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Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (8/15)

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @lovebittenbyevans @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @httpsserene @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @xoscar03 @saturnville @weetjy @pinkcatcus @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @vile-harlot @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @destinyg237 @niahxo @purplelewlew

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

CHAPTER 8: Big Fraud

The Ritz-Carlton in Mexico City buzzed with anticipation as the cream of society gathered for the Almave tequila launch. Rorie stood beside Lewis, her sequined gown catching the soft light of the chandeliers. The ballroom was a symphony of clinking glasses and animated conversations in Spanish and English.

"You look stunning," Lewis whispered, his hand finding the small of her back.

Rorie smiled, leaning into his touch. "Thanks, babe. You clean up pretty well yourself."

As they made their rounds, greeting investors and celebrities alike, Rorie couldn't help but feel a sense of surrealism. Just a week ago, she had been on stage at Austin City Limits, her performance with Lil Yachty still reverberating through social media and music circles.

The aftermath of that night had been a whirlwind. Clips of her performance had gone viral, with music critics hailing it as a triumphant debut to the stage. She unconsciously placed a hand on her still-flat stomach, remembering the moment they had seen those two pink lines on the pregnancy test after such an amazing show.

"Rorie," Lewis's voice brought her back to the present. "Carlos was just asking about your performance."

Rorie blinked, focusing on the smiling face of Carlos Slim Jr. "Oh, I'm sorry. It was an incredible experience. The energy of the crowd was unlike anything I've felt before."

The launch was a culmination of Lewis's hard work and passion, but recent events cast a shadow over their celebration. Her mind kept drifting back to the recent developments. The lawyers had been working tirelessly to uncover the source of the leaked information.

Rorie's phone buzzed in her clutch. She ignored it, having grown accustomed to the constant notifications since her sperm donor's attempts to contact her had intensified.

Lewis sidled up beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Everything okay, love?"

Rorie sighed, showing him her phone. "Five missed calls from unknown numbers. I'm pretty sure it's him."

Lewis's jaw tightened. "We'll handle it, babe. Don't let him ruin this night for us." He leaned close to place a tender kiss on her forehead. "How 'bout we get some dessert?"

"Are you trying to distract me with sweets, Sir?"

Her teasing made her husband chuckle, his eyes brightening with mischief as he waggled his eyebrows seductively. "Is it working? Because I'd love to get you back to the hotel room and cover you in choc–"

"Lewis!" a familiar voice called, causing the couple to turn and face Iván Saldaña, Almave's co-founder and Master Distiller. "C'mon, unravel yourself from the missus for one second for a photo. Dios mio, you're obsessed with her."

"Shit, have you seen my wife?" was Lewis' response, followed by a hard slap on Rorie's ass. She yelped in slight pain, swatting him off, and he had the wherewithal to laugh like the menace he was. "Three photos tops, Iván."

Before she knew it, Lewis was off, padding towards Iván to pose for a couple of photos.

Rorie shook her head, smiling despite herself at Lewis's playful antics. As she watched him pose with Iván, her phone buzzed in her clutch. She pulled it out, her smile fading as she saw an unknown number flashing on the screen.

With a deep breath, she answered. "Hello?"

"Aurora," her father's voice came through, a mixture of relief and anxiety evident in his tone. "Thank you for picking up. I've been trying to reach you."

Rorie's jaw clenched. "I know. What do you want?"

"I want to talk, to explain. Please, give me a chance to—"

"Now isn't the time," Rorie cut him off, her eyes darting around the crowded ballroom. "I can't do this right now."

Before he could respond, she ended the call, her heart racing. She barely had time to collect herself when her phone buzzed again, this time with a text message from another unknown number:

Your perfect little world is about to come crashing down.

Rorie felt a chill run down her spine. This wasn't her sperm donor - the tone was all wrong. Who the fuck was this? Was it the same person from Paris?

"Are you ready to head out?" Lewis's voice startled her. He had returned from his photo session with Iván, concern etched on his face as he noticed her troubled expression.

Rorie hesitated for a moment before showing him the text. "I think we have a problem."

Lewis's expression hardened as he read the message. "We need to talk to our security team. This isn't just annoying anymore; it's threatening."

Rorie nodded, feeling a mix of fear and determination. "You're right. But let's not let it ruin the night. This was your moment, babe."

Lewis wrapped his arms around her in an embrace. "Our moment. We're in this together, remember?"

As they stood there, the party continued around them, oblivious to the tension between the couple. Rorie leaned into Lewis's embrace, drawing strength from his presence.

"I just don't understand who would do this," Rorie murmured, her voice muffled against Lewis's chest. "And why now?"

Lewis pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cup Rorie's face. "We'll figure it out, love. I promise you, whoever's behind this, they won't get away with it."

Rorie nodded, forcing a smile. "You're right. We've faced worse, haven't we?"

"Much worse," Lewis agreed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Remember that time Lyric decided to redecorate the living room with his finger paints?"

The memory brought a genuine laugh from Rorie, easing some of the tension. "God, that was a nightmare. This is nothing compared to that, right?"

Lewis grinned, pleased to see some of the worry leave Rorie's eyes. "Exactly. Now, let's say our goodbyes and head out. We'll deal with this head-on tomorrow."

With renewed determination, they made their way through the crowd, saying their farewells to key guests and thanking them for coming. As they stepped out into the cool Mexican night, both Lewis and Rorie knew that come morning, they'd be ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead – together.

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparations for the Mexican Grand Prix. Rorie accompanied Lewis to the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez, her presence a calming influence amidst the pre-race chaos.

The circuit was a marvel of engineering and culture, its layout weaving through the heart of Mexico City. The iconic stadium section buzzed with anticipation, its grandstands already filling with passionate fans. The air was thick with the scent of street food and the sound of mariachi bands, creating a uniquely Mexican atmosphere that set this Grand Prix apart from all others.

During a quiet moment in the Mercedes garage, Rorie's phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text from an unknown number:

Aurora, please. We need to talk. - Dad

Rorie showed the message to Lewis, her frustration evident. "He just won't stop."

Lewis pulled her into a hug, then hesitated. "Actually, babe, there's something I need to tell you. I... I had a conversation with your dad at the Austin Grand Prix."

Rorie stiffened in his arms, pulling back to look at him. "You what? Why didn't you tell me?"

Lewis sighed, running a hand through his braids. "It was unexpected. Toto called me to his office, and your father was there. I didn't want to upset you, especially with your performance coming up."

Rorie's emotions warred between anger and understanding. "What did he say?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "He said he wants to make things right, to be part of your life. He talked about regrets, about missed opportunities. I could see the pain in his eyes, Rorie, but I also saw determination."

Rorie's mind raced. "And what did you say to him?"

"I told him it wasn't my decision to make," Lewis replied softly. "I said that you're the strongest, most incredible woman I know, and that if he wanted a chance, he'd have to earn it. I made it clear that I'd support whatever decision you make."

Rorie nodded slowly, processing the information. A mix of emotions played across her face - gratitude for Lewis's protection, frustration at being kept in the dark, and a lingering sense of uncertainty about her father's intentions.

"I appreciate you looking out for me," she said finally, her voice thick with emotion. "But next time, please tell me. We're in this together, remember? No matter how difficult the conversation might be."

Lewis nodded, relief evident on his face. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just... I saw how stressed you were about the performance, and I didn't want to add to that. But you're right, we're a team. No more secrets."

Rorie leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence. "Thank you for standing up for me. I just... I don't know how to feel about all this. Part of me wants to hear him out, but another part is so angry at him for showing up now, after all these years."

Lewis wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You don't have to decide anything right now. Take your time, think it through. Whatever you choose, I'm here."

"Lewis, it's time!" Rosa yelled, earning a small smile from Rorie.

"Go race, we'll talk later," she told him.

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." After a kiss on her lips, Lewis jogged over to Rosa and his engineers.

Rorie watched as Lewis prepared for the race, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. The constant attempts at contact from her father, the revelation of Lewis's meeting with him, and the excitement of the impending race all vied for her attention.

She observed Lewis as he went through his pre-race routine, his focus unwavering despite the chaos around them. Rorie couldn't help but marvel at his strength, his ability to compartmentalize and perform under pressure. It was one of the many reasons she loved him.

As Lewis pulled on his helmet, he turned to Rorie, giving her a thumbs up. She returned the gesture, forcing a smile despite her inner turmoil. For now, she would push her personal concerns aside and focus on supporting her husband. The race was about to begin, and with it, a temporary escape from the complicated emotions surrounding her father's sudden reappearance in her life.

The roar of engines filled the air as the Mexican Grand Prix got underway and the cars lined up in their designated spots. From her spot next to Toto, Rorie nibbled on her nails, her eyes absentmindedly on a screen, her heart thumping erratically in her chest as she waited for lights out.

--------------------------------------------------

The Miami bar buzzed with Sunday afternoon energy, sunlight streaming through large windows. A woman sat at the counter, sipping a colorful tequila cocktail. She brushed her long extensions off her shoulders as she settled in her seat, her eyes glancing up at the TV.

Lewis Hamilton appeared on screen, celebrating his podium finish at the Mexican Grand Prix. The woman's lips curved into a slight smirk. There was no denying how attractive he was.

Too bad he wanted to be with such a boring, lame-ass bitch.

She sat up a bit straighter, a cocky air about her. Lewis would be so much better with someone like her on his arm. Someone who could truly match his star power.

Her phone buzzed with a message:

Running late. Be there in 10. - A

She sighed, signaling the bartender for another drink. As she waited, she contemplated the weight of the information she possessed about Rorie and Lewis's life. It was a power that both thrilled and unsettled her.

The door opened, and Alexander strode in, his face set in its usual mask of cool indifference. He took the seat next to her, ordering a scotch.

"What do you have for me?" he asked without preamble.

She reached into her bag, pulling out a manila envelope. "Everything I could get my hands on. Financial records, private correspondence, even some additional medical information."

Alexander's eyebrows raised slightly as he leafed through the contents. "Impressive. How did you manage this?"

A conniving smile played on her lips. "Someone close to them who's feeling... overlooked."

"Let me see the files," Alexander said, reaching for the envelope.

She held up a hand. "First, let's talk money. I want more."

Alexander's eyes narrowed. "We've discussed this. I can't increase the amount."

"Do you understand the risk I'm taking?" she countered. "If they find out—"

"They already have a lawsuit against us," Alexander interrupted. "We're proceeding carefully."

The woman leaned back, her posture defiant. "Without more money, I'm not giving you the info. Maybe I'll find another tabloid that values my contributions more."

Alexander's jaw clenched, anger flashing in his eyes. After a pregnant pause, he spoke, his voice low and controlled. "Fine. If that's what you want to do, then do it."

With that, he stood up and left the bar, leaving the woman alone with her secrets and her tequila cocktail. She watched him go, a mixture of frustration and uncertainty crossing her face as she contemplated her next move. The woman's confident facade faltered slightly. She turned back to the bar, her manicured nails tapping against the polished wood surface.

"Another?" the bartender asked, gesturing to her nearly empty glass.

She nodded, her eyes drifting back to the TV where highlights from the Mexican Grand Prix were still playing. Lewis's face flashed across the screen again, his radiant smile a stark contrast to her current mood.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Her thumb hovered over a name - KiKi. She hesitated, weighing her options. KiKi had agreed to meet with her briefly for lunch a couple of weeks ago, but the meal quickly went left when KiKi realized that it was nothing more than a bashing on Rorie. Despite her initial liking for Kiara, she was still too far up Rorie's ass and she didn't need to draw any suspicion right now.

A notification popped up on her screen - a news alert about Rorie's recent performance at Austin City Limits. The woman's lips curled into a sneer as she read the glowing review.

"If they only knew," she muttered under her breath.

The bartender set down her fresh drink, and she took a long sip, savoring the burn of the tequila. Her mind raced with possibilities. Alexander might have called her bluff, but she wasn't out of options yet.

She opened her notes app, reviewing the information she had gathered thus far. Financial records, private correspondence, medical information - it was a treasure trove of potential scandals. But without Alexander's backing, publishing it would be risky.

Was I ready to put that kind of heat on me? I can always go to TheShadeRoom or something...

A familiar face caught her eye at the other end of the bar. It was a reporter she recognized from a rival tabloid. An idea began to form in her mind.

Gathering her things, she stood up, smoothing down her dress. She tossed back the rest of her drink and made her way towards the reporter, a calculated smile playing on her lips.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice honey-sweet. "I couldn't help but notice you're from The Globe. I think I might have a story that would interest you…"

She sat beside the reporter and began telling him about the secrets she uncovered about Rorie and her family.

The reporter’s brows furrowed as he listened, his interest slowly waning. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "I’m not saying it’s not juicy," he began, holding up a hand to stop her mid-pitch. "But it’s too much heat right now. You’re talking about exposing big names, and our editorial team won’t touch it. They’d rather run another puff piece than risk the legal blowback."

The woman’s carefully constructed smile wavered, but she quickly recovered. "So, you’re telling me The Globe isn’t interested in the truth anymore? That’s disappointing." Her voice dripped with feigned surprise, masking her frustration.

"Look, I get it. You want to break a big story, but this one’s a no-go. If I were you, I’d sit on it until the timing’s better." He gave her a sympathetic shrug, clearly eager to wrap up the conversation.

She forced a polite laugh, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Thanks for the advice." With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the bar, the weight of yet another rejection pressing on her chest.

By the time she reached her apartment, her heels clicking against the floor tiles echoed the pulse of determination in her veins. She wasn’t about to let some risk-averse reporter stand in her way. She dropped her purse on the entry table and kicked off her shoes, moving with purpose through the space until she reached her living room.

The room was a contrast to the polished exterior she showed the world—papers strewn across every surface, sticky notes marking key points, and a laptop open to various incriminating files. She knelt down, spreading the documents across the floor, each one representing hours of careful digging, discreet meetings, and favors called in. Emails, private text messages, medical records — it was all there.

If no publication was willing to continue running with this, she’d have to do it herself. And she had just the platform for it.

Standing up, she crossed the room to her vanity where her ring light and phone stand were already set up. She adjusted the light, making sure it cast just the right shadows to enhance her fierce determination rather than reveal the strain she was feeling. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore—it was about taking control of the narrative, about showing the world that Rorie was nothing more than a bum-ass whore who used people.

She opened Instagram, her fingers moving swiftly as she set up the live stream. Her followers were used to seeing her poised, offering advice on fashion and makeup, but tonight’s stream would be different.

As the screen flashed "You’re live!" her expression shifted from controlled anger to cool confidence. "Hey, y'all," she began, her voice silky smooth, with just a hint of venom. "I know you’re all used to seeing me share fashion tips, but tonight’s different. Tonight, I’m exposing the truth behind the smoke and mirrors. Let’s talk about Rorie Hamilton, and the fact that she's nothing more than a manstealing, fake ass bitch."

She leaned closer to the camera, letting the tension build. "You see, perfection comes with a price, and what if I told you that behind every glowing headline, there’s a trail of deceit, betrayal, and lies? I’ve got receipts—documents, messages, things that will make you rethink every article, every performance, every charming interview she’s given."

The chat exploded with comments as her followers clamored for details, but she remained calm, letting the suspense build. "I’m going to walk you through it all. So sit back, grab some popcorn, and let’s dive into the real Rorie—the one who’s been hiding behind that carefully curated mask."

With that, she reached down and held up the first document for the camera, zooming in just enough to reveal a hint of the damning information. She knew exactly how to play this—releasing just enough to whet their appetites, while keeping the most explosive content for the right moment. She was in control now, and nothing was going to stop her from burning it all to the ground.

As she continued her exposé, detailing every sordid secret, the view count climbed higher and higher. This was only the beginning, and she was just getting started.

Rorie’s nerves were frayed, her fingers tapping anxiously against the armrest of the leather chair in their suite. The luxurious comfort of the hotel room did little to ease the tension that had settled in her chest. The room’s atmosphere was thick with unspoken worries, but the muted sound of Julian’s voice on the phone filled the silence.

The emergency meeting was inevitable after Deja Barnes' Instagram live took the internet by storm. Julian, the Hamiltons’ long-time lawyer and fixer, had booked the first flight to Mexico as soon as the situation escalated. Within hours, headlines were ablaze, tabloids feeding off Deja’s revelations like sharks scenting blood in the water. The story had gone viral overnight, turning their world into a frenzy.

Julian finally hung up the phone and turned to face them, his expression severe. "We’ve got a crisis on our hands. Deja’s live went beyond just gossip; she laid out things only someone close would know. Every major tabloid is picking it up—she’s framed it as the inside scoop on your marriage and the most salacious details about your lives."

Rorie’s hands curled into fists. "She’s not ‘someone close’ anymore, Julian. She hasn’t been for a long time."

Lewis sat across from her, his brows knitted in disbelief. "Deja? This doesn’t make sense." His voice was strained, caught between confusion and hurt. "Why would she do this? We were friends. She was like family at one point. This doesn’t seem like her at all."

Rorie’s chest tightened at the way he said "we were friends." She’d known this moment would come, when the truth she had kept buried would have to be laid bare. Her eyes met Lewis’s, seeing the pain and bewilderment swirling in them, but she had to tell him what she knew—even if it shattered whatever nostalgic image he had left of Deja.

"It wasn’t what you thought, Lewis." Her voice was low, weighted with exhaustion. "Deja had her own motives, and I ignored the signs for too long."

"What do you mean?" Lewis leaned forward, bracing himself for an explanation.

Rorie took a deep breath, bracing herself for the revelation she had kept to herself for years. "Deja had a crush on you. A serious one. It wasn’t just friendly affection or admiration. It was something deeper, something… twisted."

Lewis blinked, stunned, and let out a sardonic laugh. "A crush? On me? That doesn’t make any sense. We were all close, but she never—"

"She hid it well," Rorie interjected, bitterness lacing her words. "But I saw the signs, eventually. The looks she’d give you, the way she always found excuses to be around us, especially when things were tough for us."

Lewis shook his head, still processing. "We were trying to have Lyric during that time. She was supposed to be supporting you, helping us through it."

"That’s what I thought too," Rorie said, her voice growing colder as she recalled the events. "It was all a ruse. She was using our struggles to get closer to you. She even joked once about volunteering to be our surrogate."

Lewis’s eyes widened. "She what?"

"I thought it was a joke too, but it wasn’t. Looking back, I realize she was testing the waters, seeing if we’d be open to something like that." Rorie’s expression darkened as she continued, "It got worse. There was this one night—you had a race, and I wasn’t there. When I arrived later, I found Deja waiting for you in your hotel suite, naked in the bed."

Lewis recoiled, disbelief and disgust mixing in his expression. "She was what?"

"Naked, Lewis. She was there, waiting for you like it was normal, like she had every right to be there." Rorie’s voice cracked as she relived that moment, the betrayal still fresh. "I don’t know how she got access to your room, but there she was, like it was the most natural thing in the world. She even had the nerve to say that you two had been having an affair, but I knew better."

Lewis was speechless, struggling to comprehend how someone he had trusted could betray them so completely. He was visibly shaken, running a hand through his hair as he tried to wrap his head around it all. "What did you do? How did you handle her after you found out?"

Rorie’s expression hardened. "I had security escort her out of the hotel, and I blocked her from everything—social media, our contacts, everything. I didn’t want her anywhere near us, near you, near the family we were creating. She tried reaching out a few times, but I ignored her. I thought cutting her off was enough."

Lewis’s voice was barely above a whisper. "I had no idea. I’m sorry you had to deal with that alone."

Rorie looked at him, her eyes softening for a moment. "I didn’t want to burden you with it then. We had enough on our plate with trying to get pregnant, and you were dealing with the pressure of racing. I thought it was easier to just handle it quietly and move on. But I should have told you, should have let you know what she was really like."

Julian cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to the crisis at hand. "What’s done is done, but now we have to focus on damage control. Deja’s gone public with this, and the longer we take to respond, the worse it’s going to get."

Rorie nodded, her jaw clenched in determination. "She might think she’s got the upper hand, but she’s underestimated us. We’ll handle this, and we’ll make sure the truth comes out—our truth, not hers."

Lewis reached out and took her hand, a silent promise passing between them. No matter how messy things got, they’d face it together. But the betrayal lingered in the air, a reminder of how close their past had come to tearing them apart. And as much as they wanted to put this behind them, Deja’s actions had set off a chain of events that neither of them could fully predict.

For now, all they could do was prepare for the storm ahead.

Lewis sat alone in his driver’s room, the steady hum of the paddock outside muffled by the walls. His phone was propped against the table, earbuds snug in his ears as he listened to the interview playing on The Breakfast Club. He knew Julian had warned him to stay away from it, to focus on the race weekend and leave the crisis management to the professionals. But Lewis had never been one to sit idly by when his family was under attack. Protecting them, especially now with Rorie’s pregnancy, was his top priority—even if it meant shouldering the burden himself.

The interview was already in progress. Deja’s voice, slick with false sincerity, came through clearly as she spun her tale of betrayal and heartbreak. "Rorie always wanted what I had, but I never thought she’d go as far as taking Lewis from me," Deja claimed.

Lewis clenched his jaw, his fists tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check. This woman, someone who had once been close enough to be considered family, was rewriting history with a twisted narrative designed to inflict maximum damage. And what frustrated him most was that people were eating it up—treating her lies like gospel.

Angela Yee, however, wasn’t so easily convinced. Her voice cut through the nonsense with precision. "But let’s be real here, Deja. If you were so close to Lewis, how come we never heard about this supposed love story before? You’re saying you were in love with him, that Rorie took him from you, but from what the public saw, you were just a friend. So what’s the real deal?"

Deja didn’t waver, her delusions fully intact. "Of course, it wasn’t public. We kept it low-key out of respect. But I was there before she was. I was the one he leaned on, and when she saw how close we were, she made sure to push me out. It’s not the first time she’s done this to people, either. Rorie’s always been good at playing the victim while she manipulates things behind the scenes."

Lewis couldn’t take much more. He paused the interview, running a hand down his face. He glanced at a small window to stare at the Brazilian race track. Brazil has always been their sanctuary, the place where everything seemed to fall into place. The chaos surrounding them now was a stark contrast to the peace they had always found there. Brazil wasn’t just another location on the race calendar; it was where their love deepened, where Lyric had been conceived during a trip filled with laughter, love, and hope. It was their “zen den,” a place where the rest of the world faded away, leaving only them, together.

That’s why it was so important for him to shield Rorie now. She was working on her latest Nike Women campaign, a massive deal that she’d landed just before everything started unraveling. On top of that, her ambassadorships were piling up, her brand flourishing. He couldn’t let this mess derail her success or put unnecessary stress on her during her pregnancy. Julian was doing everything in his power to contain the damage, and the cease and desist had already been issued to Deja. But the interview, recorded before the legal warning, was still out there, fueling the frenzy.

Lewis sighed, taking a deep breath as he tried to refocus. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, not with the race looming and all the media duties he had to handle. But how could he not be? His family was everything to him, and knowing Rorie and Lyric were in Brazil as well, surrounded by close friends and family, brought some comfort. They were safe in their haven while he dealt with the ugliness of it all. That was the trade-off: he’d take the heat so they didn’t have to.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Rosa poked her head in. "Media session in five minutes, Lewis."

He nodded, slipping his phone into his pocket as he mentally prepared himself for the inevitable questions. The journalists would be circling like vultures, eager to dig into the drama, but he’d handle it. For Rorie, for Lyric, for their future child—they were counting on him to keep it all together.

Lewis walked into the media building, the energy buzzing with anticipation as reporters packed into the room. Cameras flashed as he took his seat on the driver’s panel, dressed in his black Mercedes team shirt. His expression was steely, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced with something more guarded. He could feel the weight of every gaze on him—some curious, some sympathetic, and others eager for controversy.

He nodded to a few familiar faces among the press corps. The other drivers were already taking their seats - Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, and Fernando Alonso among them. They exchanged brief greetings, a mix of professional courtesy and the camaraderie that comes from shared experiences on the track.

The moderator began the session, and as expected, the questions started rolling in. Most were about the race weekend—the setup for the car, tire strategy, and his thoughts on the circuit. Lewis handled those with ease, but he knew it was only a matter of time before someone brought up the topic he had zero interest in discussing.

And then it happened.

A journalist from a tabloid well-known for stirring up drama leaned forward, his tone dripping with false politeness. "Lewis, we’ve all seen the headlines lately, especially with that recent Breakfast Club interview involving Deja Barnes—"

Lewis cut him off, a bitter chuckle escaping as he shook his head. "Who?"

"What are your thoughts on the recent allegations made by Deja Barnes?"

"Oh," Lewis interjected, leaning back in his chair with a slight smirk. "I don’t speak on snakes. I save that for my lawyers."

The room fell silent, tension thick in the air as Lewis stared down the reporter. "Do you have any questions about the race? You know, the reason we’re here?"

The reporter stammered, caught completely off guard. "Well, uh, I was just—"

"Okay, let’s go to someone who has a question about racing," Lewis said firmly, turning away from the flustered journalist. "I’m not entertaining it."

The moderator quickly moved on, calling on another journalist who thankfully asked about tire degradation and track conditions. But even as Lewis answered the technical questions with his usual focus and precision, the shadow of that earlier exchange lingered.

Fuck The Sun, and most importantly, fuck that woman.

He could sense the ripple it had caused among the reporters, some nodding in approval while others scribbled furiously, eager to turn his comments into their next headline. But Lewis didn’t care. He was here to do his job, to represent his team, and to protect his family. And if that meant shutting down every attempt to drag him into Deja’s delusional circus, he’d do it unapologetically.

The lush greenery of São Paulo's outskirts provided a serene backdrop as Rorie lounged by the pool, watching 15-month-old Lyric splash around in his floaties. Her sister, Aaliyah, kept a watchful eye on the toddler.

"Wa! Wa!" Lyric babbled excitedly, kicking his little legs in the water.

Rorie smiled, her heart swelling with love. "That's right, baby! You're in the water!"

Aaliyah, at 23, shared the same warm smile as their mother, Marian. Though technically her half-sister - the daughter of Marian and Greg - Rorie never thought of her as anything less than her full sister. Aaliyah guided Lyric gently through the pool. "He's fearless, just like Lewis," she remarked.

"He really is," Rorie agreed, watching her son with pride. "Thanks for being here, sis. It means a lot."

Aaliyah shot her a supportive smile. "Always. That's what family's for, right? So, have you decided if you’re going to call him back?"

Rorie’s gaze shifted to her phone resting on the lounge chair beside her. The text from her father, Martin, had come in earlier that day, and it had been gnawing at the back of her mind ever since. She’d been going back and forth about whether to respond, torn between curiosity and the desire to avoid more stress. Aaliyah’s question brought that internal debate back to the forefront.

"I don’t know," Rorie sighed. “Part of me wants to just ignore it, but… I’m curious. I want to hear whatever bullshit he’s trying to spin this time."

Aaliyah raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want to open that door? You’ve done well keeping him at arm’s length. Sometimes it’s better to let toxic people stay where they are."

Rorie knew her sister was right, but something inside her nudged her toward at least hearing what he had to say. "Yeah, I know… but I think I’m gonna call him. Just to see what he’s really on."

Aaliyah shrugged, "Your call. Just don’t let him mess with your head. You’ve got enough going on without letting him add more drama."

As the day progressed, Rorie's mind kept drifting to the unopened messages on her phone. Martin's texts and voicemails had been piling up, each one a reminder of the decision she'd been avoiding.

After putting Lyric down for his nap, Rorie retreated to the privacy of her room. She took a deep breath, her thumb hovering over the call button, before eventually pressing the button.

As the phone rang, her mind raced with thoughts of Deja's betrayal, the media frenzy, and now this impending conversation with her long-absent father.

"Aurora?" Martin's voice, a mix of surprise and hope, came through the speaker.

"Hello, Martin," Rorie said, her tone neutral.

Martin took a deep breath. "I know I have a lot to explain. I've made many mistakes, and my absence in your life is my biggest regret."

"Why now?" Rorie asked. "Why reach out after all these years?"

Martin hesitated. "I've been following your career, your life. I'm so proud of the woman you've become. I... I want to be part of your life, if you'll let me."

Rorie's voice hardened. "You had that chance years ago. Why should I believe you've changed?"

The conversation continued, with Martin explaining his past actions and expressing remorse. Rorie listened, asking pointed questions about his absence, his current intentions, and his sudden desire to be in her life.

"I understand if you can't forgive me," Martin said towards the end of the call. "But I hope you'll consider giving me a chance to prove myself."

Rorie took a moment before responding. "I appreciate your honesty, Martin. But I need time to process this. I can't promise anything right now."

As they ended their call, Rorie sat on the edge of her bed, her mind reeling from the conversation. She replayed his words, searching for sincerity, for any sign that his intentions were genuine.

A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. "Ror? You okay?" Aaliyah's voice came through.

"Come in," Rorie called out.

Aaliyah entered, concern etched on her face. "I saw you on the phone. Was it...?"

Rorie nodded. "Yeah, it was Martin."

Aaliyah sat beside her sister, placing a comforting hand on her back. "How do you feel?"

"Confused," Rorie admitted. "He said all the right things, you know? Apologized, said he regretted not being there. But I don't know if I can trust it."

"You don't have to decide anything right now," Aaliyah reassured her. "Take your time."

Rorie leaned into her sister's embrace. "I just keep thinking about Mom and Greg, how they've always been there. And now, with everything happening with Deja and the media..."

"Hey," Aaliyah said firmly, "You've got us. Me, Mom, Dad, Lewis, Lyric. We're your real family. Whatever you decide about Martin, we've got your back."

Rorie felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. "Thanks, sis."

Just then, they heard Lyric's babbling through the baby monitor. Rorie couldn't help but smile. "Sounds like someone's up from their nap."

"Want me to get him?" Aaliyah offered.

Rorie shook her head, standing up. "No, I've got it. I could use some cuddles from my little man right now."

She padded over to Lyric's room, her heart instantly lightening at the sight of her son. Lyric was standing in his portable crib, his little hands gripping the rail as he bounced excitedly.

"Mama!" he exclaimed, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"Hi, baby," Rorie cooed, reaching in to scoop him up. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, inhaling his sweet baby scent. "Did you have a good nap?"

Lyric babbled in response, his little hands patting Rorie's cheeks. She couldn't help but smile, feeling the stress of the day melt away in her son's presence.

On a whim, Rorie decided she needed more than just a quick cuddle. She gently lowered Lyric back into his crib, then, to his delight, climbed in after him. It was a tight fit – the portable crib wasn't meant for adults – but Rorie managed to scrunch herself in, lying on her side next to Lyric.

Lyric giggled, clearly amused by his mama's antics. He snuggled close, his little body fitting perfectly against hers. Rorie wrapped an arm around him, savoring the moment.

"Mama swilly," Lyric said, patting her arm.

Rorie chuckled. "Yeah, Mama's being silly, huh?"

As they lay there, Rorie felt the tension from her conversation with Martin slowly dissipate. The world outside, with all its complications and challenges, seemed to fade away. In this moment, it was just her and Lyric, safe and content in their own little bubble.

Lyric's eyelids began to droop, the excitement of Mama's surprise visit giving way to post-nap drowsiness. Rorie hummed softly, a lullaby she remembered from her own childhood.

As Lyric drifted off to sleep, Rorie continued to hold him close. She knew she'd have to face reality again soon – decisions about Martin, dealing with the Deja situation, preparing for the baby on the way. But for now, she allowed herself this moment of peace, drawing strength from the pure, unconditional love of her son.

In the cramped confines of the portable crib, Rorie found a spaciousness in her heart. Whatever came next, she knew she had this – the love of her family, the joy of motherhood. And that, she realized, was more than enough to face any storm.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[amuseoffyre]

Got thinking today about the first pieces of queer media I experienced and how formative they were for me when I didn't even know queerness was a thing. Double-whammy of super religious family raised in very religious community and then ending up slap bang in the middle of section 28 in the UK, where it was illegal to teach kids anything about queerness.

But it was there. It found me, even when I didn't know I was looking for it.

First up was the double-header of To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything Julie Newmar and Priscilla Queen of the Desert.

It was 1996/7, I was in my mid-teens. I was having a sleepover at a friend's house and she asked me if I wanted to see drag queens. I didn't know what they were, so I said yes. My wee little mind was blown. Until that point, the only time I had seen anything like it had been as a joke, especially Pantomime Dames.

I know that now these films are very dated, but then? When the only other mainstream films with vaguely trans-ish characters were things like Silence of the Lambs and The Crying Game? Having some of the biggest stars of their respective countries playing sympathetic, fun, silly, loving, happy drag queens and trans characters was so staggeringly new and out of left field. I didn't even know what I was feeling but those films curled up in my chest for reasons I couldn't even understand then.

A few years later, doing my English studies and one of the assigned texts was a book called Trumpet by Jackie Kay. I had never heard of it, had no idea what it was about going in, and again, eyes wide open after it. A trans man who kept his whole life a secret from everyone but his wife, only outed after his death. It's beautiful and poignant and wrenching as his kid tries to unravel and understand their father and who he was.

It's been two decades and I've seen a lot of queer media since then, but those three pieces were the foundation of me figuring things out and realising what I had been told all along wasn't compulsory or necessarily even right. It showed me a glimpse of something else, that maybe all the parts of me that I had been chipping away at, trying to make them fit, didn't need to be chipped away at all.

Took a lot longer for me to put all the pieces together consciously. The trauma and self-hate will do that to you. But I got there :) I got there in the end and I can look in the mirror like Miss Vida and smile like she did.

[viviennevermillion]

Mortals and Fools — First Look #1 (Coming Soon)

Want to read a SFW coming-of-age fantasy novel with evil gods, two adult aspec protagonists and magic? Consider supporting this project!

Author's Note: After a total of 8 years of posting fanfiction on this account, I am excited to announce that I am finally starting my first long-term original work as an author! Goal is to get this series published as an actual novel but until then, I will be uploading chapters online as I write them, hopefully building an audience in the process! Mortals and Fools will be available on Wattpad and potentially other platforms. The first 4 chapters will be uploaded to Tumblr as well. Over the next few weeks I will keep uploading promo posts with new characters and more info! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported me as a writer over the years and welcome to everyone who's new here!

Summary: In the land of Elsthess, brilliant but arrogant Dr. Immanuel Faust is doing his best to follow the teachings of the Goddess of Wisdom, live up to his late grandmother's expectations and hide the fact that he has been seeing strange, mystical apparitions all his life. When his pupil becomes afflicted with an ancient curse and the things he has seen turn out to be more than just hallucinations, Immanuel must forge a contract with Morgan, a being from another realm who's ready to humble him at every turn, and learn his religion's most despised art: magic. As he steps outside of the simple world he has grown up in, he slowly comes to realize that there is much more to learn for him still.

Themes:

The Meaning of Wisdom & Growth

Unlearning harmful narratives and prejudices

Religious Trauma

Healing from Abuse

Rebuilding trust in others

Learning to understand others

Navigating radical changes during adulthood

Elitism and class inequality

The problems with the ideal of meritocracy

Queerplatonic & Alterous Attraction

Addiction

Gender Dysphoria

What this story contains:

A variety of fun magical powers!

Evil Gods & Forces from other Realms!

Queer rep! (demisexual & aroace protagonists, a trans man and a wlw couple)

Mysteries to unravel

The coming-of-age fantasy adventures you're used to from YA novels but with characters in their 20s and struggles of adulthood

Humor

My blood, sweat and tears as an author

The Cast: Introducing 3 Characters

Here's some info on the three characters in the header, from left to right!

#1 — Dr. Immanuel Icarus Faust

❝ It wasn't supposed to be like this... I've failed... as both a doctor and a man of faith. I wanted to follow your teachings, dear Goddess, and guide those who seek wisdom and knowledge, as grandmother did... but I couldn't even save one innocent girl. Have I become godless? ❝

Raised by his grandmother, the High Priestess of Solbrynn's temple, Immanuel was taught from an early age on to aspire to be the best in everything he attempted to do and dedicate his life to wisdom, in order to make the Goddess Adira proud. Having become a renowned physician at the age of 28, Immanuel understands himself as his kingdom's ideal of a self-made man: a scholar who can achieve everything he puts his mind to, no matter the circumstances. As a result, he has put himself on a pedestal, believing that those who achieved less than him had all the chances and merely didn't use them. Fearing nothing more than failure and becoming anything like his absent, alcoholic father; Immanuel is bound for a rude awakening.

#2 — Morgan Miralaith

❝ While you were having your existential crisis in the mad scientist laboratory you call your bedroom, I took the liberty to read your grandmother's diary. The good news is, I finally understand where all the hubris comes from. ❝

Morgan, belonging to a long-lived species from the realm of Calliah, is the second-in-command for the Elsthess Resistance against the Plague Avatars. While the Resistance on Mhorunn regards her as a capable leader and a skilled fighter; using fire magic to blaze her way to victory; it is clear to most that she has many secrets and ulterior motives. She cares about others in her own way, yet hardly lets anyone close to her. With her mischievous demeanor and cynical nature, Morgan has made it her new mission to recruit Immanuel for the Resistance and, while at it, shatter his very distorted self-image and worldview. Upon forging a contract with her, Immanuel believes that he has sold his soul to a demon. It is only upon meeting others of her kind that he realizes that really is just her personality.

#3 — Mortis Grimm

❞ People reject that which is foreign to them. You of all people should know this. Still, my personal aspirations and origins are of no concern to you. Remember that. ❝

While there are several people from the Realm of Calliah in Elsthess, the realm that Mortis Grimm originated from is unknown. He seems to be the only one of his kind and there is something sinister about him. Wielding powerful magic that matches no other in recorded nature, Mortis, despite being the leader of the Resistance, is a big mystery to all of its members. Usually donning a Plague Doctor mask, Morgan is among the few to have seen his face. He is Mhorunn's greatest ally, but hardly a trusted one. Most understand that he could just as well become its greatest enemy one day.

Interested in reading more and receiving updates as they're posted? Comment on this post and tell me if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Reblogs are appreciated to spread the word! 💞

Taglist — @gwaaaaar @silveryloneliness @noxochicoztliv @justletmeon12 @averytirednerd @letsallsleepoverwork @styrofauxm @non-pressurizeddiamond @mangoinacan13 @amateurmasksmith @kenobiblue @soru-dee @pictures-of-the-stars @elf-osamu @animusicnerd @jaytherat-hometothereblog @watcherofeternalflame

[commonwealthcass]

I am of the mobile may I have link please 🙏

Hi @tutvault! Thanks for reaching out!

I think Tumblr made an edit and I was able to add this to the header of my page. Im hoping it shows now for everyone but in case it doesnt, this is the list thus far:

Commonwealth Cass

The Travels Begin

Walking Disasters

Baked Bloatfly

Super Mutant Suiciders or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

Getting Down To Business

Daytripper

Blood and Thunder

Sins of the Father

Respite

Don’t They Know It’s The End of The World?

Where It All Went Wrong

Knife

Contract to Kill

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Don’t Be Afraid

Jet

Riot

Getting Closer

I Dont Want to Fall In Love

Reel Me In

Girl, Look At That Body

Don’t Go

A Shot in the Dark

Unravel

Can’t Pretend

Lunchbox

So Long, Brother

One More Tomorrow

Desire (Easter Egg NSFW)

He’s a Tramp, But I Love Him

I Don’t Want You To Get It On With Nobody Else But Me

I Believe in Yesterday

Political Suicide

I’m Only Human

I Just Want To Die Anywhere Else

A Hole In The Earth

We’ve Got A Score To Settle

One Step Closer

Honest

The Writing’s On The Wall

Reluctant Heroes

[airbendertendou]

 to be alone ♥︎ connor ; dbh

another autistic!reader and connor thing ♥︎ synopsis : reader needs a minute to calm down ; connor knows exactly how to ground you and bring you back.

song inspo ; to be alone by hozier

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

—���♥︎——

Connor is reading over a file with Hank when a knock on the door sounds. It’s a particular pattern — a specific tap taptaptap tap taptaptap that Connor knows belongs to you. As Hank opens the door, the android’s smile falls as he watches you scurry past them both. Your head is down as you shuffle quickly into the living room where Sumo is laying.

Hank lets out an indignant noise, eyes wide as he follows your figure. Connor smiles — it feels tenser and more awkward than usual — and holds up his pointer finger. “One moment, please. I’ll be right back, Lieutenant.” 

You’re crouched down, knees to your chest as your feet stay flat on the ground. Sumo is laying on his right side, his tummy facing you as you methodically rub his fur. Connor observes you silently as you pet the dog, your eyes wide and unblinking as you watch your hand.

Unknowingly, your feet start to tingle. You’re so caught up in your ministrations that you don’t notice — but Connor does. His knee hits your back softly as he stands behind you. “Careful, honey. Need to move.”

You obey silently, plopping down fully into your butt. Your legs relax from their stiffened position, falling into a criss-cross position as the rest of your body follows. He notices you’re less tense now ; more open and fluid than you were seconds ago.

Slowly, the android goes around to the front of you and to the windows. He unravels the blinds, pulling the curtains open further as the sun begins to set. You move your gaze from Sumo and to the window, watching as the room glows orange. You bask in the sunset, memorizing all of the colors you can see as you continue to pet the dog.

Connor waches you fondly, sliding the curtains and blinds shut as the orange glow recedes and the sky turns darker. Your gaze drifts to the wall to your left, staying there as Connor moves to sit across from you. He pets Sumo’s back as he analyzes you quietly. You glance his way before looking back to the wall.

The android lets out a small smile, tilting his head to the right. “Hey, sweetheart. Welcome back.”

The side of your mouth tilts up as you continue to stare to the left. “That’s a new name.”

“It is. Is that alright?” Connor asks, just to make sure. You nod, small smile growing into a little grin. Connor’s own lips lift in return — the soap operas and cheesy movies Hank had a habit of watching had finally come in handy. “Do you like it or would you prefer a different name?”

“Like everything you call me.” Your speech is still a little off as you get comfortable in your skin again, stuttered and broken in places. You glance at Connor again, eyes dashing back to the wall just as quick. ”S’always nice.”

“You deserve to be called nice names,” he responds immediately. Connor’s fingers brush against yours as they still pet Sumo. Your mouth twitches again and you turn to fully face him now. Connor’s thumb brushes against your knuckles, “you deserve all of the nice things.”

You make the move to lace your fingers with his, using your left hand to twirl Sumo’s fur around your fingers. Connor brings your right hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before lowering them back to Sumo. Your voice is soft when you speak, “you deserve them, too. Nice things.”

Connor grins, lowering his head bashfully. He squeezes the fingers of th hand he’s holding gently, attracting your eyes there for a moment before you’re looking back at Sumo. “You’re too kind, sweetheart.”

A loud scoff interrupts the calm stillness of the room as Hank makes his presence known. He’s leaning against the doorway of the living room, his upper lip curled up in disgust. “You lovebirds make me sick.”

“Nice to see you, too, Hank,” you reply, smiling his way. Connor squeezes your fingers once more before he detatches them, standing to re-join Hank in the kitchen. Stooping to press a kiss against your temple, Connor calls out gently before he leaves you to your own devices.

“You know where I am if you need me.” 

——♥︎—— have so many ideas w him i can’t help but keep writing hhhh you can send in detroit become human requests if youd like!! ill try to get them done for @guav​ ♥︎ bc your tags on my last dbh thing were so sweet n i think abt them daily ): & @straysugzhpe​ for always being my personal cheerleader ♥︎

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[bunnytalksf1]

McLaren are fastest. So why do they keep losing out?

The general consensus for the duration of the triple header (since Monaco, for some people, who aruged that Piastri's fastest sectors proved that he could have taken pole with an "ideal" lap). For the purposes of this post I'm going to count Barcelona as the first race they were fastest.

So, what unravelled them? For the most part, it's Norris. He just can't seem to shake up under pressure, and it's costing them results bigtime. He started on pole in Barcelona, and a stupid, overly defensive move that pushed Verstappen onto the grass cost him two places when George Russell jumped down the outside and kamikaze'd his way into the lead. This was Norris' fault, he drove desperately, and made a very difficult job for himself to catch up later in the race, and ultimately couldn't do it. The gap to Verstappen was still two seconds, in the end.

I don't want to stoop to the lows of the stuff I'm seeing online about Norris, but what I will say is this: he seems to really struggle under pressure. This isn't just when he's in a championship fight, it was making the difference in the stint of races last year where McLaren had a competitive car. Qatar, where Piastri won the sprint, Lando had issues with track limits. The inability to keep cool under pressure really affects him in quali, and he tends to underdeliver. He's not a Leclerc, or a Verstappen in quali, where they push and push. I can handle a mediocre qualifier. His racecraft is more than enough to make up for it, and his overtakes are usually smooth and calculated.

Then we go to Austria. Verstappen is making the difference this whole weekend and starts the sprint from pole, Norris from P2. The McLaren is faster and by lap five, Norris was brave and lunged down the inside, but he got worse traction. He came from very far back, and his acceleration out of the corner was sub-optimal, allowing Verstappen AND Piastri to collect him in the next corner where he also ran wide. And then after that he got stuck behind Piastri, who is typically slower in race trim, and Verstappen checked out, losing the win. I do think in the sprint it was less of a indicator of Norris' lack of quality and more so an indicator of the quality of the racers around him in PIA and VER.

Same order for the GP. Norris started P2. Honestly, I turned the race off as Verstappen checked out and my ferrari heart couldn't handle the race after charles' lap one contact (lol, if only i knew about today!!) and then my friend turned around and showed me the george russell graphic, so I didn't watch this live. Clumsy racing from both VER and NOR cost both of their races, VER moving under braking and NOR with divebombs that were never going to work or stick.

The issue for me in Austria is that the damage to Norris' car was manageable to go back out and fight for points, which he sorely needed. He made the call to retire, as far as I'm aware. If I'm correct, he did have to pit twice regardless though, so I'm not sure if that was an influence. The decision to DNF cost them valuable points (even if the max was only two or four, he should've gone back out) and extended Verstappen's lead.

Now we go to Silverstone.

Honestly. A brilliant race. You can argue that Norris and Piastri both underdelivered slightly in quali, but Mercedes were rapid, and Hamilton (at Silverstone, at least, lol) and GR are phenomenal qualifiers. P3 for Norris, P5 for Piastri (after they screwed him with timings on his last Q3 run).

Here's where I'm going to criticise McLaren. Both Lando and Oscar did a phenomenal job today. By the time it was time to pit for inters, Lando and Oscar were P1 and P2, after mistakes from both Mercedes drivers. They then pitted Lando for inters from the lead and left Oscar out, and he lost position to both Mercs, Verstappen and Sainz. Working up to the last stint on slicks, oscar managed to pull back past Sainz, but Norris led the race.

Hamilton pit first, and went to the soft, with twelve laps left to go. The McLaren pit wall had already put Piastri onto the mediums at this stage and the team had all the data, and a new set of mediums. They then asked Norris which tyre he thought was best, and went on a used soft to "cover Hamilton". This, as most of the pundits have already pointed out, was the wrong call, and probably lost McLaren the race win. Norris blamed himself in the post-race media, but it's much less a driver issue here than it has been in previous race weekends.

McLaren has a long standing issue where they seem to over-rely on driver feedback rather than the data that they collect, which is frustrating to look at. The internet at large can be incredibly cruel, and its trendy to hate on Norris right now. Whilst I don't like him, nor rate him as highly as I do LEC/VER/HAM, he's definitely earnt his place on this grid and he's got some very good racecraft. Onto my point: Sochi 21 was NOT HIS FAULT. Controversial opinion, I'm aware. But as a team, you don't trust your drivers, particularly when your driver is a 20-year-old under immense pressure for his first race win in F1. The team had the data, it shouldn't have been a discussion. Pit for inters, pit for wets. Yes, Norris' attitude was awful, but Verstappen is similar with his engineer, and I can't blame him when he wanted it that badly. The team needs to take unequivocal responsibilty for its strategy, and rely less on dialogue with their drivers. They don't have the data. And today was a prime example of that.

Norris would have won today on the mediums. Piastri also could've been in the hunt had they double-stacked. But this is a problem that has existed for a long time and needs to be changed fundementally: the team has the data. Make the strategy decisions, and let them drive. It doesn't always cause them problems, but neither driver is used to fighting at the front and they need their team to lean on. That's the point of a strategy department.

Although Andrea Stella acknowledged much of this, so hopefully the only way is up?

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚 (ma lapin)

valentine's day masterlist

summary - logan bakes something special for mrs claus, do you think she likes it?

warning - slight dirty talk.

the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You hear a throat clear from behind you, followed by a gruff voice. “Bunny… I have something for you.” You turn and smile when your eyes land on Logan, feeling a burst of joy spread through you. You quickly stride forward and wrap your arms around the large man.

“Logan! We’ve– I’ve missed you!” You beam up at him, your brows furrowing as you notice one hand still behind his back. “Whatcha got there?” 

He tries to smile, bringing his hand around and showing you a medium-sized box. “I… I baked you something for Valentine’s Day.” His cheeks turn pink, becoming shy under your sparkly gaze. Logan begins to pull back. “But it’s okay if you don’t want them… The children could have them….”

You quickly place your hand on his, your smile becoming more prominent as you begin to open the box. Carefully unravelling the pretty ribbons and lifting the lid, a gasp slips from your lips as your eyes take in the freshly baked bunny biscuits with a red heart in the middle. “Logan… These are so pretty. I don’t want to eat them because I’m afraid I’d destroy your fantastic work.” You slowly pluck one from the box, studying it before connecting your eyes with his. “This is so kind of you. Thank you.” You lean up and place a soft kiss on his reddened cheek.

His hand rubs the back of his neck, smiling softly down at you. “Please eat them, I made them just for you, and I don’t know if they are any good… It was my first time baking for someone.” His little ear twitches and flops down, and his dazzling eyes stare at you in adoration.

You softly bite into the biscuit, eyes falling closed as a moan falls from your lips. “Oh… My… God! These are so good! I am jealous!” You hold it up to his lips, watching him sink his teeth into it, and a groan of pleasure escapes his lips, causing your thighs to squeeze together, remembering the time he devoured you in the same way.

His eyes connect with your wide ones, chewing slowly before your eyes dart down to watch his tongue swipe across his lips. “They are good, probably my second favourite taste.” 

A throat clears, causing you to blink and snap out of your daze, your head turning to the side, eyes connecting with your loving hunk of a husband. You smile, bouncing over to him and holding out the very same biscuit. “Hiya, honey! Have a taste of the biscuits Logan baked me.” Ari’s eyes drag from yours to Logans, watching him stare openly at your plump ass. Leaning casually against the wall, Ari looks back at you and smiles before leaning down and taking a bite, enjoying the way you squirm, eyes blown with lust and love as you watch him chew. 

“It’s tasty, my love. You did good, Logan.” He nods to the other giant man before leaning down and placing a loving kiss on your lips, enjoying the moan that slips out from the sweetness in both of your mouths. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[alexagirlie]

Something Pretending to be Human

AN: Time for the next installment of We Dance With Monsters : Vamptober - Something Pretending to be Human (Masterlist)

Header by me, divider by @zaldritzosrose

Fandom: The Last Kingdom

Ship: none, hint of Sihtric x Uhtred if you squint

Rating: T

TW: Vampires au. Pre-Relationship. First Meeting. Blood Kink. Feeding.

Summary: Sihtric meeting Uhtred face to face for the first time.

Taglist: @gemini-mama @foxyanon @legitalicat @arcielee @thenameswinter99

Sihtric ignored the hunger, the gut-clenching thirst that threatened to unravel all of his hard-earned control as he forced himself to play the helpless, *human* captive. He needed to bide his time until he could convince the idiot Halig to put him in front of Lord Uhtred so Sihtric could pledge his service. He had heard the tales about the Lord, about his reputation as a warrior or honour and he wished for nothing more than to escape his fathers control and follow Uhtred instead.

He forced himself to eat the meagre food they present to him, stale bread, overripe apples and water, even though it does nothing to quench his hunger and turns to paste in his mouth.

He wasn't sure had compelled him to keep his cover as a human slave to Tekil still in effect even after the failed infiltration and kidnap of Lord Uhtred for his father. A voice on the wind, an instinct, but he played the human and waited for the opportune moment

And waited.

And waited.

Every time he asked to speak with Lord Uhtred he was brushed off, ignored and after near a week on the road trailing behind Uhtred's army Sihtric decided to push the issue.

He convinced the strange warrior woman that he needed to relieve himself and the annoying human Halig and another man brought Sihtric out into the woods for some privacy. As soon as their backs were turned he attacked. He let his nature come to the front, moving with inhuman speed and strength, letting the two man see his deception, that he could have escaped at any time. Even weakened as he was after over a week without a proper feed, he quickly disarmed them both and had Halig trapped, sword to his throat, before demanding he bring Lord Uhtred.

“If you kill me now, Uhtred will kill you.” Halig warned but Sihtric only shoved the blade closer to his throat in warning.

“With any luck we shall both live,” Sihtric muttered, shifting his weight as they waited.

It takes only minutes for Sihtric to see Lord Uhtred running through the camp. The Lord was clearly interrupted from sleep and was only partially dressed in his tunic and trousers, boots and long hair untied.

“I could have killed him, Lord, made good my escape.” Sihtric called out as the Lord approached, sword in hand and rage clouding his handsome face.

Sihtric can feel how his eyes are still burning with an unnatural glow and the tips of his fangs are just peeking out from between his lips. He knows that Lord Uhtred, raised by a vampire clain himself, will recognize the signs for what they are.

“Kill him and you will die slowly,” Uhtred threatened, his sword not lowering an inch from its ready position.

“I asked your man to fetch you, Lord.

I do not murder. I wish to bargain.” Sihtric would only get this one chance and he hoped that Uhtred would hear him out.

“A life for a life, is it?”

“My life for my sword. I wish to serve you, Lord.” Sihtric explained, meeting Uhtred shocking blue eyes and hoping the man can see his sincerity. “I could have killed both, but I wish to serve you.”

“You're a vampire.”

“I am Lord.”

“You are Kjartan's man.”

“No!” Sihtric blood ran cold at the accusation, and he denied it vehemently, “I am his bastard Lord. Whelped on a slave girl.” 

He left unsaid the obvious, that the son of a slave was no better than a slave themselves, to the Danes as well as vampires.

“You are Uhtred Ragnarson,” he continued, “you are a warrior

and a lord. A true lord. I would be honoured to serve you.”

“If you believe me to be these things,

then put down your sword.”

“You guarantee my life?” He asked hesitantly, his grip on the sword loosening but not letting go, not yet.

“Put down your sword.” Lord Uhtred repeated, lowering his own sword so the point dips into the dirt at his feet.

Sihtric lowered his own blade another inch as several gathered witnesses called out for Uhtred to kill him but the Lord shut them all down.

“Put down your sword.”

This time Sihtric dropped the stolen sword to the ground and Halig scrambled off his knees and over to Lord Uhtred,s side, a scowl on his face.

There is more yelling, men in the clothing of christian priests calling for his death and warriors pulling swords from sheaths and moving closer but Sihtric kept his attention on Uhtred.

“I say no one is to move!” The Lord yelled, turning to address the gathered men making them halt in place “and no one is to speak but me. No one!” He finished at the priests before turning back to face Sihtric.

“What is your name?” Uhtred asked him, stepping closer to the young vampire.

“I am called Sihtric, Lord.” He answered, “Please, I'm not loyal to Kjartan and never can be.”

Uhtred stared at Sihtric in silence for several minutes and Sihtric resisted the urge to squirm and fidget as he was assessed. 

“On your knees.”

The command was so sudden and spoken with such authority that Sihtric found himself crouching down without thought before he hesitated, wondering why the Lord wanted him on his knees.

“Trust me Sihtric, on your knees.”

Sihtric slid the rest of the way to the dirt as Uhtred unsheathed his sword and presented the pommel to Sihtric, the inlaid stone appearing to glow in the pale light of morning.

“Do you promise your sword is mine?”

“In this life and the next” Sihtric swore and pressed a kiss to the strange orange stone to cement his oath. 

“Then you have my protection.”

“Thank you Lord,” Sihtric replied, keeping his eyes locked with Uhtred through his lashes. He made a note of the way Uhtred's pupils expanded, the increase in his heart rate at the sight of Sihtric on his knees before standing.

The gathered crowd dispersed, unhappy grumbling from many as Uhtred declared Sihtric one of them and bade the vampire to follow him.

The vampire followed Uhtred through the camp and the Lord led him to his own modest tent, it was sturdy and just tall enough for them to stand upright. There was a welcoming looking pile of soft furs inside and a small fire burned at the entrance and bathed the tent in warmth. 

“When was the last time you fed?” Uhtred asked him as he held the flap to his tent open for the vampire to enter.

Sihtric considered lying, but decided that honesty was how he wished to begin his oath to his new Lord, “Before we arrived.”

Uhtred unbuckled the leather which encased his forearm and held his arm out in offer. “Feed.”

“Lord I couldn't!” Sihtric protested but Uhtred simply shoved his arm closer to Sihtric's face.

“I told you that you are under my protection, Sihtric, and that means that you shall be fed.”

Sihtric approached Lord Uhtred slowly, cautiously but when his new Lord didn't pull away or retract his offer Sihtric slid to his knees before taking Uhtred's offered wrist.

He kept eye contact as his fangs slid through flesh and his mouth was flooded with hot, rich blood.

Nothing further happened between them that day, but Sihtric remembered the heated look in the Lord's eyes and hoped that one day soon that would change.

[humanpurposes]

Okay, INDULGE ME! Is there a literary quote for KIAG that in your opinion would describe the fic so far? Do you have a photo that'd fit the It Will Come Back AU aesthetic you'd be willing to share? AND if you were to make a playlist for August what songs would you include in it? I've been thinking about these three fics lately and need to be fed yk 🫣 Love you Gee, thanks for writing and giving us such well-written and addicting fics 😘

Hi baby 🥹 These asks are amazing, thank YOU for being awesome <3

Ok, Karma is a God. I love the quote from Wuthering Heights,

“You said I killed you-haunt me, then! [...] Be with me always-take any form-drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!”

It’s so perfect to me because that is soooo Aemond wallowing in guilt in Harrenhal!! Lucerra herself embodies so much to Aemond, she’s the one he lost his eye to, the reason why he dedicated himself to being perfect. Then he ‘kills’ her and her supposed death completely unravels him. The fact that she’s alive means he has a chance at redemption, either dying at her hands and allowing her that justice, or to be forgiven by her. He hates her but he’s incomplete without her.

rest under the cut because this is gonna get too long 😭

IT WILL COME BACK 🖤 Asking me to pick just one image is insane, but I was scrolling through my Pinterest board and I remembered there’s one picture that appears in all the headers for the chapters, The Rape of Proserpina:

It's a horrific image right? This young woman is being taken from her home and her family by the god of the underworld. I think it spoke to me for this fic as an expression of Aemond's possessiveness. His love for Jaya is tied to the idea that he can control her and influence her. In his mind, it is other people that separate them. The animosity between Rhaenyra and Alicent bleeding into their children, the competition between the factions of Dragon Bank, the fact that she defended Jace over Aemond. He wants a hold over her like no one else has. Aesthetically as well, I love the look of marble statues, I love how immersive and expressive they can be. And they have a sense of grandeur and ancientness (is that even a word?) which means they look perfect in a fic header or a moodboard hehe.

Can you believe I don’t have a playlist for August?? If I did, the first song would be Slowly by Susanne Sundfør. The working title for this fic was ‘I Know You’re Lonely Too’ which is a lyric from this song. There are so many lines I love in this but the chorus just really encapsulates the vibe I wanted for this,

“And you say it’s gonna last forever // We have different heartbeats // But all the same heartbreak // And I can feel it in the way you hold me… I know you’re lonely too.”

To me, this song feels like yearning and wanting to live in the moment even as you feel it slipping away.

Some other songs I would include would be:

Summer's Over by Jordana and TV Girl

Linger by The Cranberries (+ the remix by Iain Cook)

To Wish Impossible Things by the Cure

It's Not Living (If It's Not With You) by the 1975

Supernatural by Ariana Grande

August by Taylor Swift

[rosesakura]

Hiii!!! First of all, love Suga as your profile pic!! And love the header imo hehe

But for the ask game! How about 2, 11, 19? I tried to keep it short so I won’t bombard you with them lmao

Happy writing, I love you! 🫶

hehe thank you!! I was getting tired of Tsukki and I haven't made any art recently so Suga it is <3

thank you for the ask :D but you can always send me as many numbers as you want for these things hehe

as usual, I rambled a lot, so under the cut :) I love you more <3 !

2. Talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and sad "fuck your plan, here's what we're actually doing."

basically ALL kuroken and daisuga scenes in Unravel -- they were not supposed to be such major parts of it but they took over as I wrote them and read more of them. especially the last kuroken chapter where kuroo almost dies lol. also in kintsukuroi, Kenma was not supposed to be sa'd -- that literally came out of nowhere. also in thantophobia: turquoise chapter 4 was a huge surprise, especially the scene with the cop.

11. What's something neat you've learned while doing research for something you're writing? Also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

okay I don't know if this counts but I was researching Japanese funeral rites for the stars are already dead and I found this one article talking about cremation and it said "In a Japanese style cremation, the coffin is placed on a tray in the crematorium. The family then witnesses the sliding of the body into the cremation chamber, scarring small children for life." And while I am not judging and fully believe this, the way this is written absolutely SENT me and I always think about it.

I do try to do basic research on things, especially because I mostly write for anime that takes place in Japan. I try to look into specific customs and places, but I'm usually not too specific. With the Unravel series, there is also a lot of medical and jury stuff, and I actually do a lot of research on healing times and severity of injuries now. I also do research on characters, looking for little details about them that I could include in a throw away comment (like Mattsun working at a funeral home post time skip, so he easily could tell what the zombies were)

19. What are some books or authors that influenced your style the most?

ohhhh this one is hard. Honestly, I don't read much other than fanfiction nowadays ':) I'm a poetry fan because I like the pretty way words can paint a picture and try to be somewhat poetic with my writing sometimes, so I'm a big fan of Keats, Mary Oliver, Wordsworth. Virginia Woolf is frustrating but I love her, and Sylvia Plath (The Bell Jar). Ocean Vuong is another author I love right now.

SIGF is my favourite fanfic writer, she's amazing at fire emblem stuff, and I always have her in the back of my mind when I'm writing and aspire to write as well as she does. A couple other fanfic writers inspiring me include luneiris, just_quintessentially_me, ChaoticFriendly, Mooifyourecows, to name a few (gotta stop before this turns into a rec list lol)

[faeveries]

🌱 hello world!

‼️‼️ note: I post suggestive and heavy/dark content (including but not limited to horror and body horror). do not follow me if you are a minor.

UPDATED: 3/20/23

now that that's out of the way!

bea/fae/isla • any pronouns :-) • early 20s

I LOVE getting asks and @ games! so if you want to send me one but are unsure, gopher it! even if we don’t know each other :-)

my writing tag: #faeveries

what I write and read:

main genres: adventure, comedy, romance, fantasy (supernatural, contemporary, and urban especially)

favorite topics: worldbuilding, thematic characterization, nuanced characters (especially women), LGBTQ+, complex interpersonal relationships, balancing heavy scenes with levity, hurt comfort

branching out into: horror, mystery, thriller

also into: trying anything new really

main: @bymidnightsmoon // goodreads // writing refs

pfp: tinypaint / header: sergey_polyushko (insta)

🌱 MAIN WIP List

NOTE: THIS LIST IS OLD! needs updatin'

working titles used. I write in the New Adult age range.

♥️ The Heart of Wonderland

(fantasy, adventure, action, horror)

Blight ravages the masses, and magic is outlawed (but far from gone). In this world, a blood thirsty assassin and her princely target must work together to take down the queen and escape Wonderland. (contributor: @orionsjester)

Cast: TBA

Status: Working on Draft 1 with a goal of 1 chapter posted a month. (AO3)

Tags: #faes queen, #rb queen (for related reblogged posts)

✨ You Wouldn’t End the World Over a Tortilla Chip Would You-

(or Tortilla Chip for short.. and the answer is yes, yes I would // fantasy, dark comedy, adventure, romance, horror)

A decade after fiery tragedy splits them apart, a former friend group must face their bad blood and prevent the world from unraveling—again. Their plan? Wing it, hope for the best, and try to not kill each other in the process. Emphasis on try.

Cast: TBA

Status: Brainstorming

Tags: #faes tortilla chip, #rb tortilla chip

👻 The Death Order

(fantasy, thriller, action, dark comedy, romance)

To Death, they're Angels. To humans, they're serial killers. Twins Ari and Angeline Rodas were supposed to die. But when they don't, they must masquerade as Angels and work in Death's most gruesome department: Murders, Massacres, and Suicides. After years of dedicating themselves to their gorey profession, the twins finally have an escape plan. But everything falls apart when a true crime podcaster and her brother track them down, and some... one... falls in love.

Cast: Ari Rodas, Angeline Rodas, rest is TBA

Status: Brainstorming

Tags: #faes angels , #rb angels

🔗 BACK BURNER WIP'S

[renee-writer]

A tragedy happened.

Your heart was broken.

Maybe it was betrayal, or rejection. Grief or loss.

Something happened and you haven’t been the same since.

So you’ve been trying to do things to get back to that old you.. the you before everything happened.

You and God have been picking up the pieces of your shattered heart. Healing has been happening.

Yet, you are still looking back and wondering why you don’t feel like the old you. Why aren’t you like you used to be?

How can you get back to that person, the pre-tragedy you?

This is the part of grief many people don’t talk about.

The part where you have to grieve that you will never be the old you again.

Not entirely, at least.

Because what happens when we go through something traumatic or tragic is that everything changes to some degree- our thoughts, emotions, our perspective on life, our relationships, and many other things.

The old us didn’t have this knowledge of hardship.

The old us wasn’t impacted by the grief like we are now.

Our view of the world has changed, and we can’t go back and pretend it didn’t happen.

We are different.

And honestly, that can be really heartbreaking to accept.

We can look back and think of the “good ole days” when we weren’t like we are now.

But friend, I want to encourage you.

This does not mean that life can never be good.

It doesn’t mean that you’ll never experience joy, peace and love again. It doesn’t mean you can’t have an abundant life.

It doesn’t mean that at all.

Your life may be different than it was, but it can still be an amazing life.

Because the truth is, the old you didn’t know this kind of strength. This new you knows the fight you have inside, and that the grace of God that will always help you get up.

The old you may have taken for granted what this new you cherishes.

The new you has an opportunity to really love and focus on what matters most.

You might miss the old you, and that’s okay.

The core of who you are, your identity in Jesus, is not gone.. but you are different now.

There is no doubt in my mind that you couldn’t come to love and appreciate this you.

Remember, God works for our good in the worst of our tragedies. He’s behind the scenes right now, doing something in you. He’s building you up and He will redeem what has been lost.

You get to co-write a new story with God for this new you.

Hear me when I say, it’s okay to grieve. But make sure you are giving this you a chance, too.

Because the post-tragedy you.. they are pretty amazing too.

~Kelli Bachara, The Unraveling Blog

**For those who could use some encouragement, I created these Faith-based mental health workbooks, including one on grief, anxiety, and emotions. (These are not a hard copy, but you can print them out today!)

https://www.etsy.com/shop/TheUnravelingByKelli?ref=simple-shop-header-name&listing_id=1006929294

[ferraricatt]

Rotten Teeth pt3

She takes her shoes off, kicking them to the side as she takes a nostalgic sigh. Not the kind that was irritated but like she had missed being at my house. I don’t know what she sees in it though. It’s nothing more than shelter. The only personality within is the couch and fireplace.

“God, It’s so dusty in here - Esfir why don’t you ever take the time to just thoroughly clean the house?” Elisei put a goodie bag of chocolate chip cookies on the kitchen counter.

“You can clean it then if it’s ticking you off.”

I roll my eyes, grievances after another. Elisei puffs her cheeks; Hand on her hips before lunging at my couch.

The couch is leather, Brown with some permanent scratches on it. The scratches were from me because I liked to make designs on them, I stopped shortly after my father made me sleep outside in the cold so I would learn a lesson. Unlike Elisei I find that couch discomforting; A touch of irritating piece of leather.

“I worked hard on those cookies, You should try it!”

Hesitantly I steer my direction to that sorrow pity gift of cookies.

“Will I get poisoned?” I ask jokingly.

“Maybe.”

“You only live once.”

I unravel the clear plastic bag, She used a cheap ribbon bow to tie it all up together. This felt sadder by the minute.

Step by step I grab a cookie with one hand - Then I took a bite of it.

“it’s hard.” I say trying to finish my mid-bite of the stale cookie.

“It’s a cookie.” She responds snarky as ever. Distracted by her fingers, she plays with them. Cracking her knuckles and other such gestures. I set the cookie aside, on the counter, Before walking up to her and sitting at the end of the couch; Using the arm rest to lay my head on my head.

“I wanted to do more than apologizing, y’know.” I perk my head, What does she mean by that? Slowly I look at her, an eyebrow raised.

“Elaborate.”

Elisei sighed, sitting up with a somber look to her face. “Well, I mean,” We both make eye contact. Interlocking expressions to each other.

“Hear about that debate girl from Mr. Semenov?”

“Uhh..Don’t remind me who…” My head searches for names in his class. Debate club? Couldn’t be majority of the girls in that class, most of them do sports or fine arts.

It hits me, I snap my finger. “Oh-“

“Maria!”

“Yeah, What about her?”

Elisei shifts on the couch, Uncomfortably.

“Did she move schools?”

Elisei shakes her head no.

“Pregnant?”

“God, no!” Elisei scrunched her face, sticking her tongue out. “I can’t even imagine her getting pregnant. She’s the most conservative person out there!”

“Then what is it Elisei?”

“She’s dead.” The mood swiftly changed, The atmosphere having to recollect itself bit by bit. That feeling deep down in your stomach, It just drops. Part of yourself can’t believe, the other finds it so unlikely to happen.

“Wait - What do you mean dead?” Elisei’s eyes widened, hopping off the couch and grabbing her bag. A huff escaping her lips as she scrolled through her bag. Elisei grabbed a rolled up paper; The schools newspaper. I never bother to read it.

She passed it to me, On the page lied headers bolded. Every image black and white. Right beyond the headlines however was the biggest one of them all, In the direct middle:

Local High Schooler found dead in School Dumpster!: Maria Agafonov!

Chills ignited down my spine. I never really knew her that well. But the thought of seeing that school dumpster, Bearing the thought a student was bundled in there. Dead. What the hell…

“What-“

Elisei grabbed the paper back, staring at the present photo of Maria’s yearbook photo from last year. She had black hair, slicked back into a bun. Maria always wore pale lipstick and in that photo it’s like you can barely see her lips.

“That’s shocking.”

“Wait, Why didn’t they cancel school today? When was this?”

“Just yesterday, The paper was published today. This afternoon.” Elisei tries to change the mood. “They also have uh, Cookie recipes on there if my cooking still sucks.”

“Not now Elisei, Bad timing.” I rub my temples with two fingers on each hand. Looking down at the ground. I didn’t know her well and quite frankly I don’t cry when it comes to these things.

“But why didn’t they cancel school?” That question stay still in my head.

“The schools looking into it, I guess they just didn’t want to get the news out.”

“Fair enough.” I sigh, lifting my head up and leaning back on the couch. “Shit.” I’m neither sad or angry. Just chilled to the bone.

A moment of silence passes, If it was one thing or another. The fact that someone from our school just got murdered definitely made the mood die.

I roll my head to the side, dropping it down to look at Elisei. She’s biting the inside of her cheek.

“They have cookie recipes on there?”

Eliseis eyes look bright, maybe too bright for me. She nods.

“Let’s make some cookies then.”

I hop off the couch, dragging my feet to the kitchen as she followed along with that crumbled paper that held such news.

“I’ll make sure you don’t burn my house down.”

Elisei smiled slightly, nudging me on the side before scrolling along the catalogue of recipes.

[evision1]

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[realmundanity]

loved to ruination

All good things come to an end. This will come to an end.

I look over at him, I want to reach out hold his hand, and warm it. Yet, an unspoken distance stretches between our fingertips, a gap we can no longer bridge. He’s not looking at me, not anymore, not like he used to. His eyes are focused somewhere beyond, somewhere I cannot reach. It wasn’t like this, I’m not sure how it got here. We were the great love story, our energy explosive, our romance eternal. It was psychopathic at the start, obsessive, violent, it was perfect. I wanted him everywhere, wanted to cling to his arm and let him drag me around. It was just him and me, him and me, him and me. Our love story. Everything and everyone else seemed to slip away and I didn’t notice. It didn’t matter if I lost one, two, three friends, I only needed him.

He doesn’t need me. At least I don’t think he does. Isn’t that why his gaze is falling everywhere but on me? We were supposed to be the great love story. My heart sinks deeper with every passing moment of silence. Our relationship unravelling slowly but surely. I want to say something. Not sure what. He looks over as if he hears my agony in the silence. He’s looking at me now. He’s looking at me but the reflection I seek is absent. In his eyes, once alive with emotion, I find a stark reflection of our dying relationship. In those eyes, those once-familiar depths now reflected the cost of all I had sacrificed. I chose him. Traded pieces of myself for this, a love that was now slipping, withering away.

writing almost after 3 years isn’t easy, i don’t particularly love what I’ve written but it’s a start at least. a way to get me back into writing. it’s not completely all me, i did get chat gpt to help me word out a sentence or two. i hope i continue to write from now on. inspiration is really hard to come by. — zarya

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