#that was the highlight of the lesson for me

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price and Simon play kick about.

cw: hint of poly if you squint

The afternoon hung over RAF Akrotiri like a curtain, turning everything a hazy gold and stifling everyone on base with a sticky heat.

The airstrip shimmered in the distance, empty but for the low, hulking figure of a C-17 being prepped for refuelling. Near the hanger, Simon and Price had turned a tiny strip of cracked tarmac into a makeshift pitch, a well-loved ball between them; its once shiny surface worn down to the raw leather in some areas, its branding long since faded away.

They had stopped off halfway home. Nik's Black Hawk needed repairs and the station commander owed Price a favour or seven. With a few days down time and intel for their next move thin on the ground, the 141 had grown restless. Garrick and MacTavish had headed into town to enjoy the nightlife, leaving Simon and Price to their paperwork. Or so they thought.

Nik watched on from the top of an empty ammo crate, his heels drumming against the painted wood, a cold beer propped on his knee and a cigarette hovering over the other. Price tapped the football forward, a sly grin creeping across his flushed face. “C’mon then. Let’s see if yer more than jus’ pub talk.”

Simon rolled his shoulders and swaggering up with exaggerated nonchalance, his boots scuffing over the concrete. The smell of fuel and heat hung thickly in the air, and their t-shirts were stained a shade darker with sweat around their chests and under their arms. “Yer about to get a lesson straight outta Etihad.”

Price smirked. “Amateur then.” He tapped the ball forward, coaxing it ahead with the inside of his boot. Simon rushed him, but Price twisted, sliding the ball through his legs with a cheeky nutmeg. Simon let out a bark of laughter as Price darted around him, arms raised in triumph. “Oi! Be ‘avin’ it! Straight through the uprights.”

Simon snorted, dodging left and then right, trying to intercept. “Old dog’s got some tricks.”

Price laughed, rolling the ball around with his toe. “Textbook. One for the highlight reel.”

Simon lunged playfully, missing as Price danced the ball away with exaggerated flair, knees high, tongue out like a kid on a school playground. Dust kicked up as they darted to and fro, Price rolling the ball back and scooting it away from Simon's feet before moving forward into the open.

Price tried to keep control, dribbling the ball with fast, sharp taps, weaving through invisible defenders like he was playing at Anfield. His boots scuffed against the tarmac, grating through gravel with every pivot as he showed off to not only Simon, but Nik as well.

Simon closed in again, this time more measured, waiting for an opening. “Ya know ya’ve got the touch of a bin lid, right?”

“Jealousy’s an ugly emotion, Simon.” Price went for a stepover, but Sinon anticipated it, sweeping in with a low tackle that took the ball and half of Price’s pride along with it as he stumbled over Simon's leg.

Price threw his arms up and turned towards Nik. “Oi! Ref! That’s a red!”

Nik rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “You are not bleeding. That makes it a clean tackle, no?”

Simon scooted the ball away, cracked leather scraping over gravel, offering mock commentary as he urged the ball back in the opposite direction. “And Riley, against all odds, wins possession… Price is left wonderin’ where it all went wrong.”

Price barked another laugh and danced back, soon catching up. They scuffled, legs tangling in an illegal tackle that ended up with Simon's head in a lock under Price's arm, Simon trying to keep his feet on the ball but knocking it away instead. They ended up in a heap on the dusty concrete, cussing each other out through breathless laughter.

Price threw his hands behind him, legs stretched out. “‘M claimin’ victory.”

“Like shit you are. Play dirtier an’ you fight,” Simon said, kicking at one of Price's boots.

“Pullin’ rank. One nil t’ me.”

“Cheeky wanker…” Simon slumped onto his back, running his fingers beneath his balaclava to scratch at his jaw, skin prickling with sweat. When his hands returned to his chest, he gazed at the expanse of sky above, the darker blue of night time bleeding through the oranges and reds. “Mad, innit? Feel normal… jus' for a bit.”

Price hummed, and knocked his boot against Simon's again. “That a good fing?”

Simon sat up on his elbows and stared down the length of tarmac towards the buildings; hazy, uniform grey blocks fading in the twilight. He looked next at Nik. The pilot had shrugged his jacket off and was basking in the warmth, his head tilted back, aviators reflecting the ombre sky.

The three of them were lingering in a pause; a suspended moment in time where nothing mattered and the weight was gone. Simon looked back at Price and felt something warm and sweet tug in his chest. With his hair wild and auburn, his blue eyes bright, Price looked striking in the failing light. Simon couldn't help but savour the sight m. “Yeah,” Simon said finally. “Reckon it is.”

Price rolled to his feet, dusting off his backside with his palms. “Alright, one-nil to me. Winner stays on.”

Simon followed him, jogging over to retrieve the ball from where it had fallen into a pothole in the concrete. “You wish. Lookin’ a little tired there, old man.”

“Less lip more action.” Price gestured a come on with his fingers, feet spread, knees bent.

And just like that, the world paused again. They weren't lieutenant and captain, but, for another hour at least, they were just two northern lads playing kick about with a battered old pigskin.

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Reading Rooms

Inspired by some other gorgeous individuals, I thought I'd try and compile some of my weekly reading into some kind of list. Since throwing myself into the Marvel fandom and actually writing for these characters rather than just reading, I've followed - and been followed by (cue fangirl shriek) - some epic blogs, and I want to be able to throw as many new readers and followers their way as I can.

Always remember to heed the warnings posted by the individual authors. What I'm happy to read may not be what you're happy to read, so I take no responsibility if you find something you're not into.

And finally, Tumblr is a community. Reblog, gush like you've never gushed before - I promise you, the authors below will love it, and love you for it! We write because we love to, but we share our work because we love the community of it. If you read something you like, let the world know! 💕

The List

Lessons in Love-Making by @artficlly. I've only read the first chapter so far, but this already has me totally hooked! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Not a Fairy Tale Kiss (no names for this exist) by @azriona . This is the very definition of EPIC. A staggering word count, an absolute feat of storytelling. I've barely scratched the surface of this so far, but I'm loving every second. Posted on AO3, so head over there for your fix! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

@mrs-elsie-barnes , the writer that you are! I have a whole heap of recommendations here. First up, Policy & Procedure - if you like your Bucky Congressman shaped, this Bucky Barnes x Reader fic has your name on it. Then we have the little (slightly spoilery) Thunderbolts* drabble - Home Time - Bucky Barnes x Reader. Finally, we have the super hot - I've got to let you know (I need you tonight) featuring Joaquin Torres x Reader.

The 2k Drabble Challenge by @marvelstoriesepic is bananas. The dedication, the range, the heartbreak, and longing... ugh, these are all incredible, but my personal highlights are Misfire, Where We Were When The Stars Came Out, What the Mirror Doesn't Say & Tattoo Me In Flowers. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Put Your Hands In Mine by @buck-star is so moving and vitally important. I loved it so much. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Oil & Water by @flowersforbucky was so insanely hot it had me squealing. It is literally perfect if you would like to sit on that man's face. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Charm and Claim by @ramp-it-up were both so excellent and super hot! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

@aquaticmercy is a genius and the writing is impeccable and when I tell you I RUN to every post... I've so much to catch up on, but Interstate Love Song was gorgeous. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Let Me Hurt a Little Longer by @daxisyzz was so good! I loved the slightly manipulative POV, who wouldn't want Bucky's hands on them?! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

The Dog Tags series by @marvelwitchergilmore is brilliant! Part 1 is linked, be sure to check out the rest, and what a masterlist to get stuck into - especially for my Slow Horses babes because there's some River Cartwright in there, too! (cc. @cillmequick @dreamer-98 @annaelizabethhenry1 @liquid-confidenc3 💕)

Then we have @navybrat817 , who is pure genius and her post Thunderbolts* fic Not Exactly A Secret. Navy's setting up a Tower Shenanigans list, so expect more from the Thunderbolts*. As well as this, I read the excellent Late Night and Late Night Recap. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

I came across @jobean12-blog 's This Is Love this week, an oldie but a very goodie! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

If you haven't read Security Clearance by @societyfolklore yet, why?! This was soooo hot! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

And lastly, I'm sharing this little New Dad Bucky Headcannon by @sunday-bug , and lemme tell ya, it will not be the last thing I share of Sunny's! I can't wait to get stuck into her Masterlist because it's going to take over my life in the best possible way!

This covers everything I've read this week 🙌

God, I hope the links all work cos that took forever 🤣. Apologies for sharing via my own slightly unhinged reblogs. Next time, I'll try and make sure I share original links where possible!

💕

pressing post and hoping all the tags work 🫡

[creatingblackcharacters]

“Antiracism for clout isn’t antiracism” thank you for saying this. It’s something I’ve struggled to word properly when trying to talk about racism, particularly in fandom. It was something I noticed heavily in my old fandom where a popular white writer or artist would get called out for excluding or poorly treating Black characters, and (after a lot of crying and taking a break because of “bullying from the mean POC”) they’d “prove” their antiracism by making a ton of content for said Black characters, but never interact with any Black writers or artists. And more often than not, it was a lot of hypersexualization, stereotyping and harmful tropes, but no one was allowed to be mad because it was either racist and microaggressive fics & art or nothing at all and “we should be happy we’re getting representation”. Occasionally they’d say that more “POC creators” (noticeably never Black creators even though the characters in question were exclusively Black) need to be highlighted and reblogged for the community, but they’d never be the ones to do it. And then they’d only take criticism and praise for their diversity efforts from other white people until the “heat” died down and then go back to their usual exclusion while touting that they could never be racist because look at all this stuff they made for this Black character that white people liked.

Finding your blog and your lessons has really helped me put a lot of my feelings and thoughts about what I’ve experienced as a Black woman in fandom into words, even opening my eyes to some things I hadn’t considered before. I can only say thanks and that I appreciate you and what you do on this blog.

🙏🏾 you are very welcome

[jeonstellate]

the ghost of aegis

kimi protected his daughter’s right to choose — only for her to choose what he indirectly kept her from.

ᯓ★ kimi räikkönen x daughter!reader

ᯓ★ depictions of a protective dad; media reporters referred to as opportunistic vultures; brief mentions of retirement; ferrari (strategists) bashing; & mild language

ᯓ★ paragraph format — 4.1K words

masterlist

[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

ᯓ★ italian word (y’all already know what) from google! kimi & yn mostly talk to each other in finnish, so all bolded dialogues are in english! as the ghost of monza & the ghost of legacy, there are no physical descriptions for yn.

ᯓ★ this is kimi’s pov for both tgom & tgol :D

ᯓ★ congratulations guys, y’all have officially made me care too much about räikkönen!yn. i’ll miss writing her, fs. maybe that’s why this ran longer than i thought it would. idk.

[First name] was Kimi Räikkönen’s firstborn. As the oldest, she admittedly had a way different upbringing than the rest of her siblings. Not only did she suffer through his initial cluelessness in parenting, she also lived through both the early years and the height of his Formula One career.

Amongst her siblings, she saw Kimi the least during her childhood. It’s not by a large margin in reality, but it definitely could’ve been more significant if not for all the workarounds he took to see her more often than his schedule freely allowed him to.

That meant she also went to the paddock the most. Her visits were always just long enough for her to see him, the closest people he worked with, and his team’s garage and motorhome; but simultaneously short enough to avoid reporters altogether. Those visits were definitely too fleeting for his liking, but they had to do.

[First name] wasn’t someone he was willing to dangle in front of the media, with them being the opportunistic vultures that they are. As much as he would’ve preferred if he could just hide her completely, that wasn’t a viable option for the long run. So, a compromise was made: The world got to know her name and existence, and nothing else.

He didn’t want to force the life he chose for himself on her. He wanted her to have a choice, like he did.

Kimi did enroll her for karting lessons as soon as she was eligible, but he also supported the interests she picked up outside of him. He never showed strong preference over the former, either, opting to give uniformed energy over all — even the ones that were obviously just phases.

The privacy from the limelight gave [first name] the freedom to be herself. She was able to explore plausible career options without external pressure to follow his footsteps.

For a time, his daughter seemed like she’d pursue a similar path. Until she changed her mind and decided on Mechanical Engineering.

"I just want to keep karting as a hobby," [first name] shrugged in response to a question he didn’t even get to vocalize after she offhandedly mentioned her university applications.

There was really no room for arguments there. Not that he would, because her decision also meant he didn’t have to worry about her potentially crashing in Formula One speed. "Why Mechanical Engineering?"

Kimi knew better than to expect a thorough answer. "Just because."

He accepted the non-answer as it was. As long as it was what his daughter wanted, he had no problem supporting her through it.

[First name]’s last visit to the paddock — which was still as short and fleeting as before — after a long while was during his last race before his retirement. It was right around the tail end of her first year’s first trimester and she pulled all the strings to be in Abu Dhabi for that weekend despite her exams. Kimi had hope for a better result for his last Formula One race, but spending time with his firstborn after a trimester of not seeing her around had been the highlight of his weekend then.

A part of him assumed that’d be her last visit to the paddock. Definitely not her last time in a circuit to watch a race in person, but certainly the last time she’d have a VIP Access pass or a paddock pass around her neck. After all, her classes were just going to get harder from that point on. Plus, she hadn’t given any indication of wishing to support her remaining uncles on the grid like she supported him, either.

As far as Kimi’s aware, [first name] had survived being subjected to paddock intrigue with no reporter or media sightings. She merely remained as the first name to ever grace his helmets throughout his long Formula One career.

Unfortunately, his previous assumption was proven to be too early to call. For his firstborn decided to snatch a ticket to the grand prix at the circuit 22.9 kilometers away from her university as soon as she heard about Sebastian’s retirement.

"How much did you buy it for?"

[First name] didn’t look up to the laptop camera when she replied. Her eyes stayed glued down on whatever she was writing on. "Not telling."

That was enough for him to gauge the price. "Princess," her endearment was laced with a hint of disappointment it didn’t usually have. "I could’ve gotten you a pass for free."

"I want to surprise Uncle Seb," she shrugged.

"Then I could’ve contacted Fernando."

She took a minute to respond, preoccupied with punching numbers in her calculator by the sound of it. "I don’t want any of them to feel responsible for me, dad."

Kimi, of course, didn’t approve of that. He might be retired, but there no way he’d consent to his daughter roaming loose at the paddock without eyes on her. It was still a dangerous place to be at, in more ways than one. "Someone needs to know you’ll be there."

Thankfully, [first name] didn’t need much convincing. "Right. I might not find them if they don’t know I’m dropping by." She paused, seemingly contemplating. "I’ll message them later tonight."

He messaged them as well after that video call. It was a bit ominous, but it had to do because he didn’t want to steal his daughter’s thunder in case Sebastian and Fernando read his message first. Take care of [first name] for me.

It did cause mild panic between the two, with Fernando questioning who’d get custody of his younger children and Sebastian asking how bad they were talking about, but it was nothing a quick (and vague) reply couldn’t fix.

[First name]’s visit to the Monza paddock started out predictable — or, at least, the way he hoped it would. She got to walk around without any interruptions — reporters paid her no mind, and the majority of the paddock merely dismissed her as one of the many drivers’ guests present. She geeked out about the mechanisms and engineering all around there, in a way only engineering students and those passionate about such things do. She also returned her VIP Access pass and replaced it with the paddock pass she purchased prior after she spent enough time with her uncles.

It was a success, as far as Sebastian and Fernando were concerned. [First name] seemed to share their sentiments, when she gave him her version of her Monza escapades the next time they video called after that weekend.

Kimi would like to think so, too, since it notably loosened the tension on his daughter’s shoulders. He was even willing to look past the unideal fact that more of the current grid now knew about [first name], because they played a part in making her weekend then somehow.

As far as he was aware, based on the reports he received from both Sebastian and Fernando, there were four people in the current grid that now knew about [first name]’s existence.

Lance and Esteban were the only ones who recognize her as Sebastian and Fernando’s shared niece. (He hadn’t been privy to the introduction either man used, but he’d assume they vaguely referred to him as a ‘common family friend’ to maintain the anonymity out of habit.) Charles and Carlos, on the other hand, were the only ones who know of her parentage. (Apparently, Charles was there when she sprinted from the Alpine motorhome to the garage where her uncles were. He had to tell someone to relieve himself of the shock, and his teammate had been the best choice.) The rest of the grid were none the wiser about the ‘[first name]’ on their former grid mate’s helmets breathing the same air as them.

Unfortunately, there was one thing he couldn’t look past about his daughter’s weekend at Monza. It was the detail Sebastian and Fernando purposely saved for last in their reports. Little Princess has a crush.

At first, he didn’t believe it. [First name] hadn’t gotten a crush since she entered high school. He knew that for certain, because he was obviously his daughter’s favorite — and she happened to tell him everything since she learned how to talk. She had mentioned being acquainted with Lance, Esteban, and the two Ferrari drivers; but never anyone who caught her eye in Monza.

However, Sebastian and Fernando made compelling arguments.

VET: [First name] zoomed on feet.

VET: ZOOMED.

ALO: I didn’t know she could go that fast outside a kart.

It wasn’t necessarily the news of her running fast that he found compelling. She had run toward him at top speed for years, notably whenever she won a karting race (which she always entered under a pseudonym). It was the news of her running fast because of a boy— because she wanted to know a boy’s name. She hadn’t done that before.

Kimi was slightly inclined to believe it. Unfortunately, the desire to deny was way stronger. Especially when he considered the fact that [first name] literally ran away from whoever that was.

[First name], much to Kimi’s interest, went back to the Monza paddock the following year. That time, however, she made sure to inform him beforehand; before she asked Fernando if it was alright to visit him prior to the race and before she purchased her ticket. A parcel with a VIP Access code and Aston Martin merch was promptly delivered to her university apartment’s address, but only the former saw the Monza sunshine.

ALO: Why did your daughter show up in your Ferrari merch when I sent her Aston Martin ones to wear?

RAI: They’re in the laundry.

‘Take care of [first name]’ went without saying that time around. Frankly, he was relieved he didn’t have to say it explicitly. His daughter was a number past eighteen now, and ergo had been a legal adult for more years than he wanted to admit, so a word about being overprotective would’ve definitely been said if the other circumstance was the case.

Not that he would mind, of course. Being so was . . . appropriate, for the lack of a better term, given that she’d remain his little girl — his baby — no matter how old she got.

And certainly no matter who caught her attention.

ALO: [First name] went to see him again.

VET: Who?

ALO: Her crush.

VET: Oh?

VET: How did it go?

ALO: She ran out again.

RAI: Did she get his name?

ALO: No.

ALO: Didn’t give her name, either.

In all honesty, Kimi didn’t care about who [first name]’s crushes were. One distinct detail for each was enough to identify them whenever they came up in conversations. He wouldn’t bother knowing their names, even if her crush on them lasted longer than the others. It was all a matter of principle. As long as their mere existence made her happy and motivated, he had no need to care about who they were and where they lived.

For the newest one though, he was seriously considering breaking that self-imposed rule. Because, against all odds (i.e., [first name] rarely going to the paddock), she saw him and developed a crush. And, to make matters worse, she saw him at the one place he thought she was finally free from: The paddock.

The paddock housed a lot of different characters. Subjectively, he would much prefer it if her crush was someone out of the limelight. Maybe one of the newly hired engineers, interns, or personnels. Hopefully not a driver, because he’d be beside himself with the mere thought.

But, alas. The name that followed his personal inquiry when he let his curiosity get to the best of him was all too familiar.

Oscar Piastri. McLaren, 81.

[First name], Kimi’s darling daughter, did have a crush on a Formula One driver.

[First name] never brought Oscar Piastri up, no matter how long Kimi waited — nor how many times he gave her the opportunity to. Even a mention of having a new crush was nowhere to be heard, not even in passing or blurted nonchalant confessions.

Kimi was frankly more intrigued about her latest crush because of that. He already acknowledged Oscar Piastri was different than the rest because he was an F1 driver, but he was also curious why the latter prompted a different treatment. What happened in the paddock that Oscar Piastri hadn’t gotten an introduction like everyone else before him?

Apart of him suspected it had something to do with Oscar Piastri being her first crush in adulthood. He didn’t like that idea, however, because of its potential implications — which included the chance that [first name] was simply outgrowing her habit of telling him everything.

He had known that that time would come eventually. He just hadn’t prepared for ‘eventually’ to mean ‘now.’

He supposed he should still be thankful that the change in boundaries didn’t mean he would hear nothing about what [first name] had been up to lately from her directly. Rather, he’d still do for some — just for very selected moments.

"Dad," [first name] called his attention after she conversed with her siblings before they disappeared for their night baths. "What do you think of me interning for F1?"

"For the FIA?"

"No, for one of the teams," she clarified.

That intrigued him more than the possibility of his daughter working directly for the FIA. "Which team?"

"I’m not sure yet, but definitely not one of your old teams," she answered thoughtfully. "So no Sauber, McLaren, Ferrari, or Alpine."

"I didn’t race for Alpine."

She dismissed his correction, "Technicalities."

Kimi’s eyes softened. It still felt like yesterday when [first name] first sat in the cockpit of his F1 car at five years old, which ultimately gave rise to her karting career. She might’ve given it up in favor of pursuing a more stable career, but his influence on her was definitely still there.

"Include them in your list, too," he eventually chose to say next. "You never know."

His daughter didn’t argue, but it did take her awhile to see merit in his suggestion. "I suppose."

It was quite too late when Kimi realized he essentially just gave her permission to pursue her crush by encouraging her to apply for an internship at McLaren.

[First name] didn’t always have time to watch races between her classes, part-time job, and endless to-do list. Thus, she often watch recordings of the ones she missed whenever she was back home for breaks. Rather than asking her which races she missed, however, Kimi opted to save every race recording on the TV instead.

Watching them back wasn’t an exclusive ‘them’ bonding activity, but it still felt like it somehow since they were usually the only ones to finish them all the way through.

"You’ve rewatched some already?" [First name] blurted from her spot on the couch when he re-entered the living room with snacks.

He opted to join her on the couch first before responding, "Yeah."

He considered saying more than that, but an elaboration called for omissions. After all, not all of those rewatches were done in honest forgetfulness, but also in critical eyes for one specific driver.

He wouldn’t mind telling her that he had been watching Oscar Piastri’s performance (including his onboards) and interviews had she opened up about her new crush. There was nothing wrong with what he had done, as he never went beyond observing him in Formula One. What he did see an issue with, however, was freaking out his daughter by sharing his observations and subsequent conclusion when she hadn’t even said a word about him.

RAI: Piastri’s good.

Thankfully, [first name] didn’t question his response. "Would you still rewatch with me?"

Kimi looked at her like she just asked an absurd question as he handed her favorite snack over. "Of course."

VET: Is that a seal of approval?

[First name] ended up finishing a bag and a half in the first race alone, since she was stressing about Ferrari’s questionable strategy — or lack thereof — the entire time.

[First name] went back to the Monza paddock for the third year in a row. By that point, Kimi was already half-expecting her to — and was not even a tad surprised when she told him about her intentions.

Yet, still, that didn’t mean her latest visit was void of any surprises. For Fernando’s triumphant update of Little Princess has finally been acquainted with Papaya boy was eventually followed by a call.

It was [first name].

"Princess, are you alright?" Kimi asked worriedly as soon as he picked up. In the three years she visited the Monza paddock, that marked the first time she called on a race day. For the first two years, she had saved all her stories about her paddock trip for the following week — or whenever she had the time to call next. So, for her to call a couple hours after the race broadcast ended . . . "Are you hurt?"

"I’m okay, dad." [First name]’s response provided an immense sense of relief. He almost audibly exhaled. "I’m on the train back to Milan. I got something to eat at the station."

He voiced his approval. His daughter often forwent eating in favor of finishing something for school, so he was glad to hear she actually grabbed dinner for once. "Let me know when you get back to your apartment."

His daughter merely made a noise of acknowledgement before swaying the conversation. "Uncle Nando told me something interesting earlier."

He found himself a comfortable spot to sit, unsure with how long the conversation would take. "What did he tell you?"

"He said you’ve known that I have a crush on a McLaren driver for years."

Kimi nodded to himself, despite their call being merely audio. He supposed it was about time he come clean about keeping a watchful eye on Oscar Piastri. "I didn’t believe him and Sebastian until last year."

The following silence made him reconsider, however. Especially when it was ultimately broken by a sigh on the other end. "I didn’t want to tell you yet."

"You don’t have to tell me now," he assured her before she could say anything else.

"But, dad, you already know."

"And?" He challenged, almost dismissively. "I want to hear a confirmation from you. But I only want to hear it when you’re ready."

[First name] took another moment to respond. "What if I take a while to get ready?"

"Then I’ll wait," Kimi shrugged — forgetting once more that his daughter couldn’t see him. "Simple."

[First name] chose Williams, in the end. She got a few internship offers from the current Formula One teams and, although she recognized one from the top would look better on her resume, she figured one from the midfield would be personally more fulfilling. That, and also because she didn’t think she’d be able to restrain herself if she heard the Ferrari strategists call bullshit.

Kimi, as he had done throughout her entire life thus far, just sat back and supported her decision. He did find it somewhat amusing that Charles couldn’t let go of the fact that she rejected the Ferrari internship offer, though.

Hearing her stories about her paddock shenanigans made one thing clear. [First name] belonged there. Formula One might still be far from letting women rejoin the sport as contenders but, one way or another, she had always been meant to be there. His caution might’ve protected her from vultures in her childhood, but it was never meant to drive her away completely.

It must’ve been her Räikkönen blood interfering with her calling.

Needless to say, Kimi was beyond proud of his firstborn. Even more so when he heard about her little rebellion stunt that she cleverly masked as an act of merely going above and beyond, regardless of her core intention for doing so.

[First name] had told him so many things about her internship. Not just the borderline nuisances she had to put up with from the drivers, but also the interesting things she learned. It was unsurprising to hear that there were a lot he didn’t know about how Formula One operated, despite being an active part of it for two decades.

His absolute favorite recap happened on a dawn where sleep was ripped from him by the ringtone he set specially for [first name]. Amidst the sleep-induced fog in his brain, he comprehended an excited "Dad!" as soon as he swiped to answer.

"What happened?" His reply came out hoarse with sleep.

"I—" Her initial response stopped short. "Did I wake you?" She paused, long enough for him to exit the master’s bedroom and head toward the living room. He could’ve sworn he heard her curse under her breath, but he couldn’t be quite sure. "Sorry, dad. I forgot about the timezone. Go back to bed. I’ll just tell you in the morning."

Rather than replying, he touches the button that requests for a video call. He only resumed the conversation once he could see her face on his phone screen. "What is it?"

She was still in her Williams uniform, looking as if she just got back to her accommodation despite her usual internship time ending hours ago.

"It’s okay," she shook her head lightly, clearly feeling apologetic. "It’s not a big deal. I’ll just call again in the morning."

"[First name]," Kimi pronounced his daughter’s name akin to the way he used to whenever he was exasperated. It wasn’t that hard to tell the ‘not a big deal’ was a lie. "What is it?"

Thankfully, his daughter did the wise thing and complied.

[First name]’s excitement was back in a blink, albeit it manifested in her eyes rather than in her voice still. "I have a new crush."

He nodded once, already accepting that it was as good a time as any. He had been waiting, after all. "Will you tell me about him?"

The sun was already beginning to rise by the time the call finished. He didn’t mind, partly because his firstborn hadn’t called in almost a month, but mostly because [first name] had the corners of her mouth slightly upturned the entire time.

"[First name], there you are," Kimi greeted as soon as he spot his firstborn entering the Aston Martin garage. The visit marked his first time back at the paddock since his retirement almost four years ago, and he figured his daughter’s ‘favorite’ circuit was the best one to make his first return appearance at. "Where did you go?"

[First name], in support, asked for a day off from her internship. Hence her deliberate choice to blend in with the huge tifosi crowd in tifosi territory. "Around."

"You left me with the media," he said, almost accusatory, as he watched her hug his former teammate.

She wasn’t amused. "I left you with Uncle Jenson." Nor was he, when she chose to return standing next to the person clad in orange and black. "Uncle Lewis and Uncle Nico were there, too."

Kimi didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he turned his attention to the person next to his daughter. It was Oscar Piastri. "Where did you take my daughter?"

He saw panic in the younger McLaren driver’s eyes.

He squinted his eyes into an almost glare, inquisitive and suspicious. He might be generally supportive of her crushes because of the motivations they came with, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was fine with seeing them — her and her crush — together. It was one thing to hear stories about the said person, and another to live through the moments those stories were made.

"Here," [First name] answered on Oscar Piastri’s behalf.

It didn’t help that Oscar Piastri was an F1 driver, either. He knew, firsthand, about the life and lifestyle that came with being one. So, naturally, his trust was in the negatives — regardless of the other’s impressive driving and generally likable public persona.

Conclusions were instantly made and, of course, none of them were to his liking — not even remotely. He returned his attention to her. "You left me to go to him?"

"No, I went to Ferrari first to meet Charles’ dog," she corrected. "Then I went to McLaren."

"Why did you go to McLaren?" Fernando inquired exactly what was in his mind. "Why did she go to you?"

[First name] shrugged, looking every bit like a relaxed spokesperson for the seemingly tongue-tied McLaren driver. "Tradition."

Kimi casted her a questioning look, but she merely held it with ease. Her expression remained unchanged and void of any potential clues. He had absolutely no idea what she could’ve possibly meant.

He wisely opted to not think too much about it, but not without sending Oscar Piastri another look of distrust.

[seldompathic]

I really shouldn't listen to Snapcube when I draw

[ducktracy]

thumbs 'n reference sheet for this--i started to give up on Porky by the end of the ref because looking at him too long was making me laugh at how dumb and frumpy he looks next to Petunia. which is the entire point!

[tweeterwilbury]

There are catedhrals everywhere for those with eyes to see

testimony by Robbie Robertson (2016)// Lily, Rosemare and the Jack of Hearts by Bob Dylan (1975)//You're gonna make me lonesome when you go by Bob Dylan(1975)//Bob Dylan about Robbie Robertson (circa 1966)//Tangled up in Blue by Bob Dylan (1975)

[hewhobreathesfire]

I'm not afraid to admit I cried a little bit when I was laying on the sidewalk temporarily stunned. and I kept crying while speed walking to the bus stop a few blocks away. that shit hurt so bad, on top of an already miserable morning.

[sitdwnandstudy]

Today's icebreaker question was what book have we recently read for fun (nothing you read for class allowed) and I'm in the middle of reading this super dense book on Canadian constitutional law (and the last book I read was NOT safe to share in class, way too many graphic sex scenes lol) so I said my next book will be This Is How You Lose The Time War and gave a very brief summary when asked

Apparently this was the wrong answer because everyone looked at me like I had two heads and no one else even admitted to reading fiction

[jackass-jones]

Yeah the mouthwash game is pretty good

[sapienthouse]

lt. cmdr. nella daren immediately became my favorite one-off tng character from her first scene she's so fantastic... i was worried the whole time they were gonna force some interpersonal conflict to make her the bad guy or just straight kill her off, and im so glad that didn't happen. as far as ending one-off relationships goes, thats abt the best i could hope for for her character. she gets to live on as a passionate stellar cartographer and musician, being an absolute delight to anyone who understands her like i do 🫀🫀🫀

[tyrannuspitch]

i literally cannot emphasise enough how much loki is just some random guy. yes, of course, he has done terrible things, but he isn't in any way more inherently predisposed to evil than anyone else. it's extremely circumstantial, AND extremely subjective. of course, i don't mean that it's subjective that what loki's done is bad - but singling him out from all other asgardians IS. why is loki the villain and not thor? because loki is an outsider and because odin has decreed it. nothing else. it's completely arbitrary!! loki is not a villain or a monster or a broken person or a ~ps*chopath~. he's not exceptional. he's not unusual. he's just one more person raised in an awful society where both experiencing a lot of violence oneself and inflicting a lot of violence on others are the (strictly enforced) norm. in another life, he could be your friend. in another life, he could be you. in another life, you could be him.

[thestarmaker]

It's a shame owl city hasn't put out anything new in like ten years. But ending on the ultraviolet ep means he at least went out on a good note. Too bad nothing came of that ep

[mzannthropy]

The best way I can summarise the first half of 2023 for me as a Sam Claflin fan was that it was the Best and the Worst at the same time.

[comicaurora]

So uhh. If you feel like talking about it. As someone who lives in the US, how are you being kind to yourself on this upsetting morning <3

Checked in with my loved ones first and foremost.

It's interesting. The vibe I've been getting from my circle is very different from 2016. Much less… dread and horror at a realignment of the understanding of what can and can't happen here, now, in this place and day and age. More "fuck, guys. again? whatever. enjoy your consequences, maybe you'll manage to learn something this time."

Frustration and anger is not the most positive feeling, or even the most fair one to express, but it is a protective one. It hurts a lot less than most alternatives.

And it's quite a shift. It was earthshattering back then. How could this have been allowed to happen? Why couldn't it be stopped? Why couldn't we stop it? Why couldn't I stop it? Why couldn't everyone see what this meant? Why couldn't I make them understand? Did they really not care? What did that mean about humanity as a whole? Were we so thoughtless? How could anyone be trusted?

It seems… much less earthshattering to see it happen twice. Disappointing, sure. Frustrating. But nowhere near as devastating as the first time I saw it unfold. We already knew it could happen. I've already had time to digest the implications. Now I'm just freshly disappointed.

It also feels less indicative of Crushing Truths Of Reality this time. We've seen shit get bad. We've also seen shit get better from here! We know both outcomes are possible, even inevitable. We know hoping for a better future is always worthwhile. This isn't the apocalypse. It's an unremarkably bad turn of events brought on by unremarkably self-centered well-documented human impulses. It's utterly mundane in its unpleasantness. It doesn't need to be dignified with despair.

A democratic election, no matter the outcome or the side we're on, makes us all acutely aware of how outnumbered we are by people whose worldviews and priorities are demonstrably incomprehensible to us. And the first time you get outnumbered, it's a shock. Defeat is haunting. It didn't matter how badly you wanted it; by the very function of democracy, you do not have the power to override greater numbers. (insert electoral college caveat here)

The second time through, I find myself focusing on a different facet that has dramatically reduced the amount of spiralling I'm doing. I don't expect this to work for everyone, but for me specifically, it helped to crystallize a few thoughts:

You don't have the power to control anyone else. You don't. You can't share your worldview and your revelations with them. You can't make them think or understand anything. You can lay it all out for them, but you can't make them listen, and you can't make it click. A mentor can't make their student learn a lesson; that's why teaching is so complicated and hard. An active choice must be made by the person to enable themselves to understand, and they must put the pieces together in their own mind before it makes sense to them, and the pieces must have been presented in a way that makes sense to them in the first place. Lead a horse to water, can't make them drink.

These elections highlight a disconnect in what different groups of people care about; and no matter how clearly you explain yourself or how passionately you perform, caring cannot be forced on someone. Understanding and connection cannot be forced. You cannot make anything or anyone matter to someone. They have to choose to see how it matters in order to internalize it. If they choose not to, that is not your failing. You couldn't have made them do it by just Explaining Better. They are not your responsibility. They make their own choices. You can't reach inside their head and connect the dots for them.

I'm a storyteller. I make stories and put them out into the world. I hope people get something good out of them, but I have no control over what that something is. I want people to be thoughtful and kind and compassionate and hopeful and see themselves reflected in stranges, no matter their differences. I can craft stories that I hope encourage this. But that is the extent of my ability and the extent of my responsibility. I control no-one's actions but my own, and so while I am not having the best day, I am at least content that I am doing what I can, and I am not shattering myself against impossibilities trying to control the things I can't.

Sometimes, people make decisions that I think are really bad. I can't make that not happen. All I can do is try to make decisions that will result in things I think are good. Today, that means checking in on people, and not assigning too much dramatic narrative weight to an ultimately mundane set of unremarkable bad decisions outside of my control. We'll take life as it comes and help each other out when and how we can. Everything else is out of our hands.

[adam-scott]

MANNY JACINTO for Vogue Philippines (2024)

“One of the very first lessons I learned when I started acting was the idea of impermanence,” he tells me. “It won’t do you any good trying to hold onto something, whether it be money or fame or certain highlights in your career. You’re going to have to keep moving past it.”