#of Thurs

[hellenhighwater]

Okay I've had literally dozens and dozens of asks about Calcifer. He survived his first firing! I'm starting glaze. Will update again when he's done!

[xiewho]

you've been a bad friend

[capesch-arts]

Sleepy bois WIP 2 Electric Boogaloo

Am I cooking or am I cooked? Find out next time on "how do I continue this drawing so it looks good?"

[slutforpringles]

Yeah, it was a strange one the way it played out. To be honest, the more I've spoken to some of the parties involved and the more has kind of emerged, the less clear it's got actually how it's been handled, which I'd like to say is unusual in Formula One. Maybe it's not because people don't always act in F1 with their true intentions upfront. But I think the way you described it as [Daniel] processing it in real time and learning it at the same time as us, I think it's pretty much how it happened. The key thing was that Ricciardo was aware that something was going on. He's not immune to speculation. He tries not to engage with it too much, but obviously either he or the people around him are feeding him the main things. He knew that there was a deadline approaching for a decision, which primarily he thought was all about 2025. The main thing that changed was going into the Singapore weekend, the speculation had intensified that it could be about right now, a change right now. But when they went into the Singapore weekend, I know there's been a few reports and claims and counter claims around this, Helmut Marko, for example, has said that Riccardo did know because Lawson had known for two weeks already. But I don't think that's true. Bear in mind, Marko has been saying at various points this year that it could be Ricciardo's last race … I was on the phone to someone close to Riccardo last week and he joked that 'we've been sacked since April, so this hasn't really come out of the blue', that's what they've been dealing with. But I think what happened was that Ricciardo took control of the narrative over the course of the Singapore weekend. As far as I can understand, the best I can make out, nobody told Riccardo explicitly, this is your last race, we will be replacing you after this. He knew that there was a very, very good chance, probably 99% chance he was losing his drive for Lawson for the following year. And then there started to be more and more noise about it being a change for now. But he had been told during the summer break that he was good for the rest of the season, basically. So I think he was reacting to the speculation. Nobody gave him an absolutely explicit, this is 100% done and we are going to confirm that Lawson's in and you're out. So Riccardo went into the Singapore weekend saying everything he said on the Thursday, which was, you know, I wouldn't bet my house on being here at the end of the year, but that's what I expect. As far as he was aware, it was all about 25, nothing else, blah, blah, blah. But then through the weekend, you saw that change. You know, he was kind of as you said, processing it, the speculation was more intense than ever. Some of the broadcast, like the Sky Sports F1 stuff was very much laying it on thick that they understood this was his last race, etc etc. And I think Riccardo just rolled with that and just went right, Red Bull aren't going to do anything here, they're not actually going to make this official. I need to act like this is my last race weekend because I think this is going to be my last race weekend. And if I don't do it, no one's going to do it for me, which is a really sad way for it to have played out, but it just speaks to how confusing this whole mess has been.

Scott Mitchell Malm discussing how Daniel's Singapore exit was handled by Red Bull and the subsequent false media narratives that have since emerged from various players involved.

via: The Ringer F1 Show

[crispysnake]

no one:

keyleth: hey listen i-

vax: I love you take your time actually no leave me alone I'm emo but also what if I just kiss you rn WITH TONGUE actually it is not gonna work out my queen WAIT NO LET ME BACK IN it's ok ill just sit outside your door here and wait is that percy

[intotheelliwoods]

new dtiys just dropped its called you take them and you draw them

in your style, ofc.

[pippynsworld]

Ghost sticking his tongue out while concentrating is my favorite thing.

[suntails]

fallen

[racewinnerlandonorris]

[beepboop260]

part 2 of the drive! Gerome doesn't seem to mind too much yet

I'd mean a lot if I could get some ko-fi donations! Especially if you'd like to see this boy obliterated

Here's a link to my ko-fi!

[khaotunq]

One Year of Only Friends: Episode Five Original air date September 9th, 2023

[umlewis]

📷 @.timiletonja / instagram

[vadvis]

[grogumaximus]

Generally speaking, if you think the Liberty Media intervention is unbelievable, then it is not

Horner said "We had an inquiry from Flavio Briatore [about Fernando] and from Liberty Media but the position within Red Bull has always been very clear" (BBC, 2018)

Then it happened again a year later

Marko confirms the Red Bull hypothesis – Alonso: “Liberty asked us for a seat, but we said no” (Autobild, 2019)

Rumors about Liberty Media intervention date back to the beginning in 2020, before checo even got the redbull seat. There was concern that they might lose the Mexican GP if checo was not on the grid

“We all want to see Checo at the start next year,” commented Ross Brawn. “It would be a tragedy if he couldn’t find a car, and then it’s undoubtedly a business.” The opinion of the CEO of Formula 1 is not exactly a random one, just as the rumors that Liberty Media could put pressure on Red Bull in favor of Perez are probably not unfounded, because there are all the reasons. (2020, Motorsport)

And now back to the present, one of the reasons redbull extended checo's contract was because he sells better in Latin America

Helmut Marko on why they extended checo's contract "We want to ensure continuity and both drivers get on really well, there are simply no conflicts," reveals the man from Graz. "'Checo' is also incredibly popular in Latin America. We sell more merchandise of his there than of Verstappen and when he has a good day, he's almost unbeatable." (Kleine Zeitung, June 6, 2024)

I read rumors that Carlos slim has shares in F1TV but there is no reliable or unreliable source so, so far its bs (I checked all the stocks holders as well) HOWEVER, he does have partnerships

3 out of the 6 current partners of F1TV are owned by Carlos Slim (source: formula 1 website, Claro, Telcel, Telmex)

And one thing that I found very sus in my opinion there was a podcast where Carlos Slim denied any connection or influence regarding checo's seat literally 4 days before redbull confirmed checo's seat after the summer break

Speaking on the podcast “Desde el paddock” hosted by former Mexican driver Memo Rojas Jr, Carlos Slim Domit said that any type of decision falls solely on the Red Bull management and not on the number of caps or shirts that Checo can sell. (ESPN, July 25, 2024)

Sergio Pérez remains at Red Bull Racing. Confirmation from the team. (Erik Van Haren, Jul 29, 2024)

[peachy-panic]

Wrong Place, Wrong Time (pt. 1)

DO NO HARM.

Whew. After months (almost a year?) of marinating this chapter, I've decided to cut it in two. Thought about titling this chapter: Shit Hits The Fan. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: BBU setting, struggles with bodily autonomy, recovering alcoholic, mentions of violence

Jaime hits the ground with more force than he expects. His back takes the brunt of the fall, and for a moment, he is rendered breathless. A few weeks ago, the impact might have triggered a memory of real violence. Now, he gulps in a few deep breaths, feeling the grass at his back, until Ezra’s face eclipses the sunlight overhead. 

“That was better,” Ezra says, extending a hand. Jaime takes it and lets himself be pulled to his feet. 

“I can’t seem to stay on my feet,” Jaime huffs, frustrated. He swipes an arm across his face, pushing aside the hair that clings to his forehead.

“You’re doing fine,” Ezra says. “Getting knocked down is half the process of learning.”

Jaime grimaces. “I must be learning a lot, then.”

Ezra grins. “You are,” he says, sounding like he might actually mean it. “You’ve already improved from where we began. For now, take five and drink some water.”

“I can go again,” Jaime insists, already rocking back into his sparring stance. 

“We have all day.” Ezra grabs Jaime’s water bottle and pushes it gently against his chest. “You’ll burn out quickly if you don’t pace yourself.”

At the finality in his tone, Jaime relents and collapses back onto the grass. He downs half his bottle in one go. 

It’s been over a month since Ezra offered to teach Jaime how to spar. At first, the idea unsettled him in a way he couldn’t pin down. He didn’t understand the point of it. Ezra knew more than most how little Jaime’s ability to fight mattered; it isn’t an imbalance in physical strength that keeps him in his position. It is the law, the society, and the institutions decades in the making that hold the end of Jaime’s leash. Something about learning the art of self defense and knowing he is never allowed to exercise it feels more cruel than not learning at all. 

One session, Ezra had wagered. Train with me once and see how you feel.

The first time, Sebastian stayed to observe at Jaime’s request, perched on a piece of exercise equipment in Ezra’s basement gym. Jaime, who spent the week leading up antsy and nervous, watched with rapt interest as Ezra wrapped his hands. 

They started slow. 

The first time Jaime hit the ground, the room went silent. In the split second of shock and pain, a flare of violent memories flashed before him: a handler shoving him onto his back, his foster father slamming him up against the hallway wall. Distantly, he heard Sebastian’s voice break through the budding panic. “Maybe we should call it a day?”

Something about that—the grounding reminder of where he was, who he was with, and that the choice was his to walk away—snapped him back into his body. Ezra watched him from where he stood several feet back, not coming to his side and not saying anything in response to Sebastian’s concern. Instead, he watched Jaime, waiting to see what choice he would make.

The choice was his.

Jaime pushed himself onto shaking legs, nodding once to Sebastian before meeting Ezra’s unwavering gaze. “Let’s go again.”

Ever since that day, Jaime has taken to training with a level of enthusiasm he didn’t realize he was still capable of feeling. There is an itch for it under his skin when he wakes up some mornings. When he stretches, he relishes in the way his muscles burn from their previous session. On his morning runs, he thinks through new techniques Ezra showed him and commits to perfecting them next time they meet. 

On the evening after their third sparring session—Jaime still sweat-damp and shaking from exhaustion in the passenger seat of Sebastian’s car—he realized that this feeling was familiar. It was a sense of liberation he hadn’t felt since he last sprinted across a soccer field under the stadium lights, since the night he tore off across the backyard of a party with Derek at his side, high on the revelation that he might want to kiss him. It was the realization that training with Ezra made Jaime feel in control of his body for the first time in a long time. And that is a gift he can never repay. 

Ezra sinks down onto the grass beside him, uncapping his own water bottle. It’s almost embarrassing how he barely breaks a sweat against Jaime. Maybe one day he’ll give him a run for his money. 

From the screened window above the kitchen sink, Jaime can hear laughter from inside the house. He titled his head and smelled… something? Sebastian and the others insisted they would take care of dinner tonight and leave Jaime and Ezra to their workout. Jaime doesn’t know much about Sam and Aria’s skills in the kitchen, but…

Ezra smiles at him, nodding his head toward the sound. “How do you think it’s going in there?”

Jaime shrugs and lets his head fall back, enjoying the sun on his face. Spring is starting to blossom, slowly but surely, and it’s the first warm day of the year. “Nothing is on fire,” he says. “So it can’t be that bad.”

****

“Cilantro can substitute oregano, right? They’re basically the same thing?”

“No,” Sebastian and Aria say at the same time. Sam’s expression falls. The frown paired with the 1950s-housewife-style apron creates quite the endearing image.

“It’s not too late to order Thai food,” Aria mutters, pouring herself another glass of wine. Sebastian chuckles around a swig of lemonade. 

He didn’t make a big deal about staying sober these last few weeks, but he’s pretty sure Aria clocked it anyway, judging by the way she has kept the bottle out of arm’s reach of him all evening. He pretends not to notice. She pretends not to notice him not noticing. 

It’s been a good day. 

He can tell Jaime tried to hide his enthusiasm about a return visit all week. He never asks him about it outright, but his demeanor visibly perks up at any passing mention of Saturday dinner at Sam and Ezra’s. Sebastian offered to take him over there before work on any given weekday so that Jaime didn’t have to spend the day alone in the house, but that’s where his enthusiasm waned. Jaime isn’t quite comfortable enough to be alone with anyone except Sebastian, but Ezra comes close, he thinks.

It’s good. It’s so good to see Jaime like this—surrounded by people who care about his well-being, expressing more autonomy than he has ever been allowed in Sebastian’s presence. It’s moments like this that tempt Sebastian into believing that it was worth it, slogging all these months through the misery of WRU, just to bring him to Jaime. To bring Jaime here.

And maybe it was worth it so Sebastian could meet the others, too; his first friends in a very long time. 

They are laughing when the front door opens, so none of them hear the unexpected entrance until Julian Hernandez is suddenly standing in the doorway.

The room goes silent. Sebastian nearly shatters the glass in his hand to keep it from slipping to the floor. 

“You need to leave,” Sebastian says, the panic overriding any facade of politeness.

Julian, who is skeptical of Sebastian on his best day, says, “Excuse me?”

“Shit,” Aria says, stepping up beside him. “Jules, he’s right.”

Julian looks around, taking in the sight of all of his friends there without him, and Sebastian thinks he sees a quickly masked flash of hurt pass through his expression. “You asked me to take a look at your transmission last week,” he tells Sam. “I brought my tools.”

“I did say that,” Sam says. “But I didn’t mean tonight. I’m sorry. This… isn’t a good time.”

His mouth presses into a thin line. He glances over at Aria. “Yeah,” Julian says. “I can see you’re busy.”

“It’s not like that, Jules.” Aria insists. “Tate’s—” she starts to say. But it’s too late. It’s too fucking late. 

Because then the back door slides open and Jaime steps through, trailed by Ezra. They’re mid conversation, murmuring quietly. Both of their shirts are soaked through with sweat, clumps of hair clinging to their foreheads. Jaime is smiling—honest-to-god smiling—and Ezra is laughing at something he said, until his eyes meet Julian’s from across the room and he goes still. He puts a hand on Jaime’s shoulder. 

“Fuck.” It’s Julian who says it, a breathy whisper as he realizes the clusterfuck he has just set in motion. 

It’s the last sound in the room before shit hits the fan. 

Jaime is the last one to spot the new presence in the room, and when he does, his entire body locks up. The blood drains from his face, making his pale skin nearly translucent. His knees hit the ground before anyone can intervene. 

****

@whumpervescence 

@shiningstarofwinter 

@distinctlywhumpthing 

@whumptywhumpdump

@nicolepascaline

@anotherbluntpencil

@hold-him-down 

@crystalquartzwhump 

@maracujatangerine 

@batfacedliar-yetagain 

@thecyrulik 

@pumpkin-spice-whump 

@finder-of-rings 

@melancholy-in-the-morning 

@insaneinthepaingame 

@skyhawkwolf

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump 

@mylifeisonthebookshelf 

@dont-touch-my-soup 

@whump-world 

@inpainandsuffering 

@cicatrix-energy 

@quietly-by-myself 

@whumpsday 

@extemporary-whump 

@the-whumpers-grimm 

@thebirdsofgay 

@firewheeesky 

@whumperfully 

@hold-back-on-the-comfort  

@termsnconditions-apply  

@cyborg0109  

@whumplr-reader  

@pinkraindropsfell  

@whatwhumpcomments

@honeycollectswhump 

@pirefyrelight 

@handsinmotion  

@alexmundaythrufriday 

@scoundrelwithboba 

@starsick1979 

@b0rgid

@whumps-and-bumps

[hungharrington]

looking at the sleepover prompt list and..

[ JOY ]  sender getting louder than usual which makes receiver start laughing affectionately,  taking the opportunity to check in. 

THAT IS SO REAL!! wbk steve gets incredibly loud and honestly sounds pained when he’s about to reach o-town so having his partner giggle and check up on him is just.. CHEFS KISS!! he’d get go embarrassed abt it too you can’t even deny it

oh hey ali :) thanks for sending one in! this is so totally meant to be sweet (and it is!) but it's also like tehe, a lil bit mean MDNI this entire blog is 18+

You would think, with his face buried in your neck, Steve can't make that much noise.

That would be wrong. There's already so much noise, the subtle slap of skin meeting skin, of your thighs hitting against his with every roll of your hips and the wetness. Your slick leaks out, squelching lewdly as his cock fucks in and out, smearing it across your thighs and his. And yet, there's nothing you can hear more than Steve's raspy low moans.

He's especially vocal tonight — though you have a feeling that's because of the distance from earlier, spending a couple days apart. It makes you feel all the more hot and bothered, listening to his guttural moans that seem to be getting louder and louder. His praise, which he;s been showering you in since he worked you up on his fingers earlier, moaning about how wet you are for him, hasn't stopped either.

"Yeah, f-fuck, good fucking girl, so wet— so, fuck," His hips buckup into yours, his pace ravenous and you try match it from the top. You're bent over him, chest to chest, sinking down on his cock while Steve fucks up into you. His cock fits snug in your cunt and you're taking great pleasure in fucking out cute little noises out of him, including his pussy-drunk rambles. "S-so pretty and wet just for me, mhm. Pussy so good, this pussy's all mine."

You moan at his possessiveness, your cunt gushing at his claim on you— it eggs on another louder moan from Steve as he fucks into the new slick faster, his noises beginning to get more high pitched. You take a page out of his book.

"All yours," you whisper, just to test the water. Steve whimpers and you take it as a good sign. "M'all yours, Steve. No- uh, nobody can treat me like you, baby— no one fucks me as good as you, mhm."

Steve shudders, a loud throaty moan that gets pressed into your shoulder. He tucks his face in closer, his thrusts getting sloppier as he gets closer to falling apart, your name falling from his lips.

You rake your hand down his chest, scraping your fingernails in a way you know he loves and this time, when he lets out another loud gasping moan, you can't help the little affectionate giggle that titters out of you. He's being so loud tonight, so much louder than usual.

Steve slows his hips just a bit, digging his face out of your shoulder to look at you.

"What?" He slurs, voice sounding a bit wrecked. His cheeks are pink, his lips pinker still. You clench around him purposefully just to see him moan and revel in the cute expression he makes, eyes scrunched closed for a second.

"You're so noisy tonight," You coo at him, bringing your hand up to card through his hair. Steve surges to press a kiss to your skin as you do, his lips dropping wet kisses along your forearm. He hums at your words. "That's all, baby. You all good?"

You're so glad he's looking at you so you can see the pure rush of blood to his face, embarrassment creeping over his features. He nods a bit sheepishly.

To drive your point home, you sit up a bit to take away his hiding place and start really fucking yourself down on him. It's glorious, watching him struggle for the first few seconds of you bouncing to try contain his noises— but when the first moan slips out, whines and whimpers follow it, building in volume.

You stroke down his chest again, harder, your fingers toying with his chest hair and smirk at him beneath you. "That's it. Lemme hear it, baby..."

Steve whimpers, loud, in response.