes the millionth picture, you feel someone clench your arm and rip you from Charles. Letting out a scream, you fall into the ocean of the crowd. A man, desperate to get a picture, had done the unthinkable. He put his hands on you. Charles felt you instantly leave his presence. He snaps around grabbing your hand once more, and focuses his attention at the man. 

“Don’t you dare touch her!”, Charles growls with a finger in the man's face. That’s when you notice a boom mic over you capturing every second of this interaction. You let out a groan knowing that this will probably be in an episode. But hey! Your man was protecting you! 

His arms wrap around your shoulders and you both rush through the crowd heading towards the Ferrari hospitality. To the safety of your second home. Fans still hot on your tails screaming, “Leclerc! Y/n! Wait!”. Unknown to you both, DTS cameras are right behind you. Capturing the knight in shining armor protecting his princess. After what felt like a marathon, you see the Ferrari crew waiting at the entrance to welcome you in. Like deer leaping through a field, you both jump through the front doors. Doors closing, the cameras catch you both hunched over trying to catch your breath still clinging to each other. Like a wildlife documentary they sit at the door documenting two creatures that had just escaped a near death experience. 

After taking that moment to pause, you turn and see cameras pressed against the door recording you and Charles. You can’t help but let out a big belly laugh tapping him on the shoulder to look. Charles sees, grabs your hand, and flips off the camera pulling you towards his room. 

This episode will definitely be talked about! 

Take Four:

He takes the checkered flag! Charles Leclerc wins the Las Vegas Grand Prix!

The whole garage erupts into celebration. Charles wins! Carlos in 2nd. It’s a 1-2 result for the Ferrari team. What more could Fred have asked for. The whole garage runs towards the podium, awaiting their boys. You take off running towards the barrier followed by a film crew of course. Unsurprising to anyone, the Drive to Survive team is here to capture the lavish race that is Vegas. 

The podium waiting area is front to back red. You want to see him, you need to see him. But how can you get to the front? Not wanting to be rude, you tap shoulders and whisper ‘excuse mes’. As people turn ready to shout at the person cutting through, they recognize you. With sheepish smiles they usher you through to the front. Cameras following, but you could care less. 

Finally, you're at the front waiting for the drivers to exit the cars. Barriers crushing your ribs, you can feel your heart ready to leap out of your chest in anticipation. Then there he is! He leaps out of the car and throws his hands up. He points to the sky, and then points to the team. Jumping down he sprints to the Ferrari team ready to welcome back their champion. He leaps into the arms of the first team members he sees. Everyone reaching to touch him, to congratulate him, to get a glimpse of their driver. He scans the front row looking for you. He knew you’d be there but where are you? As he takes off his helmet he sees you. Tears have stained your cheeks and hair a mess from running. 

Charles jumps to you and grabs your face. Hands over your jaw, he brings your lips together. The kiss says everything and more. Cameras push in closer and closer as you continue kissing your driver. You break apart and laugh knowing what they’re capturing. Charles looks you in the eyes and says, “Another kiss for the winner?”. 

“Always”, you beam and bring him back into you. Charles takes a hand and pushes the lens away from you both. Trying to get some privacy in the most public situation ever. The film crew lets up knowing they just got their shot. They just got the money shot of their number one F1 driver and Drive to Survive’s newest star… who’s not a driver. Who would’ve thought!

[scarletttries]

Roronoa Zoro Falling In Love Headcanons (One Piece)

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro (Live Action One Piece) x Reader

Rating: Fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note: After lacking a bit of inspiration recently I just finished watching the live action One PIece on Netflix and am completely obsessed, especially with Zoro! So here a few little headcanons for him, and I might do a part two of relationship headcanons too. Also requests are now open for any of the one piece characters so send them in! 💗☺️

- Oh Zoro. Truly the epitome of a heart of gold hiding behind a sarcastic, borderline cold, facade. A man who pretends to be affected by nothing, despite having so much space inside him for friendship and devotion.

- Chances are he'd first come across you when he and Luffy are docked in another new town. Maybe you're a pirate whose name he's heard in passing and considers trying to capture for the bounty. Maybe you're someone who just loves and helps out the small seaside village you live in, trying to make a few Berry from the ships passing through. Maybe you're the next key step to reaching Monkey's dream of finding the piece. Whatever he expects to find when your paths cross, it certainly isn't you.

- Before he even knows you're the person he's looking for, one look at you and he knows you're important. Like you exist in a slightly brighter light than everyone else he's ever met before, and he's not sure if he should shield his eyes or if he can't bear to look away. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you, the first glimpse enough to have his heart pounding in his chest like it never has before. Luffy watches his usually stern friend let his mouth fall open in silence, baffled by his actions until Nami leans over and whispers to him. Zoro can't hear exactly what she says but he hears the word 'crush' and feels his stomach churn at the thought. He wants to run, but he's unsure whether he wants to go towards or away from you. He grips his white katana as a panicked instinct when finally you glance up and send a friendly smile to the eclectic group of pirates standing, staring at you.

- Luffy can tell before you ever say a word that you're good and kind, and destined to be aboard the Merry as a part of his crew. Zoro can't bring himself to do anything but loom over his captain as he makes a sales pitch. The part of his brain that likes to be in control hopes that you're busy and tied down, that you'll reject Luffy's offer and he'll never feel as shaken and desperate as he does in this moment again. A much bigger part of him knows that he won't survive if you say 'no'. Like without you he might never dream again, doomed to spend the rest of his days sailing aimlessly, searching for the same rush he feels every time you look up at him over his friends straw hat. Thankfully Monkey rarely asks someone to join his crew that he isn't certain will eventually say yes. And so you do, accepting it's time to try a new path and join this strange group of good-hearted sailors, hoping for a new shot at your dreams.

- Monkey, Sanji and Usopp are all friendly from the get-go. They can't wait to share stories of their journey so far, and make sure you feel as safe and at home on the ship as they do. Nami takes a bit longer to open up to you, but when she does you can understand why, and while her friendship is harder to earn, it feels all the more solid for it. And then there's Zoro.

- You notice that whenever you all walk into a room, he'll always take the position or chair next to you, awkwardly stepping in front of Sanji on more than one occasion, or forcing himself into a tight spot rather than create distance between the two of you. He doesn't often strike up conversation first, but when you ask him something about himself he always looks very relieved and happy to have something to talk to you about. If the group has to split up he'll always stick by your side, taking the role of keeping you safe to heart. Your unspoken bodyguard. It gets to the point that the crew adjust to leaving a spot next to you for him to settle into, and never asking him to go out without you. All the while Nami takes great joy in speculating on his behaviour with you, and teasing Zoro for his complete inability to act like a normal human being. Sanji has to lay off his harmless flirting with you after he notices the daggers Zoro's shooting at him, and he's sure one night at a bar he heard him start to draw his sword when he put a hand on your leg.

- It doesn't take many conversations with Zoro, or many chats with Luffy who spends a lot of his time telling you about how wonderful and impressive Zoro is, for you to start finding his strange behavior more than a little flattering. The tall, talented swordsman can't help but soften under your gaze, and you feel yourself slowly leaning closer to him every time he settles at your side, before long finding yourself practically draped against him when the group find themselves at some gaudy bar on the outskirts of a marine base, failing to keep a low profile. Usopp insists on dragging you onto the dancefloor, and thankfully Nami asks Zoro to come dance with her before he has to either sit without you, or volunteer to dance of his own volition. Despite his athleticism, of course he's a terrible dancer, all uncoordinated movements and awkward energy as he fails to copy Usopp's charismatic moves. Taking pity on him, you take his hand in yours, letting him hold you closer as the rest of the group seem to fade in the crowd behind you having seen more than enough of his desperate longing to stick around for this. As Sanji and Usopp slink off to find another drink, Nami and Luffy can't resist keeping just in view so they can watch on as they finally see Zoro smile widely and let his guard down, relaxing against you as the pair of you sway. Nami wants to make a bet on if Zoro finally gets the nerve to say something about his feelings, but after a few months of being her closest friend she decides to just root for you both instead, trying to pull Luffy just far enough away to give you two some much needed privacy.

- As you feel his arms encircle you, a soft sway in his hips that matches yours, his mouth drops open and closed a few times over. It's always hard for him to find the right thing to say to you, but when he has you this close, with your eyes sparkling up at him, it's almost impossible to even think. It's all consuming living on the same ship, his heart jumping in his chest every time someone enters his cabin in case it's you, his feet taking him to stand outside your quarters almost every day just willing himself to knock on the door and finally put words to his devoted actions. He couldn't fight his longing to be near you for even a day, and watching you open up to him and start to inch closer yourself, he can't help but hope that you might be feeling just a drop of the ocean of affection he navigates for you. His eyes focus intensely on yours as he tries again to speak, stumbling over the word 'I' a few times before resigning himself to silence for another night.

- You could see the conflict of fear and hope in his eyes, the man of few words clearly straining to explain things his training had never left room for. He was trying, and you were sure you knew what he was going to say, but you didn't think you could be the one to articulate it for him. That didn't mean you couldn't give him a bit of encouragement.

- Trailing your hands over his arms to settle on his shoulders, you stepped flush with his body, the extra contact enough to stop his gentle sway and turn his whole frame rigid. With the softest smile you could muster you leaned up onto your tiptoes, giving him a moment to pull away before letting your lips press softly to his. It was just for a second. A mere moment of soft, sweet, contact. The kind Zoro had never even let himself imagine because it felt so far out of reach for him. But it happened, and it was perfect. A wide grin spread over his face at your action, finally feeling like he might be able to share his life with someone other than the ghost he carried with him on his hip.

"WAHHOOOOOO!YES YES YES!"" A deafening cheer echoed through the bar, shaking the light fixtures and turning every single head towards your ecstatic captain. Nami looked mortified as Luffy continued to punch the air in celebration of his first mate finally achieving a dream a little less violent than he'd first set out for, his joy for his friend all consuming and without an ounce of tact.

"Luffy! Stop it! We'll leave you to it." Nami had to physically drag him away as you heard the unfamiliar sound of Zoro laughing to himself, the grin across his cheeks only spreading as his focus returned to you. Leaning back in to find your lips again, he whispered,

"What Luffy said."

[daughterofyore]

hiii !! loved your george post your writing absolutely amazing.. i was wondering if you could write about george and readers honeymoon or george fucking reader on even days (intense smut and angst i beg)

thank you anon who I definitely don’t know- ;) I’ll do two different stories for you, one for the honeymoon and one for even days :)

Honey Sweet.

King George x f!reader

[[Queen Charlotte (netflix)]]

category; heavy smut, fluff

wc; 2,783

a/n; You and King George have been friends for years, playfully teasing each other and sneaking improper meetings with each other. You marry and your honeymoon is very, very spicy. The naughtiness you both tried to tame flares.

!!W!!;; nsfw, light bondage, virgin, degradation, praise kink, lowk rough sex, gagging, breeding kink

The wedding had been a grand affair. Lavish, sprayed in the finest jewels and freshest flowers. All those of importance in attendance. Anyone who was someone sat along the gallery and watched as you walked up the aisle. Your train felt miles long, the skirts of your wedding dress billowed around you as you traveled up the aisle. You could see him, standing at the altar. Your first time seeing him since your secret rendezvous in the garden. He looked, spectacular. You admired him, devilish smile grinning down at you. You swore his eyes were glazed as he watched you approach.

When you finally stepped onto the altar he took your hands in his, he whispered a gentle “You’re beautiful.” Before turning to face the Bishop. The pair hearing the bishops words but not really listening. The tension between the pair of you was palpable. You watched him in your peripheral, a smile creeping onto the corners of his lips. A man of mischief, it seemed.

“I now proclaim you man and wife, King and Queen of the United Kingdom’s.” The bishop smiled, looking between the pair of you as you both turned to face each other. “You may kiss your Queen, sire.” George smiled down at you, grinning from ear to ear. How lucky were you to marry the love of your life? Your childhood best friend? The man you truly, utterly adored. George stepped close to you, holding your hands close to his heart.

“I love you.” He whispered, loud enough for only you to hear. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Quickly before you could register what had happened he bit your lip, sly enough nobody else could notice it. You withheld a yelp, looking at him with slightly widened eyes. “That’s a hint for what’s to come later.” He smirked down at you, squeezing your hands as you turned to face your court. The Ton rose, applauds erupting in a cacophony of celebrations. The pair of you strode down the aisle, hand in hand, united before all.

You entered Birmingham House, fresh into your honeymoon respite. The house staff applaud you as you entered, and George thanked them gratefully. You nodded and thanked them, the pair of you beelining for the grand stair case. Red carpet and flowers from the reception lining the bannisters. George leaned down to your ear, whispering “I would run up these stairs right now with you in my arms if I could, but your wedding dress is much too heavy for me.” You chuckled, looking up at him. “You look ravishing in it, I must say.” His grin widened, you couldn’t help but scoff at his flattery.

“And you, my dear husband look delicious in this white and gold uniform.” George bit his lip, looking like he could devour you this very moment if given the chance. He would, once you were in your chambers.

“I cant wait to rip that beautiful dress off of you.” You felt butterflies erupt into flight in your stomach, your knees almost buckling. “But for now, I’ll admire your strength in carrying the thing.” He stopped at the stairs. He stood behind you, waving handmaidens away as he scooped up your train and skirts, lifting the weight so you could climb the stairs. “First act of marital duty, help my wife to bed in her wedding dress.” The pair of you laughed, climbing the stairs in tandem. The staff admired the pair of you, if this was your first night they were sure the pair of you, were a match made in heaven.

George swung open the doors to the chambers. A crackling fire blazed in the hearth, a grand ordained varnished mahogany four poster bed sits at the far centre wall. Curtains drape across its corners, and of course the room is themed in the famous royal reds. The moment the doors closed behind you, George dropped your dress, turning you around to face him. “I’ve been wanting to devour you the moment I saw you at the bottom of the aisle.” He slipped his fingers beneath the lacy sleeves in your shoulders. “But I have had to wait, and now, my dear wife, I need your attention.” You gulped, your core ablaze. He stood before you, breathing deep as if to calm himself. “I must ask you, I knew we have had our own improper dealings…” he was referring to all the times the pair of you slipped away in gardens, never going the full mile but, playful kisses, bold touches were most certainly exchanged. But never did you expose your bodies or go a step too far. You were friends first, then this romantic attraction had grown. And now here it was, in full display as you stood before each other. Wedding rings brand new and heavy, the sexual tension pulsating between you. “Are you comfortable with going the whole way tonight?” You looked up at him, through your lashes and sucked in a breath.

“I’m ready for anything if it is with you George.” He smiled, immediately leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. His kiss was feverish, desperate nearly. He yearned for your attention, your body. He had controlled himself for so, so long. He had desired you from the moment the pair of you had met and now it was finally coming to fruition. He slipped an arm around your waist, pressing you into his front. He licked your lips, nipping at them gentle. He sucked the tiny sting away, before finally slipping his tongue against yours, dancing around your mouth. Your breath escaped you, gasping against his kiss as he explored you. He took it as an invitation to delve deeper, gently guiding you backwards to the bed.

He lay you out like a feast. Bracing himself over you with a hand each side of your head, he lowered himself down to kiss you again. He brought his head to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin where your neck and shoulder combined. Your skin popped out of his mouth with a wet smack, and he grinned. “Marked as my wife, I think I’ll do that more often.” You smirked you at him, wrapping your hands behind his neck.

“You dirty thing you.” You chuckled, guiding him back to your lips to kiss him again. He pulled you up, kneeling onto the bed and stepping around you, undoing the various buttons and ribbons with meticulous care. Ever so slowly he undid each fasten, achingly slow and you felt the fiery need in your core grow. Once you were free he came to stand in front of you, pulling you up as he slipped hands beneath the sleeves and pulled down the dress. Teasingly dragging the fabric over your skin and watching it fall from your body. You were adorned in lacy white lingerie, specifically for this moment. The dress fell to the floor, piled at your feet. The white garter around your thigh squeezing your flesh. He sucked in a shaky breath as he admired you, drinking in the sight before him.

“Oh the things I will do to you tonight my queen.” Without another word he ripped his own suit off, throwing the shirt to the side and yanking his trousers down till he stood in briefs. He guided you back to the bed, laying you down and crawling on top of you once more. He pulled you up till you lay completely on its mattress, then he began to turn his attention to your breasts. He grabbed the corset, yanking at the ribbons and pulling it off of you. Your breasts fell free, without a moments hesitation his mouth latched to your nipple, sucking and grazing his teeth over it. Your fingers snaked through his hair, tugging slightly. Your leg raised to wrap around his waist. He groped your other breasts in his hand, massaging it, squeezing and pulling gently. He turned his attention to the other nipple, leaving the other swollen and puffy. He brought his fingers to it as he sucked the other, pinching your nipple and causing you to squirm from the sensitivity. He chuckled against your skin, loving your reaction. The soft skin was heaven for him, this was perfection. You were perfection. He could not imagine himself in any other reality than this one, right now.

His lips left your nipple with a pop, and he licked a trail to your stomach. Kissing you lovingly and snaking his way to your waist. He toyed with the hem of your panties, playing with them as he looked up to you. “Ready my dear?” You nodded, gasping a quick breathless yes as he pressed two fingers to your slit. Rubbing the fabric between them and savouring your juices as they soaked it. He bit the hem of your underwear, dragging it down over your thighs and off your legs. He took it from his mouth, gently turning you over and bringing your hands behind your back. So smoothly he created a makeshift handcuff with the lacy white fabric, tying your hands behind your back. He rolled you back over, spreading your legs and diving into your cunt.

You squirmed beneath him, trying to pull away. He only yanked you closer to him, holding you still as he explored your folds. Licking long lazy lines up your centre, tasting you. He reached your clit, immediately beginning to lick and suck it. You arched your back, unable to contain your ecstasy. Moans escaping you as he played with you. He brought a finger up, inserting it agonisingly slow and working it in and out of you. Feeling you widen and soak his hand, he stuck in a second, then a third. He pumped his hand in and out of you, curling his fingers to reach that particular spot that made you cry out his name. Your moans rang through the room, your hands clawed at his head, simultaneously begging for him to continue and stop. He never slowed his pace, keeping steady rhythm in playing with your clit and pumping his fingers into you. “Oh George you’re going to- to make me cum!” You could barely speak between your moans, yet you felt him smile against you. He didn’t miss a beat, working you towards that orgasm. It was your undoing when he placed his other hand on your swollen clit, rubbing it fast and without mercy.

“Cum for me darling, show me what a good girl you are.” You cried out beneath him, his touch electrifying. The orgasm ripped through you, and he continue his ministrations throughout. Riding it out for you, leaving you a pile of mush and sweat. Breathing heavy. He grinned down at you, watching you catch your breath. “We are far from done my dear, I still have to put a baby in you.” You swore it was almost your undoing again, before he climbed off the bed and stood at its edge. He grabbed your thighs, pulling you off the bed with great care and guiding you to your knees. He pulled off his briefs, admiring his handy work at your makeshift handcuffs. “Show me what a good slut you are, wife. Suck me dry.” His cock stood hard and tall, he pressed it against your lips. You licked a slow line from its base to its tip, George moaned above you.

You took him in your mouth, sucking the tip and only taking him half way into your mouth. His size made it hard to full take him, so you made up for it in sucking him hard and licking his tip as beads of precum leaked. He looked down at you, grabbing a handful of your hair and guiding your head up and down on his dick. He began to face fuck you, creating a steady rhythm of in and out. Working his way deeper into your throat each time. “Such a pretty little slut aren’t you wife? Sucking my cock like this.” He admired the way your tits jiggled with each thrust he pushed into you. Without warning, he pushed himself into you to the hilt, his balls against your chin. “Take it, take it like a good girl.” Your toes curled, gagging on his cock as your eyes watered. He pulled out allowing you to catch your breath, before slamming back in. He repeated this over and over again, choking you on the sheer size of his cock. He was a moaning mess above you, muttering ‘yes, yes’ with each thrust.

“Oh I’m going to cum, drink it all wife. Don’t let a drop go to waste.” He thrust into you three more times until finally, it was his undoing. He came long strings of cum into the back of your throat, forcing you to gulp it down or choke and gag. He watched you swallow, admiring you and how pretty you looked. “My beautiful little slut, drinking my cum so eagerly.” Once he had finished he pulled out, leaving you gasping for air. He let go of his grip in your hair and picked you up, walking to a desk in the corner. With one hand he swiped the contents to the ground, grabbing the panties tied around your wrists he lay you across the table, ass in the air and your breasts pressing into the smooth cold mahogany. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stand my dear.” You could hear the grin in his voice, this side of George was something you hadn’t expected, but you loved it. You wanted more of it. You needed him, every inch of him.

He spread your legs with his foot, then grabbed your ass cheeks and spread them for a clear view of your cunt. He pushed two fingers inside you, lubing them up before quickly pumping his cock. He lined the tip with your entrance. You could feel the head of it slipping inside, he slowly entered, letting you adjust to his size. He stayed pushing in till he was completely inside you. He waited until he felt you adjust, then slowly pulled out. He gritted out behind closed teeth how tight you were, how wet you were. Your moans and pleads of him to fuck you pushed him to the edge. He knew you were accustomed to his size, so without warning he pounded into you. Shoving you up the table and a resounding clap ricocheted off the walls.

“Fuck George, yes!” You cried, your front flush with the wood. He pulled out and slammed into you again. He kept your legs spread, yet held onto the panties tied around your wrists and used them to hold you in position. He fucked you relentlessly, moaning above you as he pounded into your pussy.

“Oh fuck, you delicious heavenly thing. My wife, taking my cock like a good slut.” He rammed himself into you again, picking up the pace and without mercy slammed himself into you. His balls slapped against your clit, it was overstimulating. “You look so pretty like this, bent over my desk, bare to me and being fucked so brutally.” He pounded into you with each word, not giving you a moments rest. “I’m going to cum in you, you will look so beautiful while you grow our heir inside you.” This realisation fuelled him, and as you cried out his name he slammed himself into you to the hilt, over and over again.

“Fucking hell I’m going to cum!” You yelled out, followed by a chorus of moans and pleas. He smiled at you, watching you rock back and forth on the desk with each thrust.

“Cum for me pretty slut.” He said as he reached a hand around your thigh and rubbed at your clit. It was your undoing, you released and a moan so loud escaped you. George muttered a ‘fuck, yes’ and suddenly you could feel a pool of warmth growing in core. His seed spilled into you, filling you. He stayed inside you, breathing deeply for a moment. The pair of you could barely catch your breath, stars dancing in your eyes from the level of ecstasy you had just reached.

George lifted you with such gentle care, he stayed inside you, but guided you to the bed. He lay down and placed you above him, he kept himself inserted into your weeping cunt. “I refuse to let any leak out my lovely wife.” He smirked at you, but you couldn’t help but kiss him.

“If this is how we fuck my love, we will have a lot of babies.”

[targaryenluvs]

Hii! I saw that you like au's so i ask if you can make a time travel au?

Where the modern reader goes to their time and meets simon, he falls in love and asks her to marry him but she gets weirded out bcs she is still so young and doesnt plan on having children.

Dark-ish plsss? 🥺

Totaly get it if you dont want to write it, up to you 🌹

Thank you

(this was pretty short but here!)

warnings: darkish simon? young reader (16ish since she’s young but nothing happens!! pushy and possessive simon, implied fem!reader and poc!reader MADE UP ROYAL NAMES IDK HOW IT WORKS

notes: (my writing usually tends to lean towards an indian reader i’m sorry i don’t even realise when i do it 😭) i’m going to make a part two and post it tomorrow since i actual love this idea!!! you’ll meet simon!

Infatuation

summary: the one where you somehow travelled into your favourite tv show along with your family. and as you debut in society, you catch the eye of a certain duke.

part ii

shonda rimes was nothing short of a goddess in your eyes for her casting abilities.

you’d been obsessed with the books ever since they came out and the second you’d heard of it being picked up by netflix you screamed so loud your family thought you’d died.

it was the release day of the first season and you had to meditate before watching since your heart was absolutely running hundreds of miles inside.

you’d settled into bed, had your favourite snacks to your side and your emotional support water bottle clutched in your arms as you pressed play.

you’d overestimated the power of meditation to calm you down, and underestimated the power of warm cocoa.

you’d dosed off after the second episode, and you were aware of it as it happened. the sounds of your favourite show lulled you to sleep and you’d never felt happier.

but after a while, you’d realised the sounds never really faded away, they became, stronger?

the sounds of the bickering bridgertons echoed through your head, preventing further sleep.

what the fuck?

as you opened your eyes, you felt, energised.

and as you rolled over you couldn’t believe your eyes.

daphne bridgerton by your side?

“y/n, are you alright?” she questioned as she closed her book, giving her undivided attention towards you.

you reeled your shock back in as you cleared your throat, “uhm, yes, i’m alright. where are we?” daphne smiled at the question, “we’re at my home.”

you nodded as you took it in, you fell asleep last night in your own bed and woke up in your favourite book, great!

this was quite literally the epitome of all of your daydreams and you couldn’t believe it was happening. you took into account that if you were with daphne you were most likely good friends with the bridgertons, you looked down and saw your nightgown, definitely not the same pjs you wore to bed, your hair was in a braid, and-

“since you’re finally awake, let’s get ready. i’ll send the maids in! i’m so excited and nervous for today y/n/n. this is our day!” she gushed as she allowed the maids in.

our day? this most likely meant that this was starting of like the first episode. oh god, you were going to meet everyone. anthony, benedict, violet- oh god you loved violet.

the next hour was a blur, maids everywhere, millions of dresses, hair pieces, jewellery sets and so on. you’d settled on a (obviously) white dress, with a diamond like waist details, puffy sleeves, gold details/flecks around the sleeves, a tiara, bracelets and a sweet yet simple necklace. daphne had on a similar dress, but the details were different and she wore a feather in her hair.

gods, she looked amazing. the two of you stood in the middle of the mirror, clutching eachothers arms as maids touched up your hair. “you look phenomenal sister.” daphne spoke to you admirably. over the hour you realised many things, the two of you had been friends since kids despite your age gap, your mothers being the best of friends and the same for your fathers, and since hers passed the two of your families had only grown closer.

your own family were very well-known amongst the ton. your father, being marquess of anderton, lord y/f/n l/n and your mother, lady y/m/n l/n, and your brothers, eldest son, earl of anderton lord b/n, and lord b/n. then you, the youngest, lady y/n l/n.

your brothers were also best friends with the bridgerton brothers, your eldest and daphnes, your second with benedict and colin due to their shared/similar responsibilities as second/third sons. but they all got along, nothing happened in the bridgerton family without you knowing and nothing happened on yours vice versa.

you all usually visited eachother whenever, living not too far from eachother. your town home being larger than theirs, and anderton being an three hour ride from london, your country estate being much larger. you were wealthy as hell and you loved it. not that you weren’t back home, but obviously nothing like this.

you still couldn’t tell if this was a dream. usually in your dreams nothing seemed as realistic as this, and you had free reign of your body, you controlled your body, nothing odd had happened, no floating unicorns, no random nightmares, nothing. all realistic. and despite your age gap of of roughly four years, yourself and daphne got along well, she at first saw you as a younger sister and soon enough, her best friend.

even if it was a dream you’d take as long as you could here.

as the doors opened yourself and daphne stood proud and happy. the nerves dying down after you reassured one another.

your mother and lady bridgerton stood infront, teary eyed. “our girls! you look-” “breathtaking.” anthony cut his mother off as your families stood, shocked.

daphne squeezed your arm as you walked forwards, you were so relieved to see your family looking all the same, just a change in clothes, and it was odd. everyone looked so- regal! somehow your brothers had cleaned up.

“enough fussing! let’s get going now.” daphne spoke as you all made your way down. “are you going to marry a princes sisters?” hyacinth squealed as you and daphne laughed, “i wish! we do not know who we are marrying yet sweet hyacinth, that’s what the social season is for, to meet people, make friends and to meet the person you’ll marry. soon enough you’ll be in our position and you will have a line of suitors waiting for you.” you answered sweetly as she grinned from ear to ear before it was struck down by george.

“don’t lie to her! the men won’t be lining up to get to her they’ll be running to get away!” he joked as hyacinth gasped, “how dare you?!” she shouted as she chased him down the steps. for some reason this all felt, right. you felt like you belonged here. once you’d gotten past the initial shock everything just came to you so easily. the manner of speech, how to act, what to say etc.

maybe it was due to your constant daydreaming of being here but it was so easy.

“kids slow down please! you will hurt yourselves!” your mothers shouted at the same time. you were all one big family and you loved it. it was like double the love, and whilst the bridgertons may not have had their own father with them any longer, your father did his best. he spent time with the brothers and sisters, giving the support they needed, doing what he can for the children of his best friend, his family.

you had really underestimated the chaos of the bridgerton family.

you were surprised your own mother wasn’t greying in the hair at the constant bickering and fighting. but at the end of the day you knew everyone loved eachother. but right now you wanted to lunge across the carriage to strangle your eldest brother.

“it’s no big deal.”

“you’ll be fine stop fussing.”

“what’re you worrying for.”

as if this wasn’t one of the biggest days of your entire life. you had to make a good impression upon the queen, god knows the gossip in this town else wise would drive you into a hole.

“i am sorry sister, i should do well to remember the seriousness of today, i apologise.” he responded, reaching across to grab your glove-clad hand, squeezing in support.

“we should all remember the seriousness of today. but do not worry, our dear y/n will do well, i believe it wholeheartedly. you are sweet, confident, intelligent, understanding and so much more my daughter. you will find a good husband, someone whom you love preferably. but otherwise a good man, someone deserving of such an amazing woman as you and it doesn’t matter if you do not marry this season either. there is always the next. if you are not ready you should say so now.”

you’d never seen your father so absolutely understanding. you would’ve thought. especially in this day and age that he’d press you to marry but no.

“eloise has postponed her debut has she not? would it be alright for me to do the same? at ten and eight she will debut and so will i. i fear i am still to young, a lot of the others are older and know more than i.”

“no one knows more than you dear sister.” your other brother spoke up with a smile, “besides eloise of course.” he said as you all laughed, “very well then. we do not have to explain ourselves to anyone and i will send forth someone to relay the message to the queens servants and withdraw your announcement card. and i am not against the idea of keeping you caged up with us for another year. the dread!” your father joked as you all laughed.

the debut had gone better than you could’ve wished for. besides a fainting or two, and you having to endure prudences whining and complaining. the queen seemed to favour daphne and you could not have been more thrilled for her. the two of you chatted everyone’s ears of at dinner to the point where you were separated from sitting together, which did nothing as you both spoke from across the table!

at home you were restless.

your room was much larger than your own.

but you loved it nonetheless.

you couldn’t help but continue to think, you hadn’t woken up yet, you’d literally spent an entire day here, and you hadn’t awoken. you’d pinched and slapped yourself which earned you a few strange looks from the maid that you’d forgotten was in the room and nothing. you hadn’t woken up, annoyed at leaving the bridgerton world.

what you were most excited for was to meet more people if you woke up tomorrow. penelope slipped through your fingers due to lady featherington fussing over her, lady danbury hadn’t been seen, you hadn’t been able to visit madame delocroix nor anthony’s opera singer and perhaps the most disappointing of all,

simon.

you had the fattest crush on him, especially after seeing him in the show. if you woke up tomorrow, you were going to make sure to see everyone you’d missed.

and at the top of your list.

a certain duke.

and if you’d known what would happen once you met him you would’ve steered clear of him.

[gingernut1314]

Sunflowers

Summary: The Medicine Seller comes to visit you once more and you must turn him away.

Content: gender-neutral reader, based off the Mononoke movie, bit of flirty Kusuriuri, slight angst, talk of marriage, reader once traveled with kusuriuri

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: I really should have rewatched the movie before trying to write for Kon Kusuriuri but unfortunately while at college I have no access to netflix so we're going off the vibes I got when I first watched. I hope you all enjoy!!

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Air flowed against your skin in a whirlwind of florally-spiced scents you knew all too well. Scents that belonged to the brightly dressed man who had appeared beside you almost as if he had been the breeze that had caressed your cheeks. 

“You should leave.” You bluntly spoke, the friendliness you usually offered him nowhere to be found. 

“My, my,” Kusuriuri purred in your ear, the sound vibrating through your body in a way you tried your hardest to ignore. “Have I caught you in the clutches of a sour mood?” You shot him a sharp glare that he only smirked at. 

“You’ve caught me on my way to pick flowers.” 

“And I am still to leave? Let me join you.” You paused and the medicine seller was quick to do the same, his kerria yellow eyes watching you carefully. All too carefully. Like he could see straight into your soul. You knew he might actually be able to, what with his strange abilities and powers. 

“No.” The word came out weaker than you had wished it. You had wished it to be firm. Commanding. For it to be enough explanation as to why he couldn’t join you as he once might have. 

“No?” He questioned with the slightest tilt of his head, his wild, ash-white, and red-tipped hair falling over his skin. Skin so pale it reminded you of the snowfall when you had first met him. You nodded on a shallow swallow. 

“You know why.” He took a cautious step closer. A step you could easily tell him to back off from taking if you wished it…did you wish it? Did you truly wish for him to leave?

“Do I?” You huffed, your grip on the basket in your hands tightening 

“Yes. Don’t play innocent with me.” The peddler stood eerily still. Too still and too calm for the situation. But you knew that’s how he was. Knew that in his line of work, if one wrong move was made, especially one full of emotion, someone else would die. 

“I don’t see how the why should stop me from accompanying you to your garden.” You’re shouldering stooped low at his words, disappointment and frustration beginning to weigh heavy over you.

“You are teasing me.” 

“Me? Teasing?” The corner of his lips pulled lightly upwards. “No, never.” 

“You’re insufferable.” Again he stood very still. Too still. Like he suddenly reverted back to that slab of marble you always thought he had been craved from.

“I don’t see…” You frowned deeply as he started speaking once more. “How the why should stop us from seeing one another? From being…” Yellow-gold eyes moved then. Moved every so slow over your body in a way that always had your stomach sparking. Had it fluttering now despite your weak attempts to stop it. “Friends.” 

“Because the why,” You snapped in an attempt to keep your composure in front of him. “Is marriage. I’m getting married and I can’t be--be--” You huffed, throwing a hand outward in motion towards the surrounding world. “Gallivanting,” 

“Gallivanting?” He chuckled. You ignored him as you continued. 

“around the country with a medicine peddler.” His chuckle faded, but that mischievous smile, which was only deepened by the purple paint covering his top lip, stayed. You knew he was more than just some peddler. Much, much more. But it changed nothing. “It would be a betrayal to my future spouse to continue our friendship.” 

“Who is…?” You narrowed your gaze at him. A gaze that only seemed to further amuse the strange man. 

“I believe you’re missing the entire point.” You pinched at the bridge of your nose as if to ease the growing headache this horrid conversation was going to give you. When you looked back up, you found he was still watching you. Still waiting for an answer to his most recent question. “I am to be married to a Samurai. He is kind-hearted and honorable. Willing to not look too hard into the reason I traveled all over Japan.” 

The medicine seller again watched you. Watched you in a way that made you antsy. 

“I knew of a Samurai,” He started on another cautious step closer to you. “Who only cared for wealth and pretty things he could break.” 

“Do not compare my future spouse to one of your ghost stories.” The medicine seller chuckled but stopped his story as you requested. 

“Will the why stop me from giving you a gift?” You eyed him and all his brightness. Eyed him as he gracefully pulled the wooden box from his back to the ground. “Think of it as…a congratulations.” He finished, kneeling as swiftly as the wind before his crate full of so many oddities. 

You couldn’t help the curiosity that sparked in your chest. Couldn’t help your feet from moving closer and closer till you were stood next to him. Till you were crouching there with him, shoulder pressing against his.

It made you think of time after time you’d knelt next to him like this. It made you… saddened at the thought this could--would be--the last time. 

You watched as his thin fingers pulled open one of the drawers, revealing corked potions and trinkets and incense of all kinds. Watched as long, purple nails grazed over his wares in search of your gift. 

He plucked a squared pouch tucked safely against a vial full of pinkish liquid and extended it your way. Gently, you took it from him, the tips of your fingers warming at the fleeting feel of his skin on yours.

“There are sunflower seeds within.” He spoke on a low, lulled tone. One just loud enough for you and you alone to hear. “Many get them from Russia but,” He tapped lightly at the paper pouch. “These have come straight from the Americas.” You turned the pouch over in your hands this way and that, feeling the small bumps the seeds within created.

“What do they look like?” You asked just as lowley back.

“Like the sun they are named after.” You let your eyes shyly glance toward his face. Let them take in the red, blue, and yellow markings painted over his smooth skin. Let them take in the deep wells of his yellow eyes. Eyes you found yourself trying to burn into the forefront of your memory. Eyes that maybe these flowers would help you remember. Would be his eyes any time you looked upon them. 

“I’m…” Such--regret washed through you then. 

You shouldn’t have returned home.

You shouldn’t have left his side. 

You shouldn’t be driving him away now…but…

You let your regrets guide your hand upward to lay against his cheek. Let guide your thumb to feel over his skin’s warmth. 

Those eyes you wished to remember filled with such longing then. Filled with an understanding you wished they wouldn’t. 

You wished he would beg for you. Plead with you to come away with him. To forget this silly marriage you had wound yourself in and be with him. 

But as he leaned into your touch, rubbed his cheek against your palm like a cat might for its master, you knew he wouldn’t. Knew he respected your decisions and the dutied laid out before you. 

“I will return should you find need for me.” He murmured, eyes drinking in your featured. “No goodbyes.” You forced a smile to your lips. 

“No goodbyes.” You agreed. “Thank you.” He nodded, turning his face to let his nose nuzzle at the heel of your palm. To place a soft, tender kiss to the skin there. A kiss that burned at your flesh and your very soul. One you wished to grab hold of and never let go.

But you pulled away regardless. Pulled away and watched he packed his wares back up. Watched as he looped his arms through their woven straps and watched in agonizing silence as he walked away. Watched as he disappeared over the hill, leaving you with nothing but the sunflowers in hand and the bittersweet memories you wouldn’t long forget.

[fennecfics]

Cuphead Show! King Dice & Devil x Reader preferences (romantic):

Heyyyy I’m gonna be posting more x Reader stuff here. Also some words are censored because Tumblr is a meanie and won’t let me swear in my fanfiction-

The gender for (Y/n) is vague, but it does have menstrual cycle preferences mixed in, along with some talk about these two respecting pronouns and that jazz so, yeah.

Hope it’s a fun read, I might post more of these guys.

Being in a (romantic) relationship with The Devil would include:

• It’s actually hard for him to fall in love or even trust others, so it’ll take a while for him to say “I love you”.

• Though the first time he’ll ever say “I love you” (most likely after a few months of you two dating) it is immediately followed by a scrunch of the face and him going. “That was… strange..” 

• He forces you to live in Hell with him, and only lets you visit Earth on special occasions. Family stuff, friends, but other than that YOU’RE STAYING!!

• He’s so dramatic whenever he has to cut his nails. He’ll run away from you, or hide. Once, while trying to find him to cut his nails, you found him on the ceiling.

• Despite hating his nails being cut, he will literally beg you to paint his nails. He won't just do one color though, he likes to change it up a bit. Sometimes he'll ask for grey, gold, red, but he loves the black nail polish!

• Whenever he has to do stuff that he doesn’t want to do, he tries to argue that he’s the devil and because of that, you can’t tell him what to do.

• One of his favorite activities is burning bibles, so...you have to deal with being woken up to the smell of smoke at 3AM.

• He's still not fond with current technology, but he does seem to enjoy Netflix.

• Devil giving you weird pet names: Darlin', succub!tch, shmoopie, baby-cakes, cow-pie, and tortoise-pigeon (Being the main nickname).

• If you ever need to practice your makeup on someone, Devil won't mind. He likes how it makes him look.

• Surprisingly enough, this guy brushes his teeth regularly. He got them pearly whites. That, and he doesn't want to loose his sharp teeth, they're his favorite, apparently they make him look intimidating.

• Devil is a man of art, very therapeutic for him. He loves to paint, sometimes he’ll want you to pose for him. And he's actually quite quick when it comes to painting.

• Both you and Henchmen helping him whenever he basically gets electrocuted by the sweater. The two of you are practically the only people he trusts, with Dice being the third.

• He doesn't care what gender you are, or if you're trans. If you're still you, and if you're not lying about anything, he won't care. Along with that he also doesn’t KNOW anything about that stuff, so you probably gotta help if you want him to understand.

• Even though he's the devil, he would never want you to feel bad about yourself. He loves you unconditionally, he would kill anyone who makes you feel that way, steal their soul, eat it, then spit it back out ‘cause it’s clearly rotten!

• If you go through the menstrual cycle and are having bad cramps, he gets very…awkward. He’s not very affectionate with others so he has no idea how to comfort people. He’ll most likely just have some of his little demons looking after you for a few days.

• He tries to use correct pronouns, he mostly slips up though, and he won't realize. You just have to be there to correct him for him to actually notice.

Random example:

(He's showing you to someone)

"Yeah, she's really adorable, isn't she?"

"It's 'they'.”

"...AHHH!" *frustrated demon noises*

• He’s not frustrated at you or the fact you use different pronouns, he’s frustrated at himself for not doing it right. So don’t worry.

Being in a relationship with King Dice would include:

• Probably says “I love you” way too fast, and by that I mean on the first date. 

• If you wear makeup he’ll experiment with it whenever you’re asleep. (The masculine urge to wear your partner’s makeup)

• One of his favorite parts of your body happens to be your hands. He loves how perfectly they fit into his. Sometimes he’ll preform a type of show using his hand and your hand as the actors.

• If you go sit in the audience him during Roll The Dice. He'll immediately see you in the crowd and blush for the rest of the show.

• When he knows you're in the audience, he'll say this while announcing to everyone: "Ladies and gentlemen! ..and (Y/n).." (he'll whisper your name under his breath, but loud enough for the microphone to pick it up.)

• King Dice ALSO giving you some (semi)weird pet names: Darling, fuzzy dice, you adorable gambler, my wild card, little poker, and pumpkin.

• The personification of drama. 

• Has a lot of gossip and info on the other famous people of Inkwell. Will tell you this gossip. You will listen. You have no choice-

• This man may seem like he knows how to do shit on his own, but he actually needs help with most things. Such as you having to help with this man's bow-tie every morning, because he just cannot figure it out for the life of him.

• Perfectionist, such a damn perfectionist. He won't go on with his day without him looking perfectly chipper, and he also spends hours in the shower. Really making sure to run up those water bills.

• A little sensitive about his age. If you ask him about it, he’ll say "that's not important" which is an oddly a creepy answer-

• If you wake up early, you'll find Dice in the bathroom just looking at himself in the mirror with a blank stare. If you actually enter the bathroom, he'll be so terrified that he jumps INTO the shower and closes the curtain to hide himself.

• He's mostly insecure about his pips, or dots. He knows he's getting old, because his color is fading. So...he buys lipstick to cover the faded coloring. But you smudged it once while he was kissing you, and he reacted like he was dying.

• He fiddles with his mustache when he's nervous and yet hates if tell him it makes him look like a villain.

• Much like his boss, if you go through the menstrual cycle he gets ungracefully awkward. But he tries to be very casual about it, despite his awkwardness being obvious as hell.

• “Oh, it’s that week?” Silent for a second. “Do you need me to get you anything or ..no?”

• Will buy you everything you need. And since stuff like tampons were fairly new in the 1930s and therefore most likely a tad expensive, thankfully he does have the money for it.

• If reminded, will carry some on him for you. If reminded that is, I’m putting emphasis on “IF REMINDED” for a f—king reason! Guy’s on autopilot all day, he’s famous but also has pretty much everything done for him, and so he doesn’t have to think about much.

• If not reminded he will completely forget and therefore freak the hell out if asked if for some.

• Like The Devil, he has no idea what being Non-binary means, or Bisexual, or anything related to that. I’m not saying he’s straight….He’s not, he just doesn’t know there are words for stuff like that other than ‘homosexual’ and a few other words I can’t mention-

• So, he'll mess up a few times when trying to use the correct pronouns, except he'll correct himself very VERY quickly. 

• "He- THEY.. are my partner. I said they, of course I did. I would never say anything other than they.” Silence for a few seconds before then saying in a much more serious tone: “I said they.”

• He cares. He’s just stupid/j

[petit-bunbun]

sorry,,, DAY 7 is late, i didn't manage to make another decent illustratiuons.. i just wanted to used that day to show off my fucked up little project. But it's been making ma anxious, because They're bordering on OCs in it. If anyone it familliar with the Candela Obscura univers, from critical role. this is it. Matt, Frank and the rest of the defenders (from the netflix adaptations) are Candela obscura members. it's all still ongoing and a rough sketch. but it's really dear to me. [image ID : the first image is a colored digital reference drawing of Matt Murdock. There's a full body of him standing up, a hand on his hip the other on his chest. He is wearing a 1920s inspired Burgundy red suit. without the jacket. With a fray shirt, and a white tie. Gold accent and jewlery. He has a thick moustache on. Next to the full body there a floating head of matt, showing off his bushed back, a an empty eye socket, the other eye is white blank. Finaly there a bust shot of him, his head looking up, he is frowning. He's wearing a striped red suit vest. a floral red tie and a desaturated pink shirt. His hand goig out, his Rosary wrapped around it. There is a few written up details on the image. " Matthew Michael Natchios Murdock" Natchios is crossed out. "35yo Trans man. Pansexual. Law professor and lawyer. Widower. Irish-Latino." /.End ID] [image ID : The second image, is a rough, unfinished uncolored reference sheet of Frank Castle. The first sketch is of a small full body of the man. showing a really square overall shaped, because of his stance and long coat. The second sketch is a Bust shot of him. intensely looking at the viewer. his hair is flowing around for movement. highlighted is a long double scar on the left side of his head. He's swearing an open shirt, sleeves pushed up on his lebows, an undershirt and a shoulder gun holster. the last sketch is more cleaned and define and is a full body of Frank. He's wearing a sweater, sleeves pushed up at the elbows, with a tip cut, showing lots of his chest. high waisted pants, keept up by one suspender. He's wearing practical boot, laces undone. /.End ID]

[charles-leclerizz]

EPISODE 01 : Start your engine

🏁 EPISODE AGE RATING : U/A 16+ [contaings swearing]

🏁 GENRE : Drama, Action, Sports, Romance

🏁 WORD COUNT : 10 K [ 10 , 366 WORDS ]

🏁 MUSIC SUMMARY : THE GREATEST BY SIA, PUMPT IT - BLACK EYED PEAS

🏁 CREDIT [S] : "BEHIND THE SCENES" BANNER, NETFLIX PLAY BAR BY ME [@charles-leclerizz], TEXT DIVIDERS BY @cafekitsune

🏁 TAGS : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon], OTHERS [@weekendlusting, @woozarts, @mellowarcadefun, @paintedbypoetry, @33-81, @kazuha-pista-badam, @inejghafawifesblog,d3kstar], IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK !

DIRECTORS CUT : first episode children, better get soome snacks and a drink, and i highly reccomend looking at the masterlist, aisha's profile and the porsche f1 team links, since they will explain everything. It is also recommendeed you first read the trailer, which is once again found on the masterlist below.

Masterlist · 🪷 Aisha · 🪷 Porsche F1 Team · 🪷

The opening credits of the series begin to play, revealing bold block letters reading,

“Bahrain 2025”

And in the background, the black fades to reveal an aerial view of the landmark circuit, a staple of the history that defines Formula One. As the shot zooms in, we see the morning mist rolling over the grey, freshly re-laid tarmac of the track leading up to the garages of each of the 10 teams, most of them shutdown and blocked away from prying eyes. Though, as the camera moves forward, the view widens and we can see at the very end of the line, the Porsche garage emitting a yellow glow.

The acrylic entrance leaks hues of gold whilst we finally approach the opening where we see Aisha jumping in place, a set of Bose x Porsche headphones sat on her ears, the white body and metallic automobile logo on the muffs bouncing with her movements.

She looks up from her focussed point beneath her, facing the camera that zooms in and captures the determined flare within the pools of her eyes.

 The music, already beginning its powerful bass bursts, dims and briefly we can hear her laboured breathing as she stretches her hands above her and unzips the tight athleisure jacket that she had worn previously for warmth. The adidas logo crumples as she throws it away, revealing a cropped sports bra, white with grey stripes at the sides containing an embroidered Porsche logo on her left breast.

Soon enough, the music comes blaring back and the camera merely turns to follow her body as she begins to run away from the safety of her team enclosure. The scene ends with her exiting the shot, running down the initial straight of the first ever track she will race as a formula one driver.

“Aisha, what drives you in the world of Formula One?” A deep, cryptic voice off camera asks the driver sitting in shot. She smiles menacingly and leans back against her seat, her hands planted on her elegantly crossed legs as she adjusts the low cut, ‘V’ collar of her waistcoat, the colour matching the iconic Porsche guards’ red, of the rest of her risqué pantsuit.

“What drives me?” She chuckles, a low, raspy amusement that reverberates against the stormy backdrop behind her, “The competition, the domination, it runs in my blood;” She leans forward, as if the camera crew were privy to her obvious need to achieve. Aisha’s thin, golden bangles on each of her wrist’s jingle as she goes to adjust her volumous hair, “it’s not about the winning, it’s about obliterating the finish line.” She shrugs nonchalantly, despite the aggressive competitiveness that crackles in the air.

The voice chuckles at her threatening demeanour, yet continues, “Some media outlets commented on your driving style, since F2 and F3. They say it’s violent. What’s your response?”

Aisha bites her lip, thinking on the best way to diplomatically answer the question, despite her need to curse the people who doubted her.

Instead, she sighs with faux disappointment and her wide, mascara rimmed eyes move down to her rouge and gold nails whilst one of her fingers comes to slip beneath the platinum stud that sits comfortably on the left of her nose.

“Violent?” She asks, her voice barely above a murmur, “They could’ve been more descriptive.” She rolls her eyes once before inhaling, “Try...relentless. When I’m on track, behind the wheel, it’s war. And I aim to be the last one standing, if you can’t get with the program, move out the way. Cause I’m here to win.”

Her promise of no mercy is palpable as she shifts minutely in her seat, tapping her nails against one another whilst waiting for next question.

“What about the rest of the grid?” The interviewer prompts, treading carefully with his words, “Any words for them?”

Aisha scoffs under her breath, uncrossing her legs and flipping over the golden dainty necklace that rests within her exposed cleavage, the glinting logo of her team catches the light whilst she adjusts herself.

“Why words? They’ll know what I’m here for when I pass them. They’ll feel it, the fear, the resignation. I’m a whirlwind, all they can do is get swept up in it, this season, I am not racing against them, their teams or even their car; I’m racing against their hatred of losing to me.”

She smiles at the camera, eyes crinkling at the sides as her nose scrunches, a pure juxtaposition to the threat that peeled out of her mouth like scalding, hot water.

“Before we end. For your fans, what do you want them to know?”

“Hold on for your life, they’re about to witness history on the track. Cause I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to fuck shit up.” Aisha grins wickedly and laughing loudly at the flurry of reactions off camera from the crew that stood behind the myriad of wires.

Three different scenes are overlayed one another, the first being of Lewis Hamilton, giggling at someone off screen before focussing his large doe eyes onto the interviewer who also sat behind the large camera.

The second being 3X world champion Max Verstappen, who sits heavily onto the provided stool and sips at the can of the sugary energy drink in his hand, Max stared at the camera, a bored sheen coating his crystalline blue irises as the third, and final driver’s scene overtakes his.

This time Charles Leclerc enters the identical set, the Ferrari golden boy had narrowly escaped his fans-who’s screams of joy could be heard in the background as he waved a final time and pocketed a bright red, branded Ferrari pen whilst sighing, glancing around haphazardly.

“Lewis”

Hamilton perks up at his name, smiling serenely, prompting the interviewer to continue.

“The world of Formula one is ablaze about new entry, Aisha Patel. Do you think, as a seasoned professional, she has what it takes to compete?”

Lewis whistles lowly, leaning back against his seat and wraps his arms around himself, “Damn- starting strong huh?” He snorts once before re-adjusting his posture, “Y’know, we’ve heard of her up here. And she’s talented, but obliterating F3 and F2 does not directly auto-translate to domination on our track.”

“Is that scepticism that I hear?” The interviewer chases after the hesitation in the driver’s voice, like a dog after a juicy bone.

“Call it...” Lewis arches an eyebrow as he mulls over his words, “Healthy cautiousness. I’m waiting to see how she handles the pressure after the lights go out.”

“Max”

Max hums lazily, as though he had one too many bubbling seltzers that sat, pristine on the refreshments table, “Yeah?”

“Aisha Patel.”

Max clenches his jaw at the sound of her name.

“She’s said to rival your aggressiveness on track, what are your thoughts on her joining your world?”

Max scoffs at the seemingly preposterous statement, “What about her? She’s aggressive, so what? It’s skill that matters here in the big leagues. Give a baby a steering wheel to a supercharged car, that’ll be aggressive. I’m not holding my breath for her. “

“That sounds like someone who’s threatened?” He probes the already on edge driver.

“A threat?” Max chortles as if someone had offered him a mere penny for his thoughts, “I haven’t been threatened since kindergarten. I’ll let her have her try at the status quo, take one for the team and all.”

“Charles”

The alarmingly red adorned man tilts his head inquisitively at the interviewer, his gentle smile popping his dimples.

“Miss. Patel has been said to be relentless on track, throwing caution to the wind. Your thoughts on her violent debut?”

Charles hums as he nods his head, “It’s nice to see fresh blood on track, bonne, she’s certainly caught people’s attention. Let’s see if she’s all bark and no bite.” He mummers the French praise before shrugging at the end of his sentence.

“You’re excited to compete against her?”

“Of course- who wouldn’t be? New team, new driver. The more varied the sport, the more interesting.” He answers neutrality laced into his words, despite the excited glint in his eye.

“Thank you for your insights.” The interviewer thanks the men in their tapes, each of them reciprocating with equal politeness.

“Of course,” Lewis grins and claps his hands, turning to start chatting once again as he dismounts from the chair, already walking away.

“No problem,” Max nods his head once, stepping down from his seat whilst receiving a fresh can of Red Bull.

“Cheers mate,” The camera captures Charles leaning forward to shake the interviewer’s hand whilst patting his shoulder, before detaching to go and talk to the gaggle of Ferrari personnel who had gathered within the filming shed.

The 2025 drivers had gathered onto the Bahrain track, the relentless mid-day sun beating down on them as a few of them had the pleasure of black umbrellas being held above them, whilst other’s held small hand-fans in the large palms, basking in the cool breeze that the battery powered trinket provided.

Aisha walked out, her racing shoes tapping against the tarmac as she made her way towards the others. A few Porsche employees trailed behind her, one of them stayed closer behind her, offering her a metallic, grey hand-held fan along with a chilled bottle of water.

“Thanks,” She murmured, brushing the hair that managed to escape her ponytail, “It’s fucking boiling.” Aisha complained, tugging at her fireproofs whilst another employee came up to her, patting her face with a setting powder as an attempt to dry her skin.

“Can’t really help it, love.” The media admin, Sarah, pointed out removing her focus from one of the jittery interns to the driver, “Now- you’re going to walk out, fans are going to see you. Are you sure you don’t want to hide your face right now?”

Aisha cracked open the bottle in her hand, having pressed the condensation coated plastic against her forehead long enough. She faced away from 2-3 people surrounding her to peak past the acrylic barrier, onto the track, where the rest of the drivers stood haphazardly scattered around the starting position boxes that had been freshly painted onto the concrete polymer.

“It’s fine, I think I’ve already heard all their opinions on me.” Aisha groaned, fanning her face again as she kicked a non-existent pebble beneath her toe, “What could go wrong?”

She peaked out again, like a tense meerkat, only to be surprised with her teammate, Pierre chatting with his former partner, Esteban Ocon. His racing suit was already zipped up fully as he basked in the fan’s unintelligible shouts and squeals, the thick, grey fabric stretched over his body nicely as the different sponsor logos morphed to the wrinkles and dents of the cloth.

“He’s already out there.” She hissed, “Making me look like shit.” Aisha banged the back of her crown against the wall that provided her with the much-needed shelter, from both the sweltering rays and the assessing gazes of the crowd above.

“Nonsense lovey.” Sarah assured her, picking at the hem of her fireproofs and pressing a few of the sweaty, stray strands of hair back into position, “Pedro’s just catching up with some friends.”

“Pierre.” Aisha corrected, pulling up her identical suit from hanging lowly from her waist to her shoulders, thankfully she still had time to leave it unzipped.

“Whatever.” She flapped her hand dismissively, “Baguette man isn’t doing anything you won’t have to.”

“Okay,” Aisha breathed out, keeping her lips taught and still as her rouge lipstick was touched up by another Porsche jersey adorned worker, “My helmet?” She looked around, patting herself, as though it would appear out of thin air.

Sarah looked around her surrounding, panicked, before snorting and pointing to the ledge behind the group, “There ya go babe.” She leaned past Aisha to knock on the head gear.

“I’m a mess,” Aisha whined, picking up her helmet whilst rubbing the glossy exterior with an open palm, she runs her fingers over her last name that’s printed on the back.

“A hot mess.” Sarah corrected her, hooking their elbows together whilst ushering forward the teenage interns next to them- their hands shaking with apprehension as they gripped the phones in their hands, the gadget recording each moment.

Aisha stilled slightly as her foot contacted the tarmac, the crowd already hushing with undivided interest on her mere shadow. She could feel anxious sweat begin to build up on the nape of her neck, flushing her face and glistening against her skin.

Finally, after a few minutes of inner turmoil, she allowed Sarah to guide her out within the crowd of other team’s media escorts and her fellow drivers. The grandstands erupted with chaos, the rushing of footsteps- scrambling to take the first photos of her in her debut, the unravelling of flags, the patriotic colours burning against the pristine plexi-glass barriers and multiple little girls shouting happily at her image.

Aisha forced a smile onto her face, the unexpected praise soothed her blushing ears as she waved up at the viewing boxes.

“Well, well. Nobody’s ever screamed like that for me.” A voice creeped up behind her, causing Aisha to whip around with a cautionary hand on her chest.

A cheeky grin greeted her, “Lando” Aisha breathed out, leaning to the side of his stature to acknowledge the rabid paparazzi behind of them with a tight-lipped nod.

“Hey,” He greeted her, bouncing on the balls of his feet and tapping the top of his helmet that sat squeezed between his arm and waist, “You nervous?” Lando tipped his head boyishly, his curls falling over his forehead, hazel eyes softening as he watched her.

“Not really,” Aisha lied, “do you need to pee?” She looked at him anxiously, watching as he stopped bouncing like a full bladdered toddler, and stood still. Lando chuckled under his breath and opened his mouth to answer, until he lurched forward under the weight of a heavy arm that hung from his shoulders.

“Little Lando Norris.” Daniel chuckled, rubbing his knuckles over the younger’s head, and snorted when Lando pushed his hand away stumbling out from his hold, “Already chatting up the newbie?” Daniel looks at Aisha with a smirk, “I think his pubes finally grew in.” He faux whispered, his voice gritty as he winked.

“I’m not chatting up anyone,” Lando smacked Daniel between the eyes before walking backwards, next to Aisha, “Just catching up.” He shrugged, side-eyeing her, gauging a reaction from her steely expression. Luckily, he got one, Aisha’s eyes widened slightly, her eyelashes fluttering to match her hearts faster pace as she slowly turned her head to meet his eyes.

“Catching up?” Daniel inquired, suddenly interested, “You guys know each other from before?”

“Yeah, we karted together.” Aisha crossed her arms over one another, before accepting a cold can of thumbs up from a staff member, “Still remember how he shit his pants.” She mumbled.

“I did not!”

“What the fuck.”

Both men exclaimed at the same time, Lando blushing a furious red and Daniel cackling loudly- leading to not only the attention from the other drivers that stood in a 200m vicinity but also Aisha snorting out her drink from her nose.

“I did not shit my pants.” Lando gritted out the last part, to stop prying ears of the other men approaching to become privy to his humiliation.

“You did though?” Aisha arched a brow at him, “I passed by you on the last lap, therefore winning-“ She poked her outstretched pinkie from her can into his puffed up chest, “And that made you so mad, that you shit your pants.”

“Oh god,” Daniel wheezed, taking support on his shorter teammate who had trotted up to join the conversation. Yuki scrunched up his face, tilting away from the force of the elder before looking at Aisha sympathetically,

“You excited?” He grinned slightly, showing off the gap between his front teeth.

“Definitely. How could I not be?” Aisha looked down at Yuki, shifting her weight slightly as an attempt to lower herself, “The crippling pressure? The thousands of viewers? The weight of both of my country’s on my shoulders?” Aisha blew a nonchalant breath from between her lips whilst waving her hand in front of her face, “No biggie.”

The three men stared at her, blank expressions on their face, one of them pressed their lips together, smacking them and creating an equally awkward “popping” noise for the group to bask in.

“I meant more like, the race and stuff..” Yuki mumbled, scratching the back of his head before yelping when Daniel smacked the nape of his neck, “But yeah, what you said works too, fo sho, no doubt, no doubt.” He corrected himself hastily.

“Fo sho?” A fourth voice chimed in, this time with a French lilt to his words, “Who’s got yuki talking like that?”

Aisha looked away amusedly from the smaller driver to the voice, her eyes widened at the blaring red that adorned the man in front of her.

“My period wasn’t due until after the race.” She commented, meeting the man’s intense gaze, “Are you here to ask if I’d like to continue watching?” She tilted her head innocently.

“Ah, I see.” He scrunches his nose at her, “You’ve got our baby Yuki talking like that.”

“Hey, fuck you man.” Yuki protested, throwing his arms up with a huff.

“I know you want to,” The seemingly french-man retorted back with a shameful wink,

“You wink like you’re trying not to cry.” Lando pointed out.

Aisha clapped her hands at her revelation, “That’s what it looked like!”

Lando shrugged, as though it was obvious.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’m not here to start the next French revolution or whatever-“ She mumbled, holding out a polite hand as a civil greeting.

Though, she was not met with his acceptance immediately, instead the three men surrounding her grimaced and hissed through their teeth- Daniel shook his hand out like he had just burned himself. Aisha looked around, oblivious to the reason for their reactions and jolted her hand out to the man.

“I’m from Monaco,” He snarked, accepting her hand begrudgingly, “Not France.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” She shrugged in reply.

“Charles” he gritted out, squeezing Aisha’s hand tightly- a poor attempt to veil his distaste, “Charles Leclerc, Ferrari driver.”

“Really?” Aisha squeezed harder, taking a step back to roll her eyes over his bright red suit, “Couldn’t tell.” She snorted.

“Right, well” Lando coughed, reaching forward to peel away both of their hands simultaneously, “This was fun. Meeting new people.” He took Aisha’s hand in his but dropped it quickly when she looked down at their conjoined fingers. Lando coughed, the tips of his ears blushing a furious scarlet, before he shifted to glance at his oh-so-interesting boots.

Luckily, the situation was saved by one of the administration workers clapping their hands and speaking robotically into a megaphone, “drivers, please make your way to your positions.”

The seasoned drivers around her began to exit their conversations and walk towards the bleachers style setup at the start line of the circuit. At least 12 black, metallic chairs sat in a row behind a small plaque, displaying bold white font that detailed the circuit name and the iconic formula one logo sprawled along the edges of the display board.

“Didn’t need this fucking helmet.” Aisha hissed to herself, jogging to one of the Porsche employees that stood at the edge of the camera shot, handing off the piece of equipment, before making her way back to the crowd.

She zipped up her suit and removed the piece of elastic from her hair, letting the noir waves fall down her shoulders as she scanned the already in place men in front of her, thankfully Pierre waved at her and ushered for her to take place next to him, standing behind the pair of Mercedes drivers who were snickering at some joke the other had just told.

Aisha huffed, clasping her hands behind her waist whilst jerking her head side to side due to odd strands of hair tickling her eyes and nose, before she could exasperatedly wipe her face with her hand, a pair of fingers had come and brushed against her nose. Aisha minutely followed the soft pads across her cheek before trailing her gaze up to the origin, Lando met her eyes, his own irises blown out as his hand lingered by her cheek- his thumb twitching across her skin before he coughed and re-took his position.

“Thank you,” She murmured beneath her breath, neutralising her face against the onslaught of obnoxious camera shutters and piercing sun rays.

“No problem,” Lando nodded slightly, his eyes flicking back to her face, tracing her features with his shy stare, “You did great in qualifying, yesterday.” He hastily complimented.

Aisha tried to fight against the blush that made its way up her neck, “thank you,” she snipped, pressing her lips together as a futile attempt at hiding her girlish smile.

Lando huffed out a laugh, turning his neck to grin at her, “anytime.”

Finally, the pictures had come to a stop, and the long-barrelled cameras were packed away and the grid were herded to a large, open roof truck. Another admin worker trailed behind the last driver into the pen-like vehicle, stepping up the stairs to hang back from the railing after locking the gate, “everyone’s here?’ she asked, giving a once over the flocked in men, and woman.

“Aisha, you’ll be first to talk to Lawrence,” She met eyes with Aisha, who was already waving to the rowdy fans who had collected at the banisters of the grandstands, “And then it’ll be whoever’s closest.”

The lady nodded once when the drivers thanked her, then she caught Aisha’s gaze again and she smiled reassuringly, “See you guys around.” She waved and dismounted from the railing with a jump.

The large platform began to move as the truck silently hummed to life, Aisha moved from her comfortable position at the back of the area-leaning against the matte, black railing towards Lawrence who smiled excitedly at her approaching figure. As she knitted through the small groups of 3 drivers littered in her path, she continued to wave at the fans who shouted and screamed at each subtle view they managed to glimpse of her.

“Aisha! Hi!” Lawrence greeted her, offering his hand for her to shake and swivelled around to collect a microphone.

“Hello, hello.” Aisha grinned back, accepting the long piece of tech from him, comically rotating it in her hands observing the porous black material that had been painted with a flaring red to create the F1 logo.

“So, you’re finally here! The big leagues, and yesterday’s qualifying must’ve been very exciting.  We’ve all been so blown away with Porsche’s car, and your performance. P5 ! Amazing. Walk us through what you’re feeling right now?”

“I mean, it’s a confidence booster of course, qualifying top 5- but I think that along with that it’s proving to myself and other little girls like me that it isn’t about who you are, but what you can do, regardless of gender or background.” Aisha nods once, leaning her elbow against the railing to crane her neck around and take in the track that lay ahead of the speedily moving vehicle.

“It’s great that you can showcase your talent and inspire young minds, but with that said- there’s obviously a pressure that comes with entering such a male-dominated sport.”

Aisha stilled slightly, her eyes wide and unblinking for a beat, “I mean, there’s always going to be extra expectation on you when you’re breaking barriers. The way I see it, this is an opportunity to pave the way for future generation, so really, its fuels my success and goes to show that gender or race, doesn’t correlate to your ability on track.”

“Well said, and while we’re on the topic of your determination, whilst being in the spotlight almost 24/7 and the battles on track, how do you maintain focus? It must be overwhelming.”

Aisha chuckled, turning to look at the other drivers, a few of them had tuned into her interview not-so-subtle whilst others were still deep in conversation, “I mean, when you’re battling against jumbo sized toddlers, and then being put under the loving spotlight of the media, I agree, it can be pretty overwhelming sometimes. But then I remind myself, why am I here? What am I here to do? And at the end of the day, it’s just me, the car, and the track, so I really don’t mind it too much.”

She shrugged at the end of her sentence, flipping her hair over her shoulder before unzipping the thick race suit. Revealing her tight, fireproofs beneath, the Indian flag sat proudly on her shoulder whilst her team logo lay sprawled across her chest along with the sponsor logos littered across the rest of her front.

“You make it seem so easy Aisha,” Lawrence laughed, oblivious to the tension that had gathered in the young woman’s shoulders and the tightness of her eyes that had increased tenfold throughout their conversation, “Last question before I let you go, to all of  your young fans gathered here today-“ he pointed up to the bleachers that came into view on the straight that the truck was approaching, where multiple younger children stood, jumping in their spots as their Porsche hats bobbled on their heads, “-what would you tell them? Especially those who are most likely facing challenges in their racing journey?”

Aisha smiled serenely, imagining herself in the seats that sat so far away from her, what her younger self would long to hear to make her racing career just a little bit easier, “To all the younger dreamers, never let anyone else tell you your limits. They may say to stop, but you need to believe that you can keep going. Chase your passions relentlessly because if you do, then the only barriers will be the ones we allow ourselves to see. Keep fighting, because one day, you’ll see that you’re right where you need to be.”

“Wow” He sighed, hand on his heart, “That inspired me.” Lawrence laughed heartily, “Finally, maybe just a few words in your native language, now from what I know you spent at least 3 years living in India? For your education?” He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her response.

Aisha nodded happily, “Yes, I did! so you want a message in Hindi? There are so many languages in my country, but sadly I’m only fluent in Hindi, despite being Gujarati myself.”

“That would be great, please do.”

“Sabse pehle, main apne sabhi fans ko bahut saara pyaar dena chahti hoon. Aap log mere liye inspiration ho, aur main hamesha aapke saath hoon. Aap sabka support mere liye bahut important hai, aur thank you kehna chahti hoon.”

[First of all, I want to give a lot of love to all my fans. You are an inspiration for me, and I am always with you. All your support is very important for me, and I would like to say thank you.]

“Amazing, thank you so much Aisha,” Lawrence gently took the microphone away from her and offered a grateful smile before looking towards Fernando who had made his way towards the pair.

“No problem,” Aisha stepped away, patting the eldest driver’s back once before turning away and making her way towards Lando, who had already been looking towards her, waiting for her to approach him, along with Oscar and Logan who were engrossed in conversation.

The scene fades away from the three seasoned drivers and in the blackness another title appears, “RACE DAY” and following this the Porsche garage is finally revealed for the first time, much like the other teams the hard acrylic surfaces were decorated with the team colours and many engineers, technicians and workers were rushing around whilst other’s begaan to detach the hydraulic tubes from the cars in preparation for the first race of the season.

Before the first car revved up with anticipation, the halo was shown displaying the driver number and surname, “GASLY 10” and with that, the tubes were removed and the driver’s engineer pulled away, removing the iPad from Pierre’s gloved hands, allowing him to speed off towards his starting position.

The camera pans over to the second car that is yet to exit the garage, the driver within seemed to be hurriedly re-reading the car statistics, consuming that data over and over again, the scene rotates from the back of the car towards the front, where from beyond the middle column of the halo we get a glimpse of the large helmet following her heads sporadic movements, the Indian and British flag printed onto the front side of her head gear, peeped in and out of view as she handed away the tablet and she pulled on her gloves that lay waiting on the chassis in front of her.

With a confident thumbs up, she followed one of the Porsche employee’s guiding movements towards the other racers who sat in their cars, waiting for the start. Maintaining an even pace, she passed by the other cars, the exposed carbon fibre of Esteban’s Alpine in P10 and bright orange of Oscar’s McLaren in P7. She found her box waiting for her car as she pulled in and slowly removed her foot from the acceleration as she joined the grid in waiting for the formation lap.

The music faded away, to allow Aisha’s monologue to play over the still of the onboard camera, “This is it, I thought to myself, all the years of hard work and sacrifices have led up to this moment. This isn’t like F3 or F2-“ the live replay of the sleek interior of her F1 car is replaced by exhilarating moments of on track battles from her previous racing leagues, “- this is F1, where dreams are trampled on and shattered if you can’t keep up.” Her voice trembles slightly as we hear her take a deep breath in and the cars are overtaken with a new scene.

We see Aisha, in the same deep red sultry pantsuit, her side profile contrasted in the shadows as her chest rises and falls, “I remember the moment exactly, I told myself ‘Aisha, soak it in, the cheers and the feeling of other’s dreams, their expectations, cause it can make or break you.” She laughs incredulously at herself, “dramatic I know.”

“But it was electrifying, the whole thing, the thrum of the engines, the anticipation. I have never felt anything like it. But it’s everything I’ve trained for and everything I’ve wanted since I was little and racing go-karts.” Snippets of the raging, overwhelming sound of spluttering go-karts overtake the screen as one after another, we see young Aisha, drowning in an oversized sponsored uniform cut through the chequered ribbon.

“To the other drivers on the grid, it’s just the first race of the season, but for me, it’s my debut, it’s the first and only chance to prove that I’m meant to be here.” Aisha claps her hands, and the bursting flashes of her karting days cease, and we’re brought back to her, sitting in the tall stool, legs crossed over elegantly as she waves her heel back and forth, “The countdown began, and it’s lights out and away we go.”

The red lights above the Bahrain track fade away one by one, Crofty’s voice is matched with hers, and just as the sound of the engines crescendo, the scene ends.

“Right Lando- “

The young British man makes his way into the stool, wobbling slightly as he flails his hands before rocking back to stability. He lets out a relieved breath and crosses his arms over his chest, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with the golden, volt bracelet on his wrist the Luis Vuitton logo glinting in the light from his absent-minded movements.

“Hi, yes, I’m here.” Lando looked up at the interviewer, his eyes bouncing between the 3-4 different camera’s capturing him from odd angles, “Which-“he pointed at one of them, “-which one am I looking at?”

The interviewer laughed before leaning forward and tapping the lens of the middle-most camera, “This one.”

Lando breathed out, “great” before adjusting the pillowing fabric of his hoodie and stared straight into the glass barrel in front of him, “I’m Lando Norris, and I race for McLaren Formula one team.”

“We ehm we didn’t need that. It- it’s different from Drive to Survive,”

Lando cringed and rubbed the back of his head, causing the bracelet to ride up beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, “My bad- “

“Don’t worry about it, Now-“The sound of cue cards being shuffled could be heard, “Onto the first question, we’ve heard rumours about you and Aisha, especially during your karting days, care to elaborate?”

Lando sucks air through his teeth as he smirks, “Me and Aisha…” He looks down to his hands, fingers finding purchase on the angled charm of his bracelet, “We go way back, I mean, it was either me or her who were winning the races, she was,” He sighs heavily, his eyes starry as he looks back up to the camera, “She was, no, she is everything.”

“Can’t help but notice the bracelet that you have on, anything significant?”

“It’s symbolic, I guess?but nothing too big.” He shrugs it off, hiding away the jewellery from prying eyes.

The interviewer presses their lips together, humming whilst shuffling the cards once again, “Right, of course, but some fans have already started to notice that you and she are…close.”

“Close? We’ve always been close, it’s like electric with her, it’s hard not to be attached to her talent.” Lando smirks playfully, winking at the camera, “Karting with her was so intense, we pushed each other to the limit, and I will always hold her and those memories close to my heart.”

“Seems like obsession,” They laugh.

“Oh, it most definitely is, I mean, have you seen her?” Lando flourishes dramatically with his hands, as though the woman was sitting right next to him.

We are brought back to the first driver’s briefing of the season, mere days before the Bahrain Grand Prix, Aisha had just sat down next to Pierre and began to chat amicably with her new teammate, bouts of laughter erupting from the pair momentarily.

The camera pans from the bonding partners to Lando, still hiding his head between his palms in embarrassment, though from between his ringed fingers we see his emerald irises peeking through the gaps, staring thoughtfully at the enrapturing driver who was currently fiddling with the van clef, indigo bracelets that shimmered around her wrist.

Oscar, who was also curiously watching the woman jogged Lando, snapping the man out of his trance, “Mate- you’re drooling,” He poked his teammate’s cheek.

Lando slapped away the finger that prodded his face, “I am not.”

“Whatever you say,” Oscar hummed, turning his attention back to the administrator who was flipping through a few data filled papers, bringing their mouth closer to the bendable microphone. Oscar leaned into Lando, bumping their shoulders together, “Just be careful.”

Aisha breathed out a sigh, capping the black, matte Bulgari pen, slipping it into the awkwardly small purse that hung from her shoulder. She slammed the driver’s door of her car, having just finished a load of signing and smiling with fans, her main objective was to get through the security scanners peacefully.

“Hey stranger,” A voice came up behind her, tapping her arm.

“Lando,” Aisha tried to contain the quiver in her voice, “I thought you already got in.” She adjusted the neckline of her top, the tight sleeves hugged her shoulders and left her skin exposed to the warm sun.

“I did, I just needed something from my car and then I saw you,” He grinned at her, tapping his key card against the scanner, walking seamlessly through the rotating barrier, “You look like you’re about to walk a runway.”

Aisha laughed, tucking a straightened lock of hair behind her ear, “Thanks, you look…” Aisha assessed his outfit, a pair of light blue baggy, Levi’s and one of his own merch hoodies, “normal.” She cringed at her unnecessary honesty.

Yet, Lando just laughed and nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah- compared to you.”

Aisha continued to walk through the paddock, the British driver at her side whilst she waved to those personnel that passed by. She looked down at her own clothes, a neat, navy, off-the shoulder top that hugged her chest in all the right places was tucked into a grey mini-skirt, compliments of one of the many brand ambassadors of her team, the item was paired with a thin brown, gold buckled belt along with knee-high go-go boots.

“You could say that” She conceded, adjusting the golden Porsche chain that clung to her neck, “I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” Lando pocketed his hands.

“I you wanted to get dinner. For old times’ sake?” Aisha leaned forward on one foot, tilting her head hopefully before coming to a stop and waiting for his response.

Lando beamed widely, his eyes sparkling, “Definitely, I would be an absolute idiot to turn you down.”

Aisha blushed and looked down at the bracelets on her wrist, multiple layered golden chains which reflected light against her face in the most euphoric way, “Great, I’ll ju-“

“AISHA, oh my god it’s really her, AISHA!”

A shrill, young voice erupted from behind the pair, and a group of 3-4 young girls came running up to the pair. Aisha laughed to herself, plucking out the pen once more.

“Hello,” Aisha greeted the pre-teens who surrounded her, two of them dressed in a signature papaya orange whilst the other two sported metallic, silver Porsche merch, “You guys look so good!”

She accepted the hats and odd poster that the girls shyly handed her, “We’re so excited to see you race! You’re the only one who looks like us.” One of them spoke, her copper toned, youthful cheeks bobbed up with her smile as her long, black ponytail weaved with her excited movements.

“That’s so sweet, I think I might just win the race for you.” Aisha opened her arm for the girl to step into as they took a photo.

“Ehm, Lando, could we get an autograph as well,” Another one asked, already unfurling a second poster along with presenting the enraptured male with a sharpie.

“Absolutely! How could I resist?” Lando accepted the pen and began to sign the poster along with some newly presented items that the other two girls had produced.

“Thank you, guys, so much!” Aisha waved off the girls and turned back to Lando, already handing over her phone for him to enter in his number.

The young fans were squealing on their way back to their parents, who were just as excited for their young daughter’s interaction, “Did you guys see the bracelet?”

“What bracelet?” Another one asked, carefully rolling up her poster and handing it to her father, who tucked it under his arm and offered his hand for her to take.

“Lando’s, the one he wore for the whole of last season…” She adjusted her cap, looking confusedly at her three friends.

“Oh…I didn’t.”

“Neither did I.”

The screen faded away from Lando, sitting with his teammate whilst gawking at Aisha and we’re brought back to the present, the on-board camera of the Porsche is aimed at the lights that have just gone dark and all at once, a symphony of rubber against concrete fills the scene.

Aisha navigated turn one with ease, emerging from the throng of cars still in P5, her grip tightened on the steering wheel as she focussed every ounce within her body on the track ahead. The bright spotlights above her cast a blinding hue over the grandstands, illuminating the eager fans from around the world, their flags waved in their air as they watched with anticipation when she approached Lewis from behind, pressuring the world champion ahead as they weaved into the next turn.

Aisha aimed for the apex, seeing the slightest gap for her to slip past, as she pointed the head of her car towards the opening, she held her breath and pressed on the throttle. Aisha lurched backwards as she could feel the crackles of her under-board hit the track with each increase in speed she made, yet she managed to dodge the Mercedes car and fly down the straight, maintaining her tyres as best as she could.

The radio thrummed to life in her ear as her race engineer, James, began to speak, “Great work with Lewis, already around 1.15 behind you. Take care of your tyres for now and defend.”

Aisha breathed heavily as she continued to meet the corners and walls with barely an inch to save herself as a highly effective attempt to prevent more overtakes, “Got it.”

She continued her pace throughout the laps, the continuous build up over 20 rounds had inched her closer and closer to Carlos who was struggling in P3, his braking getting worse and worse with each sharp turn.

“James- how much closer do I need to overtake?” Aisha gritted out, flitting her eyes to the large, white metallic DRS sign that entered her limited field of vision.

“Only a bit more Aisha, it’s time to push.”

Aisha stepped harshly onto the gas, her engine thrumming all around her as she charged closer to the bright red Ferrari ahead. She could see the rubber of the tyres in front burn and smoke with every swerve. The roar of her engine filled her ears, drowning out the noise of her own heartbeat as she braced herself for the challenge, “Here we go,” she murmured, voice firm and steely with determination.

She surged her car forward, pushing her machine to the limit as she matched Carlos’ pace with precision and determination, the desert heat bore down in mirage-like waves as the two drivers danced on the razor’s edge of competition. One by one measly lap, the distance shortened until they were wheel to wheel, and all Aisha could do was grit her teeth until she could taste the tangy calcium as she continued the precipice of a wipe-out, the promise of a podium too good to lose.

Aisha’s heart pounded with exhilaration as they hurtled down the straight once again, soon enough the pair were met with the sharpest corner yet, Aisha pushed further and Carlos relented, edging away meekly to allow her to slip by. The crowd’s cheers washed over her, a wave of euphoria crashing over her senses as her heart swelled with triumph.

“WOO! P3!”

“Amazing work Aisha, halfway there. Get some distance between you two.”

“I can take on Checo,” Aisha promised, her aggressive spirit burning deeply within her core as her eyes narrowed into the back of one of the red bulls.

“Go for it, but be careful, your tyres aren’t that good.” James warned her, his voice crisp with caution.

“I got this.”

Aisha revved up once her power had flashed a promising green on the screen in front of her, “It’s time to pounce.” She promised herself whilst flicking the DRS button with her thumb, letting the flap behind her quiver open, the force launched her forward like never before as the lap count leached into the 40’s, Checo hadn’t yet pitted, neither had she, and suddenly, it was a battle of the wills.

She tried all that she could, nudging her nose into the smallest of gaps and backing out when he had angled himself predatorially, grazing her front wing enough for her heart to jump into her throat, “What the fuck is he doing? Fucking cocksucker, he wants to kill me or what?” Aisha had to remind herself to lower her voice.

“It’s within regulation, keep pushing you’re approaching DRS again.” James assured her.

The car trembled beneath her, like a jaguar waiting to pounce again after one failure, she pressed again. This time she nipped Checo’s wheel, causing for him to quickly move out of the way, narrowly missing a spin-off and allowing Aisha to speed into P2.

“FUCK YES! HOLY SHI-“

Aisha’s celebration was cut short when a dangerous thrum approached her rapidly, she attempted with all her might to duck and weave into and out of his path, but Checo was relentless, continuously rubbing against her wheels and forcing her to utilise her power.

“Fuck, fuck what the actual shit?” Aisha screeched as she continued to sloppily defend, her anger bubbling up like hot water.

The red bull growled and pounced in front of her, clipping enough of her front wheel to send her spinning. Aisha shouted with malice, throwing up her hands as her wheels began to rotate rapidly, “BASTARD!”

Her vision blurred as the world around her continued to haphazardly shift, the fans above stilled with trepidation as they watched her strangle her wheel with both hands and wrangle the car back into position.

“Okay, so that’s P5- P5, Piastri, Sainz, Perez and Verstappen in front of you,”

“Copy.” Aisha grumbled darkly, manoeuvring the vehicle so that she could continue to viciously speed down the final lap, murderously defending her position as her stomach finally settled and head stopped pounding with adrenaline.

The race ended with Crofty heartily congratulating her over the commentary,

“And Verstappen has won the Bahrain grand prix! with Checo in P2 and Sainz in the Ferrari in P3. Now the fans have spoken, and new-comer Aisha Patel has been voted driver of the day, rightfully so, securing a solid P5 finish after a challenging battle on the track. it's fantastic to see her scoring valuable points in her debut race. And let's not forget the incredible debut of the Porsche F1 Team! It's clear that they're a force to be reckoned with in the championship.”

A view of Max passing through the finish line is shown, sparks flew behind his car as he speeds through and turned into the parc ferme. Aisha is also shown, her eyes steely from within her helmet and as she stops her car she clambers out of the cockpit and rips of her headgear, a scowl evident on her usually cool face.

She pushes open the gate to the media pen, narrowly avoiding Max, who spared her a dark glance from over his shoulder before turning back to the interviewer.

“Yeah, people make stupid decisions sometimes,” She heard him answer the unintelligible question. Aisha could already feel the anger burn her throat as she whipped her head around and met Max’s eyes, he stared back, an inferno raging within his blue iris’. She opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by her Media manager, pulling her away gently, Aisha followed tearing her eyes away from the Dutchman. Yet, she could still feel his heated gaze on her.

Aisha scoffed passing by Carlos and Checo, who were conversing in fast Spanish, and headed towards the common media area, where eager and ravenous reporters began to clamber on top of one another as they caught sight of her sweaty face and stringy hair.

“Aisha! Aisha!”  They called, loud voices breaking through the microphone and blowing through the audio.

Aisha huffed and went towards the tell-tale white microphone, the sky sports logo sprawled all over the foam cover,

“Hi Aisha, congratulations on the P5 today,” Mark started, holding the microphone out for the visibly annoyed driver.

“Thank you,” She snipped, but blinked a few times before forcing herself to continue, “Y’know could’ve been a P2 finish for Porsche today, but I’m happy with both Pierre and I’s finish, at least we scored some valuable points.” Aisha robotically recounted her PR training.

“Definitely a tough break for you out there,” He nodded solemnly, “Care to walk us through what happened with Checo on lap 43?”

Aisha sucked in a breath, looking behind her where her PR person stood, arms crossed over her Porsche shirt as she shrugged, “Yeah, of course, it’s disappointing end to my race, P2 would probably be a dream, but Checo made a-“ Aisha bit her tongue momentarily, looking into the few dozen camera’s pointed at her, until she noticed Checo’s reflection walking behind her, heading to the cool-down room, “-a dickhead move absolutely dangerous, there was contact because he couldn’t use his eyes, and that caused me to spin out. It’s racing, I know, but you don’t see race winners or legends making moves like that.” Aisha hissed.

Mark stared at her, mouth agape before he recollected himself and forced a flabbergasted laugh, “Well, that’s one way to put it.” The other surrounding reporters were close to drooling at the mouth, their own mics pushed further through the gaps as they imagined the debaucherous headlines they could create from her outburst.

“How were you feeling during that moment?”

“Truthfully?” She tilted her head, “Pissed, but you probably didn’t you marky-moo, my radio probably told you that. But after I managed to regain my original position, I was more determined to just finish the race with a solid end.”

He laughed at that but stilled when Checo emerged once again from the cool-off room, “Checo!” Mark called, oblivious to the thunderous haze that overtook Aisha. She checked behind her shoulder, and her upper lip curled with malice,

“I’ll let Checo say his bit- “She murmured, “Excuse me.” And left the pen, heading towards the Porsche garage whilst avoiding eye-contact with Lucy, her fuming PR manager.

“Hey! Checo!” Aisha called out, throwing down her headphones, leaving her race engineer in concerned confusion as she approached the red bull driver, amid his team, oblivious to the storm about to hit him.

“Oh, hey Aisha-“

“Do not, hey, me.” She snarled, “What the fuck was that on track? Were you trying to kill me back there? You could’ve overtaken me in so many other ways.” Aisha approached him, prompting Checo to take a simultaneous step back, hands raised.

“It’s racing Aisha, I had to make a split-second decision.”

“We all make decisions, Perez,” She snarled, hands balling up into fists, “You don’t see Charles or Carlos or anyone with half a brain doing what you did? You messed up my race!” Aisha’s voice begins to raise, drawing attention of the red bull personnel, since the pair had manged to slowly move up to the entrance of the garage, and prompting a few camera men, who were following around Lando and Oscar to pan over to her.

Aisha groans, smacking her palm against her head a few times as a display of aggression before turning back to a very sweaty, nervous driver, “Never mind my race- you had fucking so many other options, why? Why did you decide to clip my wheel? Is it because being overtaken by a woman was so embarrassing, for red bull’s number two, you couldn’t handle it?” Aisha mocks him, before starting to approach his frozen form, a violent fire burning in her eyes and spreading to her limbs, igniting them with her fury.

Just as there was merely a centimetre between the two, a pair of strong arms hooked themselves around her elbows, holding her hand away from Checo, who had started shouting about his “personal safety”.

“Are you fucking stupid?” A gruff voice whispers into her ear.

Aisha kicks out, a futile attempt to free herself, “Let me go,” She whips her head around, her hair flying,

“Can you stop? I will literally knock you out.” The voice continues, grunting when her foot narrowly misses his groin.

“Fine-“ She huffs, going limp as she shoots daggers into Checo’s retreating back being escorted by a flurry of blue clad workers, “Fine, let me go,” She mumbles.

The man drops her onto the floor instantly, allowing her to stumble over her feet. Aisha finds her footing once more and spins around to meet his eyes, “Max?”

Max stares down at her, his eyes squinted with annoyance, “Who else? You’re in front of the red bull garage.” He rolls his eyes and steps a large stride away from her.

Aisha blinks once. Twice. Before scoffing and crossing her arms, “Yeah. Thanks.” She snarks before walking away from him, leaving the dutchman standing, fuming in his spot. She manages to skip over the McLaren crowd but had attracted almost half a dozen cameras on her, the large intimidating lens’ were pushed into her face haphazardly, narrowly missing her face a few times.

Aisha had to hold herself back from stealing the cameras from their holders and smashing them onto the ground. She could feel a self-depreciating throb begin to build in her head, the memory of all the idyllic children watching her, and those who had felt represented by her made tears prick at her eyes. In that moment, with too many lens’ focussing on her quivering lip, she hoped that they wouldn’t catch the salty sadness that threatened to stream down her face

The post-race interview scene fades away, and a familiar red bull jersey is announced into the scene, the dark blue merging pleasantly with the dark grey background. We’re introduced to Checo’s frame, a placid smile on his face.

“Hi checo,” The interviewer greets the driver, who nods in acknowledgement, “Well, Bahrain was an intense time for you, especially the on track accident with Aisha, would you care to talk us through the whole thing?”

Checo clears his throat briefly, “Yeah, uhm, it was a tight battle with her, and she was holding her ground y’know, but I saw an opportunity to make a move and I took it.” He shrugged once, reverting his gaze away from the camera, “And, as an unfortunate by product, she ended up spinning out, but it’s racing, these things happen.”

“I think everyone knows that she seemed quite upset about the incident, did you have a chance to speak with her afterwards?”

“uhm, people say things when they’re angry, and Aisha was frustrated but I’m here to win races, that’s what I’ve been hired to do. Once again, it was a choice that I had to make, and it’s hard to consider everyone’s emotions while I do it.”

“Max, we recently interviewed Checo, and he had some…words to say about the situation in Bahrain, specifically with Aisha after the race. Now, we saw that you had intervened just in time, what was going on during that moment?”

Max shifted in his chair, slipping down slightly, and crossing his arms over his chest, “Yeah, I could see that the situation was escalating, with Aisha getting increasingly angry, it would’ve ended pretty badly.”

“You sound so sure about that.”

“Trust me, I know anger when I see it, and I know that races can get heated especially when avoidable occurrences aren’t avoided, but I also think that emotional regulation is crucial to compete.” He distractedly runs a thumb over his bottom lip.

“Does this change your initial views on Aisha entering the sport? Since you were pretty, pessimistic.” The interviewer cringes just as the words escape their mouth.

“I wouldn’t say I was pessimistic,” He quickly rejects, “But I think she had something to prove, just like any of us, she isn’t exempt from it. And she, raced like any of us would’ve in the moment, so do I suddenly think of her as a saint? No, but do I think that she’s building up to something? Maybe.”

“Aisha!” A voice calls from behind her, Aisha smiles at the fans who had offered her a notebook to sign, she watched them walk away before responding,

“Yeah?” She tucks away her pen into the silver, Porsche gym bag that hung from her shoulder.

Lando jogs up to her, tapping his card against the scanner before pushing through the gate and reaching her side, “Great race, you handled it...well…” He trailed off, unsure of how to spin off his compliment.

Aisha laughs at that, throwing her head back, ”It’s okay Lando, you don’t have to say anything” She tugs at the sleaves of her tight black jacket, the hugo boss label stretched over her chest as she pulled at the fabric, “I- I can get pretty mad,” Aisha shrugs, kicking an imaginary pebble with her shoe, rustling her oversized tracksuit bottoms, the three parallel lines on both her legs fluttered with the airy clothing.

“Yeah, that probably didn’t go down to well on camera,” He itches the back of his head, “I actually came to ask if you’re staying at the same hotel as the rest of us, Oscar took my car and I’m stranded.”

“Lando…” She sighs, adjusting the strap of her bag, “If you wanted to ride in my Porsche, you could’ve just said so.” Aisha gestured to her silvery 918 Spyder, the high-end sports car shimmered beneath the spotlights of the private car park.

Lando hissed through his teeth and grinned, “You caught me.” He held his hands up, “It’s the only way I can be photographed in the car without causing an uproar.”

Aisha tilted her head at him, “Oh, so nothing else is convincing you?”

“Hmmm, that, and maybe the very beautiful and scary woman who drives it?” Lando offered, holding out his hand for her to take.

She looked down at his open palm before searching the area around them, the rest of the grid had departed long before, leaving just her car and another in the parking. Aisha squinted her eyes at the remaining automobile, a Honda NSX, the only owner being none other than a certain grumpy blonde, who was more focussed on his back seat than on the couple who still stood in the middle of the concrete.

Accepting his hand, she revelled in the feeling of her fingers intertwined with his, soft skin against coarse knuckles, a warm aura enveloped her being as she guided them towards her car, pulling out the flat fob to click open the expensive machine.

Yet, as she watched Lando retreat into the passenger’s seat with an amazed, “oh damn.” and went to unlock the trunk to slip her duffel bag into, she felt an icy gaze glued to her back.

Aisha turned once behind her to where Max was sitting in his driver’s seat, eyes glued at first on Lando, an unrecognisable expression painted on his face before he slowly slid it up to her face, and his once oddly neutral gaze turned into an annoyed squint.

With that, the dutchman tore his eyes away from a now, slightly agitated Aisha, towards the open road and pulled out of the car park, speeding away to what she assumed would be the hotel.

“Hey,” Lando leaned over the dash, reaching for her hand that rested on the headrest of her seat, the other braced on her car door as she watched the retreating Honda, “You okay?”

Aisha jumped out of her disturbed haze, and back to where Lando was now rubbing his fingers over hers that had tensed enough to turn her milky brown skin into a pale white, “Yeah- I’m fine, just checking for reporters.”

“I’m that embarrassing?” He teased, watching her intently as she fastened her seatbelt and smiled at the sound of the purring super engine.

Aisha snorts, “No- not at all, just making sure that McLaren’s golden boy isn’t photographed inside a Porsche- with the grid’s certified crazy woman.” She pressed on the gas.

“Yeah, but…what if I want that?”

“What?” Aisha’s eyebrows knitted together; eyes still glued to the unfamiliar roads ahead as the GPS stopped squawking at her for a brief moment.

“I don’t care if you’re the crazy woman…You’re just, you. I don’t care about the rest.” Lando smiled lazily, his eyes studying her quickly flustered face.

“You’re a horrible flirt Norris.” She grumbled.

[newkatzkafe2023]

@lara-legomonkiekid

What if Y/N and the Monkey King's met their future sons/daughters.

I'm gonna have (Y/N) As her snow white monkey form if that's okay with you.

(Lmk Wukong) He was napping when he was tackle to wake up by various voices. He look to see two monkey boys with white fur with gold eyes and a little orange monkey girl with blue eyes. They were all talking at the same time so he couldn't understand a word they said. But they do look familiar especially their smiles. They ones he rarely gets from his rather Grouchy Wife. Then his guess was confirm when you got back from the market and him with 3 monkey Cubs. They soon run to you and overwelm you with their little voices. Wukong has never been so blessed before and he hopes their more to come.

(MK Reborn Wukong) Those kids have to be one of the biggest demon brats on the planet. You meet them on your mountain when Wukong came by today. They were little angels to you mainly because you can kick their ass if they weren't. Their was a boy and a girl monkey they say your supposed to have another in a month or so and that shocked you. Wukong wasn't having it he refuse to believe them and mostly wanted to know where the hell did they come from. Until his daughter blamed her brother for their situation and now they're beating the snot out of each other. As Wukong tries to break it up you can't help but daydream about your future With your Two Feral kids and you're just as feral husband.

(HIB Wukong) His kids make him so tired. First of all this tells him that he Managed to get that close to you and get married have children with you. Now those said children are here trying to help him get with you in order to protect their family. His 3 Sons We're surprised to see how savage you can be, but his youngest and only daughter knew you like the back of her paw😏She knows you like him but are not sure how to approach him so she goes and talks to you herself. With the children's help you guys have a proper date and find that you have more in common then you think Misson Accomplished.

(Nezha Reborn wukong) Oh my god, oh my god, There is so many😨 why is there so Freaking many of you?! If it wasn't for the mask you will notice How much his eye is twitching. From what he heard these are his kids from the future after Accidentally getting sent back in time. Their was 5 boys and 2 Girls and apparently their was another one that hasn't been boen yet. He looks at you and you respond with that you always wanted a big family. He sort of wants to blame you. But his youngest daughter points out that he has no self control so that went out the window. All he can do now is sit and listen to the conversations As he feels his fur turn grayer than ever.

(Netflix Wukong) He has never been so happy in his life. Looking at all the small monkey cubs that is supposedly his family. His 2 Sons tell him that your supposed to have 2 daughters in the Winter so that's gonna be exciting. You were always unsure if you would ever be a good mother. But the cubs praises made you feel better and Wukong loved you more then ever now 🥰🥰🥰

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Belmont crest and colorrrrssss

I have a lot of thoughts and feels about the colors used in various versions of the Belmont crest in the netflix show, and how it fits into traditional heraldry. I have decided to make that everyone else's problem. So.

In Leon's portrait, we see him in a surcoat of white with the Belmont crest rendered in azure blue.

In traditional heraldry the "white" component of this would be synonymous with the metal silver/argent, as matte white was not a meaningful color choice and all colors had to be combined with a metal (silver or gold) rather than another color. Now, I know that in the Doylesian sense, this color choice was made because of Leon's original character design, which utilized different tradition imagery and had nothing to do with the Belmonts specifically:

But the text is what it is and the show gave us the first Belmont in an azure and argent version of the Belmon crest. Color meanings vary depending on your source, but azure typically referred to truth, loyalty, and unwavering morality. Morality is, of course, a construct--you can imagine that for the rebellious ex-church-knight Belmont it probably had some input from the bible but moreso was informed by his own oath--to "battle the night". Yeah, this gets made fun of--he's the dumbass who wants to fight an entire time of day--but we know what he means, ok. He's swearing to defend the daylight world against the things in the night that would harm it. He is defining his moral position going forward very specifically--he will uphold humanity and destroy that which would cause it harm. In a fic of mine he described it as representing the daylight sky, which given that he's a vampire in that fic carries even more poignancy, but even in the canon version it works, because that is the moral field he is aligning with.

Meanwhile argent/silver generally refers to purity, sincerity, and faith, which yeah, this is definitely a character who has purity of purpose. This combination of colors suits a vision of the Belmonts that served humanity unerringly, who had faith even when the church itself seemed flawed, who defined their morality by the divide between daylight and night and executed it with sincerity and dedication.

Fast forward to Trevor's time. The family has risen and fallen. At its height it was considered a great noble family--a warrior dynasty, as Alucard put it. Trevor's tunic and his armor both bear the crest in gold; once we're in the hold, we see that it's set against a deep burgundy in the official banners and standards. 

Why the change? What does it mean? Red is obvious--it's the warrior side of them, the military might, the weight of generations of fighters and all the blood they've spilt. It's the most common color in heraldry because conflict and war were themselves so common, but the Belmonts (to our knowledge) weren't besieging neighboring Lords' territories. They defined themselves by their fight against the creatures of the night, defined themselves to the point that they became The Fight. The warrior is the largest part of their identity. In the same fic I had Trevor say that the red represented family to him, like bloodlines, which is not the traditional meaning--but given that nothing defined his family or his relationship with them as much as The Fight, I still think he was onto something. Additionally, red can carry the meaning of sacrifice and martyrdom, which also fucking fits, unfortunately.

As for the gold, usually this refers to faithfulness, nobility, constancy, and glory. On its own, it's a statement of those qualities--particularly nobility and faithfulness. Combined with warrior's red, the glory piece of it starts to assert itself. A family of martyrs and warriors, noble and glorious--that's how they saw themselves, anyway. The family had gotten so far up its own ass that it cared more about perpetuating those ideals and standards than it necessarily did about the original purpose and duty of its existence! Eventually Trevor re-finds that purpose, when he drops the cloak in Gresit and re-dedicates himself to protecting the people--but it's worth noting that the crest he displays in that moment is gold alone, without a specific colored field. The version of the Belmonts that defined themselves by the amount of blood they'd shed are dead and buried, their flags tattered; the one who survived has taken their steadfastness, their faithfulness and constancy and nobility, and managed to reconnect it to what they always should have been.

Which brings us full circle, back to Leon's portrait--because there's another crest, there.

Azure and gold. All the steady dedication of a long standing nobility--much less fragile than one man's personal purity of purpose--applied to moral defense of humanity and the daylight world, rather than simply to fighting and glory for its own sake. There's a reason this is the color scheme I plan for Leon to end up in, in my fic-verse, and is the one that I think may have been in between the other two, chronologically. It conveys all the Belmonts are meant to be and do, without reducing them to simply violence. They fight, not for the fight's sake, but to protect the people they've sworn to protect.

Anyway. Yeah. Uh, colors!