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f0point5 · 6 months ago

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Did Max’s P2 mean that Emilia didn’t make to Miami since crazy stuff happens when she isn’t at the race? (I mean I consider it pretty crazy that Max didn’t win)

As a consolation prize could we get Max and Emilia being domestic? Would love to see them just going on their normal life and being in love 🥺

I am sooo sorry this took so long! I went through an inspiration drought after Miami but I am BACK! I’m sorry this didn’t end up being a comfort post-Miami but I hope you like it anyway!!!

Edit: you know what, in my head she was in Miami because honestly I think she and Max would be really happy about Lando’s win. I don’t think they’d take it anywhere near as hard as Max fans lol. He’s their son, they love him.

✨Set between the China and Miami GPs ✨

I (vow) I (will) always be yours

Quiet Sundays in your household are a rarity. If it’s not a race, it’s an event, or time spent on a plane to get to the factory for some work. But not today.

Today Max was woken at nearly midday by Jimmy standing on his head instead of his alarm. He’d had a leisurely breakfast with you out on the terrace. Now, he was practicing for his upcoming sim race while you went through the kitchen cupboards to make a shopping list.

He turned around in his sim rig to sneak a glance at you. Max never lied when he told you that you looked incredible at all the events you went to. He still loses his breath every time he sees you dressed to the nines in haute couture, his palms still sweat and he still never quite feels worthy, because who could be. But he never loves looking at you more than when you’re home, not bothering with anything but your own comfort.

Now, wearing just that Alpha Tauri hoodie that you’d been stealing from him forever, hair in a ponytail, holding a lemon so overripe it looked like a lime, he falls even more in love with you.

He smiles to himself as he turns back to the sim and starts a new lap around Spa.

“Hypothetical question,” you call out to him, just as he gets to turn 1. Typical. Max credits you with the fact that he’s able to watch the race even while driving it, because he’s so used to distractions at home.

“No,” he replies immediately, because he knows where this is going. “I wouldn’t love you if you are going to be a beetle or a worm or something,”

“Firstly, that’s really bold of you to say after I loved you through the haircut in Singapore,”

“Oh my God,” he groans. He swears he’s forgotten everything about that weekend except the unfortunate haircut, because you never mentioned the race since. But the haircut, that’s haunted him ever since.

“Kafka had nothing on that haircut, that was an assassination attempt,” you say behind him.

“What is a Kafka?” Max asks as he bounces over a curb. The chair shakes a little bit.

Your bare legs appear in Max’s periphery and he allows himself one glance as you perch on the mini fridge next to his trophy.

“You know, like the book, Metamorphosis?” You explain, tapping your pencil against the notepad. “Because the guy turns into a giant beetle and his whole family turns on him,”

“No,” Max replies, already thoroughly disgusted. “What the fuck is that?”

“Max, I know you didn’t go to school but the internet is free,”

“I’m not going to spend my time reading about a human beetle,” he scoffs, a shiver rolling through him as his nose wrinkles. If this is what it takes to be educated, he’s glad he’s just fast. “What was your question,”

“It’s-“ you stop, and he lifts his foot off the throttle. “Oh, should we get some Chablis?”

“Why?”

“For when you’re dad comes on Tuesday,”

“My dad’s not coming on Tuesday,”

“Yes, he is,” you insist, and Max wonders how you would know that if he didn’t. “Isn’t he?”

Max pauses his lap, which he knows is basically fucked, and turns to face you. “I thought your dad was coming on Tuesday,”

He watches as your expression sours instantly. “Great, so one bad tempered European man who lives vicariously through his child is going to show up on Tuesday evening, we just don’t know which one of us he’s related to,” you roll your eyes, and Max reaches over to squeeze your knee. “I’ll text my dad and check,”

You pull your phone out of the hoodie pocket and begin to tap away. Max considers restarting his lap but thinks before of it.

“So, your hypothetical?” He prompts, his hand sliding towards the inside of your thigh.

“One second,” You say, scrolling. “Hm.” Maybe you don’t even notice you do it, but your eyes flicker up to Max for a split second as your tongue glides over your canine. Sassy does that right before she hisses at him.

“What?” Max asks, squeezing your leg to get your attention.

“Apparently we’re never getting married,” you say, finally looking up at him with a blank stare.

He hedges his bets, stuttering out a quiet, “huh?”

“‘Fans of F1’s most famous couple may have wait for a wedding, as Verstappen stresses he is in no hurry to tie the knot’,” you recite, reading from your phone.

Max rolls his eyes. As much as he tries to avoid answering questions about your relationship, he can’t dodge all of them. Every now and again he’s advised to feed the animals. And this is what they do with whatever he says - twist it into something only vaguely resembling what he meant.

He’s about to laugh when he notices the way you’re looking at your phone. Your lips are pursed as you scroll studiously. You cross one leg over the other, forcing Max to move his hand.

“So what?” Max asks, scrutinising your face. “Are you in a hurry?”

You lock your phone and toss it towards the couch. “Nope.”

“So, what’s the problem?” He asks, craning his head to catch your eye but you stand up and walk out of view.

“I didn’t say there was a problem,” you call flippantly, your voice getting further away.

Max may be a little bit clueless, but he knows you well enough to know there absolutely is a problem.

“No, you never say that,” he says, climbing out of his sim rig as you sit down on the couch. “You just disappear and don’t talk to me and then I have to run around a city trying to find you-“

“One time,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

“Four times,” Max corrects, ready to start listing them.

“Oh, so that’s why you don’t want to marry me?”

“When did I say-“

Max stops himself because he can hear his voice rising to a hoarse squeak. He doesn’t really understand how you got there. But then he looks at you, sitting cross legged on the couch, picking at your freshly manicured nails as if they’ve personally offended you, and he remembers that in an uncharacteristic lack of self awareness, you still think he holds even a single card in this game.

He’ll never understand what it is that makes you think that there’s a future for him without you in it, because there isn’t and there never has been. But, to paraphrase some writer you love, he’s not meant to understand, he’s just meant to love you. Which he does. Enough to know that you hate feeling like the person who cares more.

You move when he sits beside you, scrambling to the corner of the couch and stretching out perpendicular to Max, which makes him sigh. You pick up your phone and start scrolling, not even acknowledging his presence.

“To be clear,” Max says pointedly, “I didn’t mean I didn’t want to get married. I just meant it’s not…” he chews his lip, choosing his next words carefully. “I will spend the rest of my life with you anyway, right? So I can get married to you tomorrow or in ten years, it doesn’t matter to me,”

You don’t say anything to this, but you do put down your phone to cross your arms over your chest.

“Well, maybe it should. It is a legally binding contract, you know. Once you sign on it, you can’t get rid of me,” you tease, nudging his thigh with your foot. Max smiles ruefully; despite your sing-song tone, the thought even entering your mind makes him uncomfortable.

“I haven’t been able to get rid of you in twenty-six years,” he says, taking the way you’re fighting a smile as his cue to come closer. He shift himself onto the couch as crawls over you, one arm on the back of the couch to trap you while the other moves your legs apart so he slot between them. “And I haven’t wanted to. A piece of paper isn’t going to change that. But if it will that even more obvious to you then we can do it soon. If you want we can do it in the Vegas paddock for all I care,” he punctuates each couple of words with kisses pressed to your cheek, jaw, and finally your neck, which he nips at playfully as you squirm under him.

“Okay, slow down please,” you chide, pushing Max away from you, but when he pulls away he can see you’re smiling. “We don’t even know if we’re going to be together by November,”

Max snorts at that. “No, you’re right,” he says, fighting a smile as you shift in your seat so that you can lean against him.

He puts his arm around you and you spot in under it, resting your head against his chest. Even shielded from the sun as you are, the golden light seems to find you. You just glow.

“Okay, are you allowed to eat cheesecake this week? Because I’m not going to buy one if you just-“

“Wait,” Max interrupts. “What was your hypothetical question?”

You chuckle sheepishly as you glance up at him. “Oh, it was, if I disappeared how long would you wait for me before moving on,”

“Three days,” Max answers, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Because after three days either someone is going to return you because you’re so annoying, or you’re dead and there’s no point waiting,”

“You know, when you finally, and I quote, get around, to asking me to marry you, I’m going to say no,” you tell him, slapping at his stomach.

He catches your hand and entwines your fingers, lifting your hand to his lips. “Don’t worry, by the time I get around to it you won’t remember this conversation,”

“True,” you shrug, resting your notepad on his thigh while you scribble down bresaola. “You don’t even have a ring and that’ll take at least a year to find,”

Even with your head leaning on his chest you didn’t notice Max’s involuntary jerk. Quick reaction time saved his ass again.

Max isn’t good at lying. History has proven that. But he was good at omitting. There is always a small part of him that felt bad when he kept secrets from you, and now is the same. He always dealt with it by promising himself he’d tell you whatever it was when the time was right. He knows that now is not the time for you to know what you’d find if you went into the safe at his dad’s house. What’s been sitting there since the 4th January. You’ll know eventually.

So all he says is, “yeah,” with a gentle smile. “At least a year.”

#max verstappen x reader

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southeastasianists · 1 month ago

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When my helper of 27 years left to go back home to Jakarta, we often spoke over the phone about seeing each other again. I had no idea it would end this way—me standing over her grave, looking down at the ground of what remained of her, my face streaming with tears.

The grave is uncared for. Trashed and forgotten. And this was after I had sent over money to her family to make it “good,” as Indonesians would say. But nothing here looks good.

As I dug my hands into the ground, yanking out weeds and picking up plastic bottles and trash, I never felt lonelier in my grief.

To the world, she’s my maid. But to me, she’s a mother.

In many countries in Southeast Asia like Singapore, Indonesia or the Philippines, we often hire helpers—or a maid as some would deign to call them—to care for our children.

The term ‘maid’ holds cultural connotations of colonialism. We hope that using the more palatable term ‘helper’ offers a clinical removal of such unsavoury overtones. We think changing the vocabulary may help us feel better about the exploitation of labour.

In truth, the word ‘helper’ wears a cloak of progressiveness without changing anything. They ‘help’ us. We pay them.

It’s all smoke and mirrors for a transaction that hasn’t changed in centuries.

I personally never thought of the word ‘maid’ as derogatory. To me, a maid is someone who worked alongside my mom to raise me.

Someone I loved, who, when I was a kid, fed me and took care of me when I fell off my rollerblades and told me it was all going to be okay when I had my first teenage heartbreak. She taught me how to be resilient and strong and did all the dirty work my parents were unwilling to do when caring for me.

I sat and sobbed over the barren ground where she was buried. All I could think of was how this force of a woman was now dust in this cracked, dry, orange land.

How could I have left her like that for two years?

Loving the Help Wholeheartedly

It’s funny if you think about it—these women are essentially hired to be family members, participating in the act of raising other people’s children. Kids grow attached to them. At times, they see their helpers more often than they do their own parents.

Yet, at the same time, there is a transactionality to this relationship (surprising or not). They are paid to care for your kid. Your kid, being a kid, loves them blindly in return.

It’s a relationship fraught with both exploitation and intimacy. As a fully-grown woman raised by my helper, I still find this relationship difficult to digest and decipher.

Thinking back, I remember giving her hugs and affection and saying, “Sorry Endang. Maaf ya. Tadi saya marah…” after losing my temper at her for ironing my clothes wrong or messing something trivial up.

I remember when she cooked a fantastic nasi tumpeng for my birthday party. As my friends dug in, she sat at the back of the kitchen, doing her duties instead of joining in.

I used to pray to God that she would never have to leave. My biggest fear back then was that she would have to go back to her real family.

Even in navigating this unbalanced mother-daughter/employer-helper relationship, there was inexplicable authentic, unconditional love for each other.

Still, for our parents, this transaction is viewed differently. I’ve seen how my friend’s parents reacted to my friend wanting to give her helper a heartfelt gift—a framed picture of the two of them—when she was retiring and going back to the Philippines.

“Why? We already gave her a lot (of money). We don’t need to give more,” they intoned, incredulous that their daughter felt she needed to give the helper anything else. For them, it was all a mere business transaction.

Helpers Seen and Lost

The revolving door of helpers and drivers coming and going from my family is ever-turning. I remember a company driver I spent time road-tripping with in Batam, only to find out he died a couple of years later in a car crash.

I’ve also seen my cousins grow up with the same helper for decades. The years have been unkind as we watch her wither away in age, to the point she could no longer work and was sent back. Their helper has since passed away as well.

I have always wondered what this relationship meant to the different parties involved. Is it just helper-employer? Is it a friendship?

For me, it was a familial love and bond. And it can go both ways.

When my grandfather died, I remember having to shake hands with countless funeral attendees. Everyone who was family wore a pinned rose. So did I. Looking around, I saw the helpers who took care of him, rose-less, eyes red from grieving for the 99-year-old man they spent every waking day taking care of.

Standing surrounded by hundreds of flower bouquets, I watched as the helpers mourned my late grandfather. But at least there was a ritual and a space for me to express my grief.

But when my helper died, all I got was a picture sent over WhatsApp of her lifeless body wrapped in a kain kafan (the white shroud used in Muslim funeral rituals) and a phone call revealing that she had passed away.

I sat in my room alone in deafening silence, with no one to mourn with. No hands to shake, nothing.

I longed to be there for her funeral, but it was 2020—the height of the pandemic. Still, that didn’t stop me from clicking furiously on my phone, searching for flights despite knowing there were none.

So in the middle of this helpless night, with a giant void in my heart and a rock in my throat, I did the only thing I could do—the superficial act of arranging for flowers at 2 AM.

If I couldn’t be there, a stand of flowers would have to be my stand-in.

The next day, I was sent a picture of the flowers at the funeral site. The image was strange. One floral arrangement on a barren field, plastic chairs in the background, no other bouquets around in sight. Mine was the only arrangement she received.

I loved the woman like my mother, and all I had for her was some flowers in an empty field. To me, she deserved the world—she deserved thousands of flowers and an ocean of love surrounding her. She deserved to know how much I valued her.

All this love I had for her had no place to go.

The Career of Care

It made me wonder how different my life would have been without her—how she forms an integral part of who I am today. Like my helper, many domestic workers stay with their families for years in regions like Singapore, India, Malaysia, Hong Kong, and Indonesia.

I grew up observing maids enter the lives of affluent families and observed this relationship until their employment ended. The person they cared for either didn’t need them anymore or died. Either that or the helpers themselves fell ill or grew too old to work.

In the case of my helper, it was age that led her to spend her golden years back in Jakarta with her family.

In Singapore, helpers’ contracts are typically renewable for two-year terms. Worker retention is encouraged to prevent excessive turnover. Workers must be 23 to 50 years old during the age of application; they can renew their contracts and stay for an unlimited amount of years until they reach the age of 60.

However, I know things are different from personal experience after helping my mom send in appeals to the Ministry of Manpower (MOM) to enable our helper to stay longer. You can retain a helper beyond that age in Singapore. My helper stayed with us well into her 60s.

Hong Kong bears a resemblance to Singapore, with similar renewable two-year contract terms and an age range of 18 to 59, with one considerable difference. Hong Kong implements a long service payment for domestic workers who have been with their employees for more than five years and are retiring due to health issues or old age.

There, helpers who have had their contract terminated due to redundancy—such as a move or the fact that the children your worker is taking care of have grown up—still get a service payment.

In other regions like Indonesia, the household is considered almost always off-limits with regard to state intervention, meaning laws regulating helpers have been left largely unregulated. The role of domestic workers is seen as a maternal one, and they are often referred to simply as helpers (the soft term in Malay: pembantu) rather than perceived as actual workers.

After two decades of pressure, Indonesia is still working on passing a domestic workers’ bill. Their exclusion from labour law gives them little to no control over the terms of their employment and little structure to implement a pension plan.

Similarly, in the Philippines, being a domestic worker (‘kasambahay’ or ‘yaya’) is considered neither a formal nor an informal occupation. Paid domestic work is an essential source of employment, with numbers increasing yearly. However, many people regard it as unskilled work that can be exploited.

The implementation of Kasambahay Law in 2013 offers more protection for Filipino domestic workers—but it has opened the door to unethical practices by unscrupulous employment agencies charging illegal fees and offering little stability. Many workers are afraid to voice any complaints and remain vulnerable to the hands they are dealt.

Helpers work well into and beyond their retirement years, dedicating their lives to other families as an occupation, partly because of the lack of security that their job offers them. Informal work arrangements mean little political protection and practically zero financial cushioning after retirement.

With many countries not offering any pension, there is little security for what comes after. And for those without children or families to take care of them, what sort of life are they returning to?

Then there is the emotional impact of living a large portion of their life embedded in someone else’s home.

One party watches the other grow up. The other watches the other age into their autumn years.

Grief With Nowhere to Go

Finding a place for the love I had for my helper after she passed on was like navigating in the dark in an empty room. Especially since she wasn’t technically my family or my friend. I had no one to share this grief with—and hardly any place to visit to bear witness to it.

When I confided to my mother about my grief, she retorted with hurt. “It feels like you loved Endang more than me,” she remarked.

This is not the first occurrence of a parent feeling slighted by a child’s love for the helper. Nor will it be the last.

As people from an invisible faction of society, helpers are often kept in the background or sidelines of our lives. They are the ones in the corner pew of a grandfather’s funeral. They are the ones cooking in the back of the kitchen on our birthdays. They are the ones holding the camera and snapping our family pictures on holidays and occasions—rarely a part of the photo.

Most of the time, they are unseen and unacknowledged. And so I found my loss and love similarly unseen and unacknowledged by society.

A Fitting Goodbye

After leaving Jakarta, I offered money to ensure my helper got her final resting place. I only received a picture of the completed work while in the throes of writing this piece.

And yes, I know ceremonies and tombstones are more for the living than the dead. But it’s finally a worthy space where she can be honoured in the way I feel she deserves.

More selfishly, it’s a way to hold on to the little I have left of her.

The groundskeeper is also working on getting a tree planted next to the tombstone. During my visit, I noticed that the other side of the graveyard was sprawling with beautiful trees, and I knew I wanted the same for her.

They offered frangipani, which I gladly agreed to. I didn’t even know that frangipani is both a fitting symbol of the immense love and lasting bond between two people—and also a symbol of connecting with spirits and ghosts.

That’s all I ever wanted. An expression of love for Endang and a way to connect to her again.

So often, helpers bear the burden of domestic labour and mothering. But they are ironically never really considered truly part of the domicile. They spend years mothering children but are never considered part of the family. They spend years in our personal space but are never really at home.

But Endang was my family. And I hope that now, she has finally found the home she truly deserves.

#Southeast Asia #Foreign Domestic Work #Foreign Workers

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justc2world · 1 year ago

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Singapore 2023 Carlos Sainz, you will never be forgotten

#carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz #martin brundle #crofty #singapore gp 2023 #brazil gp 2023

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insomniumstella · 2 years ago

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as we slowly die (4) | bucky x avenger!reader

summary: Steve’s silly joke happened to inspire the best, or possibly the worst, idea Wanda had ever come up with — send James Buchanan Barnes and y/n on an all-expenses-paid honeymoon in Hawaii. the problem? they cannot stand to be around each other.

warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, explicit language, alcohol consumption, sarcastic!bucky

word count: 4,620

taglist is down below (please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list!)

author's note: i cannot believe we're at chapter four already ahhh. also, thank you for all of the love and support, it means the world! this series has been too much fun to write. i cannot wait until we get to the end, if you've peeped at the playlist you might've noticed some steamier songs on the bottom for the last chapter — i fear they've given me too many ideas haha

WHERE DREAMS GO TO DIE masterlist

series' SPOTIFY playlist

The third day in Maui had started eerily serene. Dreamy, as if she had not yet abandoned the vivid scenarios and vibrant colors her mind had created.

She had woken up in the early hours of morning alone, with the warm sun rays that had managed to sneak past the blinds and into the bedroom dancing across her exposed skin. Furthermore, the suite’s temperature had been adjusted and the faint buzzing of the AC resembled the most glorious of music. James gave in to my complaints, she had realized, have pigs started flying too?

He had not, however, bothered to leave a note before leaving, and she had not taken the trouble, or cared enough, to text his work phone and uncover the soldier’s whereabouts.

The suite had a Nespresso machine with a delightful selection of coffee pods, and, as y/n lounged on the terrace, cozily curled up on one of the chairs, she couldn’t help but indulge in the faint sounds of the onshore breeze and bitter smell of coffee. She closed her eyes, committing the blissful moment to memory, and stored it deep within the chaos of her thoughts for far scarier and inevitably more uncertain times than a false honeymoon with an insufferable sergeant.

It would’ve been perfect if not for the tinges of anxiety at the pit of her stomach. Last night, she had been convinced that she was in desperate need of Steve’s advice, and, in some ways, she was. He could provide help, but could the woman convince Captain America to lie? Would he trust y/n’s instincts enough to stay silent if James admitted to reopening Elijah’s case? Shit, she realized, dragging a palm across her face out of irritation for allowing one major detail to slip past her plans.

On one hand, she could let go of the idea that James had contacted Steve, but on the other — Steve would skin them both if he found out they had begun reinvestigating Elijah Williamson. Mark Basso, the person she craved to probe, had never been tied to the politician, as far as y/n was aware, but Steve wouldn’t need to suddenly possess Wanda’s magic to miss a blatant lie. There had to be a way to obtain information without arousing suspicions.

Wanda had been on probation since the destruction of a building complex in Paris. Natasha had left for a mission in Singapore before the Maui trip and would, lamentably, return after. Tony would be no better than Steve if he found out James and she had gone against the wishes of the justice system and the FBI.

Sam, she scoffed at her absurdity for excluding The Falcon, Sam would know what to do.

The coffee had been long forgotten by the time she gathered the courage to text Sam’s number. Perhaps her concerns had been for nothing. Sam was a righteous man, yes, but he was also y/n’s floormate, and the two would often find themselves in the middle of trouble. The fun, laugh-until-we-can’t-breath kind of trouble. Though it was not the foundation of their bond, the pair’s mutual dislike towards James had led to countless nights of free-flowing tequila and extensive conversations. Sam was a compassionate friend and an incredible soldier who, unlike the captain, trusted y/n’s abilities and judgment entirely. It was never Steve who she had needed. Sam had been the answer all along.

BEST AVENGER: Sam! I’m in desperate need of a favor.

BEST AVENGER: I’ll do whatever you want.

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: anything?

BEST AVENGER: ANYTHING.

Anything was not a word she’d often use when it regarded offers, but if he’d gather the information she needed to prove her theory, there was a slim chance of y/n performing anything Sam wanted of her.

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: I want my laundry washed, ironed, and folded for the next month.

Except for that. She had bribed Rhodey to do laundry for her years ago. It had been surprisingly easy, considering he enjoyed a particular Portuguese dessert, and y/n, as a fan of pastel de nata herself, had the best spots in New York to obtain said dessert memorized. Rhodey would receive a bag of pastéis de nata, and, in return, she’d receive her laundry washed, ironed, and folded week after week. The woman doubted Rhodey would agree to do the same for Sam as the Falcon had been an avid pastéis de nata hater.

BEST AVENGER: we can negotiate the terms when I get back.

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: what do you need?

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: if this is about Thomas, I took him out.

BEST AVENGER: who’s Thomas?

Confusion clouded her features. Thomas, Thomas, she searched her brain for anything until it hit her, fuck. The last few days had been too hectic to remember Thomas, the compound’s weaponry assistant, inviting y/n out on a date to a nearby dive bar with incredible appetizers and dirt-cheap cocktails. The bar would never be treated as the best place for dates, but she had fallen in love with it, including Jennifer, the bartender, who’d ring her vodka Red Bulls as single-shot cocktails and pour two shots in the concoctions instead.

BEST AVENGER: never mind, except for the part of you TAKING HIM OUT?!

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: on a date.

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: it was a manly date. We drank beer and ate nachos. Watched a football game. He’s a pretty cool guy. Why’d you ghost him?

BEST AVENGER: what is a ‘manly’ date?

BEST AVENGER: also, I forgot.

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: you have to apologize when you get back. I’d love him as a brother-in-law.

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: and don’t worry about it.

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: I thought you needed a favor?

I should apologize, she silently agreed. Thomas was a man not only kind but beyond funny. She had stayed up for hours to talk to him, and though she had found herself being lectured by James the next day when she could barely keep her eyes open during a meeting, y/n had not regretted the decision. Thomas and his witty jokes had been worth it.

BEST AVENGER: please look up Mark Basso. Send me every file you can find, any photos or security cam footage, especially if he’s near Elijah Williamson.

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: Elijah Williamson?

She could almost hear the interest in Sam’s tone as she raked her eyes over the words.

BEST AVENGER: pinky promise to not tell Steve?

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: if the laundry will get washed, pressed, and folded for the next month, yes.

Tony might give into y/n’s innocent eyes and distressed monologue of ‘we need to hire a housekeeper, so the world can get saved��. He had to because she texted Sam back without giving the action much consideration.

BEST AVENGER: fine.

Sam’s reply came several minutes later, proving the minor of her concerns.

SAM THE MIGHTY FALCON: wanna tell me the reason why you’re interested in a former HYDRA operative?

She did, except there was no way to reveal her outrageous theory of Elijah Williamson and Mark Basso without terrifying Sam, so the only response she could think of sending was limited to a short and simple —

BEST AVENGER: no.

It was deep into the evening when she had abandoned the suite.

The single time James had returned, y/n had been on the terrace, basking in the sun and scanning over the room service’s options; he had disappeared as hastily as he had come. It shouldn’t have bothered the woman, she had tried to not let his behavior disturb her peace, and yet … it did.

A sole greeting would’ve sufficed, an acknowledgment, whether surly or amicable, would’ve lifted the weight off her heart, but James had chosen radio silence as his weapon. It had been a foolish mistake to wonder whether something between them had changed.

It had not.

She needed a break from the break or the vacation Wanda had fooled her into.

Wanda and Steve would decidedly receive a lengthy monologue of ‘what the fuck were you two thinking by sending James and me on a fucking honeymoon in Hawaii’ when she got back. She had always refrained from cussing too much when Steve was in earshot, but desperate times allowed desperate measures.

The past two days had been the opposite of y/n’s expectations. Had she expected margaritas, scorching sun, and below-average pizza in the 24/7 lounge? Yes. Had she foreseen being roped into the eminently criminal lives of Elijah Williamson, Mark Basso, and the unfathomable reason why would the two take interest in Steve Rogers? She would’ve predicted a truce with James Buchanan Barnes before she had anticipated the disaster. Or sex. She would’ve envisioned sex with James before she would’ve forecasted the mess they had gotten into. Not that y/n would ever want to have James naked, sweaty, and hot from sinful activities, of course. Absolutely no.

She forced her mind to return to the problem at hand. Steve Rogers was an intriguing man, a mere science experiment in the forties, a true hero in modern times, and crowds of people desired to meet him. However, a corrupted politician and a former HYDRA officer? As soon as they had entered the suite after enduring the yacht party, she had wondered whether it was a lighthearted chat over a beer they’d want from him, and each thought had led to the answer of definitely not. She had also pondered over Bucky and his muscular arms, but that she’d rather not remember, for the shame would consume her whole. Get a grip, she had scolded herself then.

Mark Basso and Elijah Williamson as formal acquaintances would be the best-case scenario. The worst scenario she could conceptualize had been Mark and Elijah hoping to recreate the super soldier serum. It had been the fall of HYDRA, and it would be poetic for it to be the beginning of a new wave of criminals. It’d also explain Elijah’s interest in The Winter Soldier rather than in James.

That was her final theory — Elijah and Mark desired to produce super soldiers. She had decided it was far better than James’s ‘HYDRA exists’. It only needed the answer as to what the two had been planning on using the super soldiers for and what crimes had they already committed. And proof. It desperately needed evidence.

Sam had confirmed Mark to be a HYDRA operative, but he had also observed that Mark had been marked as deceased. He had gone through heaps of files, each identifying the man as deceased or missing, dating back to seven years ago. She hoped Sam would find the footage from the gala in Germany. It had taken place two years ago, she was certain, for she had attended. The database had to contain fraudulent documents.

Sam had a unique method to the madness, but y/n trusted him on the field, and she trusted him to meticulously search through complex databases. He’d contact her soon, and, in the meantime, the perfect opportunity had presented itself. It was as if her intuition had led y/n to a secluded area on the beach just south of The Maui Resort.

She trailed after the sound of music, ducking palm leaves. The sun had long fallen, and the icy touch of the sand clawed at her bare feet. Jordan, the woman remembered, the party’s tonight. She would not describe her worn-out tee and tiny shorts as party attire, but it’d have to do.

“Hi!” Jordan abandoned the lounge chair, weaving around people on the bamboo deck. “She remembered.” She had not realized their height difference until he was standing in front of the woman, looking down at her with a boyish grin. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Hi.” She returned the grin, studying his drunken expression. “I like the braids.” It was an honest compliment, and she returned his embrace when he hugged her as a thank you.

“Appreciate it.” His smile showcased his teeth this time. “I like the shirt.”

“Thank you.” She spun around to showcase the vintage AC/DC tee she had thrifted almost four years ago and cocked her head to the side. “I don’t usually wear oversized tees to parties, but it might’ve been the correct choice.” Playfulness colored her tone as she referred to his bare chest and lounge shorts.

“It was.” The boy nodded. Though he had mentioned recently turning twenty-four during the anniversary dinner, she decided he’d do a great job at blending in as an ordinary freshman at college. It might’ve been his carefree attitude at the core of it all.

“Mmmh,” she watched him through hooded eyes, holding his stare before her eyes dipped lower.

His skin was scattered with tattoos, intricate art pieces, and tiny doodles adored most of his upper body, resting on the lean muscle of his biceps, adonis belt, and pecks. The ink was on the verge of blending into the golden brown of his skin, creating a strikingly beautiful contrast.

“Let me get you a drink,” Jordan’s hand slid to the small of y/n’s back as he led her further into the backyard, “can I get you a drink?” He questioned, flashing another grin when she perched on the terrace’s wide railing. Hints of cockiness had infiltrated his tone.

“Yes, please.”

James had zero recollection of the path he had taken to wind up at an unfamiliar house. One moment he had been at the Hale ‘A bar, drowning his solicitudes in dirty martinis, and the other, his own body had stopped listening to his commands, leading the way against Bucky's wishes.

Fairy lights bled a soft glow onto the cozy couches and the tiny kitchen on the first floor of the house. The backyard was decorated with lights too, James could see through the window, from where he was sprawled out on the cushions. His body had taken him to The Maui Resort’s staff party, a place in which he shouldn't have been, yet decided upon staying in anyway.

This morning he had woken up at the crack of dawn, laying motionless as he listened to y/’s shallow and uniform breathing. He had taken a peak at the woman, her figure deep in peaceful slumber, before slipping into the bathroom and swiftly abandoning the suite altogether.

James had silently cursed himself out for the heavy silence between them. It was, partially, on him, but she had not made an effort to text him either. Forced conversations had been the norm for years, and yet the pair had strayed far away from the shared standard in the past two days. A line had been blurred, both had sensed it. Perhaps he had been a fool to indulge in fictitious hope of the relationship between them ever shifting. The two were not destined to become friends, James would never want to be friends. It was best they stayed somewhat professional, balancing on the line of nemeses and cordial co-workers.

“You look like a gin and tonic kind of guy,” a redhead pushed a drink into his flesh hand, “god,” she sighed, plopping next to him, “I hope you’re a gin and tonic kind of guy.”

James was a Thor’s Asgardian ale kind of gal, favoring the only alcohol, which could effortlessly provide him a pleasant buzz, but the woman’s expression reeked of insecurity, the hue of her eyes overflowing with doubt.

It was evident she found James attractive from the way she’d play with the ends of her fiery waves to the way, she scooted closer and closer until the space between them had vanished. Though James didn’t move a muscle to push her away, the closeness between him and the stranger was fairly uncomfortable. It had been more relaxing to have y/n, the last woman he’d think of for such an occurrence, sit on his lap. Her sun-kissed skin had been remarkably soft against the soldier’s, her thighs a perfect weight to rest atop his own, her nimble fingers subconsciously drawing patterns on his forearms the most peculiar of comfort. Get a grip, James, he winced at the direction his mind had taken, you cannot find y/n attractive.

“I am,” James lied through his teeth, wondering whether the woman had recognized him as the Winter Soldier.

“Good,” she nodded, propping a bent arm on the couch’s backrest. “You look awfully familiar,” the redhead drained half her drink, “have we met before?”

James sincerely hoped they haven’t, for it would mean she had encountered the version of him James preferred to keep under wraps these days.

“I doubt it.” He shrugged, staring at her.

She was an undoubtedly gorgeous woman, and she wanted him. The redhead desired James, and it was the strangest emotion. He could never sweep his past as a ruthless assassin under the rug. She, presumably, had not identified James as such, and yet he couldn’t allow himself to believe she, or most women for that matter, would crave him.

Except for y/n. He had permitted himself to accept that y/n had wanted him by the way she had repeatedly clenched her thighs on the god-forsaken boat. It might've been delusional, he understood, but if she had not squirmed in his lap for the reason of lust, what else could it have been?

Anxiety, you big buffoon, James scolded himself. The disgraceful thoughts of y/n would one day be the end of him, and the soldier feared the day might be closer than he could envision.

“Maya!” A deeper voice rang through the room. It was Jordan, the waiter, James recognized, who was leaning against the doorframe. “Where are the mics?”

The redhead jumped from the couch, rummaging through a woven basket before waving two microphones in the air. James stared at the man, attempting to distinguish the figure behind him. He could not see the person’s face, but dread washed over James as soon as the woman giggled.

“I love karaoke,” she admitted, drunkenly holding onto his waist, “can we sing Life Is A Highway?” The sound, which slipped past y/n's lips, was muffled, and James guessed she had rested her face against the waiter's exposed back.

Jordan stepped aside, reaching back to catch y/n's forearms in his tattooed hands before he tugged her in his direction to clear the doorway and make room for someone else, a guy less intoxicated.

"Jordan!" A sound from the deck slithered inside. "I think you two should stop with the drinks!" He called out, popping his head into the room to rake his eyes over Jordan's figure once more before disappearing.

"Alright!" Jordan called after him and focused his attention on y/n, a lazy smirk painting his expression. "Yes, we can," he squatted down to mess with the TV, a tangle of cables, and the pair of microphones, "and we should."

Though the house, both inside and out, was crowded, she’d undeniably notice James, cheeks flushed, shirt wrinkled from when he had hurriedly dressed in the morning without ironing the clothing article. Unless, of course, the state of her mind was beyond heavy tipsiness and bordered on harsh intoxication.

“It’s only the best song ever,” She giggled again, leaning against a dresser, her eyes fixated on Jordan’s hunched form.

James had never seen y/n loosen up as if the world outside the territory of the staff house did not exist. As if every single one of her worries held no weight at that moment. As if he was not sitting just a couple feet away from her, the redhead breaching his personal space, her head lazily resting on his flesh shoulder. She wouldn’t care, he thought, why should I?

“Lick It Up by KISS is a close second,” Jordan chuckled when the karaoke app on the TV belatedly turned on, the screen glowing dark purple. “Right above You Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC.” He offered her a microphone.

The woman took it without hesitation, turning her back to James entirely.

“You did shake me all night long,” yet another giggle slipped past her lips, her drunken movements far slower than customary, “and I loved it.”

James had zero clue of what the comment could reference.

“C’mon,” Jordan chuckled, clicking on Life Is A Highway in the app, “it was the least I could do after that bastard husband of yours abandoned the anniversary dinner.” He narrowed his eyes, lost in the memory. "I suppose he did show up, but what kind of a man is almost an hour late to meet his wife for a celebratory evening?"

“No!” Maya, the redhead next to James, gasped. “Are you married?”

She stayed silent for a beat longer than she should’ve. “Yes," the innocent piece of fiction rolled off y/n's tongue.

“And your husband missed a fourth wedding anniversary celebratory dinner?” It was a mess of a sentence, but James had a sober idea the gin and tonics were to blame.

“Partly,” she replied, gawking at the TV — the track was about to play, "he arrived late on purpose and,” she blurted out before the white letters had the chance to turn yellow, indicating it was her time to sing, “I’m considering a divorce.”

It was apparent the two had either consumed more alcohol than their limits supported or were too preoccupied with one another and the karaoke to notice James, the abhorrent husband, sprawled out on the sofa.

"How can a man get married," Jordan commented, eyes glued on the screen in front of him, right arm loosely draped across y/n's shoulders, "and treat his wife in such an outrageous way is beyond me."

"Agreed," James chimed in, exhausting the red plastic cup of the gin and tonic, "the husband is a jerk." The sound of his voice was louder, bolder.

She didn't notice his presence or, perhaps, she did, and solely pretended to miss Bucky's distinct tone. Perhaps Life Is A Highway had consumed y/n's attention, too. James would've never deemed her as a great singer, but then again, he had never heard y/n sing, the man observed as she stayed on key, effortlessly hitting all of the notes.

It was only Maya, who acknowledged James, mumbling a low “mmmh.”

Jordan's hand snaked down to y/n's waist, and James averted his gaze to silence the ugly emotion some tended to describe as jealousy.

"I found a water bottle in the mini-fridge," his voice was a meek sound in the night's wind, "placed in on the bedstand in case you'd need it," she didn't speak when he dropped into an empty seat on the suite's terrace beside her, "you look rough."

You look rough, she replayed the remark in her head and chuckled, surrendering into Bucky's sarcasm, for it was an understated statement. The staff party, while fun, had not been kind on y/n's appearance, though the woman couldn't care less as the memories, if she could remember any in the morning, had been worth it. The night had been rich in alcohol, music, and dance.

A silence settled between the pair. She sought to establish a description best fit for the stillness, yet every acceptable name would die on the tip of y/n's tongue.

The moment sanctioned James an opportunity to forget life outside Maui. To care for y/n by ensuring she had water and a brisk bedroom to sleep in. To abandon the emotions, she had been familiar with and showcase his inner self that had never desired war in the first place.

It was James who disturbed the peace, "have you always been carefree, or have I been too big of an asshole to notice?"

She laughed, the sound of it boisterous and genuine. "I am everything, but carefree," her tone was firm, calculated, mournful even, "but the world continues moving forward as we slowly die."

Carefree was a foreign word in her vocabulary. The woman had not been a carefree agent nor a carefree friend, always concerned over problems that were not her own. Her heart had always been y/n's greatest strength and worst weakness, she realized, staring into Bucky's curious eyes. It might be the vodka speaking, she considered, but I could be nicer to James. In the past, she'd rather perish into dust than involve herself in anything regarding the soldier.

"We are dying," he observed, "every last one of us."

"It's the cruel truth of the universe," she nodded, bringing her knees to rest on the woven chair, "we experience living in parallel with death." It was the harshest of jokes. "If I notice a rare opportunity to melt away stress and lift the weight of saving the world off of my shoulders, why wouldn't I take it?" The question was one of the rhetorical kind.

The burden of rescuing the world and its residents would inevitably break y/n into unsalvagable pieces one day, but, it was also a remarkable reason to push forward.

"When I sneeringly suggested we kiss yesterday," the corners of his mouth turned up into a weak smile, "it wasn't an invitation."

The woman gasped, amusement glimmering in her eyes, and spoke before James could clarify the sentence, "I would never take it as such."

"Outstanding," he cocked his head to the side, eyebrows raised in merriment, "but the remark wasn't all sarcasm," his fingers mindlessly picked at the loose strands of the chair's cushion, "I don't hate you."

And there it was — a second observation for y/n to add to her mostly blank image of James Buchanan Barnes. The former soldier was vulnerable, despite his icy exterior suggesting otherwise.

"I don't hate," she began declaring and hastily paused, thinking her next words through, "alright, I do hate you," Bucky's mouth fell open in faux shock, but she continued before he could bite back, "but you break me in training, and you snitch to Tony whenever I drive his stupidly expensive cars, and you bring Rhodey pastéis de nata, so he'd stop doing my laundry," she hiccuped, drunkenly eager to list further reasons.

"It hasn't worked yet," James admitted, "I'd guess there are a lot more arguments for your disdain towards me," the sentence, though not formulated as such, rung through the night as a question.

"You'd be correct. You hid Natasha's favorite suit and blamed it on me. Who does that?" A soft punch landed on his bicep. "That was an exceptionally low blow, Barnes, even for you." Playfulness colored her tone with hints of resentment clinging to it.

"Yes," there was no shame in the sentiment, "but you knew I was lactose intolerant when you switched out the milk."

She giggled under her breath, "oops." The word held no guilt. "Besides, I am James Barnes intolerant."

A tender sigh slipped past his lips, "how about a truce? I carry you to bed, and you never touch my almond beverages ever again?" James suggested, taking notice of y/n's heavy eyelids as she attempted to appear awake.

The answer had not been a sound but rather an action. The woman outstretched her arms, suggesting Bucky's almond milk would remain untainted if her body would soon reach the comfort of the suite's bed.

It did. She had fallen asleep as soon as her figure had ended up in James's arms.

Sleep tight, he thought, retreating back to the couch and abandoning the sinful idea of sleeping beside y/n on the single bed in a massive bedroom, for tomorrow's hangover will be brutal.

TAGS:

@legohe4rts @missvelvetsstuff @browneyedgirl22 @gr33nleo @thatrandomcatoverthere @fiftywhore1 @buggy14 @nt-multi-fandom @physically-im-fine @marygoddessofmischief @fuckthealarm @nyutasgirl @cjand10 @stokzr @jesterstrange @youtubersshipper @oneshotofvodkaa @emily-roberts @desert-fern @itsyellow @love-of-less @melissareadsstuff @mcucatlady @xxwritemeastoryxx @lilbloggs @ambrosia1846 @verrahigh @skittle479 @she-wolf09231982

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky series #bucky barnes series #bucky x you #bucky x reader smut #bucky x reader series #bucky barnes x reader series #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x female reader #insomniumstella #Where Dreams Go to Die #where dreams go to die bucky #where dreams go to die bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader

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dlstmxkakwldrlarchive · 3 months ago

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(article) Guess Singapore Fanmeet talked about ONEW in his interview with Shin Min Daily News

'Recently, with the invitation of Faith & D Entertainment and HIT Team, I hosted Idol ONEW's Fanmeeting. Many asked me the same question 'How was ONEW like? Is he very arrogant? Does he act like he's on a high horse?' All questions I've expected. We always have a stereotypical image with regards to these international stars: they're probably very arrogant and hard to get close to. After all, these stars have outstanding performances in music, dramas, and variety, so it seems they just have the right to be arrogant.

But ONEW has completely destroyed this image. Both on and off stage, he smiled at the staff and was very friendly. He tried to be as cooperative as he could during interactions, and he never showed an 'I'm better than you, I will do whatever I want' attitude. He even approached me to ask if I wanted a photo with him after the show ended! Even though it might seem a small gesture, maybe even insignificant, in the entertainment industry, it's an unwritten rule to not ask for pictures with the artists.

The workplace is a place for professionalism only: the artist needs to prepare for their performance and staff need to focus on their tasks and shouldn't use their status as staff to get close to the artists, asking for pictures.

That's unprofessional. ONEW understood this and knew probably I wouldn't dare to ask him for a picture, so he approached me himself. Not only me, he approached other staff to ask if they wanted a picture too.

These warm actions are enough to show his friendliness and his attitude towards work and people. As SHINee's leader and lead vocal, ONEW has already been on the road of fame for more than ten years. His journey in music is filled with many glorious and touching concerts. The millions of fans and thousands of cheering audiences witnessed his talent in music and charming friendliness. Every time he steps on the stage, the loud cheers prove how popular he is.

Even during these glorious moments, though, ONEW still maintains his modesty. He has never forgotten his roots and never became arrogant. On the contrary, he uses his smile and sincerity to return his fans' enthusiasm. This attitude is really commendable. That's why, when people ask me if ONEW is arrogant I reply only one thing: 'No, definitely not!'

[...] Those who show their arrogance are usually the ones who aren't actually famous, only focused on going higher that they don't bother paying attention to the staff who seem to be a lower level to them. A truly successful start will never be arrogant.'

trans

#240807 #shinee #onew #lee jinki #jinki #wolsick era #articles #trans #jingkey #mentioned #daily update #team onew

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linxuelian · 6 months ago

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Comic Fiesta 2023 Anime Convention Experience Log - With Photos!

Hey there! After posting my previous experience log on Anime Fest+ 2024, I realized I'd shared photos from Comic Fiesta 2023 on Twitter but never did on Tumblr. Since this happened way back in late December 2023, I've forgotten a good portion of my experience there (I have unfortunately the memory of a goldfish) - so it'll mostly be photos of the crowd and MXTX cosplayers, whom I have some loose commentary on based on what I remember from our very short and random interactions.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this as an MDZS/TGCF fan as much as I do! I spent only a few hours there, but I did have a good time hunting down cosplays from the MXTX fandom during that time.

I'll begin with pictures of the crowd. If you don't already know, Comic Fiesta is an anime convention held in Kuala Lumpur Convention Center, Malaysia, and it's one of the oldest here too. As of 2023, it's opened its doors to roughly 70,000 attendees, which is rather big considering our country's quite small in size. I've heard from my friend that there are attendees from overseas too, namely Singapore and Indonesia, due to the famous people the organizers tend to invite, so it does make sense that it's grown this large over time.

While the convention itself is held indoors, there's a large park outside where cosplayers tend to hang around and take pictures. A number of people don't buy tickets and go into the convention hall either - and I get why; the last time I was in the hall, I was squashed like a sardine, and not the fancy kind, either. We're a sweaty bunch after a good whole morning of lining up.

Anyway, the park is very pretty, as well as mostly green and neatly trimmed:

It's at this park where you can get the best shots of cosplayers, and find some space to line up for photos of them.

It's got this giant Christmas tree up at around this time of year too, which is super wonderful:

With that aside, I'll get to the cosplays. Let's start off with my favorite best girl of all time, Jiang Yanli:

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/clairegsw/

I'll admit I was both surprised and stoked to see a Jiang Yanli cosplayer around! She seemed pretty surprised too to have someone ask her for a picture - she was taking one with two elaborate bride cosplays, but as I'm a fangirl with heaps of love for Yanli, I thought she shone like the brightest star at that event. You go, Claire!

Next up is our boy Xie Lian, who seems to get quite a number of cosplays done of him:

Credits: https://www.instagram.com/ayana_liyana/ and https://www.instagram.com/itsmeira_az/

These two came together and were looking for wild, lone San Lang cosplayers to catch in Pokemon battle-like sequences respectively. Sadly, as it goes in the BL cosplay world, there's always a shortage of gong/top/seme cosplayers in a con. Everyone wants to be the beauty, it seems, and quite understandably too.

That said, here's another beauteous Xie Lian cosplay:

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/jingzu518/

Cute, nice, and also decidedly not looking for wild semes to capture.

Anyway, no Xie Lian is complete without a Hua Cheng by his side in any event, so here's the obligatory couple cosplay I saw by the escalators when I got up to the entrance:

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/njq_03/

This particular Hua Cheng cosplayer's one of the first dudes I've seen doing TGCF cosplay, which is pretty interesting considering the reception of BL by male anime fans in my country hasn't been... the best - or the kindest, from personal experience. But I'm happy to see it and would like to take this as a positive sign of changing times where our BL fandom gets more mixed in demographics.

Speaking of HuaHuas, here's a particularly fun and cheerful one:

Credit: https://twitter.com/meechandes

When I told this HuaHua that there were Xie Lians looking to form a couple, I was told that they already have a Xie Lian of their own! Again, HuaHuas are in great shortage! You'll definitely get a lot of attention dressed as him as he's both very flashy and coveted in the danmei cosplay scene as a character.

Moving along, here's a pic of my favorite best boy Jin Ling, the snazziest and most golden young master in the universe:

Credit: https://twitter.com/koni_kn

This particular cosplayer was kind enough to humor me at a crowded, fast-paced subway. We managed to find a quieter spot to take a picture. Look at how pretty it looks, bless! 😍 I'm so glad Jin Ling got some representation as a side character. He's absolutely the best!

On cue are his uncles, the twin heroes of Yunmeng, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian (whom Jin Ling will probably deny is his uncle, but hey, Mo Xuanyu's body will uncle him however he wants):

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/feza_yu/

The duo came with their own professional photographer, who also doubled as their translator (thank you, photographer man!). This Jiang Cheng's also the softest, gentlest and shyest Jiang Cheng I've ever met in my life. Legs are safe when he's around since he won't be breaking them anytime soon!

Next on the itinerary are our not-so-elusive, staple-of-any-con Wei Wuxians:

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/ken520.cos/

I dub this guy the Balenciaga Wei Wuxian, because, you know, I took his photo right in front of Balenciaga and he looked like the richest Wei Wuxian cosplayer there. No joke - his outfit even had pleather, and he'd spent about 270 bucks on it. I saw it up-close since he was pretty friendly. His arm bracers even had details sewn onto them instead of just being prints! Talk about luxury! I coughed up jealousy like blood from my mouth.

The outfit is from CQL, but he knows MDZS too. I'm familiar with the donghua but too lazy to finish it, so he's definitely put me to shame here as a fan as well, blast him!

Last but not least, we have kitty ears Wei Wuxian (a.k.a. Lan Wangji's Incense Burner Dream #965):

Credit: https://www.instagram.com/mikaecsr/

Now, I won't lie - I first thought they were wolf ears. But as Wei Wuxian does not like dogs of any kind, nature or breed, I'm going to assume that these are feline ears.

Whatever ears they are, though, Lan Wangji will be sure to get hot and toasty seeing them. Wei Ying, you devil you.

Anyway, this marks the end of my write-up! I hope you enjoyed the descriptions. As I don't have Instagram, feel free to hit up any of these cosplayers I've credited and link them here so that they can download pics of themselves and read what some random Internet weirdo had to say about their outfits.

Over and out!

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rickybaby · 1 day ago

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Hard agree with your latest ask response - particularly on how all of the media were salivating on the rumors of it being Daniel’s last race and consistently throwing it in his face ALL weekend until he finally broke down and they got the shots of it they all wanted.

I still maintain, regardless of all the unknowns and underhanded shit, SOMEONE should have got in there and pulled him out of the press pack.

So sick of all these “uwu protect drivers” that seem to have conveniently forgotten how Daniel was treated for the last two years. Lando fans now saying he’s getting “so much hate guys 🥺” and Franco fans crying over photographers taking photos of him coming into the paddock after one of his grandparents death. Like, fine sure. I don’t think any driver should be harassed….but very convenient that that same care and consideration didn’t seem to extend to daniel.

Really do believe people (fans and pundits alike) have some weird delight in seeing someone like Daniel - who is always consistently described as a kind and caring individual, who was funny and silly and never let the sport change him - being torn down and put in his place. All these weirdo “this is a cutthroat sport, you need to be an asshole to win” losers and bitter old ex-drivers that never made it themselves should be happy. Because the sport is literally dying and this next crop of faceless unproven rookies aren’t going to reinvigorate the sport like they all want.

It’s just new fodder for them to build up and tear down when their time comes. In 13 years, no one (outside of Lewis) has truly had the impact and cross-media appeal like Daniel has. One day, when we look back and ask “when did this sport get so boring, when did f1 actually die?” People will say “the day Daniel Ricciardo left” 🫵🏻

I try to take a step back whenever I feel I’m kinda getting a bit insane and I’m not about to regulate how other people feel about whoever they choose to be insane about, but I think no well-adjusted person can look at how Singapore played out and conclude that it wasn’t a failure in every sense. You’d think at some point anyone from red bull or vcarb would have stepped in and put an end to all that but it never happened.

At the end of the day, Singapore was just the culmination of the storm that had followed Daniel for the past three or so years. He’s inspired so much adoration from his fans and somehow so much unexplained hate as well that it all boiled over in this way. One thing for sure is that it’s going to take a long time for him to fade away from this sports …

#anon ask

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isthenandocute · 1 year ago

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He is sitting pussy facing the front, spreading his legs so I can crawl between them and *GUNSHOT* *GUNSHOT* *GUNSHOT* He is so absolutely boyishly handsome in this!!! The hair makes me want to bang my head against a wall, i need to get my hands on them and pull!! I miss you button up fireproofs, the slayage you caused on the masses will never be forgotten. Everything about this picture screams twink u want to make cry by *Train passes by*

They have to keep him in whatever glass enclosure he's in because we'd maul him if not. Ripping his fireproofs open so fast it'll just be one big *KKKKRITSCHHHHH*, and then I'll chew on all the velcro strips like a rabid dog. I am absolutely obsessed with his silver sparkly boots just out of frame, he knows he's that bitch!(I mean I'm pretty sure this is the race before singapore 2008 😳) I'm obsessed with his hands laying crossed so casually between his legs and the slight peak of wedding ring 🫠

Verdict: Cute (i need him to cry during sex)

#cute #renault! nando #fernando alonso #f1 #formula 1

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vampire-chokehold · 6 months ago

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singapore 2023 you will never be forgotten!!

#carlos sainz jr #ferrari #singaporegp2023 #the song makes sense guys #i had to do it

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ladyvictory22 · 1 year ago

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I'll Be Back

Another championship under his belt, and Christian couldn't be happier and prouder. It had taken him a lot to get to where he was, almost eight years to feel the glory once again, yet he still felt a kind of dissatisfaction, as if something wouldn't let him be completely happy... perhaps because it had been too easy? Or because there were no rivals?

The views from his hotel room were pleasant. He had just returned from celebrating with the team. Even though some rivals were now emerging, it didn't feel the same... there was no pressure, just jokes... laughter... he feared becoming complacent.

His phone rang, and when he looked at the screen, his expression changed. He had probably just summoned the missing piece... a name that rarely appeared on his phone... well, not since 2021... it lit up on his screen, "Toto."

"Well, what a surprise," he said with his usual sarcasm, trying to hide his surprise.

"I thought it was appropriate to congratulate you since I wasn't there," Toto said from the other end.

"It would seem like it was on purpose... you could have done that operation before Singapore," Christian said.

"Maybe... although the fall wasn't intentional," Toto joked.

"You didn't want to see me win," Christian taunted.

"That's the thing, I never want to see you win, just like you never wanted me to win for years," Toto said, always honest.

"Still, I always congratulated you," Christian said indignantly. "I congratulated you admiringly..."

"I am congratulating you... that's why I called... I just don't fake joy and 'admiration,'" Toto said, throwing a dart.

"So why the call?" Christian asked.

"Cordiality, Christian... politics... have you forgotten that at the top?" Toto teased.

"You could have done it in front of the media then," Christian said bitterly.

"Why bother if there's no relationship... that's what you said," Toto retorted.

"What?... I didn't say..." Then he remembered. "But that was almost two years ago... no one remembers that..."

"I haven't forgotten it.... time may pass, but your words won't be erased," Toto said, and they fell silent for a while; the conversation had suddenly become too deep.

"So it bothers you... is that why you've kept your distance?... is that..." Christian didn't finish his sentence because Toto interrupted.

"Why would I come looking for you if you don't want to engage with me? If it's just about the track, then it'll stay on the track... I don't need to get close... although you have Zack or Fred as rivals now, you can joke with them all you want; their presence doesn't bother you," Toto said, sounding hurt.

"Rivals have emerged, but..."...'they are not you' He was going to say, but the words died in his throat.

"But?" Toto asked, and then there was another silence, only a faint breath could be heard... it could have been many minutes or just half a minute; Christian didn't know.

"It's not the same," he broke the silence.

"Of course not, it's never the same, it depends on where you stand in the championship too, and your confidence..." Toto said, being practical, ignoring feelings, talking about the job.

"No... I mean... it's like a missing piece... something..." Christian said, half-embarrassed, trying to hide the obvious.

"It's different when it's not you," Toto finally said, and Christian didn't say anything; he was in shock. "It's not the same feeling the pressure on Mercedes knowing that Mercedes is fighting... knowing that you're there, putting pressure... it's different fighting against the car itself... against yourself."

Christian sighed... he didn't expect to hear these words from Toto. "It doesn't feel the same if there's no pressure... if someone isn't there, being a thorn in your side."

"Yeah, when there's no competition... you don't really experience the sport," Toto said.

"Will you come back?" Christian asked without thinking.

"Have you grown tired of playing alone?" Toto teased.

"Answer me," Christian ignored the taunts.

"If the car performs well in next year's test, then yes," Toto said, and it wasn't a convincing answer for Christian.

"You don't sound determined," he said.

"It happens to anyone after two years," Toto said; there was a brief silence, and Christian responded.

"It doesn't happen to Toto Wolff... at least not the one I know," Christian said.

"People change..." Toto began with the typical speech.

"Don't lie... will you come back? Yes or no?" Christian interrupted. Toto let out a sigh... but Christian knew he was smiling.

"Look, I still owe that eighth title to Lewis, and no matter what it takes... I'll be a thorn in your side again if necessary," Toto said with a smile, and Christian looked at the city with a glimmer of hope for that rivalry to return.

----

in your consideration @silvereds

#toto wolff #christian horner #christian/toto #red bull racing #mercedes amg f1 #f1 fanfic #old man yaoi #Hornywolff #enemies to lovers #toto/christian #a bit of anguish from certain rivals #reconciliation

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hezzabeth · 11 months ago

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It took Revati a while to realize she actually liked walking. The first few weeks on the road were filled with blisters, muscle cramps, and exhaustion. The next few weeks were filled with bewildering confusion, terrible weather, and moments where she wanted to beat the android into tiny pieces. But eventually, the blisters healed over. Her calf muscles grew strong. Eventually, she learned to deal with the weather and tune out the android's chatter. It was then that she began to notice things. The way smaller shack homes in villages slowly shifted into buildings. The way every town seemed to have at least one bronze statue of a long-ago-forgotten leader.

Most of all, she liked the way she could just stop sometimes. Stop and stare at the world her parents once saw. Everything was so much bigger than Olde Landon. The biggest town in Valles Marineris was really more of a small city clinging desperately to the canyon's rocky cliffs and ledges. When it first began, it didn't have a name; it was nothing more than a weather station. Now it was known as Athake thaka. In the double light of the two moons, the city was filled with light and shadow. Ancient buildings, with their intricately carved facades, seemed to merge seamlessly into the rugged landscape. Narrow, descending streets curved through the town, surrounded by carved townhouses.

There was one temple set right at the bottom of the canyon. "We don't have anything like this back home; most things are new," Bridgadeiro remarked, pointing down at the temple. It was the first time he had spoken during the entire walk. Towering spires and majestic domes reached up to them. "Amma said during her history lessons that the old desi billionaires teleported a lot of buildings here from Earth," Revati replied, staring at the temple.

When he was alive, her father would often sketch the temples he recalled. "These buildings are important; they are older than all of our known family history, older than every belief we know," Jay had once said. "I'm a woman of science, but even I have to admit that's true," conceded Amma.

They descended further into the night market. Shops and stalls covered by a rainbow of canopies were selling just about everything. Tables were laden with jars of dried spices, fabrics, and fresh flowers. Jars of tinned creatix sand sat on makeshift shelves next to old toys. There were no appliances. Instead, people were laughing as small children sat outside a stall seeking sweets.

One of the children was the little girl from the building; she stared briefly at Revati, pointing at her before giggling. "Making new friends?" Bridgadeiro asked curiously as the little girl vanished behind the stall. "Always, how long do we have before the next teleportation jump?" Revati asked. "One hour and twenty-six minutes, we'll jump from here to the New Singapore interstellar station! Then it's just one more jump to my space station and another two jumps home," Bridgadeiro smiled eagerly. "I remember the itinerary; you sent it three times," Revati pointed out, but her stomach still twinged with nerves. Revati had never actually teleported before. Most of the places she went to were appliance-occupied or neutral zones. The appliances firmly didn't approve of humans traveling without using their feet.

The little girl was back, but this time she was with a woman. A strange short woman with light green skin and masses of dark green hair. She was studying Revati; her lips in a thin line, a crown of night blooming jasmine on her head. Revati felt her stomach squirm; the last time she saw someone with green hair it was the Duke.

The woman swaggered toward her, deep ochre yellow rags dragging on the ground. In the market squares, the night's bustle had given way to a serene calm. People were staring at the woman, still moving and selling but in a hushed quiet way. The people were nervous. "You came after the princess," the woman said. Her voice was quiet, like someone desperately trying to sound mysterious. It was soft and round with fine lines around her grey eyes. Revati and Bridgadeiro exchanged a look. A careful knowing look. "I don't know any princesses," Revati said, and the lady merely nodded at the little girl. "You fixed my little one's ankles; that gives you one card reading," the lady said.

"Really? You're going to reward me with a silly trick?" Revati asked dubiously. "Ah yes, your cynicism! But what did one father always say? It's a big universe... anything is possible," the lady said with a small serene smile. Revati felt her hand involuntarily squeeze Bridgadeiro's. "Fine, we have some time to kill, and I'd rather not spend any money," Revati said firmly.

"This is exciting, isn't it? I love a good card reading," Bridgadeiro smiled. "Mother said card readers are a scam, that it's incredibly rare for a person to be able to tap into the collective universal subconscious," Revati merely replied. Of course, Amma thought everything was a scam, including massages and inhalable vitamins. The green lady left her daughter at the sweet stall. She then led them behind the sweet stall to a small cave carved into the cliff. In keeping with her mysterious aura, the cave was, of course, unsettling. Cracked old dolls hung from the spider-web-covered ceiling. The walls were covered in paintings of stars and eldritch monsters. Revati shuddered when she realized one of them was a beastly ball of tentacles and eyes. "Now let me see, which is best for you?" The green lady asked before grabbing one.

The green lady handed Revati the doll. It was a naked fashion doll, the sort that when you pressed the button holographic outfits would appear on its skin. The doll's hair had been half-shorn off, and someone had scribbled all over its legs. "That's supposed to be you?" Bridgadeiro asked doubtfully. "It's a representation; now sit," the green lady smiled serenely, gesturing to two cushions sitting on the floor.

"Now place your hands upon the table and clear your mind," the green lady said smoothly. Revati rolled her eyes with annoyance, placing her hands on the smooth black onyx table. Instantly, the table flashed a deep golden brown. A sepia sketch appeared of two figures standing in the snow, leaning over something. "Your past, the ace of wands reversed. A destructive primal force being born. A chaotic energy that causes an explosive situation consuming all those who are near," the green lady remarked.

Suddenly, her eyes clouded, and she cocked her head to one side as if listening to something far away. "You were brought into this universe as a side character, to counter this force... you are not the hero in this story," the green lady remarked. "Well, that's rude," Revati shot back.

"Also, you're hardly a chaotic primal force! You're one of the most organized people I've ever met," Bridgadeiro reassured her, and the table flashed again, revealing an etching of Revati aiming her stun gun at the three witches years before.

"Two cards, the magician and the chariot reversed. You are fighting against your role in a story that has been told many times before. You have stalled the wheels of a chariot spiraling forwards. You have the energy of the magician, the ability to create a different ending," the lady said cryptically.

"Well, they could mean almost anything," Revati confessed.

"Maybe by saving my life you've created an alternate universe?" Bridgadeiro asked.

"Multiverses aren't real," Revati said with a wave of her hand.

The table shimmered again. Now a middle-aged, fat man was sitting on a wooden chair. The man had a craggy, worn face and green hair streaked with grey.

"The moon, a liar will enter this story... A deceptive false prophet," the lady said, and the table turned black once again.

"Good, are we done? That was all very unhelpful," Revati remarked.

The green lady smiled. "We are done... for now, but the Oracle of Delphi will come searching for you," the lady said with a small, gentle shrug.

"The Oracle of Delphi!" Bridgadeiro gasped with astonishment.

"I have no idea who that is," Revati replied.

"You wouldn't know; your world has been very small... there are many things you don't know," the lady replied, and Revati, sick of the lady's rudeness, stood up.

"Let's just go wait at the teleportation station," Revati replied, completely unsettled.

"Take the doll with you; she's yours now," the fortune teller smiled.

Outside, the market was still bustling, and Revati paused in front of a disintegration bin, holding the doll.

"You should probably hold onto that; the woman is clearly a witch," Bridgadeiro said with a small shudder.

"A witch? She said vague nonsense," Revati pointed.

"Your sister has spent four years flying around, turning appliances into sand! Sounds pretty chaotic," Bridgadeiro replied with a small shrug.

"And what about the whole defying destiny part?" Revati snapped back.

"Well, you are going to the apple festival," Bridgadeiro shrugged, and Revati glanced down at the doll. Like all fashion dolls, it had a blank face, its features switched off. Revati pressed the back switch, and suddenly, features appeared: big yellow eyes, a long thin nose, and full dark lips.

"That doll looks just like you; now that's unsettling," Bridgadeiro pointed out.

"Dityaa had a doll like this growing up. It scans your face and creates a hologram! It's just a trick," Revati replied.

Dityaa. She had brought the doll with them to the park; Revati had brought a plush dragon. For years, they played the same familiar game over and over… the princess and the dragon. Revati shrugged her backpack off and shoved the doll inside.

"Who's the Oracle of Delphi?" Revati had to ask.

"It's not a person; it's an AI being! It's used all over the solar system to solve crimes and pass judgment," Bridgadeiro explained.

Judgment. Technically powering off AI devices in neutral zones wasn't illegal... still . Judgment.

#nanowrimo2023 #nanowrimo #science fiction #life on mars #speculative worldbuilding #ya dystopia #sci fi comedy #ya science fiction #saying farewell to armageddon

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