#precision racing la

[tapatiatejana]

GT World Challenge COTA 2024 Part One

[mysunshinetemptress]

Patience

Alexia putellas x equestrian!reader

Warnings:rushed shitty writing, not proofread

“Vamos!” You shout arms outstretched above your head in relief and excitement as you watch the Spanish girls dance around the pitch hugging one another and thanking their Japanese opponents, your mamí wraps her arms around you tightly pulling you into a hug “Oh, Potro, eso fue increíble” You let out a small laugh hugging her tighter “Conozco a Mamí y esto es solo el principio, VAMOS ESPAÑA”

You smile watching the team happily talk to each other about the match that has just taken place before deciding to call it a night, you had one final training session before you would have to take part in the first round of the eventing on the 27th.

Your least favourite event was dressage, you hated how meticulous it was how precise, everything had to be on point, one wrong stride and you would be falling down the table, the bid for a medal slipping further away. But dressage was like a dance, a dance where your dance partner is your horse Once fuertes, you lead and he follows in time to the music.

When it’s over and you see your name sitting in first place and you don’t seem to dislike it as much, you are happy with your dance partner, with the precision of his hooves through the sand his strides perfect, of course it is you who cause the fault only a slight one but still you have raked up 16.00 penalty points.

1.5 penalty points less than your closest opponent but it’s not enough.

“Lo siento, mamá, debería haber sido mejor” you fall into your mothers arms “Potro, it was perfect, parada being so hard on yourself, tienes razón donde necesitas ser un potro, llegarás allí, solo espera.” All you can do is let out a grunt as you push off her and turn to follow your grooming team.

You don’t get a day to relax, to process your recent accomplishments instead your sitting on Once fuertes in a forest in Versailles getting ready to take part in the cross country trail for both Spain and yourself just like yesterday.

Only today is not a dance, today is a race against a nine point two minute clock and twenty eight fences/obstacles in the way. Once fuertes is big at 17.5 hands these obstacles will be nothing for him the time trial a minuscule thought for such a long strided horse like him, but it’s up to you to get him there.

You do so perfectly, you trust in him to leap over every obstacle and land ready to race towards the next and he does it without hesitation yet you don’t stop talking to him pushing him forward edging him to go faster to jump higher and it pays off. You hold your lead. You’re still number one, still in position for gold. Your first gold.

Your happier this time around, your mother can tell just from the way your hunched over Once talking to him happily “ Oh, mi chico, eres increíble, eres perfecto, podríamos hacer esto, yo y tú, once, yo y podrías ganarlo todo, oh, ese es mi sueño para ti y para mí.” Your mother pats Once happily “Bien hecho once, gracias por cuidar de mi potro” you beam down at your mother before swinging your leg over and jumping down from the thoroughbred laughing happily as your mamí pulls you in for another bone crushing hug “Dios mío, mamá I think we might actually have a chance, we might actually place on the podium me and Spain, me and Once.” Tears spring to your mothers eyes, happy tears at your growing excitement, at your accomplishments so far “I don’t think you’ll just place Potro, you will win it all, you and España and Once, you will win the gold.” You shake your head not wanting to get your hopes up just yet “Paciencia, es todo lo que tengo en este deporte.” Your mother squeezed your arms before letting you stand back as you got ready to follow your groomers again “you sound just like your Papá.”

It’s not over, far from it, you still have the eventing show jumping tomorrow, the team final and the individual qualifiers but tonight you can relax, tonight you get to watch La Rojas face off against Nigeria, tonight you get to focus back on a different race for a podium and your happy to get to switch off even just for an hour.

You sit happily in the Olympic village with your team around a table as you watch the girls battle it out, fighting for a point that never seems to come. “Uhh, no van a anotar, quiero decir, vamos, quedan diez minutos.” Your teammate Carlos shakes his head, you simply smile and shake your head “Paciencia Carlos, they will strike when they are good and ready. She will strike when she is good and ready.” The team laugh at your faith in the Spanish girls, your faith in your favourite player La Reina herself, but it is you who is laughing five minutes later when Alexia scores the only goal of the match “Mira, te lo dije, when she is good and ready.”

You look out at the castle the next morning getting ready to walk the course with your teammates insuring you know your route, your strides, when to push Once on more with your leg and when to let off, to losen the reins, this is it, you could win your first gold medal today with Spain, your first gold medal as an individual, you just have to be patient.

You must qualify in the top twenty five to reach the individual qualifiers, you must be in the top twenty five to win, you have to jump a clear round all while staying within the eighty second time period. Once has to stay calm, so you have to stay calm, Once must keep his strides precise, he can’t over stretch, he might knock a pole if he does, he might knock more than one and the penalties you have been working so hard to keep down could wrack up suddenly, but again your against the clock a time trial, you have to do this fast, he has to do this fast, you both have to do this fast and clean together, it’s the only way you will keep your spot.

And you do. You jump last for Spain, you jump clear for Spain, for your self, to qualify for the individual medal, not a single pole rocked within the cups and you stayed five seconds under the time limit, for Spain, for you and Once, you were perfect, he was perfect, now it’s a waiting game as the last five jumpers get ready to try and knock Spain off the gold position.

None of your other teammates scores are as perfect as yours but they aren’t the worst, not even middle, they are comfortably in the top twenty and so you stand in the stands to watch the final rider with bated breath.

Great Britain sit second, France sit third and with Tom McEwans for Great Britain four faults in his round he seals the deal on all three podium spots, you have done it, you’ve won a gold medal, Spain have won a gold medal, Once has won you both a gold medal and now you have to refocus to win your individual one.

Your jumping last out of the twenty five riders, you sit in first and you can’t do anything except watch how the riders ahead of you take this new course, their turns, their leg sheathed it’s on or off, how their horses react, you watch the screen as the names move up and down below the top four, the top four, four faults sit between you all, four faults is all it will take for you to drop off the podium altogether, for this to be all for nothing and as your time comes closer it seems to be the only thing swimming around your head.

But it clears, it clears as you swing your leg over Once and as your mamí squeezes your leg before turning to the thoroughbred “Enciérdala por mí, cuida a mi pequeño potro.”

Sixty seconds till your gold medal, sixty seconds till you hold a gold medal, till you and Once become Olympic champions sixty seconds and a clear round.

You don’t remember the course, you don’t remember starting the course, but the roar as Once touches the ground on the far side of the final fence, clear, two seconds under the time giving, clear, clear, he jumped clear, you jumped clear both of you together jumped clear, your an Olympic champion, Once is an Olympic champion, Spain are Olympic champions and all you can do is look towards the sky and shout.

You arrive back to the village beaming, two gold medals around your neck, a team and an individual, you won’t have time to celebrate it, not yet, the games aren’t over but for now you beam and let out quite thanks you’d as athletes pass you in the village congratulating you as they pass.

You freeze as a certain athlete stands in front of you “Guau, hace tres días y ya tienes dos medallas de oro, debes ser bueno.” Your frozen unable speak, unable to think, unable to breath. She’s gorgeous, she’s breathtaking and she’s standing right in front of you. “No, No not really.” She smiles holding out her hand to you “I’m Alexia.” You look at her hand before taking it gently, scared your hand might pass through hers “I-I am Y/n.” Alexia beams happily holding your hand for far longer than she expected but she thinks you’re gorgeous, that you’re breathtaking and so she doesn’t mind “I was going to get a go coffee, would you like to join me.” You nod before finding your words “Sí, me encantaría.”

You let out a laugh as Alexia tells you of her younger sister Alba stating that the only role she wanted in the Olympics was that of a WAG or singing in the opening ceremony.

You sit happily listening to her talk about her family, talks about them like you have known her and them forever, you want to ask about her father but decide that if she isn’t happy mentioning him to you, a complete stranger she met mere hours ago then you weren’t going to ask.

“I am here for Fútbol.” You nodded “Sí, I-I am a fan.” Alexia doesn’t react like you thought she would, her smile seems to grow “a fan, of Spain?, of Barcelona?, of me?.” You laugh “De todos ustedes, de España, de Barcelona de ustedes, la Reina- I have been in love with fútbol my entire life, I have been a culers my entire life, and I have been a fan of you since you started playing.” Alexia lets out a sigh, a content sigh. “That is good, because I don’t think I could give my phone number to a Real Madrid supporter.” You laugh again this time sliding your phone over to the older girl.

Alexia watch’s you as she types in her number, adding emojis to her name. “So you never told me what sport you’re so great at that you won both of your medals for.” You blush as the conversation turns to you, you were quite content listening to Alexia talk and now she had switched to you. “Ecuestre, this one is from the team eventing so Yo y otros tres ciclistas ganamos este.” You hold out your team gold medal for Alexia to inspect “Y entonces this one is my individual medal, but really I couldn’t have done it without Once.” You hold out your individual medal as Alexia’s eyebrows raise “what is your horses name.” You smile “Once fuertes” Alexia nods approving “eleven is a strong number alright.” You let out a giggle taking back your medals “so what does Once get.” You go to take your phone out to show her pictures of the thoroughbred “he gets a rosette, and carrots, lots of carrots.” Alexia let’s out a small oh “well that’s not fair.” You pause as you go to hand over your phone “what do you mean.” Alexia shrugs “well your job is easy, the horse does all the work, so shouldn’t he get a better prize.” You feel your face heat up and turn bright red from embarrassment, as you smile sheepishly putting your phone back in your pocket, you push your chair to get up from the table and Alexia can tell she’s said the wrong thing “Y/n.” You ignore her as you stand “Good luck for the rest of the games.” You leave immediately as Alexia shakes her head “Joder.”

Alexia tried texting you but your not answering and so she decides to see if you have any social media, with a quick google of your name Alexia feels her guilt increase ten fold “Y/n Ferré Balagueró dedicates her Olympic wins to her father.” “MIERDA”

[dorabellingham]

Comeback

warning: none

characters: jude x reader

summary: when after a while he scores the first goal of the season

may contain spelling and translation errors!

The tension was in the air. It was a decisive game in La Liga, and all eyes were on Jude. It had been a while since his last goal, and the silence from the fans regarding his name was starting to weigh on you. You knew that this goalless streak had been bothering your boyfriend, even though he had been trying his best in every training session and match. You saw how dedicated he was, but you knew he was anxious to break this streak. And now, there, in the Real Madrid stadium, you were rooting with all your might for that day to come.

You were sitting in the stands, your eyes fixed on him, with that deep feeling that everything was going to work out this time. Your heart was racing, your hands were cold from nervousness, and you were barely breathing with each of his plays. For you, each move was like a leap, a quick climb to the top of a mountain and then a plunge back to reality. Every moment felt like it was your match too, cheering for him with all your soul.

Then, it happened.

In a spectacular move, Jude found a space between the defenders, received the ball and, without hesitation, kicked it with precision. The ball went straight into the corner of the goal, passing the goalkeeper with a quick and precise movement. The stadium exploded in cheers of joy, and the energy of the crowd seemed to almost bring down the stands, they were so excited. You stood up, your hands covering your mouth in pure shock and euphoria. Your face lit up with a smile that you couldn't control -the smile of someone who had just seen the person they love do something extraordinary.

Jude, with the most radiant expression in the world, ran towards the fans, and when he got close to the stands, he raised his arms, opening them in a gesture that had already become his trademark. It was at that moment that his eyes met yours, and you, without thinking, imitated the gesture, opening your arms in the same pose as his, in a connection that seemed to cross the field and the barriers. It was as if, in that moment, the two of you were one.

The crowd noticed and started to scream even louder, the fans around you applauded the scene, as if they were witnessing a unique and intimate moment between the player and the person who supported him so unconditionally. You couldn't hold back your laughter, infected by the happiness that radiated from Bellingham, and he, from the field, couldn't stop looking at you, also laughing, both of you absolutely overcome by the joy of that moment.

Your eyes shone with pride and admiration, and Jude could feel, even from a distance, how happy you were for him. After a difficult period, he had finally broken that silence on the field, and seeing you there, supporting him, encouraging him and celebrating with him, made it all worthwhile. He felt that he wasn't just playing for him, but for the two of you, for that beautiful story you were building together.

When the game ended, with the victory assured, Jude went to the edge of the field to find you, who was already waiting for him with the sweetest and proudest smile in the world. He pulled you into a tight hug, and you whispered in his ear:

—I knew you could do it, I knew your moment would come.

He laughed, his face pressed against yours, still breathing fast and his heart racing.

—That goal was for you, babe. Always for you!

You caressed his face, your eyes filled with emotion.

—I’m so happy for you, Judie. You have no idea how much.

You stood there, still hugging each other, with the applause of the fans in the background and the rest of the players approaching to celebrate. But for Jude and you, that was a moment that belonged only to the two of you, a shared victory, where the goal, the fans and the noise of the stadium seemed to fade away, leaving only the loving and happy look you shared.

[waight-gain]

The Chef and the Critic

Chapter 1: The Tasting

The hushed murmurs filling La Cuisine's dining room parted like a curtain as Jacob Wellington, the city's most revered food critic, made his entrance. Patrons turned to admire him, their eyes lingering on his tall, elegant frame and the subtle confidence that radiated from his every movement. Jacob's sharp features, accentuated by a strong jawline and high cheekbones, seemed to have been chiseled by a master sculptor, while his deep, almost hypnotic brown eyes held an intensity that made it impossible to look away. His dark hair, styled with meticulous precision, hinted at a nature as disciplined as his lifestyle, and an exotic, spicy cologne lingered in his wake like a whispered promise.

His eyes scanned the menu, a silent predator seeking its prey. Jacob's reputation preceded him; he was known for his impeccable palate, his reviews capable of launching careers or sealing fates in the culinary world. His discerning taste and unwavering standards made him both revered and feared among chefs.

In the kitchen, the energy was palpable, a symphony of clanging pots and sizzling pans conducted by Alex Chevalier, the young, fiery chef-owner of La Cuisine. His muscular arms moved with practiced ease, chopping, stirring, and plating with an almost dance-like grace. Chestnut brown hair, tousled from hours of intense cooking, framed a face that alternated between boyish charm and the steely determination of a seasoned chef. Bright blue eyes, like the flame of a gas stove, sparked with creativity and a hint of mischief as he tasted a sauce, adjusting the seasoning with a mere pinch of salt. Alex's culinary style was an extension of his personality—bold, innovative, and unapologetically sensual. He believed in creating dishes that not only tantalized the taste buds but also evoked emotions and desires.

Tonight, Alex had a challenge—a special guest who could catapult him into the culinary elite or dash his dreams with a single, scathing review. Jacob Wellington was his target, and Alex was determined to leave him speechless.

As the first course was served, Alex's creation graced Jacob's table. It was a delicate composition of seared scallops atop a bed of citrus foam, garnished with microgreens and edible flowers. The plate was a masterpiece, each element carefully curated to dance on the palate. Jacob's eyes widened slightly, a subtle sign of appreciation, as he brought the fork to his lips.

"Impressive," Jacob whispered, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. "A delightful play of textures and flavors." He paused, savoring the dish, his eyes closing briefly to focus on the explosion of tastes. When he opened them, they met Alex's gaze through the small window overlooking the dining room. There was an unspoken acknowledgment, a spark of connection forged through the language of food.

In the kitchen, Alex wiped his hands on his apron, his heart racing as he prepared the next course. A fusion of French and Asian influences, it was a bold representation of his culinary style—a blend of classical technique and innovative creativity. He knew that each dish was a chance to prove himself, to show Jacob that he was more than just a rising star; he was a force to be reckoned with.

As the evening progressed, each dish became a chapter in a culinary love story. Alex's creations danced across Jacob's palate, from the crispy duck confit served with a lychee reduction to the deconstructed cheesecake with edible flowers. Every bite was a sensory journey, a blend of flavors that both challenged and delighted Jacob's refined taste.

In the kitchen, tension mounted as Alex's team worked feverishly to keep up with the demand. Plates were passed through the window at a rapid pace, each one a testament to Alex's vision and skill. The team moved in synchronized harmony, their movements a testament to the months of training and preparation that had gone into this night.

As the final course, a decadent chocolate soufflé with a hint of chili, was served, Jacob's eyes met Alex's once more. In that moment, there was an unspoken acknowledgment—a connection forged through the very essence of Alex's culinary creations. Jacob's fingers lightly grazed the stem of his wine glass, considering the intricacies of the meal.

"Chef, your cuisine is a revelation," he said, his voice steady and measured. "Each dish tells a story, and I find myself eager to hear the next chapter."

Alex's heart swelled with pride and a hint of desire. He knew that Jacob's words would soon grace the pages of the city's most influential food magazine, but at that moment, all he could think about was the electric connection between them, sparked by the very essence of his culinary creations.

Bonus Pics

[hawksdoll]

pro hero tenya ida finger fucking nsfw

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰⊱ ───

You wore a tight red dress, revealing just enough to turn heads but leaving the most important one in awe-your boyfriend, the newly minted pro hero Ingenium. It was a surprise visit to his agency, located at the very top of a towering building. Despite his young age, he ran the place with the precision of a navy seal, commanding respect. But lately, his workload had become overwhelming, and it left you feeling neglected in more ways than one. Long, lonely nights, with only your fingers to dull the aching pulse between your legs-what kind of boyfriend would leave his pretty girlfriend in such need?

Today, though, you were going to teach him a lesson. You knew exactly how to get your perfect, well-mannered boyfriend to drop the "upstanding citizen" act: break the rules. That's why you spent the morning sifting through your closet, finding the most revealing dress you owned-a dark shade of red that clung to every curve. Beneath it, a pair of black lace underwear barely covered your throbbing pussy, already wet just from imagining what might happen next.

As the elevator climbed higher, your pulse quickened. The cool metal walls contrasted with the heat simmering under your skin, and every click of your heels on the marble floor echoed your growing anticipation. Your thoughts raced ahead, imagining how he would react, how he would scold you at first- his eyes dark with desire, though his voice remained steady. The elevator dinged, signaling your arrival, and your breath hitched.

When the doors slid open, your boyfriend rose to greet you, his surprise quickly shifting to something more heated. His eyes roamed over your body, lingering on the hem of your dress where it clung to your thighs, leaving nothing to his imagination. You could see the conflict in his gaze-the battle between his desire and his discipline. He adjusted his glasses, trying to maintain his usual air of control. "You shouldn't be here," he scolded, but his voice had a rough edge to it.

But his words didn't register fully. All you could think about was the way his fingers brushed his glasses-how desperately you wanted them on you, inside you. Your knees nearly buckled, but you had a goal in mind. With a sweet smile, you twirled, the dress swaying just enough to tease him further. "Like my dress, baby?" you asked innocently, knowing full well what you were doing.

He frowned, trying to stay focused, but you weren't giving him a chance. You sauntered over to his desk, sitting yourself in his lap, wiggling against his cock, feeling him harden beneath you. His jaw clenched as he pushed you off, his hands surprisingly gentle. "I have work," he said firmly, though his gaze betrayed him.

"Hmph," you pouted, standing reluctantly, but not before you "accidentally" knocked his papers off the desk. Bending down to pick them up, you made sure your ass was in perfect view. You could feel the thin lace of your panties dampening, and you knew he could see just how needy you were. Your pulse quickened when you heard his sharp intake of breath.

That was it. His control snapped. He stood behind you, gripping your ass tightly, grinding you against his cock with a growl low in his throat. "You've been such a bad girl," he muttered, his voice dark and commanding. "And you know what happens when you don't follow the rules."

Before you could respond, his Cartier-ringed hand trailed up your thigh, the cold metal sending a shiver through your body. Then, with a swift motion, he bent you over his desk, his hand coming down on your ass in a sharp slap-not hard enough to bruise, but enough to leave a hot sting on your skin. The sensation shot straight to your core, and you whimpered.

His fingers slid over the damp fabric of your panties, teasing you as you squirmed beneath him. "You're already so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "Did you wear this for me?" His fingers rubbed your pussy through the lace, each touch sending waves of pleasure through you.

You whimpered, trying to press back against him, but he wasn't done toying with you. In one fluid movement, he cleared the desk, scattering the rest of his work, and lifted you onto it. His hands tore at your dress, ripping it from your body with ease. As rough as he was, there was a tenderness in the way he held your head, making sure you were comfortable as he leaned down to kiss your neck.

"Don't worry, my love. I'll buy you new dresses. Hundreds of them," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. His kisses were soft, a contrast to the heat building between you, and you could feel the pulse of his cock pressed against your thigh.

You let out a low, needy hum, wordlessly begging him for more. His mouth crashed into yours in a hungry kiss, and without warning, he plunged three fingers deep inside you. The stretch was sudden, making you moan loudly. into his mouth, but he swallowed every sound, his tongue dominating yours.

His pace was relentless, fingers curling to hit that perfect spot inside you over and over again. Your hips bucked involuntarily, desperate to match his rhythm. His lips found your nipple, sucking and twisting it as you gasped, completely overwhelmed by the sensations. "Missed you so much," he murmured against your skin. "Been dreaming about this-about you-for days."

His fingers moved faster, and you could feel your release building, the heat spreading from your core through every nerve in your body. The sound of your wetness, the squelching with each thrust of his fingers, filled the room, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

"Baby... I'm gonna cum," you panted, your voice trembling as your body tensed, ready to explode. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple, murmuring soft encouragements as you reached your peak. Your pussy clenched around his fingers, the pleasure hitting you in waves, your body trembling as your orgasm overtook you.

As he pulled his fingers from your soaking wet cunt, they slipped out with a wet "plop." He brought them to his mouth, licking them clean, groaning at your taste. "You taste so good, baby," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire.

Then, with a wicked grin, he leaned close, his breath hot against your ear. "I'm leaving work early today. I need to fuck you into the mattress all night to make up for the absence."

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

made for the lovely @kaluaah i hope you enjoy it!!

feel free to send requests <3

[spacemonkeysalsa]

I read about an evil magistrate in another Faerûn city, a few decades after Astarion had that job in Baldur's Gate and it has me thinking about his pre-vampire days, and my irl time as a Las Vegas law clerk. A lot.

Full disclosure: I feel a little guilty that I wrote so much on this topic rather than on one of my fics.

I wrote very little in July 🫣but it's because I was drawing and reading instead.

I read 13 books, but they were the first 13 Legend of Drizzt books.

And while writing fic, I've avoid details about Astarion's background as a magistrate, for reasons I've talked about a lot before, but I might need to rethink that, because one book in the Drizzt series just gave me SO MUCH context for what the world was like around the time that Astarion would have had this job, and also, what that job was like, and how it was very effected by geography and race. And I have THOUGHTS. Thousands of words of thoughts, apparently, below the cut.

TL;DR - The popular idea that pre-Cazador Astarion is the biggest possible asshole so he "earns" his fate is boring as hell, not actually supported by canon, or the examples of magistrates that we see in FR (who don't even need to be corrupt to satisfy cruel inclinations) and I deeply prefer going in a totally different direction. Below the cut is me working through my headcanon, and why I came to these conclusions.

I tagged this appropriately I think, but to emphasize, topics of relevance include horror movie tropes, torture, the deeply flawed American justice system, and the even more deeply flawed one in Faerûn as described by the Forgotten Realms novels I've read and the mentions/demonstrations in Bladur's Gate 3.

If you feel you need to avoid thinking about all of that, you are valid, and probably more correct than me for doing so.

And as always, it's just my opinion, based on my experiences. All headcanon is equally headcanon.

To start, I'm going to briefly reiterate that:

Astarion's canon backstory is thin on purpose and that all we really know about him is that he was a magistrate with not-red eyes who made an unpopular ruling that was unpopular for an unspecified reason and got jumped by Gur for a (heavily implied to be unreliable narrator influenced) reason.

That artbook is a developmental tool that is actually less likely to ever be considered canon than even a later stage developmental tool like a full manuscript outline precisely because of its position in the process.

But, before I get into what I read in Drizzt, I want to establish that my head space started from thinking about how much sadder it is if Astarion actually did have compassionate ideals and a balanced sense of justice prior to Cazador. The reason I think it's sadder is best illustrated by the choice to either make a doomed horror movie character sympathetic or an asshole. What happens to Astarion is basically a horror show, and some people prefer those fates are reserved exclusively for asshole victims. There's reasons to write this way, and it can be done well, but it's very easy to make it feel cheap and contrived and it's usually a sign of an amateur production, and a quick way to make an accessible film rather than a good one. Another option (which can also be done well or done poorly) is to harm characters who did absolutely nothing wrong.

To be clear, whether or not we like a character doesn't affect whether or not they "deserve" death. Horror movies often deal with totally disproportionate consequences, and the gruesome fate not really being "earned" can be an inherent part of the horror regardless of our sympathy.

But, I'm not sad when the evil teenagers in Toxic Avenger are killed. I am not that sad when Jigsaw's traps prove to be too much for his chosen victims. What happens to Julia's marks in Hellraiser doesn't move me as much as what's going on with Kirsty, even if they didn't deserve it, because they aren't particularly sympathetic.

And the thing about using characters like that is that it's not realistic. And to be clear, I don't think you always have to be realistic to tell a good story, in fact, please don't always cling to realism. But realism in characterization is usually a stronger choice, and should be considered generally. Most people are not as flat and unsympathetic as the asshole victims in slasher flicks. Even people who do bad things are not so one dimensional as to instill no sympathy in irl humans. I think people like to flatten Astarion in their mind, so that they don't have to confront the fact that very bad things happen all the time, and that most people didn't do anything to earn a horrible fate.

In the specific case of what happened to Astarion, even if he was a bad person, it's very difficult to ever make 200 years of torture, the loss of autonomy, exploitation on every level, including physical, sexual and psychological abuse, ever feel proportional. So at this point, some people need something to make it seem more just. Either because they hate the character, and want to feel that hating the character is objectively correct, or their worldview includes an idea of justice that can't accept such disproportionality.

And if you need that for your headcanon, dope. you're allowed whatever headcanon you want.

The "corrupt magistrate" thing isn't canon. It's headcanon. I understand that some people who really seem to know what they are talking about said it was canon, that's because they are wrong. People are wrong sometimes.

I recently became aware that although I thought we were all playing the same game, a bunch of players have never seen what I've seen, because it's all missable content. And, because everyone knows there's a bunch of stuff they haven't seen, it's real easy to just believe any random person on the internet who tells you something is buried deep in the game that you don't know about.

This specific situation with Astarion's canon backstory is that you'll never find much in the game, no matter how much you play, because there's nothing to find. Here's the facts: -There was never anything about Astarion being corrupt in the game, in early access, or in any of the writing that made it to recording. It was an idea that was discussed very early on---like back when we almost had a werewolf companion, (RIP Helia, you would've loved what I put you through) and they went in a totally different direction. Essentially, just imagine what they ultimately ended up doing with Gortash, and know that they were thinking about doing something similar with Astarion, but a long, long time ago.

-In the game, he'll lie and tell you he's a magistrate in Baldur's Gate and that it's tedious.

-Or, if you wait to ask him about himself until after you know he's a vampire, he'll tell you he was a magistrate, punishing troublemakers.

-Backstory complete!

-Art books are great, and beautiful, and it's baffling to me to see fans treat them like canon content, because if anything, they demonstrate various attempts to put together a story that ultimately didn't land for the creators. I love using materials like this when I write, I create character sheets and artbooks for my work all the time, and part of their charm is the features that didn't make it into the final work. Minthara is no longer an elven cleric, Shadowheart isn't covered in tattoos, and Astarion isn't one of corrupt elite of Baldur's Gate, or even elite, or a courtesan. Stop bringing up the artbook, you're embarrassing yourselves.

-There's actual explicit dialogue in game in which Astarion says he doesn't remember much from before he was turned. He says the person he was is gone, nothing left but a name on a rock. That's what's intentionally in the game. I think this is brilliant, because I think his character represents loss in a really poignant way, and that if they included anything too detailed about who he was before he got turned, that would undermine this theme, in a way that's especially unnecessary. It's better to keep it purposefully blank. A void of nothing. I'm actually really surprised that they didn't do this for Shadowheart, given that she's a Sharran, but in her story, we actually see a really nice counterexample: she does recall small details about her time in the city. Coming back there triggers memories and if you find all three of them---[spoiler deleted, please message me if you want to know about this, I've been informed I shouldn't just shout this out, because some people like to discover this stuff on their own. But also I'm not a gatekeeper, if you really want to know, I'm happy to tell you]. There's none of that for Astarion, in fact, if you go to the cemetery looking for his grave, which is something I think a lot of us did, you won't find any mention of him anywhere, but you will find one of those Shadowheart memories if she's with you. You only get to see Astarion's grave briefly, if you're romancing him, and even then, he once again takes the opportunity to talk about the person he once was truly is lost to him (and to us) and gone forever, long before we ever had the chance to know him.

It's tragic, and kind of perfect.

And in the meta of all this, it's intentional that we'll never known him. We might think we do, but we literally can't, because it's not in the story.

Which is good because it would ruin the scene a bit if he'd been like "btw I was a real piece of shit lmao." Just like it kind of ruins the affect of the empty backstory to go ahead and add a backstory.

But. We're curious, we speculate, and we expand, that's what fanfiction is for—it exists outside of the canon. I usually write post-canon, canon-consistent content, but there's a possibility I'll need to add a few scenes from Astarion's mortal life in this one fic—maybe not, idk���but in preparation for maybe doing that (or not), I had considered working through what I think his life was life before he was turned, and the events leading up to Cazador capturing him. I wasn't sold on the idea, but I was thinking about it.

And, then I started reading Spine of The World, which features an actual magistrate from DR 1365. This one is um. Corrupt. Or, at least, we would consider him to be corrupt? He's actually doing his job perfectly according to the very messed up justice system in Luskan, where he works. They don't have a concept of burden of proof there, or of innocence at all after you manage to get yourself arrested, and instead essentially just torture people to death publicly and explicitly for entertainment. It's not chill. It's not subtle. They call it Prisoner's Carnival.

This magistrate has Astarion's exact job, in a different city and a few decades later (and those differences matter, we'll get to it) but the important features are the same. So, here's some things to note: being a magistrate is a position of limited power, you have total discretion over the prisoners given to you for punishment (minus a few notable exceptions that come up in Spine of The World), but that's it. It's not like an influential political position of respect or anything. It can't be, because they are beholden to laws they can't change, and cultural traditions that are non-negotiable parts of the community.

This guy is referred to multiple times are a carnival barker. And there's loads of magistrates, they all have different reputations and and ymmv on how sadistic they individually are in Luskan. In a later book, when this particular magistrate is brought up again to another magistrate in Luskan, it's clear that the carnival barker thing isn't entirely universal and that he's considered one of the really bad ones, but regardless, they all acknowledge that what he does is legal and "serves a purpose" and they all direct and orchestrate the torture and slaughter of prisoners, and they all admit that many of them are probably innocent. The magistrates, and more importantly, the people in charge of them, maintain the necessity of the system, and the fear it instils to keep troublemakers in line.

One of the more reasonable and intelligent wizards in the series (a guy called Robillard who I can't help but envision as Gale of Waterdeep, because almost everything he does and says makes him sound like Gale of Waterdeep) shocks Drizzt by defending this system of justice very passionately.

Actually, Drizzt's thoughts in general about the Prisoner's Carnival are S-tier Drizzt musings, I love a man who keeps a journal. Likes cats too. Drizzt is lovely.

Drizzt also notes that this is a popular system in human societies specifically. Other races don't go in for it so much, and tend not to participate unless it's as... um... you know... as the prisoners being tortured. I think it's interesting that he mentions that elves in particular (in his experience) are universally disgusted by it. It's also explicitly stated that Baldur's Gate is different, and a much preferrable place to get tried by a magistrate. That isn't in his journal entry though, that's earlier in the novel. A moment of foreshadowing.

The whole world is brutal, but Baldur's Gate is a bit more modern and open to change than other places. That's probably one reason it keeps getting featured and mentioned even though we've barely spent any time there in Drizzt's series so far. It's a bit more relatable a place to actually live in long term than somewhere like Luskan, where you may have to seek out real estate that's far enough away from the square that you're not constantly hearing the death screams of someone being drawn and quartered in front of a cheering crowd. So that's the basics of it, and getting back to Astarion and the backstory that I would personally novelize for him, we have options:

If I'm going to try to fit this into the context that I now have though, it's important to keep in mind that 1) Baldur's Gate is considered one of the "nicer" places to be tried and 2) culturally, elves don't go in for cruelty, especially not as systemic "justice." None of this has to apply to Astarion, but if I'm writing it, I'm not going to ignore this cultural context. At a minimum, I'm going to say that appointing an elf as a magistrate in a city that's known for being more progressively compassionate about their treatment of prisoners was probably pointed on the part of tptb. Baldur's Gate wanted him to set an example for these bloodthirsty humans about mercy and justice and the balance between them. Racism dictates that you don't go to a human for that. They're carnival barkers. If you want a more compassionate magistrate, appoint an elf. And from there, we get to decide whether or not Astarion met their expectations, or if he defied them. Because maybe he was an asshole. Maybe he was just as bad as his human magistrate counterparts. That's not outside the realm of possibility at all, there's an argument to be made that we write him as a counterweight to the stereotype. Astarion is written to be capable of anything, so you can literally go in any direction with his disposition.

But, considering how Cazador rages that he "made" Astarion, and Astarion doesn't even argue with that sentiment. I think it's more likely (and loads sadder) if this unmaking and making included a complete and total overhaul of Astarion entire sense of justice. I actually think the harsh sentiments that Astarion expresses at the tribunal in Ansur's trials are a really good example of the flickers of Cazador and the person he twisted Astarion into, than they would ever be indicative of who he was before getting turned.

That guy's gone, remember?

And if it's not obvious, I'm going in that direction with my fanfic. I'm going to say he actually thought he could help his community. He studied. He got this civil servant position. It was a bit disillusioning. It's better in Baldur's Gate than in other places, but the system itself is cruel, and he's rewarded for being cruel within it. It doesn't even matter that he originally got the job because they hoped he would be a compassionate elf judge amongst bloodthirsty humans, once he's actually in position, it's all about maintaining the status quo. That's what they actually want from him, in spite of their "progressive" leanings.

If anything, he's getting in trouble, and getting noticed by not quite being status quo. A soft-hearted elf, letting his charges get away with all kinds of mischief. I'd write him this way, because I think it then easily follows that Cazador takes note of him and targets him, precisely because he's too merciful. It's annoying.

And, little bit about me, I'm an attorney, and early on, during and right after law school I worked for a few judges.

If Faerûn is anything like the USA I figure that after a few years he has figured out that being a magistrate only gives him a limited amount of discretion and authority over the specific individuals who are brought before him.

It's really legislation that makes a difference and he is specifically forbidden from that. He rules from the bench, and hopes that if he's consistent and fair, and if nothing disastrous results from his rulings, (and if he doesn't get reversed too often, idk if that's a thing in Faerûn but it's a thing in America) then maybe he could eventually influence those who do legislate, but like, that's not his job. And it's going to take a long time because most of it's quite tedious and people don't pay attention unless it's someone they care about standing before him. Nobody cares about the vast majority of these people. His job is to stare at "troublemakers" who have supposedly broken the law, hear witnesses and confessions and denials and lies and decide what the truth is, and decide what's fair.

And it's emotionally heavy work. A lot of people describe being a magistrate as a political position, and that's not incorrect, but there's a valley of difference between Astarion's very hands on job, and what Gortash/Duke Ravenguard do. You are beholden to powerful politicians (like actual politicians) with a lot more influence who figured all this out long before they made the mistake of having ideals or believing in anything, or taking a job in which they would have to a) actually work with people to probable burnout and b) inevitably make a lot of people very angry regardless of what they did.

But, Astarion is still young, he's still got energy, he's not lost himself yet, he thinks he can handle this responsibility and he's wrong.

One day, someone is brought before him. This person is Gur and has supposedly broken the law. Other Gur are upset about the way Astarion ruled. He was way too harsh, or maybe he wasn't.

Quick sidebar: in court, I have watched people literally receive the death sentence and have zero reaction. Same with life w/o parole and other life ruining sentences. In my experience, what triggers an emotional reaction and anger targeted at a judge isn't the severity of the sentence, it's how the severity of the sentence stacks up against their expectations. The defendants (or their families, with proxy outrage) who get really angry, who try to attack the judge, or the ones who are so disruptive that we have to call it and go wait in the hallway while the baliffs calm things down, all have one thing in common: they legitimately thought they were going to just be sent home. They didn't think they were going to be held at all. For that reason, I actually saw a lot more rage from people who had committed minor offenses, because they didn't think what they had done was that big a deal, showed no remorse, ignored their atty, made no effort to express any respect for the law, or any victims, and then when the judge just decides to go with whatever the statute says, in light if zero mitigating factors, the defendant hears "60 days" for the very first time and assumes that the judge just made that up and hates them.

And like, I know it's fiction, and I'm speaking on a very niche experience that most people can't relate to. It's unlikely the writers had anything (let alone realism) in mind at all when they decided to be as vague as possible in the details about a character who embodies "loss" as a concept. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss.

But this sidebar is just to explain why whenever someone says "well he got beat to death for it so his ruling must've been racist and harsh" my knee jerk response is "not necessarily."

And sidebar within the sidebar: if I was going to fully novelize the story, I would actually go in the direction of having the ruling in question be uncommonly fair. I might hint at some racism though—nobody really talks about it below the surface level obvious stuff that's in the game, and part of that is because information about the Gur as a people isn't super accessible. But there is information, and synthesized: racism against the Gur seems pretty standard, especially for an elf who has had it up to here with human bullshit generally. Especially during that time period. He probably didn't have a good opinion of the Gur in life.

But, I have to assume that his animosity towards the Gur that we see in the game was at least affected by the fact that they beat him to death, and then, he spent two centuries as an undead being that they kill on sight with absolutely no justification needed. Like. I don't think it's wild to suggest that. I'm actually very confused by how much people push back on the idea that this could be responsible for his attitude, in part. And that's as far as I have combed through all this so far. Idk how much of it will end up in fic, but it's my personal headcanon now.

I love horror movies. I have watched so many of them it's embarrassing. My letterboxd is embarrassing. I do love several horror movies that feature asshole victims, but as I look at my very favorites, I'm noticing a pattern. I like to feel hurt. I like it when a movie doesn't shy away from dealing out universal, apathetic and disproportionate punishment to everyone. I can't think of anything quite so sad as seeing a perfectly normal, maybe even morally progressive person with their whole life ahead of them, and choosing to unmake them and twist them into a broken puppet in your own image. Sparing/saving no one and nothing in the process. Just make them lose everything, including their entire sense of who they are.

So, I'm going to hurt my own feelings with my Astarion headcanon.

[laura1633]

Thinking out loud about another random Lestappen Fanfic based off the idea of Max being sent to encourage Charles to Red Bull but maybe doing a little too good a job of luring him ….

NSFW ramble under the cut….

…. Max’s 2023 season is spent taking victories and dick. Charles’ dick to be precise. Never one to shy away from a challenge Max was eager enough when Christian told him to try and work his magic and lure Charles away from Ferrari. Christian may not have gone as far as to verbally state what he meant by ‘lure’ but the condoms and lube Max suddenly found appearing in his drivers room on a regular basis gave him enough of a clue. 

He was three races into the new season when he ended the weekend down on his knees, mouth wrapped eagerly around the Monegasque’s dick. It took five races before Charles had him down on all fours and moaning incoherently as he was fucked from behind. 

Free use. 

That was how Max had sold it to Charles. The Monegasque could do whatever he wanted to him whenever he wanted. It was meant to be a taster of what life at Red Bull could be like. Charles could have him any which way as long as he signed on the dotted line. 

And Charles certainly took advantage of the offer. More than Max was actually anticipating. As he racked up the victories he also racked up the number of loads he took from Charles. By the time Las Vegas rolled around Max was conditioned to receiving Charles’ cock before he could consider the weekend fully complete. It was like some sort of pavlovian condition. He jumped in the car concentrated and determined but took the chequered flag practically salivating and vibrating at the thought of what Charles was going to do to him.

It was working too. Negotiations between Red Bull and Charles were going well, or at least that was what Max could gather from the information he had. He wasn’t in all the meetings of course, he left the legal stuff to Red Bull to sort out. Besides he felt like he was already doing enough to encourage things along. There were hints though, Charles sometimes had him cock warm him during phone negotiations and Max heard enough to feel a nice pleasant buzz under his skin. 

That was until Christian broke the news to him. Charles had withdrawn from contract negotiations altogether, had decided to stay with Ferrari after all. To say it hurt was an understatement, Max had given everything. Both physically and emotionally because there was only so much time he could have realistically spent in Charles’ presence before falling in love with him. It was so stupid, he was too busy getting kissed and touched and fucked that he’d let his guard down. But Charles always said such nice things to him, told him how pretty he looked all flush and writhing around on the bed. Told him how much he liked spending time together. Started staying the whole night and curling up in bed to sleep together. It had been perfect, everything had felt right. 

Max stumbled to Charles’ door in a daze. A whole speech prepared about how hurt he was but Charles had kissed him and run his fingers through his hair and Max had melted in an instant. It was only laying in bed afterwards when Max really understand what was going on. 

Everything had felt right for Charles too. “Perfect” was what Charles had said before explaining that the closer the two of them had gotten the more he realised he liked things how they were. Fighting on track but no inner team political battles. Having the thrill of the chase without any underlying tensions around team orders. To risk all that wasn’t worth it. Charles could stay at Ferrari and Max could stay at Redbull. Ferrari's il Predestinato v Red Bull’s newest Golden Boy. Just how it was always meant to be. 

Charles didn’t decide not to go to Red Bull to avoid Max. Charles decided not to go to Red Bull because he had fallen madly in love with Max. And he wouldn’t risk their new found relationship for all the world. Besides, Charles believed in destiny, and the more he thought about things the more he realised that his destiny was to fall in love with Max and to become a world champion with Ferrari. One down, one to go. 

[formulapookie]

💛💛

Under the cut to read on tumblr, here to read on Ao3

chapter 1 ; chapter 2

Les fleurs du mal rosquez, 2.1k words

Next race is two weeks later, championship finale, and Marc has been feeling increasingly worse for these past days.

The coughing had gone on almost non-stop, sometimes accompanied by petals, sometimes just a bothersome feeling of suffocation.

He doesn’t precisely know when, but some of the petals have started coming out colored a deep blue now, the yellow still there, perfectly matching Vale’s color scheme.

He had a half thought of reaching out to Vale, telling him about his situation, and telling him how truly hurt he was.

But he ultimately didn’t, he couldn’t - after last time, when he tested on his skin what hate meant he couldn’t bear the thought of being close to Vale without breaking down.

It had only gone worse, from his visit to Vale’s motorhome, he could feel his lungs crush under the pressure of the roots around them.

His brother knew something was wrong but couldn’t say what, Marc hadn’t spoken to him about his problem at all, and much less to his father.

His mother, well she didn’t need any kind of words to know what was happening to him, not after he had yelled at her when he came back and found his room stripped of any kind of reference to Vale, the room who was supposed to be his sanctuary, the room he wanted to photograph and send to Vale to remind him.

Remind him he had been there, had seen it all, reminding him how they had shared his room for more than a night.

And it was all gone, as if it was never there, just a ghost in Marc’s heart.

Marc had yelled so much to her his throat closed, he had begun coughing and gasping for air, until a bunch of petals had come out his mouth, falling to the ground, next to the cardboard boxes where his mother had carefully put away all the collection bikes and the poster.

The cap and the framed picture on top of them, the helmet stored in another box, wrapped so as not to ruin it.

He had cried then, cried so much he barely could breathe, and his mother had just held him, trying to calm him down as more petals made their way out of his lungs.

“per què fa tant mal mare?  Vull que s'aturi, si us plau, necessito que s'aturi”  (Why does it hurt so much mom? I want it to stop, please, I need it to stop)

“perquè estimes amb tot el cor, i la gent no és tan amorosa com tu, Marc” (Because you love with all your heart, and people are not as loving as you, Marc)

“Em fa tant mal que no puc respirar, per què m'odia? Em va dir que m'estimava. Per què m'odia? L'estimo mare, l'estimo” (It hurts so much I can’t breathe, why does he hate me? He told me he loved me. Why does he hate me? I love him mom, I love him)

“Ho sé, ho sé, l'estimes tant que estàs disposat a no sotmetre's a l'operació perquè tens por d'oblidar-lo” (I know, I know, you love him so much you’re willing not to undergo the operation because you’re scared you’ll forget him)

“Només vull que em torni a estimar” (I just want him to love me back)

“Ho sé Marc, ho sé” (I know Marc I know)

He had passed out in his mother’s arms, tears all over his face and lungs burning.

He didn’t understand how Vale could hate him so much after all the promises he made, all the murmured “I love you”s between the sheets, all the sweet glances when he stayed over at Vale’s.

He's preparing for the press con now, quali gone, he had crashed a few minutes to the end, he had trouble getting up, but he had managed to get a few good laps in.

The crash had made him lose breath, the little one he still has.

For a game of sorts, he’s sat next to Vale at the press con, and he hates it.

He’ll see how pathetic he looks like this, how lonely and miserable he is without Vale in his life.

They don’t speak, Vale ignores him completely if not to bad mouth him to the press, who like flies on honey is eager to get the micro expressions on Marc’s unreadable face.

When the journalists turn to Lorenzo for some questions Vale strikes.

It’s calculated, cruel, made to hurt.

“You like helping him uh? You sucked his dick too? Did you go to him and let him fuck you as a thank you for letting him win? Did he fuck you well Marc? I bet you enjoyed his dick so much given how you ran to me immediately after to suck me off”

“Stop it Vale please”

“Ah stop what? I’m having fun here aren’t you? Does he know how you like to be treated like the whore you are?”

Marc can’t hold it anymore, not with the amount of cruelty Vale is throwing his way.

He starts to cough, turning towards Vale, and the petals fall from his lips, they’re of a dark deep blue.

He can’t stay here, he just can't, he has to get out this damn press con now.

Vale is staring at the petals, one of them has landed on his lap. The room has gone silent, one can only hear Marc‘s all-but- hidden coughs as he runs out the room.

The journalists are frozen, Vale rushes out the room.

He doesn’t make it too far before noticing Marc leaning over a bin coughing and puking those fucking yellow and blue petals.

Some of the people standing out of the press con room start to take out phones and cameras to record Marc.

Vale tries to get close to Marc, somehow shield him from the flashing of the phones and the fuckers taking pictures of him, but Marc just pushes him away.

Yells at him to go away.

And Vale is shocked because he never heard Marc yell, much less would he have expected Marc to yell at him.

He tries to get close again, understand if what’s happening is truly what he thinks is happening.

And Marc now just looks like a wounded animal, and he hates it; he hates it even more than being insulted by Vale. He's weak in front of who knows how many people, he’s weak in front of Vale.

He feels one of Vale’s hands on his arms and jerks away with force.

“Don’t touch me!”

He’s crying, face red and his whole body is shivering.

Vale doesn’t really make out what is going on, it’s all too confusing right now.

He only sees a flash of blue, speeding right next to him, and closing the distance to Marc as he’s frozen there.

“Marc let's go away I’m taking you to the medical center come on, let’s go” 

As he focuses back on reality he only understands Lorenzo has come to Marc’s rescue, somehow, and managed to drag him away.

He’s standing there, the flashing of phones disturbing, press con canceled, his mind racing.

He walks back to his motorhome, everyone saw the press con, he avoids talking to people.

Meanwhile Marc has been taken to the med center, he didn’t want to go, he tried to free himself from Jorge’s hold, but the older man just didn’t let go, he was stronger than him in this situation, Marc too debilitated by the illness.

When he arrives at the center he’s shivering, his body is burning, he’s coughed so many times he feels his whole throat scratch and tear at every breath he takes, his lungs feel caged in an intricate maze of roots.

He’s crying and sweating and shivering, he looks like he’s on the verge of a collapse from how much his body is out of his control.

“Marc you have to focus back on where you are I need you to focus on where you are”

The voice of the doctor seems far, as if he’s talking through a glass door.

He somehow manages to get back, resurface to reality.

The coughing stops, for now at least, but the fever is really high, and the tremors are only slightly better.

“Marc, were you aware you were suffering from Hanahaki?”

“Yes”

Marc’s voice sounds so feeble and thin he doesn’t think it’s him doing the talking.

“I need your consent and signature here to have you transported to the hospital for the surgery, we caught it in time luckily, you just need to sign here and I’ll-“ “No” “Marc don’t be stupid sign the damn form” “No” “Marc, you understand the risk you’re putting yourself through?”

“Yes. I can’t - I just can’t forget him, you get it? I know he’ll - with a bit more time he’ll love me back. He’ll love me again. I can’t have the surgery. I have to race tomorrow I have no time”

Jorge is just staring into the void, he can’t believe this kid is wiling to fucking risk his life for what? Valentino Rossi? 

Because no matter the fact Marc has not said his name, he’s got heart eyes for him since they met, and the two of them were all but subtle.

He is willing to sacrifice his health  for a man so egotistical he dares to blame this same kid for ruining his chance at a tenth title?

A kid who for fuck’s sake is willing to endure this inferno just because he can’t think of living without the knowledge of who Vale is?

The same Vale who’s now sitting in his motorhome, on his couch, silent, trying to elaborate what he just saw.

A feeling of guilt is gnawing at his guts, twisting them in a way he doesn’t like in the slightest.

He had been pushed away by Marc. First time in history he was the one who was pushed away, yelled at, distanced.

And it feels fucking horrible.

The door opens slightly, Uccio sneaks in, an ugly looking grin on his face.

“What the fuck did I do Uccio”

There’s silence, the man doesn’t answer, he waits for Vale to finish.

“I - that’s a kid I - he was puking petals fucking God, they were all blue and and yellow I - oh God”

“I don’t think those petals were for you Vale”

At this Vale gets up, he’s angry, and something else Uccio can’t quite figure out.

“Not for me? The fuck do you mean not for me? Yellow and blue remind you of something Uccio? Huh? Maybe I don’t know, MY fucking colours? The ones I’ve been wearing all the time? Why the fuck are you saying shit like this? Why - why did you come to me saying he - he would ruin my championship”

Uccio takes a step back, Vale is too close to him and a bit too angry for his liking.

Every word he speaks is like poison to Vale’s mind and heart, it takes over everything else, over every rational thought.

“There weren’t any yellow petals Vale. Just blue. Blue petals each time he coughed. And look, look how he pushes and yells you away and look how when Lorenzo comes close he melts in his arms. What does blue make you think of?”

“Me, Yamaha for fucks sake”

“Yamaha. But whose one? Look how the coughing stops here, when Lorenzo goes to drag him away”

The sequences playing on the ipad screen are undeniably those Uccio spoke about.

He was sure he had seen yellow petals, he was sure.

Like he was sure Marc wasn’t responsible for the losing of the tenth, until Uccio had shown him proof.

every cough two or three blue petals coming out his mouth, Marc pushing him away, Lorenzo being accepted as a savior.

“The petals are not for you Vale. They’re for Lorenzo. Why else would he have helped him win? Why else would the petals be blue? Why else would he trust only Lorenzo to be close?”

And the little poison Uccio is spreading with his words gets to Vale, it digs its way to his brain, to his heart. 

Marc truly helped Lorenzo win because of a more intricate and complicated relationship between the two.

Marc. Marc wasn’t suffering because of him. He didn’t play a part in it. 

He knows because he was shown evidence.

Like the telemetry. Yes. The telemetry it - it was clear from there.

Marc is not his. Marc can suffer on his own.

Because it’s not his fault after all, if Lorenzo doesn’t love him back.

[ponyosmom35]

new beginnings - Simon Ghost Riley

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Liability chapter twenty three

synopsis: the reader has adjusted back into her life, figuring out how to deal with the trauma of what she'd been through. She is surprised to get a special visitor.

wanrings: mentions of trauma, nightmares, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF AHHH

Liability series:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

Her life was different after returning home. She had been required to take time off, and this time she was more than okay with the quiet days she spent trying to get her mind right. She saw a therapist twice a week and had the support of her family, who had become closer than ever. Her days were long, she found new hobbies to keep her busy while she awaited a call from Simon. She’d cleaned every room in her house and invested a considerable amount of time organizing her kitchen with the aesthetic containers she’d seen on TikTok. She’d taken up knitting, something she had gotten into a few years prior, but became too busy to keep up. She was running rapidly through her TBR list and had already ordered a large bookshelf to put in her office, which she planned to change into a library.  

Her parents had been spending a lot of time with her as well, offering support in the form of garden work. Precisely what they’d done after Emma passed. Her father had done a majority of the landscaping before she went back to work. He’d created a gorgeous stone path leading up to her porch, and was nearly done with one in the backyard, leading down to her precious willow tree. Now leaving the flowers to be planted, and the seeds to be planted in her garden boxes. She wanted to grow her food. Reconnecting herself with nature allowed her dark thoughts to evade her mind. Despite how busy she kept herself, truly she’d never been more at peace. However, her heart called out for Simon in the late hours of the night, when her sore and tired body yearned to be held in his strong arms. 

If she was lucky, he’d call every other day. Though sometimes it was a week without a word from him. After what happened in Las Almas, Price and Shepard had a lot of paperwork to do. Keeping Simon and the rest of the team busy. She missed him dearly, unsure how to cope without ever feeling his lips against hers again. How had she survived thus far? A part of her worried that he would push her away again, especially after what happened. But things were different this time, he reached out as much as he could. He said he missed her. The memory makes her face blush.

She’d gotten out of bed later than normal this morning. The downside of her time back home had been the nightmares. Though her days were busy enough to keep the horrible experience out of her mind, the darkness wasn’t as kind. She had taken her time getting up, taking a long shower to calm her racing mind. She took extra care to complete an everything shower, completing her full skincare routine afterwards. She dresses in a simple pair of gray sweatpants and a cropped black long-sleeve, pulling her fuzzy socks over her feet. She let her hair hang down her back, causing the back of her shirt to dampen as it airdryed. 

She trudges downstairs and makes herself an iced coffee, pouring the premade mix into a glass and adding oat milk and a bit of caramel. She pops a bagel in the toaster and scrolls through her phone as she waits for it to cook. After a few minutes, it’s golden brown and she spreads her favorite garden vegetable cream cheese on it. She sits down at the barstool and grabs her iPad, going to YouTube to put on the newest Cody Ko video to enjoy while she eats. 

After she finishes with her food, she cleans up the crumbs and does her dishes. She opens her curtains (which she closed every night) and looks out at the gorgeous trees surrounding her house. She slips on a pair of Birkenstocks and walks out of the front door, she smiles as she realizes that her large bookshelf has arrived. She grimaces at the size, unsure how she was going to get it in the house, much less up the steps. She decides to worry about it later and walks down the porch steps. She walks to the side of the house and begins to water the plants. Typically she’d do this later at night however it was meant to be nasty weather later, with strong winds and thunderstorms. 

She shuffles her playlist and smiles as Scott Street by Phoebe Bridgers plays. She hums along to the tune and ensures that her plants get enough water. After finishing the back, she refills her water and moves to the front of the house. She pauses as she spots a black Ford F150 parked in her driveway and her blood runs cold. She didn’t know anybody who owned a truck. She rounds the corner fully and spots a large body standing at her door, her heart stops as she recognizes him instantly. There he was in the flesh, wearing jeans and a black long sleeve, with the sleeves pushed up, revealing his mouth-watering tattoos. 

She drops the water on the ground, causing it to spill all over the ground. Simon turns at the sound and relief washes over his face. He hurries down the steps and closes the distance between them. He wraps his arms around her, holding the back of her head to his chest, the other around her shoulders. As if a weight was lifted off her chest, she clings to him. 

“I missed you” he murmurs in her ear

“I didn’t know you were coming, I would’ve picked you up from the airport” she says pulling away, staring up at him warmly. He notices the tears in her eyes and smiles, placing a hand on her cheek. He places a gentle kiss on her lips, soft and sweet. Before she could respond he pulls back and holds her against him, as she stares up longingly. 

“It was last minute, the second I got word that we were done I caught the next flight out” he explains 

“I’m so happy you’re here” she says 

“Me too love” he responds softly

Tag list:

@vivi123abc 

[folklorriss]

feels like home | ln4 + op81

{ lista principal }

pov: oscar encontra uma equipe pra chamar de casa.

- avisos: bromance! um pouco emocional.

- wc: 1.753.

- n/a: escrevi isso aqui antes da temporada desse ano começar, antes da mclaren virar uma zona e quando éramos uma familia feliz, ok?? simplesmente fofo demais pra descartar, sorry not sorry. ah, é baseada no gp de silvo 23 e não revisei!! desculpa se tiver algum erro.

Imagens tiradas do Pinterest, todo direito reservado ao seus autores. História ficcional apenas para diversão, não representa a realidade e os personagens utilizados possuem suas próprias vidas e relacionamentos, seja respeitoso. 😊

Oscar nunca se sentiu em casa. Ele ouvia as pessoas ao seu redor falarem sobre “estar em casa” com suas equipes, mas ele não sabia, nem conseguia imaginar como era a sensação.

Veja bem, não que ele fosse maltratado ou estivesse indiferente ao seu time, não era isso, era apenas uma relação… Superficial? É, talvez essa fosse a palavra.

Não era por falta da equipe tentar, Oscar reconhecia os esforços de todos para se aproximar dele e abrir a caixinha de segredos da sua mente, mas era algo que já estava enraizado em quem ele era, essa coisa de “ser fechado”, distante, até meio frio, como algumas pessoas costumavam dizer.

Mas nem sempre foi assim, Oscar em algum momento da vida teve amigos próximos, amigos que ele chamou de irmão, amigos que ele confiava sua vida, mas quanto mais crescia e ganhava destaque no esporte, mais descobria sobre a inveja e do pior jeito entendeu que não tinha amigos de verdade.

Por isso, se fechar no seu próprio mundo e criar a máscara de garoto centrado passou a ser uma forma de defesa, foi o jeito que encontrou de evitar a decepção e aquela sensação de ter seu coração esmagado por alguém que tanto adorava.

A adaptação na McLaren vinha sendo um desafio silencioso. Oscar era tímido e introvertido, enquanto Lando, além de ser o oposto dele, era também o queridinho da equipe e dos fãs. O que era compreensível.

Lando era divertido, sabia dizer o que as pessoas queriam ouvir e como faze-las se sentor especial. Oscar o adorava, sempre o adorou. A companhia de Lando era leve e fazia Oscar se sentir à vontade, já que o britânico nunca, nunca mesmo o pressionava para falar ou se enturmar.

Com o tempo e convivência, Lando aprendeu a identificar quando era um bom dia e quando não, e Oscar se sentia grato por ele respeitar isso sem nunca questionar, apenas oferecer palavras de conforto ou piadas inconvenientes, que arrancavam Oscar do lugar escuro que sua mente às vezes ia visitar.

Oscar sentia que Lando realmente se importava com ele, como um amigo de verdade faria, mas ainda assim, ainda assim, a voz da auto sabotagem gritava em sua cabeça e o fazia recuar, principalmente quando a mídia começava a alimentar uma rixa entre eles.

“Lando Norris deve se preocupar com o novato?”

“A carreira de Norris está ameaçada?”

“Oscar Piastri vai derrubar Lando Norris do trono na McLaren?”

E sempre foi assim, as pessoas criavam rixas entre Oscar e outros pilotos simplesmente por ele ser bom naquilo que fazia. O australiano nunca precisou passar por cima de ninguém pra chegar onde estava, isso nem sequer passou pela sua cabeça e agora ele via a mesma coisa se repetir.

Será que Lando daria ouvidos para as fofocas? Será que Lando se afastaria dele? Será que o veria como um inimigo? O jovem piloto sentia que não importava o quanto nadasse, sempre estaria à deriva, nunca encontraria um lar, fosse ele uma equipe ou uma pessoa, então preferia continuar fechado com suas inseguranças e não se apegar muito a Lando, assim ele não sofreria tanto em ver mais um amigo se afastar quando a hora chegasse.

—

A home race em Silverstone foi um sucesso. Lando terminou no pódio, segundo lugar, e Oscar em quarto. Havia sido a melhor posição dele desde que iniciou na Formula 1 e também o melhor desempenho da McLaren naquela temporada.

Oscar estava feliz com os seus resultados, sentia um calor gostoso no peito como a tempos não sentia. Mesmo que não tenha terminado no pódio, esteve próximo disso. Havia tirado o melhor do carro e conseguiu trazer insights valiosos para a equipe, dados que ajudariam a continuar na melhoria do carro.

Ele estava aguardando no cercado para dar sua entrevista pós corrida enquanto assistia o pódio. Lando estava prestes a explodir de felicidade, ele conseguia ver.

Um jornalista o chama para a entrevista e ele se aproxima com um sorriso estonteante nos lábios.

“Oscar! P4, que bela corrida, meus parabéns.” o jornalista parabeniza e Oscar sente suas bochechas corarem, agradecendo com um leve aceno de cabeça. “Como você se sente agora que conseguiu um bom desempenho? Não foi um bom começo para você e a McLaren, né?”

“Não foi, mas me sinto aliviado. É ótimo poder finalmente pilotar e ter bons resultados. Nunca duvidei que conseguiríamos alcançar uma melhora, mas inegável que estávamos tensos. Então sim, foi um bom dia e é graficamente poder vir aqui e fazer um bom trabalho, mostrar nosso valor como piloto e equipe.”

“Certamente o desempenho do carro não afetou na sua reputação, todos sabem como você é bom.” Oscar sorri ao elogio. “Quanto ao seu companheiro, quase que tivemos a primeira vitória de Lando, mas sempre tem algo que impede…”

“Max e sua Red Bull, é isso que impede.” Oscar brinca e o jornalista ri.

“Isso também, mas você acha que falta algo pra ele? Algo que talvez você tenha e ele não? Aliás, você acha que é capaz de vencer uma corrida antes dele?”

Oscar consegue detectar a maldade naquela pergunta e isso faz seu sangue gelar. As engrenagens no seu cérebro trabalham rapidamente para responder aquela pergunta sem dar margem para ser distorcida. Na verdade, ele nem queria responder aquilo, que tipo de pergunta era aquela? Ele jamais falaria mal de Lando, muito menos enquanto ele está a metros de distância feliz e erguendo um troféu.

“Eu não… Hm, não acho que falte nada nele, Lando é um piloto excelente e muito capaz.” Oscar pirragueia e cruza os braços. “A hora dele vai chegar, vimos agora pouco como ele tem chances de vencer, nós sabemos disso. Quanto à última pergunta, não acho adequada e prefiro não responder.”

“Mas isso pode ser um problema na relação de vocês num futuro, caso você vença antes, não acha?” o jornalista insiste.

“Estou no meu primeiro ano, tenho muito a aprender, não estou muito preocupado com isso agora.” Oscar respira fundo tentando controlar a voz. “Você tem mais alguma pergunta referente a corrida?”

Droga. Não foi uma boa resposta, aquilo iria repercutir da pior forma. O piloto só queria sair dali, pegar suas coisas e se enfiar no quarto do hotel até aquela sensação crescente de ansiedade parar no seu peito.

O jornalista faz mais uma pergunta sobre o desempenho da McLaren e encerra a entrevista. Oscar volta para a garagem ainda pensando sobre a pergunta e como ela iria repercutir mal, ele sabe que vai. Era sempre isso, o dia não tinha nada ver com a capacidade ou não de Oscar vencer uma corrida, mas claro, claro que todos fariam ser sobre isso, a comparação entre os dois.

“Ei, ei” Oscar está tão concentrado em subir para sua sala que não percebe a presença de Lando, e acaba esbarrando no companheiro. “Vai com calma, novato.” Lando sorri e o segura pelos ombros. Ele está sorridente, leve, radiante e segura o troféu na mão.

“Desculpa. Ei, parabéns, cara. Boa corrida” Oscar oferece a mão e Lando o encara um pouco confuso, mas aceita o cumprimento.

“Tá tudo bem?” o britânico pergunta.

“Claro, sim, só vou subir para arrumar minhas coisas. Nos falamos depois?”

Oscar nem espera por uma resposta e sai apressadamente para sua sala. Trancando a porta atrás de si, ele procura pelo celular e envia uma mensagem para Lily. Mesmo sabendo que não receberia uma resposta imediata, só desabafar com ela conseguiria o acalmar naquele momento.

Seus dedos pairam sob o aplicativo do twitter, pronto para abrir a rede e ver quanto sua fala já havia sido tirada do contexto… Mas não! Aquela era a pior decisão agora, não precisava disso, não mesmo, então ele bloqueia o celular e o joga no sofá, passando as mãos pelo cabelo.

Uma batida leve na porta o tira da sua bolha de ansiedade e ele respira fundo antes de abrir. Lando está apoiado no batente.

“Vi a entrevista.” ele simplesmente diz.

“Ah.” é tudo que Oscar consegue dizer e Lando passa por ele, parando no meio da pequena sala.

“Osc, escuta, eles vão tentar de todas formas abalar essa relação” Lando aponta entre eles. “Fazer parecer que nos odiamos, que estamos competindo internamente, mas não existe isso, ok? Você sabe que não, eu sei que não, toda equipe sabe que não.” o britânico se aproxima e segura Oscar pelos ombros. “Não deixe eles entrarem na sua mente. A Formula 1 é um jogo perigoso e está longe de ser um lugar seguro, não precisamos piorar isso. Eu não estou preocupado se você vai vencer uma corrida antes de mim e vou ficar extremamente feliz se isso acontecer, não vai ser um problema entre nós, hm?” Lando abaixa o olhar para ele, pedindo por uma confirmação e Oscar suspira, desviando o olhar.

“É só que às vezes…” Ele fecha os olhos e balança a cabeça. “Às vezes é difícil não pensar que algumas coisas não vão se repetir, só isso.”

“Acredite, sei bem. Mas também sei que você é melhor que isso, cara.” Lando aperta os ombros dele em conforto. “Todos aqui, antes de te respeitar como piloto, te respeitam como pessoa. Não vamos te abandonar, ok? E além do mais, não sou aqueles caras.”

Oscar o encara surpreso. Ah. Então Lando sabia da puxada de tapete que Oscar levou anos atrás, sabia como era difícil para ele confiar em alguém e sabia do medo de ser enganado de novo, de não se sentir parte de nada.

Lando apenas sorri em conforto. Ele entendia os medos de Oscar e respeitava isso, afinal, também tinha seus próprios demônios e como tinha. Oscar sorri quando sente a sensação incômoda de falta de ar o deixar lentamente.

“Coloca um sorriso nessa cara e vem tirar foto com a equipe. Quero meu teammate do meu lado comemorando esse pódio.” Lando dá um tapinha na bochecha de Oscar e o australiano ri.

Eles descem juntos para encontrar a equipe os esperando, já organizada para a foto em frente a garagem. Lando para atrás da placa que indica um P2 para ele e um P4 para Oscar. O australiano sorri ao ver que foi incluído na placa, e se abaixa ao lado dela, mas Lando cutuca sua cabeça.

“Ei, do meu lado, novato.” ele sorri para o amigo.

Oscar revira os olhos e vai para o local indicado ao lado dele.

“Pode parar de nadar, Osc. Agora você está em casa.”

Lando sussurra e o flash da câmera dispara, mas nada brilha mais do que o sorriso de Oscar que, finalmente, se sentia em casa.

[lets-try-some-writing]

(you might get double of this same ask bc I'm not sure the last one went through so ignore this one if it did)

Just thought of a weird thing where cybertronians aren't created by the allspark or any other canon variation but are instead made a la vampire/cybermen from Doctor Who style, where already living organisms are turned into cybertronians. I just think it'd be interesting to see how this au would play out (especially with the kids- would they get turned by the Deceptions for some reason- evil or otherwise- or, in an angstier way, by the Bots?). I just think it'd be interesting

This concept has me in a CHOKEHOLD. Now I NEED to write for it. I've always found these sorts of ideas interesting. This is going to be LONG though.

The Weakness of Flesh

The legends said that during the beginning of all things, Unicron created his minions of chaos. They were wrapped in living material, organic matter, and cast out amongst the stars that were forged from Primus's radiant light. World filled with organic life flourished, creatures spring up left and right, and in that moment, life filled the previously empty universe. The preachers said that Primus saw this desecration of his holy lands and strove to return all to the light of his being in the creation of his own champions.

From the strongest of Unicron's minions, Primus took them unto himself and raised them up. He remade them piece by piece, stripping away the weakness of flesh for the eternity of a frame of metal. From his own frame he cut until the swirling nebula of his lifeblood fell upon the creations of Unicron he chose. The tainted creatures of Unicron basked in Primus's essence and consumed it, the impurity of their beings washed away with every sip. Many of the chosen perished in the light of Primus's essence, too tainted to survive. However thirteen endured the changes and were born anew, each strong and gifted with power unique to them based upon what they once were.

The records said that once they were made anew the first thirteen fought against the chaos god at Primus's bidding and struck him down. It is said that they then used their gifts to reforge Primus's slumbering frame to be a world upon which they could live. However none know precisely what happened, only that the thirteen gathered up organics made of the chaos god and brought them to Cybertron, the slumbering form of their Sire. There they each took upon themselves organic creations and shared their lifeblood as Primus had with them, changing the organics to match them in image. Then just as the work began, it ended with conflicts among the thirteen as those with the most converts fought amongst themselves.

Little is known of their battles, but in the end, Solus and Liege fell, many retreated to the stars, and Onyx, Micronus, Nexus, and the Thirteenth quietly vanished after draining their energon for others to consume. With time, those that remained also vanished into obscurity, lingering but never acting in any significant way.

Those were the times of legends, and that is what the preachers said.

Whatever really happened, Cybertron was born and on its surface a race reliant on others to reproduce was formed. Made of metal and with cores formed from the essence of the divine, Cybertronians stormed the galaxy with Primes, those with the purest bloodlines, on their side. Those who wished for young travelled far and wide across the stars, searching out organics who they found to fit their bloodline and be worthy of conversion.

While they lived, Predacons gathered the strongest young of organic species after having them fight to the death in pits. The young that lasted were treated as treasures during conversion and cared for with utmost patience and love as they endured the torment of transformation. Although when Predacons arrived to search out young, war almost always followed as the organic worlds they travelled to fought against them bitterly for the sake of their children.

Minicons searched out the most intuitive and thoughtful through trials of knowledge. They spent vorns dutifully travelling to places of learning and high activity to find ones who might be worthy. Often they were heralded with great gusto when they came as it was seen as a blessing for one's child to be made into an immortal. The young they took unto themselves were always treated gently and raised with care, for every convert is a blessing due to how dangerous the process was.

Grounders rarely left, but when they did hunt for young, they searched across the stars for those of stalwart hearts. Those they gathered under them in droves, often turning many at a time and training them all lovingly. The arrival of a grounder in search of young to convert was often seen as a blessing or a curse depending on the world. For a grounder searching out young will not leave until they have at least one, no matter the circumstances. The grounder in question would serve the community they were trying to collect a child from, but they were known to get aggressive when unable to take a child into their fold.

Fliers were similarly conservative in their hunts for young, but when they left to search, they too were not content with merely one when possible. Their arrival was heralded similarly as well, often leading to great celebration or debate. Fliers came in trines, and that meant more potential danger. Not only that, but they were not nearly as willing to bargain as grounders. If they found young they liked, they took them regardless of the parent species's feelings on the matter.

Beastformers wandered the stars carefully selecting young. They took in the lost and the homeless and never asked questions about the children they took in who came from broken homes. They gathered those that others didn't want, and that was fine with them. They needed no heralding, they only wanted family.

This was the way of things and all the galaxy knew of the Cybertronian hunts for young. Some would offer up children in tithes just to avoid conflict. Others would train to possibly be worthy of being accepted as an immortal. And some still fought bitterly against the waves of Cybertronians coming for young, waging war and fighting tooth and nail to keep their young to themselves. Whatever the case, this was the way and Cybertronians continued their existence through the welcoming of new blood.

Orion Pax was taken up from the rubble of a long forgotten world, the last survivor of a deadly plague while still a young child. None knew exactly what he was or where he came from considering his organic form did not match that of the race that lived upon the planet. Still, he wandered the surface, lost, starving, and struggling bitterly against death as he hunted for something, anything to keep him alive. He lived wild, hunting and rummaging through what he could to get by. Alpha Trion of all mecha sensed his presence and collected him, taking INCREADIBLE care when it came time to convert the organic child.

Orion Pax was not given just Alpha Trion's essence, no, he was also infused with the energon of the other Primes that Alpha Trion managed to save for this very purpose. Orion didn't know nor did he care. He survived the changes and his flesh was stripped away in favor of metal and a spark. All the Matrix did when he gained it was wake up the dormant power within him, forcing the power of the divine to change him into something greater, something purer.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Mortal to Immortal

The conversion process was by no means an easy thing to endure. There was a reason that potential young were taken only from among the strongest, be it in mind, body, or spirit. Few survived the process without dedicated care and love from their Sire. All sorts of issues could come up if a Sire was negligent or failed to provide adequate amounts of energon to sustain the young during the change.

Outliers formed randomly, there was no notable event that caused their existence. However ghouls, spark eaters, and terrorcons were a legitimate threat when young were not tended to. Ghouls were born of a lack of energon, their bodies unable to fully finish development due to the neglect or lack of a Sire leading to them having to supplement on the energon of others their whole lives. Spark eaters were born of a lack of love from a Sire, resulting in their sparks forming incorrectly and requiring the essence of others to try and stabilize their own self destructive being. And of course Terrorcons came from a sparkling perishing halfway through the process due to neglect and their unfinished frame being reclaimed by the chaos god.

So many threats were involved with the changes, and yet it was required to sustain their species. However with how time intensive the changes are, the war put a damper on reproductive efforts.

The only sparkling among the Autobots who was brought into the fold was Bumblebee, and that was only because he was on the brink of death in his mortal frame when Optimus and Ratchet took him in and agreed to bring him into the fold together. Even then Bumblebee's changes were carefully observed and every moment not at war was spent tending to him. There simply wasn't enough time or peace to really bring in more into the fold.

Thus when the Autobots and Decepticons arrived on earth and found it to be somewhat safe, the urge to bring more into their folds was strong but controllable... up until the children got involved. Cybertronians all have a natural urge to want to bring more into their fold once they are old enough and their bloodline stabilizes. It is even more powerful when there are too few of them. The Decepticons kept themselves in line, with few being willing to raise a sparkling during war. But the Autobots? With how often the children got into dangerous situations, they found themselves with little choice, especially after Starscream nearly nabbed Miko for his own purposes and Soundwave almost made off with Rafael.

There was no choice. The children needed to be brought into the fold before the Decepticons lost control and took them into theirs. It was a matter of safety, there was no other way. As such quietly the team prepared the necessary items and began designating Sire's while also readying their offerings to the humans in exchange for their young.

Arcee was given sole responsibility over Jack, a position she carried with pride when Optimus granted her his blessing for her to be Jack's Sire. Bulkhead and Wheeljack were given Miko to Sire, to which both were ecstatic and immediately began preparing the correct offerings. And lastly Rafael was taken on by Ratchet, and by extension Optimus. Bumblebee was too young to raise a sparkling, but Primus did he wish he could when the plan was announced. None were all too proud of having to take the children from their caretakers and their race of origin, but it was for the best.

June was offered respect whenever she came to base, often with Arcee bowing kindly and offering up small gifts and tokens which the nurse took with confusion. Miko's host family and biological parents found themselves wired with extra cash from an unknown source. Rafael's parents were anonymously gifted strange artworks and also wired cash. The children didn't know, but they didn't need to until the time came. It was best they remained unknowing.

As all that went on, Optimus worked with the team to carefully prepare small injections of energon to be given to the children. He took energon from the designated Sires and offered it to the children in drinks he bought using a holoform. It felt underhanded, but the changes would be easier if the children were unaware for as long as possible since it wouldn't stress the mind quite as much. He added some of his own energon to all the children's injections just to stabilize things and ensure the children came out strong, but beyond that the only child he focused his efforts on was Rafael. It was not his place to interfere with the others.

Day by day over the course of months, the changes began.

Arcee treated her boy as gently as possible as his body ached and his internals seemed to burn more with every passing day around his chest. She cradled him when he fell asleep at base, singing to his slowly forming spark to calm it and cause Jack the least pain. She took great care to ensure Jack didn't receive too much energon and was there to quietly run scans and slip his Cybertronian painkillers when the aches grew worse in order to hide the truth from June for as long as possible. She stopped raising her voice, attentive to her boy's sensitive hearing and vision during the changes. She knew the changes, although those memories were distant.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack tended to Miko with utmost care as she came to them exhausted and unknowingly searching for attention as her slowly forming spark cried out. They held her near their sparks and sang to her as she slumbered all while quietly doing their best to soothe aching muscles and burning limbs as metal overtook flesh. They gave her higher doses of energon in order to speed the process along, but they never rushed Miko to do anything, instead being soft and loving with her even when she grew angry or snapped as new emotions ravaged her mind.

Ratchet and Optimus were well acquainted with the changes and cared for Rafael with practiced ease. Ratchet soothed aching muscles and stressed skin with special ointments and massages meant to lessen the pain. Optimus sang and used his field to care for Rafael's young spark, knowing full and well that his larger energon donation in Rafael made the boy more open to his affections. Together Ratchet and Optimus worked as one unit, both caring for Rafael physically and emotionally as his Sire's to be and both allowing equal amounts of their energon to be given to the boy. Bumblebee for his part did what he could to keep Rafael distracted as his bones slowly were remade and he began to loose feeling in his limbs as flesh was converted to metal.

The changes were necessary for their own safety. It was better they were brought into the fold by Autobots instead of Decepticons, especially since with the changes, their minds would shift and alter too. However this reality did not make it any easier when the children began to grow aware of how they were changing and their parents grew suspicious too.

[mayhemhq]

here is a fuller explanation of this weekend’s event, september 14th-15th in las vegas, nv!

first things first:

remember: pregnancies and elopements, etc, are allowed but must be approved first. do not use this trip to spring something like this without it being mentioned to us first. we’re generally okay with most things, but we don’t want 20 things happening at once. if you do any of this without approval, you will be removed.

drama is allowed and encouraged somewhat, but don’t make the trip miserable. do not make someone dramatically leave as that’s silly. we’re ALL adults and this is for fun. just be considerate and talk out any drama that can impact a significant number of individuals.

this is not just a trip for friends and lovers; this is a trip for the group and to build community. make sure you’re not staying within your ship and your friends circle this trip. use this as an opportunity to reach out and have fun with everyone.

mayhem on the strip is a charity event featuring a small convention and a game show featuring ALL of our talent competing in field day-esque activities for charity.

there will be a five-hour convention of sorts, featuring booths and photo-ops for not only wrestlers, but all of our original characters, too. then, all talent will take a break - have lunch, gather their teams to begin the games.

the games:

dodge ball: two teams of 8 players each battle it out on a court divided by a central line, with dodgeballs scattered in the middle. the objective is simple yet thrilling eliminate opponents by hitting them with the balls while evading throws from the other team. players must utilize agility, strategic throwing, and dodging skills to stay in the game. caught throws not only eliminate the thrower but also allow a teammate to rejoin the action. the game continues until one team has successfully eliminated all members of the opposing team. (8 people per team)

obstacle course: the course includes a range of exciting stations, such as towering climbing walls, muddy crawls, and precision balance beams. teams will also navigate rope swings, cargo nets, and tunnel crawls. for the final challenge, teams must solve a puzzle to reveal a golden baton, which they then carry to the end of the course. the race concludes with a high-stakes relay, where all team members must cross the finish line together. (8 people per team)

wet sweatpants relay: each player must dunk the sweatpants in a bucket of water, put them on, and take them off to pass to the next player in line. the next player repeats the process. (6 people per team)

egg and spoon race: two members from each team lining up side-by-side. each person balances an egg on a spoon and races to see which team can get all their members across the finish line first. if you drop the egg, you must return to the starting line and try again. the race continues until one team successfully gets all its members to the other side. (6 people per team)

zorb ball relay: one member at a time climbs into the zorb ball and is guided by their teammate through a demanding obstacle course with cones, ramps, and turns. after completing their lap, they tag the next teammate, who then takes their turn in the zorb ball. (6 people, 2 per team per turn which will be 3 tag in turns)

pit pursuit: the game kicks off with teams racing towards a 20ft x 20ft ball pit, just 6 inches deep and brimming with thousands of colorful balls. teams dive into the sea of balls, searching for hidden objects, each carrying a unique point value. with a 15-minute timer counting down, they scramble to collect as many objects as they can. but watch out for the “whammy” objects—they’ll deduct points from your score if you grab them! (6 people per team, each team going in 2 different rounds - not at the same time)

it will be a best out of six games, the winning team not only getting a trophy, but a large donation to their charity of choice. the losing team will also get a donation to their charity as well, as we’re not completely heartless.

** if this event turns out to be a hit and everyone has a great time, we’ll continue with more “mayhem on…” events to keep the rivalry alive and determine who will get to keep the trophy!

about the teams: aew will take all the japan based wrestlers (ddt pro, njpw, etc) while wwe will take all tna wrestlers. all ocs working for those companies as well will be on the team they work for. those of you ocs with no allegiances get to pick the team you’d like to be on out of the two. speak to those team captains!

the “home” hotel will be the venetian, that’s where everyone will have rooms and be staying for safety purposes. you can share or have your own, that’s totally up to you. the convention and also games will be done at a different hotel - the plaza hotel in different spots.

on sunday, it’s a completely free day for you to do whatever your heart’s content. however, sunday night around 8pm est will be a casino masquerade ball on the venetian casino floor to celebrate the ending of the event and a good send off for us all.

you are encouraged to wear elaborate masks, whether they’re classic venetian styles or more modern interpretations. all guests should dress in formal, black-tie attire. think classic tuxedos, stylish suits or dress shirts, and glamorous gowns, complemented with sophisticated accessories such as elegant gloves, glasses, and statement jewelry.

remember: canonically, this event will last two days, but in real time, you’ll be able to post about it for a week with the proper tag #m.event (mayhem on the strip). we will post the cutoff date when the trip starts.

[anitalianfrie]

some cyborg au i randomly wrote (tw: body horror) // 1,3k

After the crash, they have to cut the suit off his arm to access the fracture. Expert hands slice with scissors, quickly and careless, through the leathers while he's laying on a stretcher in the back of the ambulance. He refused to lay on it, in the beginning, but the paramedics insisted. Under his schorched suit, his arm is bloody and mangled, the humerus poking the skin, creating an ugly bulge, red and purple from blood. Exposed wires, broken and fused from the heat, come out from his busted forearm. His fingers are red, crushed, metal poking through the tendons of his wrist and his palm. Sparks are igniting at the level of his shoulder. The woman in front of him is barely quick enough to extinguish them.

In the hospital they tell him that, beside the immediate impact that completely busted the majority of his enhancements on his right side - the hand traction, the strengthner, even the support - the bone shattered through the wires and the metal sheets of his upper arm, causing an internal short circuit. The wires cought fire. His nervous system is for the majority, if not completely, damaged, and it will take time for it to recover, if to recover at all.

They present him with various options. He chooses the one that will allow him to race as soon as possible. It's a new technology, they tell him. Minimal hardware, almost all neurological. The creme de la creme of innovation. They are going to screw his bone back together with a metal plate and fuse some wires at it, made of a new metal, then inserting them in his nervous system. Impulses and wires are going to run through his arm, to activate the movements, and some reinforced plates are going to be placed on his upper arm and his forearm to assure stability. They are going to rewire his entire bike-control system, since it got destroyed in the crash, and substitute the older parts with new ones, more efficients.

It's still an experimental surgery, they say, but every other option includes too much hardware. Hardware that his body will need to get used to, before he will be able to control it perfectly, with the surgical precision he needs to ride. Before he'll able to be one with his bike again.

He accepts.

In Jerez, after free practice, he realizes he can't race. Something is wrong. The arm doesn't respond to his commands, keeps getting stuck. But that's not the problem. It wouldn't be the first time he raced with a malfuncioning arm.

The problem it's all the rest. Something must have broken somewhere else, because his whole body is twitchy. The fingers of his left hand keep glitching, like if there was a bug. The lights on his ribs keep flicking, advising him that something is wrong in his balance system. At one point, blood comes out of his right eye, the one he had to modify back in 2011.

It's too much. He retires from the race.

And then, one day, while he opens a window, his arms catches fire.

It's an interesting feeling, to have one's arm buring. To feel the flesh melting on your own bones. To smell your own fat burning.

He's rushed to the hospital by Alex while he screams in agony. His right hand is still twichy, his ribs keep flashing, blood keep coming out of his right eye. His arm is on fire.

The have to open him up, rewiring him completely once again. Apparently, something went wrong the first time: they don't know what, or why. The main hypothesis is that they got some detail of the wiring wrong, and since almost all his enhancement are neural-linked, it influenced them all. It would have probably had minimal effect on somebody with more mechanicals on. Somebody more old gen. Somebody like Valentino.

Then, while he opened the window, the bone shattered again, broke trough the wires and metal sheets again, and caused another short circuit. Only, this time it wasn't just a few sparks.

it doesn't get better. All the bugs his system was experiencing keep being there, and only get worse with time. They tell him it might be an imbalance of tecnology, his too new right arm interfering with the older softwares. They tell him it might be the materials used for the new wires. The truth is: they don't know.

In 2022, he realizes he can't race anymore like this. The sparks that keep igniting on his shoulder, the continous twitches, the blood that doesn't let him see. His jaw that keeps getting stuck.

He goes to a doctor, a new one, specialized in this kind of things. Sitting there, one on one with him in his study, white walls and rows and rows of books, he gets told that his right arm is no longer usable. That the tecnology that was implemented, almost all software and almost no hardware, wasn't feesable: it failed too much trials. It was dangerous. It fried the bones and the nerves. The small chances his arm had to recover its functionality are gone.

And not only: the material used for the hardware has an high percentage of rejection. At first, it gets immediately integrated in the body, allowing little to no refractory period, but soon after the majority of people start to have a reaction to it. They show him pictures of the inside of his arm. The bone is corroded, rotting along with the nerves and the muscles and the flash. His body, in an useless attempt of getting out what it percieves it shouldn't be there, has been trying to kill itself.

Of course, the doctors weren't aware of this downside, when they put it in him. It was a new tecnology, after all.

The doctor tells him, with a serious voice, both hands on the desk behind which he's seated, that the only option is amputation.

Marc looks down at his mangled arm, the muscles weak, reinforced with metal and wires to allow him to use it still, control lights blinking up and down for its whole lenght. The piece of metal they weren't able to get out, risking to compromise too much funcionality, that still goes through his wrist. His fingers, kept straight only by metal rods and small plates. It's been a couple of months since he's been able to move them fully. The wires getting out of his open forearm, where the bike control is supposed to be. They took it out when he stopped racing. It was too much of a risk to keep it there.

His arm. What's left of it. Rotten and dying.

He agrees to the surgery.

There's not much he can do about it anyway.

Three days later, fresh out of surgery, he looks at his new arm. It's not a marvel of tecnology: he insisted on having an older model, a mainly mechanical one, that couldn't interfere with his other systems. Even when they told him it wouldn't happen, that they would update all his softwares, he refused to change his mind. A new neurological path gets estabished, one apt to replace his nervous system. It has the same updates as the rest of him, the oldest ones he could get without risking major bugs.

The metal shines under the sterile lights, against the white sheets. he moves his fingers, and for the first time in God knows how long, they do exactly what he wants them to. They will need constant manteinance. System updates, eventual rewiring, oil in between the joints. That's the main problem of menichals: they need work. Old racers used to do it constatly, back then, up until the 2000s. But nobody ever had a whole limb replaced.

Marc looks at this new part of him, delicately sawn to his shoulder, wires white and red and blue inserted into his skin, connecting it to the rest of him, making him funcional again.

Marc looks at his new arm, and cries.

[lenny-thequeen1]

Love and Danger Leon X F!Reader

You and Leon get sent to rescue Ashley Graham, but you end up a little jealous of how Ashley hits on Leon. 7.038K words.

this takes place in RE4 !!

Leon S. Kennedy's heart pounded in his chest as he stepped out of the helicopter and onto the rugged terrain of Las Plagas. His mission was clear: rescue the President's daughter, Ashley Graham, from the clutches of the Los Illuminados cult. But he wasn't alone. He had you, his partner and the love of his life, by his side. As you both surveyed the area, your eyes meeting briefly, he knew that you were just as determined as he was to complete the mission.

The humid air hung heavy around you, and the smell of decay permeated everything. Leon and you quickly took stock of your surroundings, scanning the nearby buildings and vegetation for any signs of danger. You both knew that this mission wouldn't be easy, but you were ready for whatever lay ahead.

As you made your way deeper into the wilderness, the silence was broken only by the sound of your boots crunching on gravel and the occasional rustling of leaves. Leon remained alert, his hand never far from his weapon. You could feel the tension in the air, but you didn't let it faze you. You trusted Leon with your life and knew that he would always have your back.

Suddenly, a group of Los Illuminados cultists appeared, brandishing their weapons and advancing on you and Leon. Without hesitation, Leon sprang into action, his movements fluid and precise as he expertly took down the cultists one by one. You covered his back, taking out anyone who got too close. The two of you moved in perfect sync, your years of training and experience making you a formidable team.

As the last cultist fell to the ground, Leon turned to you with a look of relief and admiration. "Nice work," he said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at his words. You had trained hard for this moment, and it had paid off. Together, you and Leon continued your search for Ashley, moving deeper into the heart of the cult's territory.

As you neared your destination, you could hear the sounds of chanting and the smell of burning incense. Leon signaled for you to stay back as he scouted ahead, moving quickly and silently as he surveyed the area.

You both gripped your weapons tightly, ready for any danger that might arise. Leon's instincts were razor-sharp, and he scanned the area for any signs of danger, while you kept a watchful eye behind him.

As you made your way through the dense brush, the sound of gunfire erupted in the distance. You both exchanged a quick look before breaking into a sprint towards the sound.

Leon was a force to be reckoned with, his quick reflexes and expert marksmanship taking out the enemies with ease. You covered his back, taking out anyone who dared to approach him. It was a beautiful sight to behold - the two of you working in perfect sync, like a well-oiled machine.

As you approached the source of the gunfire, you saw Ashley being held captive by a group of armed cultists. She was surrounded, her eyes pleading for help. Leon's jaw tightened as he surveyed the scene, his mind working quickly to come up with a plan of attack.

You and Leon exchanged a look, and without a word, you both sprang into action. Leon moved like a whirlwind, expertly dodging and weaving through the enemy ranks as he fired his weapon. You covered him from behind, taking out any enemies that came too close.

The adrenaline was pumping through your veins as you fought off the cultists, your heart racing with each shot you fired. But even in the heat of battle, you never lost sight of Leon. He was like a beacon of hope in the chaos, his movements precise and calculated as he took down enemy after enemy.

Finally, the last of the cultists fell to the ground, defeated. Ashley was safe, and you and Leon stood back to back, catching your breath and surveying the scene. You could see the relief and gratitude in Ashley's eyes as she looked at the two of you.

"Thank you," she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

Leon turned to her, his face softening as he took in her grateful expression. "It's okay, Ashley. We've got you now," he said reassuringly.

As you made your way back to safety, Ashley following closely behind, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for Leon. He was a true hero, risking his life to save others. And he was your hero, too, your partner in both love and life. You knew that you would always have his back, just as he had yours.

As you walked, you noticed Ashley walking a little too close to Leon, her eyes lingering on him a little too long. At first, you tried to ignore it, convincing yourself that it was just your imagination. But as the hours wore on, you couldn't deny the subtle glances and flirty touches that Ashley kept throwing Leon's way. It was like a slow burn, starting as a small ember and growing bigger with every passing moment.

You felt a knot form in your stomach as you watched Ashley flirt with Leon, a pang of jealousy seeping in. You knew that Leon was completely oblivious to her advances, but it didn't make you feel any better. You wanted to scream at her, to tell her that he was yours and that she needed to back off.

"I can't believe you did all of that for me, Leon," she said, her voice laced with honey. "You're such a brave man."

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as you watched her lean in closer to him as the brush crunched beneath your heavy boots. You try to shake off the feeling of jealousy that's building inside you, but you can't help but notice how Ashley's body language is changing. She's leaning in closer to Leon, her eyes glued to his face as she speaks to him in a soft, honeyed voice. It's as if she's trying to get closer to him, to invade the space that you share with him.

As you walk, you can feel your body tensing up, your hands curling into fists at your sides. You try to keep your eyes focused ahead, but you can't help but glance over at the two of them every now and then. Ashley's eyes seem to sparkle as she talks to Leon, and you can see that he's responding to her, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

It's driving you crazy, the way she's acting around him. You've never felt this kind of jealousy before, and it's almost overwhelming. You want to pull Leon aside and tell him to back off, to let Ashley know that he's taken. But you know that it's not fair to him. He hasn't done anything wrong, after all. It's Ashley who's making you feel this way.

You try to take deep breaths, to calm yourself down, but it's not working. Your heart is racing, and you can feel your palms getting sweaty. You want to scream, to lash out at Ashley, but you know that it's not going to help. You need to keep your cool and try to figure out what's going on with her.

As you walk, you try to keep your distance from the two of them, hoping that Ashley will get the hint and back off. But she doesn't seem to notice, or maybe she's just ignoring you. You're not sure which is worse.

Finally, you reach safety, and Leon turns to you with a smile. "We did it," he says, his eyes shining with pride.

You force a smile onto your face, but inside, you're seething. Ashley is still standing close to Leon, and you can feel your blood boiling. You don't know what to do, but you know that you can't let this go on. Something has to change.

Leon notices the tension radiating from your body, and he can sense that something is bothering you. He glances at you, concern etched on his face. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, his hand resting on your arm.

You nod, trying to keep your voice steady. "Yeah, I'm fine," you say, but your voice comes out strained and tight.

Ashley seems to sense the shift in the atmosphere and takes a step back, giving you some space. But her eyes are still trained on Leon, and you can feel her gaze burning into the back of your head.

As the sun begins to set, you all head towards the safe house for the night. The safe house is a small cabin located in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by tall trees that loom over the rooftop. The cabin is quaint, with a rustic charm that makes it feel cozy and inviting.

As you enter the cabin, the warm glow of candles and oil lamps flicker against the walls, casting dancing shadows that make the small space feel even more intimate. The cabin is sparsely furnished, with a small table in the center of the room and a few chairs pushed up against the walls. The wooden floors creak underfoot as you move across the room, and the scent of fresh pine fills your nostrils.

Leon heads to the back of the cabin to check the windows and doors, while Ashley heads to the small kitchen area to start making some food. You take a seat at the table, feeling the weight of the day's events slowly starting to weigh on you.

As Ashley moves around the kitchen, she occasionally looks over at Leon, batting her eyelashes and smiling coyly. You try to ignore it, but every time you see her do it, your heart clenches with jealousy. You can feel the tension between the three of you growing thicker with each passing moment.

Despite your attempts to ignore Ashley's flirtatious behavior, it seems to only be getting stronger. She starts to touch Leon's arm lightly as she speaks to him, and you can feel yourself getting more and more agitated. You clench your fists, trying to keep your jealousy in check, but it's becoming harder and harder to ignore.

Leon seems to be catching on to what's happening, and you can see him glancing at you from time to time, a look of concern on his face. He knows that something is bothering you, but he's not sure what to do about it.

As the evening wears on, the tension between the three of you continues to grow, until finally, you can't take it anymore. You stand up from the table, glaring at Ashley as she flirts with Leon.

"Can we talk outside for a minute?" you ask, your voice tight with anger.

Leon looks at you with surprise, but nods his head in agreement. You both head outside, leaving Ashley behind in the safety of the cabin.

As soon as you're alone with Leon, you let out a deep breath, feeling the tension slowly start to drain from your body. "I can't stand the way she's flirting with you," you say, your voice shaking with emotion. "I want her to stop."

Leon takes a step closer to you, his eyes softening. "I know, and I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't realize it was bothering you so much." His hand gently brushes your hair out of your face and gently places a kiss onto your forehead.

You can feel your heart melting at his words, but you still can't shake the jealousy that's been simmering inside you all day. You lean against the cabin wall, crossing your arms over your chest. "I just don't like the way she's acting around you," you say. "I know she doesn't know that we are together in that way."

Leon nods his head, understanding written all over his face. "I'll talk to her," he says. "I don't want this to come between us."

You feel a sense of relief wash over you at his words, and you can feel your body relaxing. "Thank you," you say, grateful for his understanding.

The two of you head back inside the cabin, and as you settle in for the night, you can feel the tension slowly starting to dissipate. Ashley seems to have gotten the hint, and she keeps her distance from Leon for the rest of the evening. You can feel the weight of the day's events slowly starting to lift from your shoulders, and you know that, no matter what happens, you and Leon will always have each other's backs.

As Ashley sets the food on the table, she turns to Leon with a flirtatious smile. "I'm glad you're here, Leon. You make me feel safe," she says, her voice dripping with sweetness.

You clench your jaw and glare at her, but she seems to be oblivious to your discomfort. Leon, on the other hand, catches on to what's fully going on. He shoots you a concerned look before turning back to Ashley, his tone friendly but firm.

"Ashley, I appreciate the sentiment, but we need to focus on the mission. We're all in this together, and we need to work as a team," he says, his words leaving no room for misunderstandings.

Ashley seems to take the hint, but as the night wears on, she continues to find ways to engage Leon in conversation, laughing at his jokes and touching his arm. You can feel your jealousy rising with each passing moment, but you try to keep it under control.

At one point, Ashley even suggests that the two of them should go outside and explore the woods together. You shoot her a sharp look, but she doesn't seem to care.

Leon, for his part, is oblivious to Ashley's advances. He's focused on the task at hand, making sure that everyone is safe and secure. But as the night drags on, even he begins to notice your tension.

"I know we're supposed to focus on the mission, but I can't help how I feel," she says, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. "You're just so brave and strong, and I feel like I could really trust you with anything."

You feel a surge of anger and jealousy rising inside of you as you watch the scene unfold. Leon looks uncomfortable, but he's trying to be polite and maintain a professional demeanor. Finally, he speaks up, his voice stern.

He turns to her with a sharp look, his voice firm and commanding. "Ashley, I need you to stop. Your behavior is unacceptable, and it's causing unnecessary tension between us. We're here to work together, not to flirt."

Ashley looks crestfallen, but she nods, seemingly understanding. You feel a sense of relief wash over you, glad that Leon has finally put a stop to her flirting and her behavior. But deep down, you know that the tension between the three of you will take time to fully dissipate.

As the night wears on, a bad rainstorm starts up, and the winds outside howl through the trees. You can hear the rain pelting against the roof of the cabin, and you start to worry about the extraction. Suddenly, your phone rings, and you see that it's Ingrid, the person in charge of the extraction.

"Hey, I have some bad news," she says, her voice barely audible over the sound of the storm. "We're not going to be able to land the helicopter at the extraction site. The winds are too strong, and it's too dangerous."

Your heart sinks at her words. You had been counting on the helicopter to get you out of there, and now you're stuck in the cabin with Ashley and Leon, with no way out. You turn to Leon, hoping that he'll have some kind of solution, but his expression is grim.

"We'll have to wait it out," he says, his voice low. "We can't risk trying to move through this storm. We'll have to hunker down here until the weather clears up."

You nod, feeling a sense of resignation wash over you. You settle in for a long night, with nothing but the sound of the storm and the tension between the three of you to keep you company.

As the hours pass, Ashley seems to become more and more restless. You notice her fidgeting with her hair and shifting in her seat, and you can tell that she's not used to being stuck in one place for so long. Suddenly, she stands up and walks over to Leon, leaning over him and whispering something in his ear.

You can't hear what she's saying, but the way she's standing so close to him and the way her hand is resting on his shoulder makes your blood boil with jealousy. You stare at her with your arms crossed underneath your breasts. Leon looks uncomfortable, but he's too polite to push her away. Instead, he tries to politely disengage, but Ashley seems to be persistent.

You can see the frustration in his eyes as he tries to focus on the task at hand, but Ashley's behavior is making it difficult for him. Finally, he snaps at her again .

"Ashley, I've had enough. I need you to back off," he says, his voice raised in frustration. "We're all stuck here together, and I need you to respect my boundaries. I'm not interested in your advances, and your behavior is making this situation even more difficult than it already is. So listen, Ashley," Leon says firmly, his eyes locking onto hers. "I understand that this situation is stressful, but we need to focus on the task at hand. We're a team here, and we all need to work together to get through this. I'm with her," he nods towards you as he makes his words at the end more pronounced, his partner. "And I need to know that you're with us too."

Ashley looks hurt and embarrassed, but you can see that she finally understands the gravity of the situation. The tension in the room is palpable, and you can feel the weight of the storm and the tension between the three of you weighing heavily on your shoulders. It's going to be a long night.

Ashley nods slowly, her eyes downcast. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I didn't mean to cause any problems."

Leon tries to give her a small smile. "It's alright. We're all feeling the pressure. Just try to keep your focus on the mission, okay?"

You feel a small sense of relief as the tension in the room starts to dissipate. The storm outside continues to rage on, but now you feel like you have a united front, a team that can weather any storm.

As you sit there in the darkness, you can't help but think about how lucky you are to have Leon with you. He's not just a colleague or a teammate - he's your partner in every sense of the word. The two of you have been together for a few years now, and you've been through more than your fair share of tough situations. But no matter what, you always know that he's got your back.

You think back to the first time you met him, during a training exercise in the wilderness. He had been the team leader, and you had been impressed by his calm, steady demeanor even in the face of some pretty intense challenges. You had started out as friends, but it didn't take long for the two of you to realize that there was something more between you.

It hadn't been easy, being a couple in such a high-pressure environment. You had both been hesitant to tell anyone about your relationship, worried about how it would affect your work and your colleagues' perceptions of you. But eventually, you had decided that you couldn't keep it a secret anymore. You had come out to your teammates, nervous about how they would react.

To your surprise, they had all been incredibly supportive. They had seen the connection between the two of you, and they had respected it. You had been grateful for their understanding, and it had only strengthened your bond with Leon.

Now, as you sit in the cabin with Ashley, you're reminded of how lucky you are to have someone like Leon in your life. Someone who understands you, who supports you, who challenges you to be your best self. You reach over and take his hand, giving it a squeeze. He looks over at you, and you can see the love and warmth in his eyes. You know that no matter what happens tonight, you'll face it together, as partners in every sense of the word.

As you both settle into a comfortable silence, you can't help but feel grateful for having Leon. Being stranded in this cabin during the storm would have been unbearable if you were alone or with someone else. You gently lean into his chest, careful for your holster on your side as his arms gently wrap around you.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoes throughout the cabin, startling you both. Leon immediately springs into action, grabbing his weapon and moving towards the door.

"Stay here," he says firmly, his eyes scanning the room for any potential threats.

You nod, watching as he cautiously opens the door, his weapon at the ready. The wind howls through the open door, making it hard to hear anything else. You hold your breath, waiting for any sign of danger. Your hand pulling your pistol out and pressing your back against the wall.

After a few tense moments, Leon relaxes his grip on his weapon and walks back to you, a small smile on his face.

"It's just a tree branch," he says, his voice relieved. "But we need to close the door before anything else gets in."

You move quickly to help him close the door, glad that it was just a false alarm. But as you turn to face him, you notice something different in his expression. His eyes are dark and intense, and he's looking at you in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

"Leon, what's wrong?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He steps closer to you, his hand gently caressing your cheek. "I can't stop thinking about you," he says, his voice husky with desire. "I know we're in a difficult situation, but I can't help the way I feel."

Your heart is racing as you feel his lips brush against yours. You respond eagerly, lost in the passion and intensity of the moment.

As you both cling to each other, you know that this night will be one that you'll never forget. The storm outside may be raging, but in each other's arms, you feel safe and protected. Leons hands gently pull you into his embrace more, your arms slowly wrapping around his neck resting on top of his muscular shoulders. He slowly deepens the kiss.

Just as the intensity of the moment reaches its peak, a small noise startles you both. You pull away from Leon, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you realize that Ashley has woken up.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, her eyes downcast. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

Leon steps away from you, but he keeps his arm around your waist, a clear sign to Ashley that you two are a couple. "It's alright," he says, his voice calm and reassuring. "We just got caught up in the moment."

Ashley nods, but you can see the hurt and jealousy in her eyes. You feel guilty for causing her pain, but you know that you can't help the way you feel about Leon.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Ashley finally breaks it with a curious tone. "So, how long have you guys been together?" she asks, looking at the two of you expectantly.

You can feel Leon's arm around your waist tighten slightly as he looks at you. You exchange a quick glance before turning back to Ashley. "A few years," you answer, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. "He really is a great guy."

Ashley's eyes widen in surprise. "Wow, that's longer than I thought," she says, sounding impressed. "I had no idea you two had been together for that long."

You feel a twinge of guilt knowing that you've been keeping your relationship a secret from Ashley for so long. "We just didn't want to make things weird," you offer, hoping to explain the reason for your secrecy. "But you kind of did that yourself by hitting on him."

Ashley nods in understanding before settling back into her pillow. "Well, I'm happy for you guys," she says with a small smile. "As long as you're happy, that's all that matters."

You can feel Leon's body relax beside you as Ashley speaks, and he pulls you closer, as if trying to shield you from any remaining tension. "Thank you, Ashley," he says, his voice warm and grateful. "We appreciate your understanding."

Ashley nods again, her eyes closing as she begins to drift off to sleep once more. "I'm sorry for hitting on you, Leon," she murmurs softly. "I didn't know you were already taken."

Leon's hold on you tightens, and you can feel the affection radiating off him as he responds, "It's okay, Ashley. I'm just glad we can all be friends."

You feel a wave of relief wash over you as you realize that Ashley is accepting of your relationship. You turn to Leon and give him a grateful smile, feeling more in love with him than ever before. The storm outside may still be raging, but in this moment, nothing else matters but the love that you share with each other.

You snuggle deeper into Leon's embrace, feeling grateful for his support and understanding. Despite the initial awkwardness, you feel relieved that you no longer have to hide your feelings for each other. As the storm outside gradually gets worse, you drift off to sleep, feeling safe and loved in Leon's arms.

In the middle of the night, you wake up to the sound of Ashley getting out of bed. You watch as she quietly gathers her things, preparing to leave for her own room in the safe cabin. "I'm sorry for intruding," she whispers, giving you both a small smile once noticing you both had woken up. "I hope you guys have a good night."

You and Leon both sit up, watching as Ashley quietly makes her way out of the room and closes the door behind her. Once she's gone, Leon turns to you, pulling you into his arms. "Are you okay?" he asks, concern etched on his face.

You nod, feeling grateful for his care and concern. "I am now," you whisper, leaning in to kiss him. In that moment, you know that everything is going to be okay. No matter what challenges may come your way, you have each other, and that's all that matters.

As you pull away from the kiss, you realize that you don't want the night to end just yet. You turn to Leon with a mischievous smile, "Want to go for a walk?" you ask, hoping to continue the magic of the night.

Leon grins back at you, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "Sure," he replies, getting up from the bed and holding out his hand for you.

You take his hand eagerly, feeling the thrill of adventure course through your veins. You both make your way out of the cabin and into the cold, stormy night. The wind violently whips around you, making your hair and clothes dance wildly in the breeze.

As you walk, you talk about everything and anything, enjoying each other's company and the sound of the rain pelting against the ground. You eventually find yourselves at the edge of the forest, looking out into the dark expanse that once was filled with flames and burning bodies.

Leon pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your head. "I love you," he whispers, the words sending a warm rush of love and affection through your body. "I truly love you (Y/N)."

You turn around to face him, gazing deeply into his eyes. "I love you too," you reply, sealing the sentiment with a tender kiss. "I'm just glad that she knows know.

As the rain continues to fall ferociously around you, you know that this moment will be forever etched in your memory. The feeling of being loved and wanted by someone as special as Leon fills you with a sense of peace and happiness that you never want to let go of. You stay outside for a while longer, basking in each other's love and the beauty of the stormy night. Leon's hold on you tightens as you both stand there, watching the rain pouring down around you. You feel safe and secure in his embrace, knowing that with him by your side, you can conquer anything. After a while, he takes your hand, and you both start walking back towards the cabin.

As you walk, you can feel the warmth of Leon's hand in yours, and you smile to yourself, feeling grateful for this moment of peace and connection. The sound of the rain is a soothing background noise, and you feel like you could walk like this forever, just enjoying each other's company.

As you get closer to the cabin, you notice that the storm seems to be getting worse, with the wind picking up and the rain falling harder than ever. You quicken your pace, eager to get inside and out of the storm. When you finally reach the cabin, you're both soaked through, but you're too happy and in love to care.

Inside, you change into dry clothes and cuddle up on the couch, watching the storm rage on outside. You talk about everything and anything, from your hopes and dreams for the future to your favorite childhood memories. As the night wears on, the storm gradually subsides, and you both drift off to sleep, still wrapped up in each other's arms.

The next morning, you wake up feeling refreshed and energized, ready to face whatever challenges may come your way. You and Leon spend the day exploring the area around the cabin, taking long walks through the woods and enjoying each other's company. As the sun sets on another beautiful day, you know that you've found something truly special in each other, and you're grateful for every moment you get to spend together. You also knew getting to the extraction site would bring more violence than you had seen before.

You slowly sit up from the couch and see Ashley sitting at the table, holding her broken phone. Leon stirs beside you, groggily rubbing his eyes before sitting up. "Good morning," he greets you with a sleepy smile.

"Morning baby," you reply, leaning over to give him a soft kiss. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I have in a long time," he admits, his smile growing wider. "I think being here with you, away from everything else, has been exactly what I needed."

You smile back at him, feeling grateful for the chance to spend this time together. As you both get up and start getting ready for the day ahead, you can't help but feel a sense of nervousness in your stomach. The thought of what lies ahead at the extraction site fills you with a sense of dread, but you know that you can't let it get the best of you.

You quickly get up from the couch and make your way over to Ashley after letting Leon wake up. "What happened?" you ask, concerned.

"I think I dropped my phone," she replies, holding up the cracked screen. "Or those crazy people broke it."

"Let me see if I can fix it," you offer, taking the phone from her and examining the damage. With some quick online research on what little service you have, you find a tutorial on how to replace the screen and get to work. As you finish up with the phone, you all take a deep breath and prepare yourselves for what's to come. It won't be an easy journey, but you know that you have each other's backs and that together, you can overcome anything that comes your way. After a few hours of careful work, the phone is as good as new, and Ashley is beaming with gratitude.

"Thank you so much, (Y/N)," she says, giving you a hug. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"You don't have to thank me," you reply, smiling. "I'm just glad I could help."

As the three of you pack up your belongings and prepare to leave the safe cabin, you can't help but feel a sense of sadness. This place has become a refuge for you and Leon, and the thought of leaving it behind is bittersweet.

But you know that you have to keep moving forward, and that the road ahead will be difficult. You and Leon exchange a silent look, each of you knowing what the other is thinking. You'll face whatever challenges come your way, together.

With that in mind, you make your way out of the cabin and into the surrounding woods, making your way towards the extraction point.

As you walk, you can't help but feel a sense of unease. The woods are quiet, too quiet, and the only sound you can hear is the crunching of leaves under your feet. Suddenly, you hear a faint chanting in the distance, growing louder with every step you take. You exchange a worried look with Leon, and Ashley clutches her broken phone tightly.

The chanting grows louder, and you can now make out the sound of drums beating in the distance. You quicken your pace, heart pounding with fear and anticipation. As you approach a clearing, you see a group of people gathered in a circle, chanting and dancing around a fire. They're wearing robes and carrying staffs, and their faces are painted with strange symbols.

You and Leon exchange a glance, unsure of what to do. Should you approach them, or try to sneak past? But before you can make a decision, one of the people spots you and starts shouting. The group turns to face you, their chanting growing louder and more frenzied.

Leon's eyes widen as the group of people surrounding you become increasingly hostile. They're no longer just yelling and chanting, but brandishing weapons and charging towards you. In a split second, Leon realizes that a branch won't be enough to defend himself and the others.

He pulls out his gun, the weight of it heavy in his hand, and uses it to fend off the attackers while you pull out your own weapon and fight back. Both hands on the pistol as you aim. Ashley is clinging to you tightly, her face buried in your shoulder.

The attackers seem to be coming from every direction, and you're struggling to keep them at bay. But both you and Leon are trained soldiers, and your experience shows as the two of you expertly shoots down any attacker that comes too close.

Despite the odds against you, you and Leon manage to hold your own against the attackers. But it's clear that you can't keep this up forever. You look around frantically, trying to find an escape route.

Finally, you spot a path leading through the woods towards a clearing. You grab Leon and Ashley's hands and start running towards it, the group of people hot on your heels.

Your lungs are burning and your legs feel like they're about to give out, but you keep pushing forward, knowing that your lives depend on it. Finally, you burst through the trees and see a helicopter waiting for you, its blades whirring loudly. You notice Chris sitting in the pilot seat.

You waste no time and rush towards the helicopter, pulling yourself and your friends aboard just as the group of people catch up. As the helicopter takes off, you look out the window and see the angry mob growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

You collapse into your seat, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Ashley is clutching your arm, tears streaming down her face, while Leon is scanning the surrounding area, ready for any more threats.

"Are you guys okay?" Chris asks, turning around in his seat to face you.

You nod, unable to find the words to express your gratitude for his timely arrival.

Chris gives you a small smile before turning back to the controls. "Hang on tight, we're not out of danger yet."

As the helicopter flies over the trees, you can't help but feel a sense of unease. You realize that the road ahead will be even more treacherous than before, but you feel a sense of relief knowing that you and your friends have made it out alive. You lean back in your seat and take a deep breath as Leon gently squeezes your hand.

But for now, you're just grateful to be alive and to have your friends by your side. You lean your head back against the seat, feeling the rush of the wind and the throb of the helicopter's blades. You close your eyes, taking a moment to gather your thoughts and prepare yourself for whatever comes next.

Suddenly, the helicopter jolts violently, causing you and your friends to lurch forward in your seats. Chris quickly regains control of the aircraft, but you can hear him muttering curses under his breath.

"What's going on?" you ask, your heart racing with fear.

Chris glances back at you, his face tense. "We're being followed," he says, his voice grim.

You feel a cold chill run down your spine as you look out the window and see a group of armed men in pursuit of the helicopter. They're firing their weapons, their bullets whizzing past the aircraft.

You exchange a worried glance with Leon and Ashley, and you can see the fear in their eyes. But you know that you can't give up now. You grip your weapon tightly, ready to defend yourself and your friends.

As the helicopter continues to dodge bullets and weave through the trees, you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. You're not sure how much longer you can hold out.

But then, you hear a loud explosion, and suddenly, the helicopter lurches again, this time more violently than before. You feel yourself being thrown around in your seat as the helicopter starts to spin out of control.

You hear Chris shouting something into his radio, but you can't make out the words over the deafening roar of the helicopter's engines. All you can do is hold on tight and hope for the best.

Ashley looks at you and grips your hand tightly, her eyes wide with terror. You can feel her trembling, and you squeeze her hand reassuringly, silently promising her that you'll do everything in your power to keep her safe.

As the helicopter continues to spin, you catch a glimpse of the ground rushing up towards you. You brace yourself for impact, but at the last second, Chris manages to level out the aircraft and land it in a nearby field.

The helicopter finally comes to a halt, and you sit there for a moment, disoriented and unsure of what just happened. You look around, and see that Ashley is shaking and crying, while Leon is trying to calm her down. Chris is on the radio, calling for backup and trying to assess the damage to the helicopter.

"Is everyone okay?" he asks, looking at each of you in turn.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath. "What the hell just happened?" you ask, your voice shaking.

Chris grimaces. "I don't know. It looked like they shot us down."

You feel a surge of anger and fear wash over you. These people will stop at nothing to get what they want. You look out the window and see a group of armed men approaching the wreckage of the helicopter.

"We need to get out of here," you say, your voice urgent.

Chris nods. "I'm working on it," he says, his voice tense.

As he tries to get the helicopter back in the air, you and your friends start to gather your things and prepare to make a run for it. You can hear the sound of footsteps approaching, and you know that you don't have much time.

"Come on," Leon says, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the exit.

You follow him, Ashley close behind. As you step out of the wreckage, you're greeted by the sight of the armed men closing in on you. You raise your weapon and prepare to fight, but you know that the odds are against you.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of gunfire, and the armed men start to fall back. You turn to see a group of soldiers charging towards you, their weapons at the ready.

"Get down!" one of them shouts, you and Leon drop to the ground, shielding Ashley with your body.

The soldiers take care of the armed men, and before long, you're surrounded by a team of heavily armed soldiers. You feel a sense of relief wash over you, knowing that you're finally safe.

As the soldiers escort you and your friends to safety, you can't help but think back on everything that's happened. You've been through so much, and you know that you'll never be the same again.

But for now, you're just grateful to be alive, and to have your friends by your side. You look over at Leon and Ashley, and they both give you a small smile. It's been a long journey, but you've made it through together.

[f1-giuki]

For the Forced Proximity promt: — “we never speak of this again, do you hear?”

Hi darling! Sorry for the extremely delayed answer, i am shit at managing time... But!! I managed to write the prompt in time for the end of the Austrain GP! And it's a bit long, 1.7k words sjjsjsjdjd... hope im forgiven😭💖😭💖

It has some nsfw action in a broom closet in Austria, hope you like thissss👀

-

Austria was the home of many contrasting feelings for Charles Leclerc.

He nearly got his first race win there in the big guys league (once he'd say Max stole from him his first win, but he's over that now, it's funny to look at his own face on the podium in 2019, all constipated and full of rage…), he pulled some shit on Sebastian a few years back, he went through hell and back in his red tractor, and now, in the year of the Lord 2022, he's savoring the sweet sweet taste of champagne on the highest step of the podium (not without some issues, let's be clear, the goddess of bad luck always looks over him). 

His left foot keeps on twitching after he spent the last few laps pushing like a maniac on the brake pedal when he found out that the throttle was stuck open at 30% whatever he did, but he's enjoying the contrast of the cold champagne and the hot sun on his skin, he will complain later on the debrief with his team, he has time before he can mentally prepare to hear whatever nonsense Binotto usually talks about.

He's ecstatic, he's had an amazing battle with Max, one of the good ones, those that Arthur, his brother, defines as niquer sur la piste, fucking on track.

Charles shakes his head as he keeps on spraying champagne all over his team underneath the podium when he feels someone spraying him with the force of an oceanic wave. He hears an amused laugh, an happy laugh, Max's laugh, before getting drowned once again, Max soaking the back of his racing suit and his neck with precision and a stupidly fond grin.

Charles closes his eyes and starts spraying Max weakly, trying to clean up his eyes a little. He tries to protest but he can only manage to shoot a fond look at the Dutchman and some stupid noise comes up from his throat. Weak idiot. 

Lewis looks at them, a mixture of intrigue and embarrassment dances on his face, a mixture that tips dangerously towards the I am going to plot something for you two you can't even imagine… 

Max and Charles keep on dancing around each other, the Dutchman vibrates when he steps next to Charles for the official podium picture. Lewis can't look anywhere but at the point where Max is squeezing Charles’s waist so hard. The Monegasque has a content dimpled smile on his lips. Happy and merry.

They wave around for a while and they get back inside, heading towards the press conference room. It's a trip, across various buildings that usually makes a nice walk, but for Lewis those ten minutes are atrocious torture.

He's been left third wheeling with the two idiots and their strange sexual tension. Max keeps on talking with Charles, getting way too close to him than a normal person explaining turn 10 should, but Charles doesn't seem to mind, he walks funnily around, nearly squeezed against a wall by the Dutchman's body, but careful not to step on Max's feet. He can't put even half an inch of distance between them.

Pathetic, Lewis thinks. For the first time in his life Lewis wishes he came fourth and avoided a podium.

It's painful to look at Charles staring at Max's lips and wetting his own with the tip of his tongue every ten seconds, it's even more painful to see Max get all touchy with Charles, a tap in the shoulder, a little touch on his waist or a squeeze of his hand.

The worst thing is that they're both painfully oblivious to what's happening. Aliens in their own bodies. This makes Lewis mad. Max precariously balances his trophy and the bottle of Champagne in one hand as he keeps on gesturing things to Charles with his free hand.

Pathetic, at least I had the guts to kiss Nico in a broom closet, Lewis thinks.

That's when it clicks.

Lewis Hamilton has walked on the ugly carpet from the podium to the conference room enough times to remember that there is a broom closet on the left, twenty steps ahead of them. He looks around, nobody is coming, there's no FIA officials, no journalists, no photographers or team members. Lewis laughs under his breath. Max and Charles still pay him no mind. He overtakes them, walking a bit faster, and opens the door of the closet. He gets lucky the keys are inserted in the keyhole.

"This way, guys, we'll get there quicker," he says and Max and Charles follow his words, too engrossed in their conversation to realise what Lewis is doing.

"Have fun, boys, see you in fifteen-ish minutes or so!" Lewis says when they're inside, before turning the light on and closing the door, locking it from the outside.

Max and Charles stop talking. The Monegasque look at the other confused before realising what is going on.

"He locked us in a broom closet! Mate, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Max asks, putting the trophy and the bottle of champagne on the ground to bang on the door with his palms.

"I'm doing myself a favour, fuck it off before I have to endure more third-wheeling, I'm not Checo," Lewis says, he's on the defensive side.

"We are not together!" Charles splutters and Max passes his hands over his face. 

"Well, pride month ended a few weeks ago, you're still on time for new discoveries, bye bye!" Lewis says and walks away.

Charles lowers his trophy too and takes a big gulp of champagne. When in Rome… Max looks at him and blushes. The ugly yellowish light in the closet is too close to Max's head, heating his black Pirelli cap. The problem is not the lighting per se, the problem is that the Dutchman's shadow completely engulfs Charles, and their little height difference feels multiplied by a thousand.

Max gulps down loudly. He wants, he's been wanting all weekend. He's not been subtle at all, especially on the podium, he's been pretty gay while Bizet's overture de Carmen was playing. But Charles, naïve Charles, didn't tell him anything, he just looked at him with those happy green eyes.

"What?" The Monegasque asks, tilting his head to the side, squinting a bit because of how harsh the light is on his eyes.

Max shakes his head. Shut up, Max Emilian Verstappen, don't you dare talk! If you talk there's no way you'll get out of this with your sanity intact, he thinks.

"You were definitely going to say something," Charles mumbles, touching Max's chest with his index finger, keeping it there.

"Are you drunk?" Max asks.

"No? Are you?"

"This is not a clever answer," 

"Yours wasn't a clever question, Max," Charles says, wiggling his brows.

Max wants to bang his head against the wall.

"Please, don't, don't do this to me," Max says.

"Doing what?" Charles whispers, staring at Max's blue eyes.

"You know what,"

"Oh, c'mon Max, Max I'm just honest Verstappen, be direct with me,"

"What? You, what do you mean?" Max asks.

"You're not the only one feeling this…" Charles whispers, tangling his hands behind Max's neck.

"Rot op Charles," Fuck you Charles, Max whispers before kissing Charles avidly.

Charles’s hands tangle in between his hair, pushing him close to his mouth. The Monegasque whimpers impatiently and Max kisses him, taking care of savoring Charles and the lingering champagne taste in his mouth. He may have a champagne kink.

"You are insufferable," Max moans as Charles takes his lower lip between his teeth. He lets it go slowly, driving Max mad.

"Tell me about it," Charles says, his lips nearly touching Max. He keeps Max there by the hold he has on his hair. It's a game Max unfortunately likes to play.

"You take my wins, fuck, my poles, my mental sanity,"

Charles laughs, he latches his mouth on Max's neck, sucking a bruise right on the border between his neck and the fireproofs. Noticeable. 

"Pick me up," Charles orders, kissing him again.

Max without thinking twice sets his hands on the Monegasque's legs and lifts him up. Charles latches his legs on Max's waist, groaning when their crotches line up and grind against each other.

"Keep going, baby," Charles whispers in Max's ear, nibbling the lobe.

"Fuck you," Max says, slamming Charles against the wall and grinding into him.

"Hm, that takes time, Max, we don't have it now… Unless you'd like me to fuck you here, while others have the key to this place," Charles whispers, tracing a lazy path of kissed on Max's jaw, making him shiver and falter a bit with his ministrations. Max whimpers.

"Oh… So you have a thing for voyeurism? Is that so?" Charles continues, swallowing Max's answer with his mouth.

Max keeps grinding his painfully hard cock against Charles', not caring if he comes across as desperate or as if he comes in his pants. He's going to clean his race suit and his fireproofs with his cheeks burning with shame, so he might as well take advantage of it.

"Come on, baby, come for me," Charles whispers, clearly affected too.

Max would tease him but he has to concentrate on keeping his moans quiet and not dropping Charles as he comes pathetically in his pants.

Max breathes in Charles’ neck, trying to calm down as Charles whispers sweet nothings in his ear, playing with his hair.

"My life is so fucked right now…" Max whispers and Charles grins before kissing him again, this time softly.

"Welcome to the club, baby" Charles mumbles on Max's lips. The Dutchman smiles.

They hear some fumbling with the door knob but they don't care that much. The post-orgasmic haze… The door slams open and Lewis and Checo look at them. The Mexican looks disgusted.

"Lewis, pinche pendejo, you didn't make the situation any better, look at them, this is going to be a problem for me! Un pinche maldito problema!" Checo shouts.

Max keeps Charles’ legs on his waist, not bothering to take his hands off his ass.

"What the fuck was I supposed to do, Checo?!" Lewis shouts.

"We never speak of this again, do you hear?" Max says to the two men standing in front of the door. Charles keeps on kissing his neck.

"Only if you two avoid eye-fucking every chance you get," Lewis offers.

"We need to talk about things before concluding this contract, non?" Charles says and Max rolls his eyes fondly. 

[ogfangirl]

First Win - Pato O’Ward

A/N: My first piece of writing for Pato 🧡

——————

The morning sun filtered gently through the windows, casting a warm glow over the house as the soft sounds of breakfast preparations filled the kitchen. Pato’s girlfriend moved around the counter, making sure his plate had just the right amount of food. Not too much to weigh him down but enough to fuel him for the race ahead. She could hear his mother, Elba, speaking rapid Spanish, urging him to eat.

“Te dije que comieras más, mijo. Hoy es un día importante,” his mom said, her voice filled with both affection and concern. She was already fussing over him, something that never changed no matter how old he got or how many races he won.

Pato glanced over at his girlfriend with a small, amused smile as his mother continued to dote on him. “She’s just worried,” Elba, his sister, teased, nudging Pato’s girlfriend playfully as she sat next to her at the table. “You know how she gets before a big race.”

Pato’s girlfriend smiled softly but couldn’t help the small twinge of nerves bubbling in her stomach. Today was different, she could feel it. The air carried a certain energy, one that hinted at something big. And though they had been through countless race days together, she couldn’t shake the feeling that today was going to be a day they would never forget.

After breakfast, the house began to stir with more excitement as they prepared to head to the track. Pato moved through his familiar routine, checking over the gear he needed to take with him. His girlfriend stood by the door, watching him with a fond smile. She loved these little moments when he was so focused, preparing himself mentally for what was to come.

Once they arrived at the track, the noise hit them instantly—the familiar hum of engines warming up, the roar of the crowd building as race time drew nearer. Pato’s girlfriend held his hand tightly, weaving through the busy paddock alongside him, feeling the adrenaline starting to pulse through her veins. It was always like this—the buildup, the anticipation—but today it felt even more intense.

Before every race, they had a tradition. She’d pull him aside for just a few minutes of calm, away from the noise, just the two of them. Today was no different.

“Can I pray for you?” she asked softly, her hands resting on his shoulders. Her heart was beating a little too fast, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought him into their small bubble of peace.

He nodded, his eyes closing as she whispered a quiet prayer over him, asking for protection, guidance, and strength. When she finished, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his thumb brushing her cheek lightly. “Te amo, mi vida. No matter what happens today, you being here means everything.”

She smiled up at him, the familiar flutter of emotions swirling in her chest. She squeezed his hand, sending him off toward his team. The pre-race rituals continued, and as the national anthem began to play, she stood by his side, the nerves tightening in her stomach once again. This was the part she never quite got used to—watching him gear up, seeing him slip into his helmet, knowing that in just a few moments, he would be flying at speeds that made her heart race in more ways than one.

As the engines roared to life and the cars lined up on the grid, she found her seat next to his family in the pit box, her hands clasped tightly together. His mom sat beside her, whispering soft prayers in Spanish, the rosary beads slipping through her fingers like they did before every race.

“Está en las manos de Dios,” Elba, Pato’s sister, said quietly, her hand resting reassuringly on her girlfriend’s shoulder. They all watched, united in the same hope.

The race began, and Pato quickly found his rhythm. He started sixth, but within a few laps, he had already climbed into fourth. The Milwaukee Mile was a track that tested a driver’s precision and control, and Pato handled it like a master. But as the race progressed, tension mounted. A yellow flag waved as Colton Herta’s car shed a tire, throwing the field into chaos.

Pato’s girlfriend held her breath as the pit stop reshuffling began. The brief fear that they’d lose their position gripped her, but when Pato emerged in the lead, her heart soared with renewed hope.

“Está liderando,” Pato’s mom said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes never leaving the track. She reached out, clasping her girlfriend’s hand tightly. “Está liderando.”

The tension was palpable as the final laps unfolded. Pato had control of the race, but any small mistake could cost them everything. She watched every move, her heart in her throat as drivers pressed him from behind, trying to snatch the victory from his grasp.

When the checkered flag waved and Pato crossed the line first, the emotions crashed into her like a tidal wave. She screamed, jumping up as tears flooded her eyes. Pato had done it. He had won.

His team erupted in cheers, but nothing could compare to the feeling that swelled in her chest as she ran toward him. He had barely climbed out of the car when she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight despite the fact that he was soaked in sweat and adrenaline.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, her voice breaking as the tears spilled over. “I knew you could do it.”

Pato laughed, his arms tightening around her, burying his face in her hair for just a moment. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he whispered back, his voice raw with emotion.

His mom and sister joined them soon after, the family coming together in a tearful embrace. His mom was crying openly now, her hands on either side of his face as she spoke in Spanish. “Mi niño, estoy tan orgullosa de ti. Lo hiciste. Lo hiciste.”

“Gracias, mamá,” Pato replied, his own eyes misting as he held onto her. His sister hugged him tightly, her smile so wide it looked like her face would split in two.

The post-race celebrations were a blur of interviews, photographs, and hugs from the team, but later that night, back at home, the day’s events finally started to sink in. The four of them sat around the dinner table, laughing, recounting the race with wide eyes and excited voices. Pato’s girlfriend couldn’t stop smiling, replaying the race in her mind, the pride she felt for him overwhelming.

Once they were finally alone, Pato pulled her into bed, wrapping his arms around her as they lay in the quiet of their room. She could still feel the hum of excitement in his body, his heart racing with the high of his first win of the season.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better day,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you for always being here.”

She smiled, snuggling closer to him. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”