#russell’s blank stare

[slimecreaturezz]

not their massive souvenir collections making them late for their ride 😭

[paddockbunny]

So a girl I know through her boyfriend is going to Silverstone….she’s never watched a single race before, doesn’t know any driver other than Hamilton and QUOTE “not really that interested but I’m doing it for the gram”

WTF IS THIS?! WHY? She’s literally spending all that money to clout chase? Go on holiday. Buy a bag or something. Don’t go to an event where thousands of legitimate fans would kill for your Hamilton straight seats! The reason I know this is because her boyfriend sent me a text and asked if she could borrow some of my merch!

I’m picking my jaw off the floor at her audacity

[no-144444]

side street- c.leclerc

summary: clubs aren't just for dancing, sometimes, it's for reconciliation too.

pairing: charles leclerc x fem! wolff! reader

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“Tonight is literally a movie,” Charles mocked, bringing his drink to his mouth, then lowering it again. “I mean who says that? We’re not 17 anymore.”  

“Just talk to her,” Arthur whined. “I cannot take this pathetic, sad Charles anymore. I mean for fuck’s sake, you spent three hours on the piano last night!”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” he shook his head and Arthur moved to open his mouth, but Charles held up a sharp hand. “Her parents would kill me. Dead. And her.”

“It wasn’t even that bad, when you think about it,” Arthur argued. “What’s her parent’s problem with you anyway?”

Charles stared at him for a moment, a blank look of disappointment on his face. “You are joking, right?”

“Yeah, sorry. You have a point,” he nodded. Charles’s mouth dropped open at his brother’s blatant hypocrisy. “I am not saying I’m a saint! We’re just… talking about you right now!”

He scoffed, chuckling and looking back to the party. Back to you. Dancing with him. George Russell. That’s who Toto wants. That’s who Susie wants. That’s who you should want. That’s who you deserve. Not someone who has been more loyal to an F1 team than his past relationships. Not Charles. 

“You’re moping,” Lando scoffed, sitting beside him. “I told you not to go after her,” he tutted. 

“Try resisting her,” Charles scoffed, nudging him in the side. “She’s everything.” 

“Shit, you’re in love,” Lando cursed, a smirk on his lips. “Catch feelings Mr. Cheater?”

The three of them were silent, Lando and Arthur watching Charles as he watched you. The way your dress clung to your body, the way your hips swayed, the smile on your ridiculously beautiful face, the way your eyes creased at the sides when you laughed, the way you jumped up and down for the song playing- your favourite song. He felt something in his chest ache. He wanted you, yes. But he wanted the girl he knew so well. Working from bed on the days he got off, smiling in the dark, the way you looked at him. He missed it all. He missed you all the time. “I’m fucked.”

“Glad you came to that conclusion,” Lando smacked a hand on his back and grabbed ahold of his jacket, pulling him up. “Because we’re going to go talk to her.” 

Charles’s stomach dropped, but his feet were working overtime to get over to you quick enough. 

“Y/n!” Lando shouted over the music. “I need to talk to you!” 

You turned away from George to be met with Charles’s face, and your smile dropped into a face of surprise. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment as the song changed, something slower, more dangerous. Perfect for the night that was in it. 

“What’s up Lando?” you turned to him, but he’d already disappeared. “Oh fuck, where’d he go?”

“I need to talk to you,” Charles gritted out, the adrenaline and nervousness rushing through his body. “Outside?”

Despite your better judgement, you let him lead you out of the club and into a side street, his anxiety growing. What would he even say? He had no clue what he was meant to say to convince you to take him back, to put your trust in him that he wouldn’t fuck it up. 

“Y/n, I’m-”

But you didn’t let him finish. You pressed your lips against his and ran your hands through his hair, messing it up. His stupidly perfect shaggy hair. You pulled on it, bringing him closer. He wouldn't have cared if you pulled it out. He loved this. Your whole body pressing up against his, your lips on his again, your scent near him again, it was vexing. You were enchanting him, calling him to the depths of the sea like a siren, and he was much too happy to drown. His hands circled your waist, pulling you even closer (if that was possible), and he just enjoyed the moment. The last time he’d kissed you, he hadn’t known it would be the last time. You were hungry, kissing him like you needed it. Needed him. “I missed you so much,” you breathed out, then kissed him again. 

“I missed you too,” he huffed, pulling back and looking at you. Smudged lipstick. Puffy lips. Soft smile. Beautiful. 

“I want you, I don’t care what my parents say,” you admitted, your voice strong, but he could feel the anxiety radiating off of you. “If you’ll have me.”

He chuckled at the absurdity of him not wanting you. “I’ll always want you,” he smiled. “You’re everything to me.” 

You were both quiet, the electric energy between the two of you making it impossible to look away. 

You spoke up. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. 

“So you’re going to take me home…?” you smirked. 

Charles groaned and kissed you again. “If I ever say no to that, shoot me.”

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navigation for my blog :)

ferrari masterlist

[djloveyou3000]

Felix: Bell, Russell told me that he speaks German. Isn’t that amazing?

Bell: laughing hard

Felix: looks confused Why are you laughing?

Russell: looking annoyed and offended The hell are you laughing at, Bell?

Bell: wheezing He doesn’t speak German! He had the most horrible pronunciation and accent��the enemies knew he was fake as soon as he opened his mouth!

Felix: chuckles Seriously? Is that true? Russell, why don’t you give it a try?

Russell: Ich… bin ein… spion… nein, ich meine… ein Deutscher! Ja, sehr… gut?

Felix: keeps a blank face for a few moments, then bursts out laughing with Bell

Russell: grumbling Knock it off, you two!

Bell: grinning You should’ve heard him speaking Russian in the KGB. I tried so hard not to laugh.

Felix: laughing Wait, wait—he tried speaking Russian too?

Bell: wiping tears from their eyes Oh, it was even worse. The KGB agents just stared at him like he had grown a second head.

Russell: glaring I swear to God—

Felix: mockingly “Ich bin ein Amerikaner,” he mimics Russell’s terrible German accent.

Bell: wheezing No, no! His Russian was like— clears her throat “Ya… em… pauses for effect russkiy.”

Felix: loses it, clutching his stomach

Russell: gritting his teeth I hate both of you.

[iamcautiouslyoptimistic]

🦅Russell Adler Headcanons

{Author's Note} Since I'm literally obsessed with this man, I thought I'd post my headcanons for him. All of these are based off of his canon backstory and character with bits of my own speculation thrown in so nothing should be too out of left field here. I may end up posting more of my thoughts on him soon so we shall see. Hope y'all like it and I'd love to hear what you think, as well as any headcanons you guys might have! Tagging @littlemissclandestine for this since she's an Adler fan. Let me know if I did this man justice lol🤭

‼️Content Warning: swearing, suggestive themes‼️

~ ~ ~

-Badass asshole

-Takes awhile for him to soften enough to really love someone

-Flirtatious jerk when he has a crush

-Shows he cares through small actions that can be hard to notice, as well as vague, rather backhanded compliments

-Shamelessly stares from behind those glasses of his

-Thinks it’s really cute when you wear his shades but would never admit it

-Stylish with heavy 70s influence

-Probably modeled for a male fashion magazine at some point LMAO

-Definitely knows how to dance

-Seems like the type to meme a bit on British people (specifically Park lol)

-Very sarcastic, sometimes to the point that you don’t realize he’s actually joking because he's always so monotone

-Secretly loves Belgian waffles (this is a reference to that one Bruce Thomas TikTok lol)

-Has a soft spot for the Beach Boys (I mean, look at that 🎶bushy, bushy blonde hairdo🎶 of his)

-Since so many people have asked and teased him about it (I see y'all in the fandom and I will not accept this slander lol) -> his hair isn’t fake, it’s actually pretty soft, very bouncy, he likes styling it

-Very particular about his appearance as it is one of the few things that he can truly control

-Prefers cats over dogs

-Can get obsessive about certain things and lose himself to them (i.e. his search for Perseus) -> Mason quote: “He spent so long searching for Perseus, he didn’t notice when he lost himself.”

-Still struggles with PTSD from his time in Vietnam, which, alongside his obsession with finding Perseus, is what led to his divorce

-Carries a lot of guilt and regret that he doesn’t like to acknowledge

-Started smoking to cope with the trauma of war, now has a nicotine addiction; when he’s really stressed, he chain smokes like a chimney

-Gets restless if he doesn’t have a cigarette

-Doesn’t sleep well and when he does, he usually wakes up every few hours

-Scars - Shrapnel? Abuse? Torture? Animal attack? No one knows and he’ll never tell

-Kiss or trace those scars and he WILL melt

-Difficult for him to let his guard down

-Has a tendency to isolate himself -> Mason quote: "You were never alone, Adler. Only in your own stubborn head."

-Always wearing those damn glasses cuz STYLE but also to hide his eyes to remain as a sort of blank, emotionless slate to other people

-Absent parents who never showed him real love or support as he grew up so he struggles to do the same for others -> they were the reason he joined the army as soon as he turned 18

-When it comes to cuddling, he loves holding you against his chest and running his fingers along your arm, cheek, or through your hair; small but intimate actions like that are his favorite

-Doesn’t like to show emotions at all, even during more intimate moments; he needs some coaxing to relax in that way, which takes time

NSFW Below👇🏻 (it's really not too bad tho)

-Sit on his lap👀

-Will pin your wrists during the sexy times🫣

-EDGING & OVERSTIMULATION

-After his divorce, he's tended to view sex as more of a transaction where both parties are fulfilling needs for each other so he'd be selfish at first but as your relationship progresses, he'd become far more generous

[landoom]

F1 FANFICS REC LIST - Vampires

make me taste alive (3694 words) by to_unexplain_the_unforgivable Rating: Mature Relationships: Alexander Albon/George Russell Summary: Alex smiles, fangs full and curved, almost cutting into his lower lip.

oOoOoOo

When the blood is dripping (8248 words) by Lovely_Lotus Rating: Explicit Relationships: Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri Summary: “Sorry?” Oscar stares at him with a blank look. His cheeks are a pretty shade of cherry-red, meaning he fed recently. “I said,” Lando tries again, “that I’ve decided you’re not allowed to come ‘til you bite me.” In which Lando wants to find a way to get his vampire boyfriend to bite him. His plan? Denying Oscar an orgasm until he caves, of course.

oOoOoOo

Sweet Tooth (8248 words) by Anonymous Rating: Explicit Relationships: Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri Summary: Lando is ready to fistfight a vampire. Softly. With his lips.

oOoOoOo

take me now in the dark (1345 words) by princessrosberg Rating: Explicit Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Carlos Sainz Jr Summary: Charles is in heat. His silly little vampire teammate is more than happy to help.

oOoOoOo

your blood is the sourest nectar (2157 words) by autismcoded Rating: Mature Relationships: Oscar Piastri/Carlos Sainz Jr Summary: The fire crackling in the fireplace has begun to feel scorching, warming the air to an uncomfortable point. He can tell that Carlos had left the fire burning for this long on purpose, to make Oscar squirm. He doesn’t like to be dramatic, but with his hands in Carlos’ lap, and the burn of shame in his throat from tearing away from his touch, he feels as if he’s dying.

oOoOoOo

a lifetime doesn't always mean forever (2468 words) by boxboxbaby Rating: Explicit Relationships: Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri Summary: Oscar is a vampire, Lando isn't. Lando wants Oscar to turn him into a vampire, but Oscar isn't sure if he can maintain his composure and is afraid he might kill Lando in the process.

oOoOoOo

vampire kisses (8873 words) by onboardsora Rating: Explicit Relationships: Lewis Hamilton/Daniel Ricciardo Summary: Lewis' new boyfriend Daniel is a vampire. That's it, that's the tweet.

oOoOoOo

Vampiresarereal.net (2692 words) by starhoneyy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Alexander Albon/George Russell, Lewis Hamilton/George Russell Summary: Alex is convinced that George's new boyfriend is a vampire: The 3 times he's wrong plus the one time he semi-isn't.

oOoOoOo

starving faithful (2541 words) by insanedevotion Rating: Mature Relationships: Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri Summary: Lando, dizzyingly, licks his lower lip, then bites down on it. Oscar's terrible, starving brain thinks of other things he could bite down on. "You could—" Lando starts, stops, still hesitant, still sweet, "you could bite? Me?" Oscar stares at him, shock stilling his body until he's no longer shaking. "What," he says, incredulous, which Lando seems to take as encouragement for some reason.

oOoOoOo

Burning flame (3589 words) by Nearmike Rating: Explicit Relationships: George Russell/Max Verstappen Summary: The alpha hadn't answered, a request had stuck on the tip of his tongue, maybe George had expected that question but still didn't dare to ask it -Max- George had said seriously as he looked at him with those piercing eyes -Do you want me to bite you while we have sex?-

oOoOoOo

sink your teeth into me (4801 words) by nyoomfruits Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri, background Max Verstappen/Daniel Ricciardo Summary: “Yeah,” Oscar says, shrugs. “Would be better if it wasn’t so fucking orange, though.” “Oscar,” Lando tuts, heading for the door, back to his own driver’s room. “Where’s your team spirit.” “Dead,” Oscar says, small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, gesturing at the orange coffin as if to say ‘get it?’.

oOoOoOo

i've tasted blood (and i want more) (5624 words) by nyoomfruits Rating: Explicit Relationships: Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri Summary: Lando grabs a pillow and hits him with it, while Oscar laughs loudly. His fangs are on full display, white and sharp and pretty. “You know what I mean, you dickhead!” “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Oscar says, eyes twinkling. “You want me to use you as a human Capri Sun. You know, like a weirdo.” “God, you’re making this so much worse than it is,” Lando says, burying his face in his hands. It’s. Well, it’s embarrassing, but Oscar also hasn’t outright said no, so. You know what they say. In for a penny, in for a pound. “So, will you?” And then, just in case, he adds. “Suck my blood?”

MASTERPOST

[coff33andb00ks]

Recipe for the Perfect Christmas 10/12

One part small town girl coming home from the big city. One part handsome stranger. Five parts lifelong friends (don't forget to include their partners). One part stubborn father. A dash of Christmas spirit. Part: Ten of Twelve Pairing: Oscar Piastri x ofc (with appearances from Mark Webber. Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Esteban Ocon, Pato O'Ward, and George Russell) wc: 5,668 warnings: none? a little emotional soundtrack: spotify ⋆❆⋆ apple music nav: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve

Lift the bundle from the crock. Untie and remove cheesecloth. Brush with liquor and syrup mixture. Wrap in waxed paper. Place in box. Seal. Wrap and fasten with red ribbon. Affix tag. Add to stack.

Repeat.

The steady, repetitive task kept Natalie's mind blank. The kitchen reeked of fruitcake and the liquor and syrup. She had purposefully chosen non-Christmas music to play on her phone, though had somehow missed a couple carols on her playlist. Adding another cheesecloth to the pile, she picked up the brush and dipped it into the bowl, sweeping the syrup over the top of the cake then sliding it onto the waxed paper.

She couldn't hear anything above the music playing in her ears but knew the moment the back door opened. She wasn't sure if it was because of the cold air that slipped into the kitchen, or the shadow that moved in her peripheral vision. Pausing in her task, she held her breath, finally turning to see her father washing his hands in the sink. He didn't say a word, even after she removed her earbuds, and she felt the pain in the silence as he took another fruitcake from the large crock.

They worked without speaking. She remembered a long-ago night when they had worked in this fashion. When the air had been thick with the words she had already said and the silence had been painful. The only difference was that they were both a little older.

As he placed the last fruitcake on the counter, she felt a pang in her chest. The last fruitcake was always taken home. It was the only one he allowed himself, even though it was his favorite holiday treat and hers, too. He wrapped it meticulously in the waxed paper, as those for customers had been wrapped, then paused.

Natalie furrowed her brow when he unfolded the paper and reached for one of the knives on the magnetic strip. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but it was obvious he was going to slice into the fruitcake. Despite his self-imposed rule that it wait for Christmas Eve, when it would be enjoyed with his best brandy after getting back from the candlelight service at church. She watched the knife glide through the cake, watched the slices cascade, then watched him set the knife down.

"I don't have my brandy," he said.

"It's not Christmas Eve," she pointed out.

"Are you gonna be here then?" he asked.

Her breath caught, and she thought of her laptop, which she'd left on the kitchen table, email open on the job offer. "I will."

"Then we'll take another one home for then." He picked up a slice and looked at it.

"Two fruitcakes for yourself?"

"Why the hell not."

Natalie bit her lip, waiting for him to bite into the slice. When he didn't, she frowned.

"Did I ever tell you where I got this recipe?" he asked, still staring at it.

"I don't think so."

"It was in your mother's family. Started as a Christmas pudding with her great-great-grandmother in England, and when they came here they adapted it. Her mother perfected it. It was the one thing I'd never been able to do right, and when we got married, she and your Nana showed me how to do it properly." He sighed. "It was the third-best thing she ever gave me."

"What were first and second?"

"Second was her love and partnership over the twenty-two years we had together." He turned, holding the slice of fruitcake out to her.

She took it, knowing just by touch and smell that it had been prepared perfectly. "What was the first?"

"You."

"Oh, Dad," she whispered, vision blurring with tears. She wasn't a gift. She was a nightmare. She'd left him at the worst possible time, had distanced herself for years, and had only come back because she had no choice. And her knee-jerk reaction when she got upset had been to do the exact same thing. But it occurred to her that if she took the job in Atlanta and left, that she wouldn't be welcomed back so warmly. "I think you're wrong."

"I never thought I was."

"Even when I left?"

"Especially then."

"How?" she asked, setting the slice down. She didn't deserve a bite. "How could you still think I was great when I basically told you to take this place and shove it?"

"Because you're my child. And I'll always love you. I'll always be proud of you."

She shook her head. "I'm nothing to be proud of. I've had how many jobs? I either choose a place about to go bankrupt or a company I don't fit in with—"

"That's just bad luck, Natalie."

"How many punches on my bad luck card do I have to get before I get some good luck?" Natalie shook her head again and pushed away from the counter. "Ever since Mom died, I've spiraled like water in a toilet before it flushes down."

"You think you're the only one?" he asked, scowling. "You think you're the only person this world craps on? Grow up. People around the world have it worse in a day than you have in a year."

She gaped at him, not sure if she was insulted by or surprised by his outburst.

"There are folks out there who don't know where their next meal is coming from. Families that have to choose between keeping the lights on or putting food on the table for the week. People get kicked out of their supposedly loving homes because of who they're attracted to or what they do or don't believe in and have to fend for themselves. Kids that are sick and dying but can't get the help they need."

"I know," she said. "But—"

"You've never had to worry about any of that. Because of this place," he said, gesturing around them. "Because my grandparents chose this little spot to settle after they got married, and because they put years of blood and sweat and tears and love into this dump. And then your grandparents stepped in and kept it going. When prices had to go up and sales slacked off, we went without just to keep this place open. Then it was my turn, and when you came along I swore that I would do everything I could to make sure you never had to want for anything."

"Dad—"

"You're allowed to be selfish. I know when you're down how hard it is to see that it could be so much worse. But you don't have it so bad. There's a roof over your head and you didn't have to pay for your schooling." He inhaled then exhaled shakily. "I wanted you to take over for me when it was my turn to hang up my apron, because it's the family business. And yes, it hurt like hell when you told me you'd rather do anything else, but I knew I had to let you go."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She didn't know what else to say.

"I'm sorry that you're upset because I'm selling the place. But I'm not sorry I'm doing it. You don't want it. Max does. And he'll be successful, because he loves this almost as much as I do."

"Does he?"

"He does. I told him I'd take down all the old stuff and he insisted it stay. He doesn't want to change it. He said…" Her father paused, closing his eyes briefly. "He said there are lifetimes of memories on the walls and he wouldn't dream of wiping them away."

"He's right." Anywhere she looked she could pull up a memory. The counter, currently stacked with fruitcakes, wiped clean and being dusted with flower so her mother could teach her how to knead. The row of knives on the magnetic strip, which she had taken down once a week so her father could sharpen them. It was a physical rolodex of memories, good and bad, and so was the shopfront, where she had spent the afternoons of her childhood. "I grew up in this building."

"I know you did."

"It was the last place I saw Mom." She stared in the direction of the back door, which her mother had pushed open and then paused, unruly snowflakes floating inside as she reminded Natalie to put the chicken on for dinner. Her own bored reply echoed in her mind and she again felt the flush of guilt and shame.

"Me, too." He finally stepped away from the counter, limping over to switch on the coffeepot near the oven. He stopped, placing one hand on the door of the oven. "She was mad at me."

"She was?" Natalie frowned. She didn't recall her mother being mad. Rushing, yes, and complaining about the weather she had to drive in, but not mad. "What about?"

"I was supposed to go shopping with her. But I had to put in an order, and was running late on getting the work for morning done. She didn't like driving in the snow. I told her to stop being a baby. She told me I was being an inconsiderate ass. It was my fault she was leaving late, and it's my fault she went alone."

"Dad, no," Natalie whispered. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know the accident wasn't. Not really. But… It was. If I'd left the work for morning go until we got back, or told her to wait until the next afternoon… Or if I'd delayed her longer so she was five minutes later. Or had told her to leave earlier…" Mark drew in a shaky breath. "She wouldn't have been in that spot when that driver hit the bit of ice."

"But it could have happened to her either way. Or it could have been so much worse." The fact that no one else had been injured or died in the accident had at first been a point of anger, but it had shifted into a comfort. Her mother would have been upset at more loss of life. "Or you could have been in the car and died, too."

"I know all that, sweetie. It doesn't make it easier."

"I know," she murmured. She hesitated, then finally closed the space between them.

"I didn't tell her I loved her."

"I didn't either."

He lowered his head and her heart broke for him. She slowly reached forward and placed her hand on his arm. He turned slightly and her breath hitched at the tears in his eyes. "It hurts every day I walk in here, because I always remember that my last words to her were 'hurry home' and not that I loved her."

"She knew you loved her. Dad, she knew."

"She knew you loved her, too." He wrapped his arm around her and exhaled slowly. "She would be so proud of you."

"Sometimes I think so." Natalie squeezed her eyes shut. "She'd hate that I'm single and childless, though."

"Yeah, she did want grandkids," he murmured with a quick chuckle. "But more importantly she wanted you happy."

"I thought I was. Then I wasn't. For a little bit when I first moved back I was. Now I'm not again." Sniffling, she pressed her face into his shirt.

"Have you talked to Oscar?"

She stiffened and pulled away, brushing her tears away while turning to put the boxed fruitcakes away. "There's nothing to talk to him about."

"He didn't do anything, sweetie."

"He lied to me."

"And you've never lied?"

"Not about something this important." Picking up two boxes, she carried them to the storage rack.

"I lied, too. Be mad at me."

"I love you too much to stay mad at you," she admitted.

"I was gonna say the same thing." He got his garish mug from its hook above the coffeepot and filled it. "You love him, too."

"No I don't."

"You're lying again."

"I don't!" She set the next two fruitcakes down with more force than necessary. "God, I don't even know him."

"Well." When she glanced over, her father was twirling the coffee in his cup. "You know him pretty well, I'd imagine."

"I'd rather not talk about that."

"You never said how his scrambled eggs were."

"They were sunny side up."

He chuckled. "You do love a runny yolk."

"It takes more than sex and a good cooked egg for love, Dad."

"You know what it took for your mother and me?" He waited until she threw up her hands in silent defeat and smiled. "A laugh."

"A laugh," she repeated, blinking in confusion. "Really?"

"She was visiting her cousin over the summer. They came in one morning for donuts and I shortchanged her." His smile widened and Natalie knew he was lost in the memory. "Wish I could say it was because she was so beautiful I forgot how to subtract, but it was because I was in a hurry so I could go out back and smoke. She came back in a few minutes later and then marched right out back to tell me to give her the three dollars I owed her. Then she took the cigarette from me and threw it on the ground. Hop to it, she said, snapping her fingers. I asked her who the hell she thought she was, and when she said either my dream customer or my worst nightmare, I laughed in her face."

Natalie smiled. She'd heard the tale before, but only that her mother had come in and had thought Mark was cute. She had only meant to stay in town two weeks to visit her cousin, then had extended her stay to last the entire summer. She'd come back over her Christmas break from college and had never left except to go get her things from her dorm.

"She told me the night I proposed that she fell in love with me right then."

"That's sweet, Dad. But it's more complicated for me and Oscar."

"Because you're making it complicated."

"He doesn't even know what he's going to do after Max and Eve move into the house."

"So?"

"And I might be leaving."

"And?"

"I don't think Oscar's the type to follow a woman to Atlanta." She sighed. "He doesn't like big cities."

"There's always a suburb. And the type of work he does he can do anywhere."

"Plus he lied to me."

"Because it wasn't any of his business. It was my job to tell you, and I royally screwed that up. He cares about you."

"How do you know that?"

"I'm not blind, sweetie." He sighed and took a sip of his coffee. "Don't push him away. You know he's a good man."

"He is," she agreed.

"And I guess he's okay looking."

"He is," she said again. He was more than okay looking.

"I'm not trying to push you into a relationship with him, I just want you to patch things up. It's up to you to do that."

"I guess so." She smiled faintly, remembering Oscar gently urging her to talk to her dad.

"But do it quick."

"Why?"

"I miss Penny."

Oscar slid the last cookie onto the platter and tossed the cooling rack into the sink. Baking wasn't his strength, but he had always heard that the scent of fresh-baked cookies made a house smell like home. He knew his friend would be slightly disgusted that he'd bought and baked pre-made dough, but it was the best he could do. Setting the platter on the island counter, he moved to rinse the racks and dried them off before pushing them into the drawer next to the stove. He wiped down the sink, slightly adjusted the platter of cookies, then did a quick look through the house to make sure everything was truly ready.

It was. He'd made up all the beds with the sheets Eve had brought one weekend. There was a new puzzle mat waiting for Lucas in his new room. For Grace was a set of toy horses, one of which resembled Bonny and her foal. On the dresser in the master bedroom was a vase filled with purple roses and a gift certificate to the town's salon for Eve. Next to it was the pair of sunglasses he'd purchased to replace the ones of Max's he'd broken accidentally. Eve's home office was ready to go except for her computer and whatever little things she wanted to place on the shelves. The bedroom he had been using was clean, his things mostly packed and ready to be loaded into his truck after Christmas when he left. He wasn't sure but he had an inkling it would soon be made into a nursery. Max's home office downstairs was ready to go, complete with the new computer Eve had ordered for him. The playroom was organized and neat, all the toys in their respective cubbies. The living room and den and dining room were ready, and he knew without looking that the basement was, too.

He ran his hand along the back of the couch, checking that the living room was perfect. His gaze moved to the plush rug in front of the fireplace and he tried his best to ignore the way his chest squeezed. Turning his attention to the Christmas decorations, he nodded to himself, glancing to the twinkling tree in front of the bow window. Underneath it were two wrapped gifts for Grace and Lucas to open that night. Moving into the front hall, he idly adjusted the lighted garland twining down the banister of the staircase.

From the utility room behind the kitchen came a small yip, and he watched Penny come trotting through to the front hall, skidding to a stop at the front door, where she sat, tail thumping excitedly.

"They here?" he asked, bending to scratch behind her ears while he opened the door. She waited, body starting to wriggle, then darted out as soon as Max's SUV was parked and the engine cut off. Oscar leaned in the doorway, smiling, as the dog rushed around in excited circles, then zoomed to greet first Eve and then Max.

"Hey!" Max laughed when Penny leaped through his open door.

"Penny," Oscar called, stepping out onto the porch. "C'mon, girl."

A few seconds later she jumped out of the passenger door, and took her time to join him on the porch. Her tail wagged incessantly as Eve let Grace out, and when they headed across she gave another yip of greeting.

"Hey," Oscar greeted, catching Grace when she threw herself at him in a hug. "Good drive?"

"Mommy peed three times," the girl announced.

"Yes thank you, Grace," Eve sighed. "I'm sure Oscar needs to know about my bladder function."

He knew why already, but he had to ask. Grinning, he caught her in a quick hug while Max carried Lucas from the car. "Did Max make you drink Red Bull again?"

"He knows better by now." Eve smiled. The same smile she'd given him twice before. "I've been drinking more water today."

"Why?" he asked, making a face.

"Damned if I know." She moved inside, then turned around and grabbed his arm. "You know, don't you?"

"Know what?" he grunted, stumbling when she yanked on his sleeve. "Eve!"

"He told you!" She glared at Max, who was just coming up the steps. "You told him!"

"I didn't tell him a damn thing!"

"Oooo!" Lucas's eyes widened. "Bad Daddy."

"Your mother drops the f-word three times a day and I get scolded for saying damn?" Max shook his head. "What's up with that?"

"Mommy." The boy shrugged as though that were enough explanation, then tipped his head back to look at the lights crisscrossing the ceiling of the porch. "Pretty lights."

"The decorating looks great, Oscar," Max said, nodding with approval. "Your best work."

"Thanks. I had thorough instructions."

"It does look great," Eve agreed, still holding onto his sleeve. "It looked so beautiful from the street. Did you leave—"

"Room on the main tree for the kids' ornaments, yes," Oscar finished for her, nodding. "Can I have my arm back now?"

"Did he tell you?" she asked.

"No, he didn't."

Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "You were supposed to ask me what he allegedly told you."

Oscar blinked, then slowly turned his head to look at his friend. "What'd she say?"

"You gave the wrong answer." Max looked at his wife. "I didn't tell him."

"But he knows."

"I gotta nose," Lucas announced, jamming his index finger in one nostril. "See?"

"Ew," Eve groaned. Letting go of Oscar's sleeve, she took the boy from Max and began rummaging in her purse for a tissue. "No boogers, please, Mommy can't handle it today. Do I smell cookies?"

Grace jumped up from where she'd been lying, loving on Penny. "Cookies? You baked, Oscar?"

"Uh, yeah, but—"

"Cookies!"

"They're the pre-made stuff," Oscar told Max before he could ask. "Don't judge me."

"I judge you every damn day, it's my right as your best friend." Max grinned and headed inside. "Wow, you've made a lot of progress. All the floors are finished?"

"Yeah." Oscar closed the front door while the kids ran towards the kitchen.

"Oh my god," Eve gasped, freezing in the archway to the living room. Her hands came up to cover her mouth, and she slowly spun to stare at him.

"Surprise," he said, smiling.

"Babe, the dining room – Whoa," Max said, joining his wife.

"You said it would be after Christmas," she said.

"I lied?" More than a little touched by their reaction, especially when he saw the glimmer of tears in Eve's eyes, he cleared his throat. "I didn't want you to have to cram the last of the moving into those few days after Christmas, and… I wanted to give y'all a good gift. Especially with, y'know."

"What?" Max asked, unzipping his coat.

"You know," Oscar said slowly.

"Oh for fuck's sake, we all know I'm pregnant again, stop tiptoeing around it." Eve flung her arms around Oscar and squeezed. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," he murmured, hugging her back. "You guys deserve to spend Christmas in your new house."

"The upstairs is done, too?" she asked.

"Beds made, rugs vacuumed, everything already here is put away." He smiled when she headed up the stairs. "I even put a mint on the pillows."

"You're an asshole for not telling us it was finished, but I love you," she called over her shoulder.

"Love you too," he promised.

Max hung up his coat, then picked up Eve's from where she'd dropped it. "When did you finish?"

"Couple days ago. I spent yesterday and today doing the decorating and cleaning up." Oscar picked up Eve's purse and set it on the console table. "I figured I could rent a van and start bringing the rest of your stuff down next week."

"That'd be great. Did Natalie help?"

Oscar tried to not react to the mention of her name, but knew his frined had caught something when his eyebrows lifted. "No, she didn't."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"She found out about the bakery."

Max sucked in a breath between his teeth. "Mark said he was gonna tell her this weekend."

"She found something about it from a lawyer." Moving into the living room, Oscar crossed to the fireplace and adjusted the screen. "She was upset. At me."

"Because you didn't tell her?"

"Yeah."

Max nodded. "It wasn't fair to ask you not to say anything."

"If I'd told her, she still would have been upset," he sighed, staring at the fire. Not wanting to remember what had occurred in that spot the last time the fire had been going, he stepped away, pushing his hands into his pockets.

"Maybe not as bad."

Oscar sighed. "Doesn't matter. She's done with me."

"Done?"

"I asked her if we could talk about it and she said she had nothing more to say to me." He shrugged, trying his best to pretend he wasn't as affected by her cold dismissal as he truly was.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Max whispered. "It's all my fault."

"No it's not."

"I should have told her. I should have made Mark tell her. I should have told Susie. I should have—"

"Max, stop. It just wasn't meant to be."

"You're gonna give up?"

"It wasn't like it could go anywhere."

"Why the hell not? You like her. She likes you. There were hearts in your eyes and music playing whenever you looked at each other."

"It's better this way," he insisted. "I'm leaving after Christmas."

"You're what?"

Oscar jerked his head up at the sound of Eve's voice. Sighing, he nodded. "I'm leaving after Christmas."

"Why? Where are you going? What are you gonna do?" she asked, glancing towards the kitchen. She squatted down, catching Lucas when he toddled up to her and thrust a cookie in her face.

"Oscar cookies," the boy said proudly, bringing the cookie back so he could take a large bite.

"Where's your sister?" Eve unzipped her son's coat and struggled to get it off without making him let go of the cookie. "Grace!"

Oscar watched his niece appear, coat hanging from her arms. She shook it off then dragged it to the coat rack. And, when her mother told her to go look at her room, she took off upstairs.

"Well?" Eve demanded, straightening and looking at him.

"I'll figure something out between now and then," he said.

"I thought you were looking at the place on the edge of town."

Oscar swiveled his gaze to his friend.

Max shrugged. "I tell her everything."

"Take Lucas up to see his room," she said, eyes never leaving Oscar. "I've got to talk to Oscar."

"Good luck," Max whispered before scooping his son into his arms.

She wasn't usually one for exercise. But the day was so nice. It was damp due to the rain the night before, and the snow was still in thick drifts, but the sun was shining and it was warm enough she didn't need a thick coat. She had felt closed-up, something she wasn't used to feeling, and had finally thrown on a jacket and decided to go for a brisk walk to clear her head. At first she kept to the side streets, and after going around until she was nearly back home, she headed for Main Street and then followed it along until she reached the outskirts of town.

Stopping to unzip her jacket and consider how she wanted to go back through town, she felt a sudden prickle of awareness. She turned slightly, seeing first the 'For Sale' sign and then the little white clapboard split-level. Mr. Wright's house, she thought, recalling hearing that he had moved to the center of town to live with his sister. Her gaze moved to the truck in the driveway and her chest lurched.

Oscar.

As though her presence had conjured him up, the door opened and he stepped outside, laughing. Carlos was behind him, laughing as well, and the two men stood on the small porch, chatting.

Her heart squeezed almost painfully. He didn't see her. Or maybe he did and he didn't care enough to acknowledge? She wavered, unsure whether to call out a greeting or turn and go away before he could look in her direction. She hadn't yet made up her mind what she wanted to say to him, or if she wanted to say anything to him at all. She looked on as the men shook hands, and took a step forward just as Oscar started down the steps.

He stopped, so she did as well. Despite the distance she saw the hesitance in his expression, and bit her lip when he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Oh, damn it, she had to speak to him. She continued walking forward, sneakers slipping a little on the pile of snow at the end of the flagstone walk. With each step she tried to think of something to say, but then she saw that he was walking toward her. They met halfway and both stopped at the same time.

Natalie pulled her earbuds from her ears, hastily cramming them into the pocket of her jacket. What was she supposed to say? How could she begin to explain her outburst, her irrational anger towards him that had now faded? What could she possibly say to make it even a little bit better? There was an awkward tension between them and even though she couldn't look away from him she knew that Carlos had sensed it when she heard him mutter something and go back into the house.

Oscar's eyes looked a little sad and she wondered if that were her fault.

"I'm sorry," she blurted.

"I'm sorry," he said at the same time.

"I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you—"

"I should have told you when you asked—"

"It wasn't fair—"

"It was wrong to keep you in the dark—"

"I dragged you in the middle when you were just a bystander—"

"I just didn't want to upset you—"

"I blew it all out of proportion because I was hurt—"

"Especially when I realized I was falling for you so fast and—"

"I was thinking I might be falling in love even though we just met—"

They both stopped. At the same time.

Natalie blinked. So did he. She didn't know why, but she began to smile. And was relieved when he did, too. A laugh bubbled up when they both took a step forward. Slipping her hand into his when he held it out, she sighed.

"You wanna go for a walk?" he asked.

"I just did, but yes."

They strolled to the sidewalk, and his fingers slotted between hers. "Can we talk, too?"

"I think we should." She stopped, frowning. "You're just gonna leave your truck?"

"I can walk back and get it."

Resuming her steps, she squeezed his hand. "I'll walk back with you."

[starstruckodysseys]

wip wednesday moment

did u guys know i have so many cool fics that are not finished bc i am so sleepy. you probably do bc i dont shut up but like thats not the point. sorry its 2am when im writing this and i just got back from a cast party so i am. crashing. anywayyyy tagged by the wonderful @allthecastlesonclouds for this so!! have some stuff from my nsbu/tuc au which will be real eventually guys i promise ignore ive been saying that since october wait where are you going come back—

-

He laughs. “Can’t get worse than being used as a human weapon,” he agrees.

There’s silence for a moment, before Liv picks their head up off his shoulder and stares at him with dawning horror and confusion. Dang gives him a blank look that isn’t any less concerned.

“When the hell was that?” Dang asks.

Wendell frowns, pushing past the brain fog to remember. “Around the time Russell got kicked in the head a bunch.” He receives, somehow, even more baffled stares, and he realizes he hasn’t actually mentioned any of that before. “Uh. When we went to the Manhattans’. You guys went to… the kennel club thing.”

“Oh, shit, when we fought the dog dudes,” Dang clarifies, which. Sure. That tracks.

Liv makes an affirmative sound. “When we went to jail.”

“When you what?” Wendell says desperately, because what.

He’s slowly realizing they never really debriefed… anything, actually, with everything going on at hundreds of miles an hour. He does still feel like maybe he should have known that his partner went to jail. And he was doing what, fighting a guy who was supposed to be his brother? Riding wild boars around?

Okay, well, that actually sounds pretty cool out of context. And in context. Just in general.

What were they talking about, again?

“Usha and I got arrested,” Liv says casually, like this is a normal thing they do, but stutters at the look on Wendell’s face. “Wh— Dang just set his hand on fire, don’t look at me like I’m the freak here!”

“Rashab’s not a freak,” Dang protests, but he’s only barely managing to keep from laughing.

“Rashab showed up in our world as a guy with a cowboy hat and a leopard print shirt.”

-

tagging @angelwiththeblue-box @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos and @shrimptacodaniels if u guys have anything to share :]

[pastryland]

galex completed fic recommendations

If any of the authors of the fics mentioned here or are tagged and don't want their fics to be here, please let me know and I'll remove it!

Will update this list periodically

❤️ = favorite

⭐️ = I love fics by this author in general

🔗 = part of a series (will usually only put fav from series on here)

❌ = triggering themes

🔥 = explicit

raw - 4k - ❤️

George is hungry and Alex is a volunteer in the food bank.

all i do is try, try, try - 13k

Alex is first in line to the throne, George is still a Formula 1 driver.

It's You I Fell Into - 23k - 🔥

When George signs up to marry someone he's never even met before in the name of a social experiment, he's not sure what to expect.OrThe Married At First Sight AU that noone asked for.

hands, knees, please - 4k

And Alex looks right back, tall and firm, one step further now and backlit by the sun kissing them both an orange goodbye. He meets the daring glint of George’s eye with a smile, an amused one, like his taunting is something he knows exactly how to dismantle, undeterred by what it means and almost excited to see it transpire. On the receiving end of that smirk, George is left only with the understanding that this isn’t friendly and a want so intense that he can barely sit together with.

i see you got that new mercedes, i might let you drive me crazy - 10k

“These black fireproofs look really good on you”, Alex comments. “It makes you look kind of hot.” Someone next to him coughs loudly and he’s surprised to see it isn’t George, but Lando. George just stares at him with a blank expression on his face. “Only kind of hot?” he teases when he finally has realised what Alex said. “Don’t you mean… George Russell, you look incredibly hot in those Mercedes fireproofs, you’ve never looked so good before… That’s what you meant, right?” Seeing George in those Mercedes fireproofs makes Alex think about his best friend in a way he never has before, but he himself is the last one to actually realise what that means. Except for George, of course.

ours to tell - 8k - ❤️

rubontruther Okay that's it I'm making a Rubon 2023 shenanigans masterpost. #And maybe some people will come to the realisation that maybe they are dating galextruther YES JAMIE DO IT WE WILL SHOW THEM THE TRUTH 13 notes rubontruther 17 Reasons Why We Think George Russell And Alex Albon Are A Couple We’re only six months into 2023 and Alex and George have been keeping us well-fed with their content, but if you look at everything together, it seems like they’re dating. Why? Well, see for yourself. *** After almost five years of dating, Alex and George are done with all the hiding and secrecy, so Lily, Carmen and Alicia suggest a soft launch. The internet has some thoughts on the matter.

you and me till the end of time - 28k

The one where George has a four-year-old daughter and Alex is her preschool teacher.

no precedent - 4k - ⭐️ 🔥

If he just wins, this will all end. If he just wins, Mercedes will build a fast car for next season. If he just wins, Alex will want him again.

spread before you like a picnic - 10k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥

Now, weeks later, he thinks that was probably the reason he’d said it, why when he came back to himself and noticed that Alex had manhandled him on his stomach and was in the process of peeling George’s jeans down, his first instinct was to say, panicky: “You can’t fuck me.”

and the stars shine upon us - 7k - ❌

In a world where soulmates are rare and their existance is a pain to many, George grows up noticing a lot around him. But it's the things he misses that tell his story. He is more than sceptical about the concept of a soulmate and is left scared when he realizes that it could tear Alex and him apart.

driver's license - 12k

"You said forever, now I drive alone past your street" Or Alex struggles to come to terms with how things changed once their paths diverged. (Yes, it's loosely based on the song)

Rescue You - 3k

‘What are you doing?’ George's panicked voice sounded from behind him. ‘Don’t fall, please.’ Alex jumped onto the floor of the other balcony and turned around with a wide grin. ‘I’m stealing my neighbour’s cat.’ George blinked at him a few times before his lips slowly curled up in an equal grin. ‘How scandalous of you, can I help?’ OR: Alex and George save a neglected cat and realize they have feelings for each other.

nothing but teeth - 25k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥

“Oh, come on.” Alex says, poking George in the thigh again with his foot. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done a little-” Alex makes a complicated hand-wavy gesture that has the contents of his glass nearly sloshing over the sides. “At your fancy boy schools, a little stiff upper-lipped make-out amongst the chaps? In between rounds of cricket and fox hunting?”

grafted laurel - 1.6k - ⭐️

It’s a breathtaking journey to the outpost at sea where George and Alex are supposed to deliver the handwritten letter of gratitude from the King -- through forests and moorlands, a five days’ ride if you hurry. They’re not hurrying.

the price you pay for loss of control - 2k - ⭐️ 🔥

The bedsheets are soft where George is gripping them. George tries to concentrate on the cotton between his fingers instead of the burning between his legs. The thread count has to be over 800 at least. It’s a wedding stationary colour. He tries to place the exact shade. Ecru, maybe. In the right light, if it had enough sheen, it could be ivory. His sister has been picking out wedding stationary lately. She’s getting married next year, mailing out save the dates for June 2027, and George is losing another championship.

soldier down (on that icy ground) - 21k - ❤️ ⭐️

When later asked, George will always quote 2021 as the tipping point in his career as a Formula 1 driver. He didn’t know that back then. Obviously. But in hindsight, everything that led to this could be traced back to the three events in 2021. OR: Friends drive for Mercedes. Everything that can goes wrong. Again.

ode to a conversation stuck in your throat - 40k - ❤️ 🔥

They’d agreed on friends when Alex had come to collect the last of his things from George’s flat. George had been adamant about it, all uncomplicated smiles, like they hadn’t just spent six months living in each other’s pockets and having some of the most bizarrely intimate sex of Alex’s life. And friends is a noble intention, but. Alex still only has one friend who’s sucked him off in their driver’s room.

From whom you are standing still - 1.6k - ❤️

George has practised the whole set-up, of course. His laptop links to his tv with a HDMI cable, and then he can use the remote to move between slides. He's not wearing a suit (too much) but he's got a nice jumper on, and jeans that sit well on his legs, show off his thighs a bit. He's got a glass of water on the side table in case his throat gets dry. He's got his hair gelled into place. Alex is sprawled across the sofa, looking bored. He says, "George. Mate. What is this. I thought we were going to play FIFA, but I'm getting more of a 'you trying to sell me a timeshare' vibe." "Timeshares aren't good value for money," George says automatically. He's just checking through his slides one last time before he broadcasts them to the television.

all hunger, all restraint and poised bones - 18k - ❤️ 🔥

A simple thought cuts through his mind, hard-edged and cold in its importance. The person taking action was not him. These last thoughts do not belong to George. That means that the fear and shock do not belong to him either. God, he's feeling Alex's fear and Alex's shock. He pushes Alex away before he can feel his disgust alongside it.

the trajectory of us - 2k

The Vegas Grand Prix had been doomed from the start. When George and Alex both crash out there's not a lot to be done. The race is only secondary to the fact that they're both okay. When Alex mentions finding other things to do in Vegas than watch a shit race together, George comes up with an idea that seems like the natural course of action.

all green lights - 22k - ❤️ 🔥

Sorry mate I think you've got the wrong number

we found wonderland (you and i got lost in it) - 34k - ❤️ ⭐️

He closes his eyes one more time and opens them again. The clock on his dashboard mercilessly creeps ever so closer to eight am, the agreed upon time. The time he is supposed to be in the factory to meet Alex, his new rookie teammate and the Williams team he will be working with for the next year. He hopes there will be some familiar faces around, that not all his mechanics and engineers left just yet. OR: Alex left racing after Red Bull, George is at the end of his career himself. They are about to meet again

capture every minute, the feeling in it - 2k - 🔥

George thinks it's probably a coincidence that Alex asks him to make a sex tape less than a week after George bought a ring for his girlfriend. Alex sucks on his tongue and kisses the tip of it once, chaste and silly, where no one else has kissed him before in his life, then leans back and says, "Let me film you like this."

the way back - 30k - ❤️ 🔥

"You've never really been normal about each other," Alex is told.

table in the back - 47k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥

“Okay, here’s the offer." Alex says. "I’m going to make you something and if you don’t like it, you don’t pay. How does that sound?” “So I get a good meal or a free meal?�� George asks. “Sounds like a no-lose scenario.” “Keen eye, George,” Alex grins. “Figured out my terrible business sense on the first try. Alright, take it or leave it.”

The Honey of Humanity - 59k - ❌

It's a death that after eight long years brings them all back together. It's been almost a decade since the self-proclaimed 'Bellgate Eight' have all seen one another. It just happens that the funeral of their shared past Literature teacher, George's life role model, is what brings them back together, for the better or the worse. Alternatively; an exploration of justice and injustice, love and hate, fire and water, and perhaps most fittingly the novel they studied together in their senior year at the prestigious Bellgate Academy; crime and punishment.

masterpost for all completed fic rec lists

[blut-xxx-tod]

"Separation" Anxiety | Russell Adler

Minors Do Not Interact

Summary: Narrowly avoiding the destruction of the world after Operation Ashes to Ashes, Russell opts to figure out what went wrong; he, himself, tries on Separation.

Word Count: 551 words

Trigger Warnings: Self Harm, Blood, Explicit Substance Use, Inebriation, Emetophobia, Depictions of an overdose

Author's Note: This is whump central! Immediately after my first Adler fic, my partner suggested that I write about him trying on Separation, and I figured this would be a fun exercise in cruelty. Picking at Adler's brain when he's at his most vulnerable, it's sadistic of me to put this man through this, but I just can't help it - the little lab rat. Hope you enjoy his suffering as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The syringe, heavy and armed with a 10 gauge needle, gripped in his fist bled with him. Adler stabbed himself with it, deep into the meat of his bicep as the onus of failure. A wicked jewel tone wept from the rictus in his arm when he plunged flange to barrel. Adler couldn't give less of a shit about dosage. He needed to know where it went wrong. A measured concoction of psychoactives and depressants, an echo-chamber of lies, months of effort tentatively worked together into a Chantilly lace plan. Near flawless. In hindsight, the stray thread overlooked was the truth. Unraveling it all to nothing. Reality was whatever Adler molded it to be, but the truth can shape it just as much as his words could. And he couldn't keep it from Bell for long. That oversight almost cost him countless lives, his men, his country. The only things he could've done was shoot the freak in Duga, warn the president, and finish off Perseus himself in Solovetsky. He got the job done.

Adler ripped the syringe out with a curse and flung it away, letting the glass cylinder shatter in a distant corner. The junk worked quick through his system. Blood too hot like ice, eyes dilated to color blooms, blossoming florescent light against his skin, violated by sound - shrapnel feet footfalls. Nausea ripped through him. It distracted from the delayed impact of the floor, echoing deeper and deeper into his mind. Still bleeding, the collision painted red on the cold grey of the floor, a still image of a firecracker - Fourth of July. Present and absent and turned inside out, his mouth souring with threats of vomit. It came up with a violent shudder and a gunshot wretch, spattering onto concrete and burning. An assault on his already mixed up senses. He threw himself down and seized into himself, away from the stink of his shame.

Russell was crawling for a wall. Painfully aware of the world spinning he pressed himself into dry-wall. A pathetic junkie silently begging to die. He cradled himself in his arms. Shivering from cold sweats and sudden onset panic. Russell kept gasping for air; it coming in through his nose was too cold to handle. The weight of failure crushed him. Yes, he saved the day, but Russell failed.

Rolling onto his back, Russell felt the rise and fall of his chest. It shuddered with each labored breath and hiss. He couldn't tell if he was breathing too fast or breathing at all. Dizzy with delirium. He stared up at the ceiling, a blank grid, and was boxed in. He orchestrated his own personal hell and was trapped by his own actions. Surrounded by half-memories and lies. In the miasma of sick and confusion he forgot what was true and what wasn't. Russell sealed his eyes to the spinning arcs of remembered pain. An All-American hero with a broken American Dream; no white picket fence, no kids, no wife to come home to.

The cold of the floor was kind, kinder than reality - his mind, soothing the burning hot of his cold body. Russ melted into it willingly. Everything was too much; oblivion sounded nice. He welcomed it with open arms, letting its unforgiving hold take him under. Russ prayed it'd keep him.

[toonbly]

hiiii im making a self indulgent ass post w/ all the fun little details i packed into tip the ferrymen pages up til today (excluding all the stuff thats foreshadowing for later spoilers) im gonna put it all under the cut though!!!

so hi. funny little bg details in ferrymen that i think is fun:

pg2 - Russel's grave! his last name, Marek, is named after an NPC in a really old dnd campaign my buddy jay ran for us back in high school

pg8 - there's a lot here so im just showing all of it LMAO. ambrosia bar back alley in the bg, one of eddie's murals is on the wall, eileen's missing poster is on the left, and as a lil spoiler: one of the ghosts in the background is gonna be a major character in arc 2!

pg20 - one of joey's drawings is of a younger nathan and the other is a blue cowboy, if you know what thats a nod to you know lol

pg20 - Eddie's gifts for the fortunes include a cat angel statue, white lillies (often used in funerals), and a blue candle. most of this is just supposed to be a nod towards who's leaving these gifts

pg33 - this is kinda hard to see due to the coloring (which i plan on going back and fixing at a later date) but the title of this book is "the wonderful world of elevators" which is a taz reference

pg37 - this is more a production fun fact but i made the eyes on the shadow creature in esther's portrait by just heavily editing a photo of my eye lol

pg37 - as eddie sneaks away from the vargas's, he glitches out which is meant to show that he's using his shapeshifting powers. foreshadowing!

pg45 - foreground detail so everyone noticed it but eddies just kinda chilling here when the vargas's enter andy's library

pg46 and pg81 - bim bim the bear's tears match esther's death injuries, he also copies joeys expressions throughout the first arc!

pg52 - the author of this book is mai's dad, arthur!

pg54 - eddie's "tell" when she's shapeshifted as someone else is that the scar over her eye stays no matter what. this isn't the only instance of this, but emily's disguise makes it the most obvious!

while we're at it-- eddie can mimic the blank eyes of ghosts because he knows they have blank eyes from watching paranathan, but he doesn't know what their death injuries like so they can't mimic them.

pg60 - the environments in sarah's station are made of cardboard cut outs, mimicing the kinda toy-like feeling of a giant train model

pg68- anime sparkles

pg71 - my favorite example of bimbim mimicking joey's expressions

pg74 - this is obvious i just really wanna point out nathan blushing when he sees how fucking tall eddie is

pg76 - when stumbling across the recreation of the murder scene, joey and eddie stare at the replica of the murder weapon in horror while nathan looks ahead at the portrait on the wall. nathan has seen this scene before back when it actually happened, it wouldn't be shocking to him but the museum of grief lizzie's made for herself would. eddie and joey, who have never seen the scene before, focus on the replica weapon.

pg83 - joey and esther bein BUDS

theres a few for page 84 so here we go:

one of eddie's murals is on a wall next to an ad for spectech, the mural is mocking eli

glenn and henry from a certain dnd podcast

more missing posters but theyre mega small so lol

pg86 - this is not a small detail i just really, really wanna point out nathan's cut off expression when eddie says this and how joey reacts to it being able to see what the audience cant. makes me insane

pg93 - ghost boxers. this isn't obvious but its 10x funnier if you know that its paranathan merch

pg100 - the newspaper changes to read "He's dead you're still here" when nathan starts to dissasociate

pg104 - this was a self indulgent lil thing for me but my players characters in our interstitial campaign are hidden back here!

pg114 - one of the background ghosts from pg8 is right here highlighted in red

pg117 has two things!

one of the background characters is holding a paranathan phone case

steve and alex of mc fame. this reference wasnt intentional at first but a friend pointed it out while i was coloring and i thought it was funny as hell and just ran with it

pg118 due to A Shenanagin in the tip the ferrymen discord server, corporate art style babe ruth is now a thing in this comic

pg127 - eddie seeing eli in the same room as them and just immediately deciding to leave

theres a bunch more but those are all foreshadowing for BIG spoilers later and this is mostly lil easter eggs/goofs/etc HFJSDHFKDS

[eveningreading]

"Rain" by Tove Ditlevsen

Now the heart-leaves of the birch are rinsed of old sunshine and the dust of summer days – when the harvest moon rose late at night, burning coolly through fevered branches, and the wind rustled in its dry crown. Oh, those nights, abundant with hope and words gentle as caresses. There they hung, covered in dust, every aching, wrecked promise now swept away towards the shores of nothingness. The absentminded city meets blank stares as it dreams in the soft evening breeze. It can’t understand the thirst of yellow fields, but stones and people can also drink and breathe the late sweetness of autumn. So fall, little droplets, onto our hearts, release summer’s scent from the wet hedges, a new freedom like surmounted pain – heavy dreams loosen their hold, and it’s as if all bad things break when the good rain comes.

Excerpted from THERE LIVES A YOUNG GIRL IN ME WHO WILL NOT DIE: Selected Poems by Tove Ditlevsen. Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux. English translation and Translators’ Note copyright © 2025 by Sophia Hersi Smith and Jennifer Russell.

[arwenlalaith]

You're Not an Angel/I'm Not Heaven-Sent

Ship: George Russell/Bertha Russell, George Russell/Reader, Bertha Russell/Reader

Summary: Bertha Russell has always been excellent at chess.

Word Count: 2,272

Author's Note: For @littletayyswriting. I guess this is the Vampire AU no one asked for... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“I’ve decided,” Bertha said, calmly, with no violence. She sat at her vanity, braiding her hair away from her face, and she watched in the mirror the way George stalled for a barely noticeable moment.

“Oh?” he said with manufactured calmness.

“Yes,” she said, still calm.

“Do I get to know who it’s going to be?”

She paused, thought a moment. “No,” she said eventually, “I don’t think you do.”

After the truth came out about Turner soliciting George’s affections (which had actually taken the form of George simply telling her, as he’d never been any good at keeping secrets from Bertha), he’d given her what amounted to a blank cheque for mayhem.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d chosen to sit and wait and calculate, biding her time in anticipation of the opportune moment arriving to enact said punishment.

___________

Your hand trembled slightly as you set your coffee cup on the saucer, the clatter of china on china audible in the vast space of the drawing room. You couldn’t help it. You were nervous, to say the least...

Dinner had been a nice enough affair, though it had given you no clarity as to the purpose for which you’d been called to the Russell home. You knew them to be patrons of the New York City Ballet where you danced, but had yet to divine their motives in inviting you for dinner this evening.

“I suppose you’re wondering why it is that we’ve invited you this evening...” Bertha said, as if reading your mind.

You marshalled your expression into polite intrigue and nothing more. “The thought has crossed my mind,” you said. You once again reached for your coffee cup, though you’d only just set it down, more for something to do with your hands than any actual desire to drink the quickly cooling beverage.

Bertha locked eyes with George and gave an almost indistinguishable nod, so much so that you might have missed it if you hadn’t been specifically watching their body language for some clue as to how to proceed.

“Miss Y/N,” George said formally, “Consider this a formal proposition.”

Your jaw hung open a moment or two as the words struggled to register within your brain. You glanced from George to Bertha and back, waiting for some sign that this was all a joke. No such sign seemed forthcoming, though. “A-a-a proposition?” you repeated, silently cursing the way your voice trembled slightly, giving away your timidness on the matter.

He nodded, opened his mouth to say something further, but faltered, closed his mouth again.

Bertha seemed to sense that George’s courage was wavering and, with a pointed sigh, commandeered control of the situation. She snapped her fingers, pointed to the floor in front of her. “Kneel,” she ordered.

You didn’t hesitate even a moment in complying, dropping to your knees at her feet so that you could stare up at her with big doleful eyes. You parted your lips slightly and she forced her thumb past them to rest her thumb on your tongue.

“Here’s what is going to happen,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument, “George and yourself shall make a stitch while I watch.” You felt your eyes widen unbidden and you once again cursed your sudden inability to marshal your self-control. Bertha, of course, missed nothing and smirked to herself at your surprise. “Come now, Princess, don’t seem quite so surprised...”

You let out a little whine at the term of endearment falling past her lips.

“Now, now, Princess,” she chided, “Don’t be greedy – you’re going to have to earn any sort of pleasure you hope to receive.” You opened your mouth as if to reply, but she didn’t give you that chance. “Hush, Princess, you shall get what you want...assuming you behave yourself.”

Nodding eagerly, you attempted to convey just how desperately you wanted to comply with her wishes and obey her commands. It was all you wanted.

Bertha laughed. “Eager little thing...” She dragged her thumb past your lips, bringing with it a trail of your saliva, which she proceeded to smear along your bottom lip. “Why don’t you show us how grateful you are for the opportunity?” she suggested, though it was – in fact – an order.

If you’d had any doubts as to what she’d meant by that, you didn’t need to voice it, as it was made all too clear when George – after a single laden glance from Bertha – proceeded to unfasten his slacks and pull his cock from inside.

Immediately, you felt your cheeks pink with shyness. It was safe to say that you’d never expected the evening to take this rather marked turn...

That wasn’t to say, however, that you were necessarily disappointed by it either.

So, you decided to play the role you’d been cast in... You crawled to George (choosing to ignore the little voice in the back of your mind that told you the state of your dress would surely give away everything that happened here tonight) and settled between his knees.

Opening your mouth and lolling your tongue past your lips, you brought your mouth down on his cock.

Above you, he groaned, grabbing a fistful of your hair, but kept his eyes locked with Bertha’s. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked her. “You don’t want her first?”

She shook her head, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Do not get me wrong, George,” she said, “You’re only allowed to enjoy her so long as you do not finish.”

“Is that fair?”

“Perhaps not,” she said, “But I’m offering you a gift and it would be unkind to refuse it.”

George didn’t need to be told twice. (Partly because he’d never been able to deny Bertha anything...) You cast your gaze upward, looking to make eye contact with him, looking for some sign that you were doing an adequate job...but he only had eyes for Bertha.

Nevertheless, you continued bobbing your head, taking him in until he hit the back of your throat, gagging slightly. The sound seemed to draw him from the trance in which he’d found himself and he reached down, using his thumb to wipe away the spittle that had collected at the corners of your lips.

In the next moment, Bertha seemed to decide he’d had his fun and sharply demanded, “Stop.”

You were quick of back off, eager not to disappoint Bertha, in any sense of the word.

Your obedience seemed to please her, judging by the way she grinned like the proverbial cat that got the cream. “I want you on your knees for me, this time,” she said, leaving no room for argument, though her tone remained almost conversational. “I want your face in my cunt until I beg you to stop. Or you suffocate. Whichever comes first.” She didn’t mean in literally, of course, but the words were enough to make you soaked.

Crawling to her now and – you were sure it didn’t escape her notice – much more eagerly, you took your place between her legs and leaned in to press a soft kiss to her inner thigh, unable to resist at least a little tenderness.

Then, hooking an arm around each of her thighs to keep them apart, you brushed your nose against her clit, inhaling deeply of her scent.

“I’m waiting, Pet,” she said.

Sufficiently chastized, you licked a slow stripe up her slit, then began working her clit with intensity. You weren’t the luckiest person in the world, that much you knew, but having the privilege of getting to taste Bertha Russell was the only luck you needed or wanted and you’d gladly spend the rest of your life on her knees if you could continue to have the privilege.

You worked your tongue through her cunt like she was your last meal and you were starving. You could feel her thighs starting to twitch in your grasp and you lightly dug in your nails, producing a little gasp from Bertha’s lips. You loved the sounds she made while you were tongue deep in her and they only egged you on further, eager to coax more of the delicious noises from her throat.

“You’re such a good girl,” Bertha praised as you worked your tongue inside her. She wove her fingers in your hair, forcing you deeper into her cunt, smearing your face with her juices.

Those words alone were enough to send wetness dripping from your pussy, made you lap at her clit more fervently. You loved hearing her praise you, knowing that no only did you get to see her like this, but that she got pleasure from it as well.

“So good, Pet, you’re doing so well...” she praised and you could hear her breathing getting ragged, knew you were bringing her closer to the brink of an orgasm. It was nearly enough to have you on the brink of cumming.

“I...” you started to speak, only to immediately silence yourself when she yanked sharply on your hair in warning.

“If you insist upon speaking, you shall address me as Your Majesty,” she demanded.

You let out a pathetic little whine. “Please, Your Majesty,” you begged, though it was unclear what it exactly it was you were pleading for...

“Poor Princess,” she simpered, gripping your chin sharply and forcing you to meet her gaze. “If you want something, all you have to do is ask.”

“May I, please, Your Majesty... I need... Please, may I touch myself?”

She grinned, almost wickedly. “It pleases you, to please me, doesn’t it?” she purred. You nodded eagerly. “Why don’t you teach poor George a lesson about what people who please me get to have...”

You didn’t need to be told twice, diving back in to finish the task at hand.

“Just remember,” she added, “I finish first.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you slipped two fingers into yourself, making sure not to give yourself too much stimulation as you began moving them. You knew that Bertha wouldn’t hesitate to take away permission should the task at hand prove too distracting, so you were careful to make sure your attention remained squarely focused on the goddess in front of you.

You knew you were having the desired effect by the way her thighs were trembling and tensing, the way her fists clutched at the carved wood of the arms of her throne. In that moment, you felt like the most powerful being in the world – she was completely at your mercy and breathtakingly gorgeous in the throes of passion. If there was such a thing as God’s perfect creation, it was Bertha Russell with her legs spread for you.

Panting slightly with the effort of keeping yourself riding the edge of control, you bucked your hips against your hand. Above you, you heard her gasp sharply as one hand found her breast, pinching at her pebbled nipple.

You couldn’t help but whine, oh so desperate... “Please, Your Majesty...” You were torn between wanting to watch her come undone, but also wanting to memorize every detail of this moment knowing that you might never get another opportunity to experience this.

Her hand still gripping at your hair tugged slightly and you whimpered slightly from the combined sensations of your own touch and the nails raking along your scalp.

An absolutely wicked urge took over you then and before you could stop yourself, you turned your hand and sank your teeth into Bertha’s thigh, leaving behind a perfect ring of teethmarks. If nothing else, she’d be hard pressed to forget this night...

You had a feeling she didn’t complain because the marks would only serve to reinforce her lesson should George see them the next time they lay together. In fact, you were rather certain that the twinge of pain was what sent her over the edge when she finally came, hand clapped over her mouth to keep the cry from behind heard beyond the door. Wetness flooded her cunt and you made sure to lap it up as it spilled down her thighs, not wanting to waste a drop in the hope that you’d get her permission to finish yourself off.

As you sat back to catch your breath, her juices still dripping down your chin, you watched the delicious sight of Bertha riding out her high before you.

“Are you close, Pet?” she asked as her breathing returned to normal, her heart rate slowing. She yanked on your hair, so you were once again forced to meet her gaze and watched as you squirmed in a desperate attempt to maintain control.

You nodded, keened.

Rather than grant you permission, though, she clicked her tongue once and you knew immediately it was a command to stop. “In my lap, Princess,” she said and once again you were quick to obey.

She trailed her tongue along the ridge of your shoulder blade, then the curve of your neck, and finally along your carotid. She inhaled deeply the scent of the freshly oxygenated bloody flowing beneath the surface.

“Eyes on me, George,” she said imperiously.

Then, when she had his undivided attention, she slipped two fingers into you, working you slowly at first, then faster, less controlled and more sloppy. She waited until she had you on the verge of cumming, then just as you were about to fall over the edge, she sank her teeth into your neck and drank from you.

Her gaze as she did so never left George’s, giving him no choice but to watch as she turned you.

[russellian-j]

Bertrand Russell Quotes 366 with images, n2725 ( April 17, 2024)

I was trying hard to solve the contradictions mentioned above. Every morning I would sit down before a blank sheet of paper. Throughout the day, with a brief interval for lunch, I would stare at the blank sheet. Often when evening came it was still empty. … the two summers of 1903 and 1904 remain in my mind as a period of complete intellectual deadlock. It was clear to me that I could not get on without solving the contradictions, and I was determined that no difficulty should turn me aside from the completion of Principia Mathematica, but it seemed quite likely that the whole of the rest of my life might be consumed in looking at that blank sheet of paper. . Source: Bertrand Russell: The Autobiography of Bertrand Russell, v.１, chap. 6: Principia Mathematica, 1967 More info.:https://russell-j.com/beginner/AB16-130.HTM

a brief comment Hegel lovers need not bother with this kind of thing. According to Hegel's dialectic (Hegelian logic), even if a 'positive' (proposition) and an 'anti' (proposition) seem 'outwardly' contradictory, by 'lifting up' (Aufheben), the 'contradiction' is resolved. There is no need to be concerned about the 'contradiction', because we can 'lifting up' it permanently. 　But Russell is talking about 'logical' contradictions. If you accept even one 'logical' contradiction, no matter how wrong it is, you can prove it 'right'. 　When Russell also entered Cambridge University, he was steeped in Hegel's philosophy and became a Hegelian, but he abandoned Hegel after a few years. For one thing, he was influenced by the discovery that Hegel did not understand mathematics at all and said very silly things. 　Logic is important because it is the basis of all disciplines, but it is a very humble discipline (a discipline that is often struggled with but rarely acknowledged). For this reason, Russell also recalled in later years that he wished he had been a scientist. Russell's scientific abilities were also excellent, and he would have been a successful scientist had he aspired to become one. However, scientists increase enormously in number with the times, so unless you are at least as good as Einstein, you are likely doomed to be forgotten. For example, most Japanese people know Hideki Yukawa, but most foreigners do not.

[winderlylandchime]

Anon’s brother just reminded me of an episode of his podcast where they talked about tv shows and what kind of shows they want or something like that. Or was it an interview of his? Either way, it got me wondering, I wonder what he and like Gale and the rest of the cast thought about the reboot of QAF. I mean personally I was against it especially once I heard it was kind of inspired by Pulse. But i wonder if they had any thoughts. But this then made me think of the reboot QAF and the UK version and I wonder what anon’s brother would say about that. If he doesn’t know about it yet but from the looks of it QAF US is the only version in his world.

Hello dear sweet anon! That’s a good question. I didn’t watch the reboot and, from what my fandom friends have told me, it was an okay show, just not… queer as folk. Like maybe it would have been better to call it something else and do an “inspired by.” I would love to hear what Randy and Jordan thought of the reboot. And in some magical universe where Gale comes on the podcast as a guest or something, hear his thoughts.

I don’t know if our beloved anon told her brother about the history of Queer As Folk at all. It seems like, to keep the experiment pure, she hasn’t told him anything about the show and will wait until after 513 to tell him anything (although she gave him the gift of Randy’s podcast after S4). But we absolutely must honor the original Queer As Folk and the incredible mind of Russell T Davies for creating the concept.

Funny story. My friends and I decided to start watching Doctor Who and, in the US, HBO Max (err Max) starts with Ninth Doctor and then Ten. So I’m watching and I’m watching and each episode credits Russell T Davies and eventually I start to wonder “why does this feel so familiar?” So I naturally google him and OF COURSE he created QAF and OF COURSE the reason his name looks so familiar is that he is credited on every episode of QAF US. This thrills me to no end. And of course I had to scream at my friends who just gave me blank stares because this means nothing to them. The same blank stares I got when I started babbling about my favorite drag queen being on the 60th anniversary doctor who. Sometimes being multifandom is a gift. ;)

[the-royal-blue-network]

How Did We Get There?

How Did We Get There?-Russell Mark and Shauntell Williams were so in love just months ago. They were so warm and full of laughter, and love. So how the hell did they here.

The bed might as well have been a block of ice. With her back to Russell, Shauntell stared straight ahead at the blank wall.   She didn’t say anything and honestly, she didn’t need to; her position in the bed, back to Russell, knees curled into her chest, did all the talking for her. The little space between Russell and Shauntell might as well have been the Pacific Ocean for all Russell was…