#what if I’m stuck in 2020

[winn-wynn]

Percy, Oliver, Penelope, Marcus, Audrey playing among us

I’d add Cedric because more people

I mean with less you customize and just have one imposter. But still. It’s more fun with more people

[janiedean]

will get to all your lovely replies asap but for now let me get down the mood with my usual

fuck but i really do hate this month and everything it represents or better the fact that each single year it gets just more miserable

[gregmarriage]

me as a kid being like ‘i wanna stay home all day and do whatever i want!’ and adult me being chronically ill, disabled and bed ridden ✌🏻

[hobisexually]

x

[batboyblog]

My heart felt like it dropped to my stomach when I saw the news of Biden dropping out. I’m voting for Kamala of course, but I’m just so anxious about what could be the effects of this, and my anxiety disorder is not helping things. Do you think we’ll be able to win still?

Yes.

longer answer, Yes, we always have a chance to win, who Donald Trump is hasn't changed, in weeks of hellish coverage for Biden Trump stayed stuck at about 46% in the polls, the same amount he won in 2016 and 2020 (46.1% and 46.8% respectively) The media and a small group of dems weren't ever gonna give up on trying to push Biden out they were never gonna let him reset thats why he quit, now that we've ended this cycle we have a chance to force focus onto Trump and unite all the people who hate him, which is a majority of Americans, we just need them all to vote for the same person and not fuck it up like 2016 where just enough people voted for 3rd parties to bone it all up for everyone

if you're stressed, I'd say give Kamala a dollar, the media narrative will be driven in the coming days by fundraising strength (sad, but true) out the gate, she's raised over 5 million in an hour or so, what's more again, everyone, sign up to Volunteer now more than ever, everyone need to get out and do what they can, if we all pull in the same direction we can do it.

[mywitchyblog]

Why i will Nver take Antis seriously

Okay, let’s talk about why I will NEVER take anti-shifters seriously. 💀 These people seriously think they’re serving some type of intellectual argument, but let’s be real—they’re just pathetic dick riders with no valid point to make. Sweetie, they think they can just hop on some anti-shifting bandwagon, pretend to be “woke,” and act like they know better than us. But we know the truth, and it's so obvious how weak and desperate they are. The only reason they’re even talking is because they can’t handle the fact that the shifting practice is real, and people are out here thriving while they’re stuck in their flop era. 🙄

I usually just scroll right past the negative content, but one day I saw this video that made me roll my eyes so hard I almost gave myself a headache. This girl is doing a makeup tutorial, all casual and cute, and then she drops the bomb: “Remember when we all used to shift in 2020? Can we admit that it was all a lie?” Like, girl, please. 💅 Immediately, the comment section is filled with people agreeing, “Yeah, it was just lucid dreaming.” “It was maladaptive daydreaming.” Sweetie, no. Just no. You’re out here acting like you have some epiphany, but it’s really just you looking for attention because, let’s face it, you’ve got nothing else going on. 💔

Here’s the thing: If you’re gonna pretend like you’re some kind of expert on shifting, at least do the work. At least try to understand what it actually means to shift, and not just repeat what everyone else says. 🧐 This girl comes out here saying she “shifted” and was “diagnosed with schizophrenia.” Girl. I had to pause and check if I was still watching the same video, because that was a whole mess. You’re throwing around terms like mental health issues just to sound edgy and relatable? Nope. Let’s be clear: schizophrenia is not something you just casually throw around to justify some half-assed clout-chasing narrative. If you really shifted, you wouldn’t be out here trying to “debunk” something you clearly never tried to understand in the first place. You pretended to shift for attention, and now that the hype died down, you decided to flip the script and start bashing shifting because it didn’t give you the clout you wanted. Pathetic. 🤭

And let’s not forget how she conveniently chose to make this video the one that blows up. 5.2 million views, girl? 😱 But the rest of your videos barely make it to 5k? Sis, we see you. We see how this is the only way you can get any traction. Your “I’m exposing shifting” video is your only shot at relevance, and it’s clear as day that you’ve jumped on this anti-shifting bandwagon just to get some views. The flop era is real, and it’s showinggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg. You had one moment where you got some attention, but the rest of your content is crickets. 🦗 I mean, honey, if you were actually serving something real, you wouldn’t have to rely on dragging people down to make a name for yourself. 🤦‍♀️

The truth is, she’s out here just riding whatever trend gets her noticed. That’s all she’s doing. When shifting was trending in 2020, she hopped on the wave pretending to be a part of it, and now that it’s not the "in" thing anymore, she’s throwing it under the bus to stay relevant. She’s the definition of a dick rider. Trying to latch onto whatever’s popular and ride the wave for as long as she can. But we see you, and it’s not cute. 🙄 You thought this was your moment to “expose” shifting and act like you’re somehow above it, but you’re just showing how desperate you are for attention. You're chasing views like a lost puppy, and it’s pathetic.

And don’t even get me started on that comment section. Why are these people agreeing with her, parroting the same old tired “shifting is just lucid dreaming” nonsense? Where are the real thinkers in this comment section? Sweetie, if you want to speak on something, at least educate yourself before you start spreading false info. 🙅‍♀️ It’s like y’all are too lazy to actually look into shifting, spiritual hygiene, and the depth of the practice. But instead, you’re just echoing a 2020 “shiftTok” narrative, regurgitating outdated and ignorant opinions like it’s fact. I’m honestly embarrassed for you. Do your research or stop talking. Simple as that. 🧠💡

The truth is, these anti-shifters don’t care about anyone’s mental health. They’re not “protecting” anyone; they’re just mad that they couldn’t get in on the trend or didn’t put in the effort to understand it. They want to act like they’re doing some grand thing by “debunking” shifting, but all they’re really doing is exposing their own ignorance. Like, sweetie, just admit you’re jealous. You couldn’t get the attention shifting gave others, and now you’re bitter about it. 😝 You couldn’t connect with the practice, so you’re going to try and tear it down. But guess what? It’s not working. 😘

Let’s talk about the bigger picture here. The real shifters—the ones who do the work, who research, who respect the practice and the boundaries it requires—we’re still out here, and we’re still shifting. We’re still growing, we’re still thriving, and we’re not letting some random, clout-chasing person get in the way of our personal journeys. The real shift doesn’t come from attention or clout; it comes from within. It comes from dedication, intention, and respect for what we’re trying to achieve. And trust me, anyone who genuinely shifts knows it’s an empowering, transformative experience—not something to be mocked. 💫👑

So to all the fellow shifters out there, don’t let these clowns get to you. Don’t let their negativity and petty arguments distract you from your journey. You are doing something real, something powerful. While they’re stuck in their flop era, we’re out here creating new realities, growing, and elevating ourselves in ways they’ll never understand. Keep going. Stay true to your path. And remember: the truth speaks for itself, and the real ones will always rise above the noise. ✨💖 Keep shifting, keep evolving, and never let anyone who doesn’t understand the practice try to dim your light. You’re not in the same lane as them—and you never will be. 👑💫

[etheralisi]

I’ve been thinking about in-universe media so. Heh. Why don’t we tumblrify the ending of the rottmnt movie

Update: here’s part 2 and 3+3.5

💫silent_swirl Follow

Nice knowing you guys

🥐ittybittyypastrypuff Follow

Wtf??? Where do you live?

⏱️lordoftimeandspace Follow

You can’t just ask someone where they live

💰rhymeonthedime Follow

op must be from new york. i’ve been trying to text my sister who lives there all day and when she finally gets back to me, it’s to send me a photo of her being chased by some weird??? fleshy???? car? i think the pink stuff was growing inside of it?

🥐ittybittyypastrypuff Follow

The hell is happening in your city?

🔥guess-ill-die Follow

The end of the world

🐛lugbugg Follow

🎙️do-re-mimimi Follow

Where else would you learn that?

14,056 notes

🚀jj-sails Follow

Alien invasion???? This is not how Jupiter Jim said it would go

267 notes

🦙dramallama Follow

So who had alien invasion on the 2020 apocalypse bingo card

🤠see-you-in-space-cowboy Follow

At this point no one is surprised 

#give it two months. somehow something will find a way to top this

12,435 notes

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

I lived bitch

🌑faded-moonlight Follow

Context?

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

No ✨

43 notes

🎨 asprinkleofrazzmatazz Follow

Sorry everyone  ::> ︵ <:: No more art until my hands are healed up. Doctor’s orders

🧸bear-with-me Follow

Are you okay? 🥺🥺💞

🎨 asprinkleofrazzmatazz Follow

♡ ♡ Achy. But I realllllly want to drawwwwwww

#I have so many ideas right now #currently trying and failing to draw with feet #but I am determined 

226 notes

👾aliens-among-us Follow

Time to storm Area 51 again

#they can’t stop all of us #look I just want to see aliens in person okay #if they can’t invade my city then what’s the point #I know they have to be keeping some of those pink blobs in there

67 notes

🟦 outoftouchoutoftime Follow

Hello

🏒 hockeyordeath Follow

JUNIOR! HELLO

I SEE YOU HAVE DISCOVERED THE INTERNET

🟦 outoftouchoutoftime Follow

It’s Sensei’s fault

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

#I?????? #don’t just look at me it was purple too

5 notes

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

I smell the scent of betrayal in the air.

#not science posting #blue I’m looking at you

77 notes

✍️writingprompts Follow

You are a time traveller sent back to stop the apocalypse before it ever began. Only problem is: you aren’t sent back far enough.

🟦 outoftouchoutoftime Follow

Relatable 

💥zipzapzoom Follow

Umm???

4,522 notes

🕜has-lou-jitsu-been-found-yet Follow

Day 3667 of me posting: no

🪽angelofhell Follow

Wow this blog is dedicated

101 notes

🐝 dizzee-bee Follow

Why do aliens always invade NYC? What’s so special? Why don’t they ever invade Las Vegas huh? What about Boston? Where are my aliens in D.C? So many cities and you’re telling me they chose New York? If aliens really did invade I bet you they wouldn’t even come near it

🐝 dizzee-bee Follow

This post… aged

🐾 ultimate_cataclysm  Follow

Pay up op

1,356 notes

🦊redfoxtrott Follow

there’s something weird going on in this city. remember that time at the stadium? suddenly it’s a free for all on world domination i swear

🪩glitter-jam Follow

I thought the whole stadium thing was a publicity stunt

👋saysayonara Follow

I thought that was a rogue cosplayer 

#for real though. What even happened to them?

11,388 notes

🌎yes-the-earth-is-flat Follow

Wow. So tumblr thinks it can gaslight me int thinking aliens exits huh? Well think again

🌎yes-the-earth-is-flat Follow

Stop bringing up my username. You know im right

2,488 notes

🏒 hockeyordeath Follow

NO, MY KEYBOARD IS NOT STUCK LIKE THIS. EVERY LETTER I TYPE IS AS IT IS MEANT TO BE SAID. WITH PURPOSE AND VOLUME.

🏒 hockeyordeath Follow

IF MY USERNAME COULD BE IN CAPITALS YOU KNOW IT WOULD BE 

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

I can help with this

#give me one minute and some flavourless juice

122 notes

💃disco-girl Follow

My apartment was almost flattened by a giant freakin robot a few years back. And now aliens????? I’m moving

#guys I’m just. So. Done with all of this

67 notes

🎙️do-re-mimimi Follow

So did the aliens just up and leave? What’s the story here?

🎩man-with-a-top-hat Follow

There have been various sightings of lights across the sky. I have not been able to find any reliable sources on the cause, but the general consensus is the lights pushed the aliens back where they came from. 

🦇batarang Follow

This photo of some person swinging around the city has been making rounds on twitter

🐚seashellsshesells Follow

Pretty lights and vigilantes? 

5,993 notes

❌cant-think-of-a-user Follow

So what are we calling these aliens? They need a cool, alien sounding name ‘cuz all I’ve been seeing around is ‘land squids’, ‘brain goop’ and shoutout to that one discord user who used the words ‘pink gelatinous parsnip’ to describe them.

👊punch-moodi Follow

Have they ever seen a parsnip before?

🤏deadly-nerve-pinch Follow

What about Utroms? They kinda look like the aliens from Jupiter Jim’s Last Trip to the Moon 9

❌cant-think-of-a-user Follow

Isn’t your fandom super dead?

🤏deadly-nerve-pinch Follow

Say that to our 80+ movies. Your faves could never 

🚀jj-sails Follow

Fandom still going strong 💪 

🍎almond-apple Follow

Why does everyone keep on calling them aliens? Are we sure they’re not just failed government test subjects? Haven’t there been mutant sightings in NYC before?

❌cant-think-of-a-user Follow

Sorry, mutants???

👾aliens-among-us Follow

Nah it’s defo aliens

❌cant-think-of-a-user Follow

#so far 3 votes for Utroms and 22 for parsnips #sigh

3,751 notes

🫎duck-duck-moose Follow

Children are terrifying 

💤needsomezzzzzzz Follow

Agreed. But I feel like there’s a story here

🫎duck-duck-moose Follow

Was walking back from work, and I was like nearly home right? I turn a corner and there: a sea of cheering girl scouts. Who are they cheering on you ask? Their… cult (?) leader? Tearing one of those aliens apart with her bare hands. And the kids are just laughing and some are even joining in? They must have nerves of steel

💤needsomezzzzzzz Follow

Woah

🌽 sherlock_corn Follow

@  HOCKEYORDEATH Hey look at this

372 notes

💀outoftouchoutoftime Follow

Set a profile picture because apparently everyone’s blocking me thinking I’m a bot?

🥊 red_hotsoup Follow

Sorry CJ

9 notes

asprinkleofrazzmatazz said: Spread the sunshine ☀️ Post this in at least 5 ask boxes to let them know they make you happy

🥊 red_hotsoup Follow

Aww, hey Orange

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Hey, where’s my ask

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Orange?

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Oh 

10 notes

asprinkleofrazzmatazz said: Spread the bugs 🪳 Post this in at least 5 ask boxes to let them know they’re bugging you

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Two can play at this game

🎨asprinkleofrazzmatazz Follow

Jk ☀️☀️☀️

29 notes

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

I remember the good old days on tumblr. Back when my brothers didn’t know the name of my account. Back when they didn’t bug me in my inbox

🍞shortbutsweetbread Follow

Then make another one?

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

Gasp. And leave behind a username such as this? I’m attached.

🌽 sherlock_corn Follow

What about your sister?

🛸 atomiclass9000 Follow

You’re fine

⚔️ bluejitsu Follow

Favouritism 

128 notes

🐱sophinophie Follow

Whoever you heroes are

Thank you.  

❤️🧡����💙

#I don’t know how you did it. Or what you even look like #but one thing is for sure and that’s that you are heroes 

189 notes

[theemporium]

[4.7k] the four times carlos encourages lando to confess his feelings to the youngest sainz sister and the one time where he's had enough and takes matters into his own hands.

.

New Years’ Eve, 2020 

It was a few minutes past eleven when Carlos found him hiding out on the balcony. 

There was something so overwhelming and intoxicating about New Years Eve, something that seemed to bring so many strangers together for the end of year celebration. That was the exact reason he had practically begged the Spaniard to fly out to London after the holidays, to spend the night drinking and laughing and celebrating with him to bring in the new year. 

The night had started out great. He had been surrounded by friends and friends-of-friends. He had been drinking some awful concoction Max had made that was far too sweet for his taste. He had been badly singing along to the songs blasting through the speakers and dancing—both badly and proudly—in the living room of someone's mutual friend’s house. 

But then things started to get suffocating. The buzz of the alcohol started to wash away, thoughts and reality started creeping in and, suddenly, Lando didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of a group of strangers who didn’t seem to understand he didn’t want to be touched and jousted around or hugged. 

He needed space. He needed fresh air. He just needed to be alone. 

His lungs were burning as he took deep breaths of cold, crisp air. He let it overwhelm him, let himself focus on the fact the cold was starting to seep into his bones. He let himself focus on the present moment, rather than the millions of racing thoughts in his head. He let the loneliness ground him. 

But just as quickly as that relief came, it ended.

“Why are you hiding out here for?” 

Lando’s eyes instantly snapped shut as he gripped the railing, wrapping his fingers around the cold metal before he lifted his head and turned to glance over his shoulder. The Spaniard stood by the door, the buttons of his shirts undone and his cheeks flushed from the drinks he had been downing all night. His eyes were a little glossy and dazed, but his smile remained as he made his way over to the Brit.

“I’m not hiding,” Lando answered, though the response was weak and Carlos could see right through him. 

“So standing on a balcony alone whilst everyone parties inside is a British New Years tradition I didn’t know?” Carlos mused as he leaned against the balcony, his body turned towards Lando. “Try again.”

“I just needed a breather,” Lando said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

Carlos’ brows furrowed together. “From what?”

“Just…things,” he muttered, his eyes cast down as he spoke. “I’ll be back inside in a couple of minutes. You didn’t have to come out here.”

“Of course I did, you’re my friend,” Carlos scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What’s wrong?”

Lando shook his head. “Nothing is wrong—”

“Lando,” the Spaniard said his name in a softer voice, and something about it made his eyes well up a little. It was stupid. It was so stupid—and maybe the alcohol was playing a part—but he felt oddly emotional, and he didn’t like it. “Friends don’t lie.”

“I guess I’m just not in the mood to start a new year, that’s all,” he grumbled, feeling a bit like a whining child but it was the truth. There wasn’t much in the upcoming year that he was genuinely excited for, at least nothing that was coming to mind tonight. 

“Just because we aren’t teammates anymore doesn’t mean I’ll abandon you,” Carlos said, resting a hand on his shoulder until the Brit finally looked at him again. “We are friends, Lando. Nothing can change that. Not even Charles.”

“We’ll hardly see each other,” he whispered in a soft voice.

“I’ll make time,” Carlos promised, but it still didn’t seem to be enough to put the boy’s racing mind at ease. “You know the best part of us not being teammates anymore?”

Lando froze, his brows furrowing together and he almost looked offended that Carlos could find a positive in the whole situation when his chest felt tight every single time he thought about the Spaniard in the Ferrari garage instead of the room right next to his.

“What?”

And before Lando could even question the glint in his eyes, he found his eyes following Carlos’ gaze as they both glanced back into the raging party inside—or, more specifically, where you stood in the middle of the crowd, laughing and smiling and having the time of your life.

“There is nothing stopping you now.” 

Lando’s head spun back around to look at Carlos, his brows furrowed together. “Huh?”

“Lando,” he said his name like it said everything. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Lando let out a noise mixed between a scoff and a nervous laugh. “What? No! I—”

“Lando,” Carlos repeated, and the boy quickly pressed his lips together. “I know you didn’t want to do anything because you were scared you’d cause something but…we aren’t teammates anymore. There’s no conflict of interest. You can ask her out.”

“I don’t like your sister like that, mate,” Lando attempted to laugh off, shaking his head.

Carlos shot him a look. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

“So, you don’t care if she kisses someone else at midnight?”

And truthfully? He felt his stomach churn at the idea. He felt like he could keel over the balcony railing and empty his guts there and then at the idea of witnessing it. The boy had spent the last two years pathetically pining after you, he had time to get used to seeing you with someone else and yet, it still made him feel physically unwell. 

But as pathetic as he was, he was also a coward. Because even if it would kill a part of him to see you kiss someone else when he so desperately wished it was him, he would still rather throw himself off the balcony before he confessed his feelings for you. 

“I don’t care,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “Plus, you’re her older brother. Shouldn’t you be stopping guys from coming near her?”

Carlos sighed, shaking his head. “You’re being a muppet.”

“Yeah well, it’s not the first time you’ve said that.” 

Lando had told everyone he had drank far too much that night, but the truth was that he couldn’t stomach anything after watching you kiss some pretty blond guy when the clock struck midnight. 

.

Summer Break, 2022

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not. You’ve done this on purpose.”

“It’s just a few prawns, Lando.”

“And they are making me gag!”

“They aren’t even on your plate!” 

Lando glared at the small shellfish on Carlos’ plate with his nose scrunched up in disgust, a clear look of disdain on his face. He should have known the Spaniard would torture him in some way, shape or form when he invited him out for lunch. Lando just honestly assumed it would be Carlos teasing him in front of you, he didn’t realise fish would be involved. 

“That is disgusting,” Lando muttered with a frown.

“You are just dramatic,” Carlos scoffed. 

“Hey, give him a break,” you lightly scolded your older brother, an easy smile on your face as you pushed your pasta around your plate. “In his defence, he did look a little green when they brought it out.”

“I did not,” Lando huffed, his cheeks flaming up in embarrassment. “This is bullying. You Sainz folk are bullies.” 

You snorted.

However, Carlos only rolled his eyes in response. “It is not our fault that you have the taste palate of a five year old.”

“I should have just taken Max on his offer to play FIFA over this,” Lando muttered, letting out an exaggerated squeak when he felt the Spaniard pinch his side. “Hey! Hands to yourself!”

“I thought you liked it when us Sainz folk touch you,” Carlos retorted, a glint in his eyes that made Lando’s cheeks go redder. 

“Don’t be silly, cabrón,” you spoke up, a look in your eyes that matched your mother’s. “He’s just like that for Mama. Little Lando Norris likes older women.”

“I think you’ve mistaken me for Verstappen,” Lando countered. 

You opened your mouth, a witty reply undoubtedly on the tip of your tongue and something in his chest buzzed in excitement to hear it. He liked it when you did this. He liked the snarky back and forth, like some weird twisted foreplay. He enjoyed the thrill it gave him, the fact your attention was purely on him and his words. 

But the universe seemed to be against him as the shrill of your phone ringing interrupted whatever you were about to say, leaving you to excuse yourself as you quickly headed outside to take the call. 

“For the love of everything holy, please just tell her.” 

Lando tore his eyes away from the large glass window at the front of the restaurant where he had watched you animatedly talk to whoever was on the other side of the phone—not that he was jealous or anything—and instead focused on the older Spaniard next to him.

“Huh?”

Carlos shot him a blank look. “Lando.”

“Not this again,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Yes, this again!” Carlos argued as he leaned over to pinch the Brit’s side again, narrowly avoiding his hand being swatted away. “It’s been years!”

“I don’t like her like that,” Lando argued, watching as Carlos went to open his mouth, but he quickly continued. “And even if I did, it’s been years. I wouldn’t like her like that anymore.”

He didn’t think it was possible for Carlos to look more exasperated. 

“You bought a camera,” Carlos stated like it was the most obvious and incriminating piece of evidence against him. 

“I wanted to take up a new hobby,” Lando said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. 

“So, you choose photography?” 

“Yes.” 

“And it has nothing to do with the fact my sister offered to give you lessons and tips?” Carlos questioned with a knowing look. 

“That was just a happy coincidence,” Lando argued. 

“Mate,” Carlos sighed, heavy and exhausted, as he gestured towards the camera sat beside his plate. “You’ve literally been carrying that thing around everywhere you go in hopes it will start a conversation with her. Just ask her out.” 

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just wanted a new hobby?” Lando retorted, feeling as though his face was on fire because he was right. Carlos was always fucking right. But that wasn’t something he would ever admit, especially right now. “I was thinking of starting an insta account for my photos.”

“Really?” Carlos deadpanned.

“Mhm,” he hummed, nodding his head. 

Carlos opened his mouth, arguments and exasperated pleas ready but was quickly cut off when he noticed you barrelling over to them with a massive grin on your face. 

“I did it!”

“What?” Carlos murmured, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“I got in! They accepted my portfolio! My work is going to be in the exhibition!” You all but squealed, your cheeks beginning to hurt from how wide you were smiling but you couldn’t stop. This was everything you had been working towards in the last few months and it was finally paying off. 

“Congratulations!” Lando said, a grin just as wide as yours spread over his face as he quickly stood up from his seat, ignoring the looks Carlos was sending him as he brought you into a hug. “I told you you would get it.” 

You pulled back, your smile softening a little as you looked up at the Brit. “You always do believe in me, Norris.”

“Always,” he replied, like it was instinctive. 

For the rest of the meal, Lando promptly ignored the messages Carlos kept sending him under the table and instead let himself bask in your happiness, in your smiles, in you. 

.

Silverstone, 2023

Lando Norris felt like he was standing at the top of the world. 

There was a buzz of adrenaline and excitement coursing through his veins, and he genuinely didn’t think his heart would ever return to a normal rate ever again. Blood was roaring in his ears as he crossed over the line, as he heard the murmurs of his race engineer in his ear confirming his position, as the screams and cheers of the crowd completely enveloped him as he pulled his car behind the P2 sign. 

His body was on autopilot as he pulled himself out of the car, running towards his team and throwing himself halfway over the barrier as they cheered and slapped him on the back. Their congratulations and praises washed over him as he tried to wrap his head around it, as he tried to process the fact he had managed a podium as his home race, like he always dreamed of. 

He couldn’t stop grinning as he went through all of the post-race routines, getting weighed and finding himself in the cool down room before he headed towards the podium. He basked in the cheers as he lifted the trophy over his head, as he slammed his bottle down, as he drowned himself in champagne.

Lando Norris felt like a fucking winner, if he was being completely honest. 

He had been grinning down at his trophy, gripping onto it like it was his most prized possession (and at that moment, it genuinely may have been) that he hadn’t even seen you barrelling towards him until your arms were wrapped around him and your body hit his with a soft impact, enough to make him let out a small oomph before the familiar smell of your perfume washed over him.

“I am so proud of you!” 

Something in his stomach fluttered widely at your words as he wound his arms around you, holding you tighter against him as he sunk into your embrace. His eyes fell shut, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck and Lando believed that if he died right in that second, he would have died a happy and fulfilled man.

“Thank you,” he finally spoke when he remembered he hadn’t replied yet. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“You deserve it, especially after how this season started,” you said to the boy, your voice just loud enough for only him to hear as you held onto each other. 

He clung onto you, no plans of letting you go anytime soon as you both swayed on the spot but it seemed as though you were happy to stay there too. However, the unnerving sensation of feeling like he was being watched forced Lando to open his eyes, looking over your shoulder to find your older brother staring at him. 

‘Do something.’ Carlos mouthed to him. 

And when you eventually did pull back, teary eyed and looking at him like he hung the moon, Lando couldn’t help but let his eyes fall down to your lips. It would be so easy, so fucking easy. He could just lean down and press his lips against yours, feel the little squeak of surprise you would let out before you sunk into his kiss. He could imagine it so fucking clearly.

But the voice of reason in the back of his head managed to scream louder than the adrenaline pumping through his body and he simply threw his arm around your shoulders instead, guiding you towards where Carlos was standing. 

“Gonna celebrate with me?” 

“I’m gonna get you so many shots, you won’t even remember your own name, Norris.”

Lando ignored the disappointed look Carlos sent his way and instead focused on the positives. He wasn’t going to ruin your friendship when you had a good thing going, not when there was the risk he could lose everything. 

And Carlos was just going to have to mind his own business and deal with that.

.

Las Vegas, 2023

It happened so fast.

He didn’t even know what happened until his car finally stopped moving, when the rush of spinning and going hundreds of miles an hour came to a stop and the excruciating pain washed over his whole body.

It felt like someone was stepping on his lungs, making it really fucking difficult to breathe. His head felt fuzzy and heavy, his arms even fucking heavier. For a few moments, he couldn’t remember where he was. And then the sounds of the cars passing, the smell of rubber tires and fuel hit him and he couldn’t help but let his eyes shut as the disappointment of an unfinished race overwhelmed him. 

He could hear the team in his ear, begging for a response. It took him a few attempts before he was able to properly grip the wheel and hit the radio button. It took even longer to scramble out of the wrecked car, even with the help of the marshalls. Everything felt like it was moving too slow and, for someone like Lando who thrived on speed, it was disorienting.

It was like an out of body experience, like it wasn’t really him controlling his body. He just let himself be passed from person to person, someone always guiding him on where he should go. He didn’t argue with anyone as he was taken to the hospital, feeling far too tired to even try disagreeing. He just did what they told him. 

Test after test, observation after observation, talk after talk. Lando went through it all, feeling like a fucking pinball as he was tossed between different rooms and machines and doctors, but he didn’t say anything. He just wanted to lay down and sleep. He just wanted to pretend this whole weekend didn’t happen.

And when he was finally allowed to head back to the paddock to have a debrief with the team and pick up his belongings, the last thing he expected was for you to be waiting in his driver room.

“Gracias a Dios,” you breathed out in relief when your eyes settled on him, standing frozen in the doorway in a jumper that was far too large for him. But it was a passing thought as you rushed over to him, only to pause in fear of hurting him further. 

However, Lando just flashed you a weak smile and brought you into a hug, feeling your body sag against him.

“I was so scared,” you murmured into his chest, sniffling a little as you spoke. “They wouldn’t tell me anything. I threatened to cut Zak’s balls off if he didn’t at least tell me whether you were okay or not.”

Lando snorted softly. “He always was scared of you.”

“Good,” you grumbled before you pulled back, taking in his tired and weary expression. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” he answered, smiling a little when he saw your lips twitch upwards. “I’ll be fine. Just need to take it easy for a few days.” 

You nodded. “We can have an easy night in, just watch a movie or something.” 

And suddenly, it felt like someone was standing on his chest again.

“You don’t have to,” Lando said, shaking his head a little. “I know you’ll probably want to celebrate—”

“I don’t want to do anything except make sure you’re okay,” you interrupted, a note in your voice that he recognised as your unwavering stubbornness. “You can choose the movie. I promise I’ll only complain a little.”

Truthfully, how was he meant to say no to that? 

He tried to pretend like his heart wasn’t racing when you later made your way to his hotel room, sprawled over his bed as you flicked through possible movie options. He tried to pretend his stomach wasn’t fluttering with butterflies when you settled against the headboard, your shoulder brushing against his. He tried to pretend like he was so completely fucking normal when you grabbed one of his hoodies, pulling ot over your head before settling back into his bed. 

He was fine. So fucking fine.

Smooth Operator: this is your chance, muppet. tell her how you feel!!!

And despite Carlos’ message, Lando just enjoyed the night with you. After a crash that could have gone so much worse, he was just grateful to have your presence beside him, whether it was as a friend or something more. 

At least, that is what he kept telling himself.

.

Sainz Christmas Party, 2023

Despite the jokes made, Lando genuinely was an honorary member of the Sainz family. 

With some extra time spent in Monaco before he headed back to England to spend Christmas with his family, it was easy enough to stop over in Spain for a day or two to enjoy the annual Sainz Christmas Party before he headed home.

He had arrived the night before the party, presents in hand to give to the whole family despite their insistence that it wasn’t necessary. Something in his chest eased whenever he spent time with the Sainz family, that reassurance that even though he and Carlos are no longer teammates, they still cherish him the way he cherishes them. 

The party was as extravagant and lavish as it always was. The decorations were sleek and timeless, the wine was expensive and top of the range, and the food served to the many guests was some of the finest Lando had ever truly eaten. 

It felt like a home away from home as he stood beside Carlos Senior and Reyes, a glass of some fancy champagne in his flute as he laughed and chatted away to them. 

That same flute that was almost knocked out of his hand as Carlos came rushing towards him, muttering apologies to the other guests as he pushed past them and beelined towards the Brit. He placed a hand on Lando’s arm, giving his parents a strained smile as he did. 

“Lo siento,” he simply said before tugging Lando away from his parents and the rest of the crowd, leading him down some random hallways in the Sainz household. 

“Woah, Carlos, what’s wrong?” Lando questioned, abandoning the flute of champagne on some table they passed before he split it all. “Where are we going?”

“I need your help with something important and I need you to not ask too many questions,” Carlos stated simply, which only made Lando’s concern grow tenfold. 

“Carlos—” 

But the Brit barely got a chance to say anything before Carlos opened a random door and gave him a hearty shove as he stumbled into the small cupboard. The boy let out a noise of surprise, taking a few moments to realise he had stumbled into you before everything clicked. He whirled around, ready to give the Spaniard a piece of his mind, but the door was quickly slammed in his face and locked shut from the outside. 

“Carlos!” Lando yelled, banging on the door a few times with his fist, but it was useless. 

“No, I have waited five years! I’m sick of this! If you won’t do something about this, then I have to.”

Lando kept his gaze on the door as his cheeks burned in embarrassment. “I am going to kill you!”

“You can’t kill me if I never let you out.” 

His ears burned. “Carlos—” 

“You’ll thank me later. Feliz Navidad and don’t forget to look up!” 

The telling sound of footsteps rushing off made it clear that Carlos had quickly disappeared, leaving you and Lando trapped in the small cupboard for god-knows how long. The Brit let out a groan, leaning his forehead against the cold wooden door as he tried to settle his pounding heart.

“Ouch. I didn’t realise being trapped with me was that bad.” 

“No,” Lando quickly shook his head, guilt eating away at him but he still didn’t turn to look at you. “It’s not that, I just—” he paused for a few moments before he spoke again. “He’s only doing this because of me, I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into it.”

“Lando,” you murmured his name softly, a hand placed on his lower back and he could have sworn your touch had burned through the layers of his clothes.

“I’m really sorry—” 

“Lando,” you repeated again, your voice a little firmer and your hand remained where it was. “Look at me.”

He shook his head.

“Please,” you continued, and your voice tugged on his heartstrings too tightly to say no. 

Lando slowly turned around, a sheepish expression on his face as he took you in. You looked absolutely fucking breathtaking in the dark green dress you were wearing, the ends swaying and brushing against the floor when you moved. Your hair was curled to perfection, your makeup enhancing every feature to make you look prettier (if that was even fucking possible). But god, the best part of your whole ensemble was the smile you gave him. 

He would move mountains to see that fucking smile.

“Don’t apologise,” you said, shaking your head. 

“But—” He started. 

However, you just shook your head. “It’s Christmas.” 

He paused, frowning a little at your response. “Huh?”

“It’s Christmas,” you said with a knowing smile before your gaze shifted upwards, and he couldn’t help but follow your eyeline. Something in his stomach flipped when he saw the sprig of mistletoe hanging above you both. 

Lando swallowed harshly as he glanced back down at you, his eyes instantly landing on your lips. 

“It’s bad luck to break tradition,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke. And it took a few seconds. A few split seconds for Lando to truly wrap his head around everything. 

This time he didn’t let himself hesitate as he reached up, his hands completely engulfing your cheeks in his hold before he smashed his lips against yours. And just like he imagined—like he dreamt about—you let out a noise of surprise before you sunk into his embrace. 

Your hands fisted the lapels of his blazer, tugging him impossibly closer in the small cupboard until your body was pressed against his. You let out a desperate noise when his tongue darted against your bottom lip, happily letting the boy completely consume you and the air you breathed. His arms around your waist, keeping you close and tight like you were going to disappear. And god, neither of you wanted to pull away. 

“Shit,” he breathed out when he had to pull away, when his lungs were burning and screaming for air. He pressed his forehead against yours, your lipstick undoubtedly smudged against his lips but he didn’t care. No, he didn’t think he could ever care about anything other than kissing you ever again. “I have wanted to do that for so long.”

“I have been waiting for you to do that for so long,” you retorted, your hands smoothing the lapels of his blazer before they slid up to rest on his shoulders. “Five years, to be exact.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

And you smiled, wide and unbashful, and he thought the whole world stopped moving. 

“You weren’t subtle. But apparently you were too oblivious to notice the fact I liked you back,” you said as your fingers lightly traced along the collar of his shirt. 

“You knew?” His brain took a few seconds before he fully processed your words. “You liked me back?” 

“Like,” you corrected. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be locked in a cupboard with you hoping you kiss me again.” 

His hands squeezed your waist, a smile making its way onto his face before he could really stop himself. “I—” His cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t care. “Fuck, I think I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming, I promise,” you murmured as you tilted your head back to look up at him, eyes full of adoration that he had never really noticed until now. “But better late than never, right?”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, and because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned down to peck your lips again. Though, it was a little hard when he couldn’t stop grinning. “I have five years of bad dates and secret makeout sessions to catch up on.” 

Your grin widened. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Lando murmured and, for the first time in five years, the tightness in his chest felt desired and wanted. The tightness was reassuring, it was the proof he had that this was all really happening.

“Merry Christmas, Lando.” 

“Merry Christmas, baby.” 

And maybe—just fucking maybe—he would thank Carlos for giving him that shove he needed to have the best thing in his life: you.

.

[transmechanicus]

this is. probably a very personal question.

Is it worth it? Transitioning? In spite of it all?

Completely, utterly, and absolutely. I’m one of those ppl who knew i was trans since i was like 8. I found out when i was probably 13/14 what transgender meant, but recoiled from it because i could not imagine a world that would accept me or where i would be happy with the result. At 15 i met my first other trans person, and they became my friend and partner and the first person to ever know i was trans. Being around them, known by them, was such a colossal psychological relief and source of joy unlike anything i had known before. It made separating from them after graduation all the more excruciating to lose that one person i had trusted with that truth.

Sometime over the next two years i came out to my Mom, but nothing really changed, and i had more or less resolved to rot and die under the identity i had been born into. I let my undergrad studies chew me up, neglected all but the most necessary body maintenance, and spent every moment outside work or class buried in video games or books. At some point something snapped out of place, or perhaps back into place. I knew i didn’t want to die like this. I wanted something more for my life and my flesh than being a half dead servitor stocking yogurt. I wanted to transition, and however slowly, however long it took, that’s what i resolved to do.

It took a while. I had no real finances, no privacy, and little independence. I was coming from a white low-self-expression, high-control household. I “messed up” while base coating warhammer models one time and gave myself black nails. My dad berated me about it for days before trying to pin my hands down and sand the paint off (didn’t work, thank you automotive primer). When i was ~22 i got my ears pierced, basically the first permanent part of my transition, and i had never known as much joy as i did driving home knowing the pain was a step of permanent progress. Around this time 2019/2020 i started being out online, more vocal about being transgender as opposed to just having a relatively inexpressive fandom blog with no info beyond my name.

When i was 24, two years ago i came out to my dad, and a week later i left for grad school halfway across the country. I had an apartment all to myself, and my own source of income. I spent my spare change building up a wardrobe of new clothes that i actually liked. I got my first year of grad school done mostly without anything remarkable. Went to some queer events at my school. Found a partner. Got loved to bits for a while. Re-came out to my parents over the summer, and this time it stuck. Started HRT that fall, 2023. Came out to my classmates and coworkers and was rewarded with support and acceptance. Lost the partner. Devastated. Resolve to get even hotter and cooler. Smash out 3 piercings and a tattoo inside a week. Develop personal fashion sense. Attend research conference. Get better at makeup. Go to some concerts. Increase HRT. Tiddy Arc. Buy bra with a supportive bestie. Start weekly therapy. Increase HRT. Cosplay at a major convention. Schedule another tattoo. More HRT. Bra no longer optional. Present day. Tattoo on Wednesday. 90% of progress packed into the last year or so. Undeniably hotter, happier, and more self-expressive than anything in the last 24 years prior.

Transitioning is more than worth it, it brings me so much relief and joy every day no matter how shitty my day is otherwise, and while i have known doubt, i have never for an instant known regret.

There is still time🖤🏳️‍⚧️💕

[ladyofthenoodle]

fic idea from 2020 that the paris special unearthed from the archives of my brain:

So far, there wasn’t a single thing about this new reality that wasn’t terrible. She was grounded, for some reason, which she didn’t know about, and was therefore double grounded for breaking the rules of the grounding. Which she hadn’t known about!

To make matters worse, when she’d gone to text Alya to complain about the unfairness of it all, she realized she didn’t have Alya’s number. In fact, she didn’t have anyone’s number except her parents, Nadja Chamack, her grandmother, and someone called The Supreme.

She next turned to Tikki to vent, but when she checked her (admittedly cool) purse, she found her kwami wide-eyed, terrified, and most horrifiyingly, muzzled—which Marinette couldn’t figure out a way to undo. 

So she was stuck in the bakery on a Saturday morning with angry parents and no one to talk to and no ideas on how to get out of the worst version of Paris possible.

Which is when Adrien Agreste’s bodyguard walked in. Brief hope flared in her heart before extinguishing just as quickly when she saw he was alone.

Which she should’ve expected. With how awful this world was, she wouldn’t be surprised if Adrien didn’t even exist here. She couldn’t imagine a world this awful with him in it.

She bagged up the Gorilla’s order with a heavy heart and sent him on his way before looking out the bakery display window with a sigh.

Only to spot Adrien Agreste himself, with an asymmetrical haircut and thick kohl around his eyes, staring back at her. He was different than her Adrien—and she couldn’t say she was a fan of the hair—but he was just as handsome, and his eyes even more striking with the eyeliner.

When he noticed her looking, his eyes widened and his cheeks started to turn pink.

Was he blushing?

Marinette could feel her own cheeks heating up as he stared. She ventured a small, embarrassed wave, and he—he!—

He lifted his own hand, brought it to his lips, and blew her a kiss.

Crash!

Marinette, along with about 300 macarons, toppled to the floor.

“Good morning, Marinette!” said Adrien Agreste, during a time that was decidedly morning but far too early to be described as ‘good.’ 

She scowled at him.

“Girl, you okay?” said Alya Césaire, who was—who was speaking to her.

Right.

Alya Césaire was speaking to her. Because Alya Césaire, Hesperia’s favorite lackey, was apparently Marinette’s best friend.

And Adrien Agreste was the boy Marinette was in love with.

She plastered a smile on her face. “I’m great, Alya! Super dee duper. Absolutely swell. What a beautiful morning with all the sunshine and the…. morning.”

Alya looked unconvinced.

“And the Adriens!” Marinette added hastily. “I mean, the Adrien. Because there’s only one Adrien and he sure is… here. Hello Adrien! Your face is looking very attractive this morning, because you are an attractive person. And that’s… something positive I can say about you.”

“Thanks, Marinette!” said Adrien with a dopey little smile. She wasn’t sure if he was mocking her or just deeply stupid. If her diary entries were to be believed, it was probably the latter. “Your face is looking attractive this morning as well. Did you do something new with your makeup?”

Marinette had done her makeup the same way she did every day, but she supposed his Marinette opted for a boring girl next door ‘no makeup makeup’ look.

Alya squealed next to her before giving her shoulder an excited squeeze.

Marinette took several deep breaths.

“Yes, I thought I’d try something new.”

Adrien smiled and nodded.

Alya shoved her forward.

Marinette barely managed to restrain herself from sending Alya a patented Toxinelle Death Glare. Instead, she smiled wider at Adrien.

Her cheeks hurt.

“Thank you soooooo much for noticing my makeup. That is a thing I am excited about. I love putting on makeup to impress cute boys, tee hee!”

Adrien’s face fell. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—I know you always dress for you, Marinette! That’s something I really admire about you.”

His eyes were so earnest, so sincere, and for a second, she almost—

Marinette cleared her throat. “That’s so nice! You can leave now.”

Adrien blinked. 

“Bye!” She shooed him.

“Oh, um, bye Marinette,” he said with a sheepish wave, and then he left.

Nailed it.

“Girl, what the actual fuck?”

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (5)

posted this originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)

Alexia Putellas Segura. The one that got away? She was my first. First kiss, first person I had sex with, first person I was in love with. Maybe in a different universe things could work out. What’s the saying, right person wrong time? That seemed to be the case with us Every time. I loved her, she wasn’t ready for that. She loved me, I had just gotten together with Emily. 

There was a moment when things would’ve happened, after Emily died and before I went MIA. But after that first night I couldn’t. I didn’t want to hurt her, to break her heart. So I left, breaking her heart anyway. Now she is with Olga and things are going great with them, right? The what ifs always playing on my mind. 

•————————————————————-----------------------———•

I was glad to have Ariel, my social media manager. I didn’t have to deal with the comments or the tweets, I could live in my peaceful bubble and not have to worry about anything. The news of Sam Kerr tearing her ACL ripped through the football community, the Matilda’s were out a striker. There were two possibilities, Michelle Heyman who is retired or me. The girl who hasn’t played an international game since the 2019 World Cup, the same person who left the team high and dry for the 2020 Olympics. 

The tillies were coming off a successful World Cup, secretly I’d watched every game, cheering them on from the safety of my own living room. When Jona had informed me that Tony had rang and asked for my number I was shocked, surely he’d call up Michelle before he rang me. She deserved it, I’m sure there were lots of younger players that deserved it too. But alas, it was me he rang. Just as training ended and we’d made our way back to the locker rooms. 

“Hello?” Confused by the unknown caller, forgetting the conversation with Jona. 

“Amelia? It’s Tony Gustavsson.” 

“Oh shit. Yeah hi Tony. How are you?” 

“I’m good Amelia, listen, I know you’ve heard the news about Sam, we are in an Olympic year and now without a striker. I know you’re just coming back and you haven’t played an international game in a few years, but if you’re willing I would love for you to join us this international break.” 

“What? What about Michelle or one of the younger girls? I’m sure there’s someone more suited to this.” 

“There is no one else I would rather. You’re the person we need. The missing piece to this team. The girls look up to you, they listen to you. We need you, I need you. Take some time and think about it, we have a few days before the foster needs to be released. Call me in two days ok?” 

“Yeah yeah okay. I can do that. Thanks Tony.” 

Disbelief. Was I excited for this opportunity? Sure. Did i deserve it? Probably not. 

“Who was that?” Keira’s voice broke me from my thoughts. 

“Uh it was tony. The Matilda’s head coach. He wants me?” 

“Holy shit that’s amazing! Milly that’s so good! Congratulations!” The high fives poured in from everyone, expect one person, Alexia. 

If it was so good, why didn’t it feel it? The first thing I did when I got back to the apartment was make a pros and cons list. 

Pros:

It’s the olympics 

Cons:

It’s the Olympics 

Media

The team? 

Football 

I was stuck in my own head until a knock rippled through the apartment. Apprehensively I opened the door to Alexia standing there. She walked straight on through as if she’d been here before.  

“What are you doing here? How’d you get my address?” 

“Hi to you too. I’m good thanks how are you? 

“Yeah yeah answer my questions?”

“I heard the phone call in the locker room and how you looked stressed. So I thought I’d come and be a good friend.” 

“And you got my address from?” 

“Jona. You should add that you can see me and Jenni.”

“Huh?”

“Your list” she points. “We will probably be there.” 

Silence. Unsure what to even say in this situation. Alexia was still standing, looking around. There wasn’t much to look at. I had bought a couple of plants but other than that, it was just furniture. 

“Have you lived here long?” 

“3 and a half years. Why?”

“Oh. It’s… empty?” 

“It’s easier this way.” 

“So when you want to run away again, there’s nothing you need to take? Clothes and furniture can be replaced right.” 

“That’s not fair Alexia.” 

“No what’s not fair is you leaving in the middle of the night! You disappeared Amelia!“

“Seriously? We are doing this now? Fine. Yes I did leave, yes I disappeared, yes I fucked you and told you everything you wanted to hear. But I couldn’t stay. Not after everything. You deserved better Alexia.” 

“I didn’t want anyone else but you! I loved you and you just left.” 

“You should go.”

“Mil”

“No. Go home to your girlfriend Alexia.” 

After she left I got up to write another con on this list:

Potentially seeing Alexia 

Maybe in another life time things would be different. 

The next week is rough. The tension between Alexia and I is very clear to the team, not to Olga though. She reached out inviting me to dinner with her and some girls from Manuelas. It was a nice night overall, it definitely felt weird being friendly with Olga. It was hard to separate the Olga from Manuelas and Alexia’s girlfriend Olga. 

the morning of my first game arrived, I had barely slept because of the nerves. I wasn’t starting, however Jona said he’d bring me on in the second half. The thought of playing again was extremely overwhelming. My body went into autopilot, doing my old day time routine: making breakfast and coffee, brushing my teeth, changing my sheets, laying out my clothes and then going for a swim. 

The ocean was calming and refreshing. It reminded me of home. The one place I could go and enjoy myself when I was living in foster homes. I taught myself to surf after watching some people do it, it took a lot of trial and error but in the end I was successful. As I came out of the water, I noticed a familiar pale, ginger sitting on my towel. 

“It’s nice. You should go in.”

“Don’t be stupid Milly. I would never get in there in the winter.”

Keira was a constant. No matter what happened or what teams we played for, she was always there. She’d drop everything to come help and wasn’t afraid to tell me I was being a dickhead. I wasn’t expecting what she was going to say. 

“You being here is hard for her. Being so close and her not being able to be with you. It’s a lot, I know you did what you thought was best but you broke her heart and she’s been different since.” 

Alexia. It always comes back to her. 

“I couldn’t let her love me Kei. It was too much.” 

“But she loved you anyway. Pretty sure she always has and always will. She was mad for the first few weeks, then really worried, then sad. Every Sunday she would message Leah and ask if she’s heard from you, and every Sunday it was the same answer.” 

“We should go. Got a game and all.” 

[brossession-collection]

Dad's Cam Show (Re-uploaded)

Note: This is a story I wrote in 2020 that was previously deleted by Tumblr. Couldn't find it until I stumbled upon am old hard drive. Hope you enjoy.

--

This social distancing shit is so boring. I get it. It’s needed. But god damn am I running out of things to do. Can’t even meet the guys I’ve been talking to on Grindr. Worse yet is that I’m stuck back at home. I was supposed to graduate college this year! Instead I was slumped over a computer screen in my PJs with my dad making his special pancakes. Ugh. Fuck this shit. I just wish I could go back to a better time.

Whatever. I’m done complaining. Dad’s getting groceries which means I can snoop around his shit. Yeah I’m that bored.

Dad’s a big burly guy. Heading into his mid-forties now and starting to gray up a little, but still keeping his body builder life style. He’s pretty open with me. He told me he used to do cam shows back before livestreams were even a thing. Made sense. Had to show off the bod somehow. Don’t know how mom thought about it but whatever. She’s out of the picture.

His room always had a musky woodsy cologne-y smell. His laundry hamper was even better. I always loved taking his briefs out of there and putting them on myself. I’ve been following his footsteps and bodybuilding myself, but I’m still a ways away before I have an ass and waist as large as his. So his 36in undies droop a bit. I grabbed his black cap too. Man. He loves this thing. Well, plus the 10 others caps he has. He always had it topping his head. Pretty sure he wears it to sleep too. I put it on and flexed like him. I got a bit of a boner but nothing crazy.

His dinosaur of a laptop was open, and logged in. I know I shouldn’t have, but I did it anyways. There were so many folders within folders. So much boring shit… and then I found “cam pics.”

The briefs I was wearing tented and wetted. Fuck I was so scared to open it. But I clicked it and… In there was only one image. I clicked on it to make it bigger and it was my dad. About 13 years ago. He was shirtless, and wearing the same cap that I have on my head right now. My eyes drifted from his hairy arms to his chest to eventually his bearded face. He looked so… tired? There was something about the softness in his expression that really got to me. And then…

“Hey son! I’m home! Could ya help me with the groceries?”

Shit. I got up and scrambled. The briefs were soaked and still being soaked. I had so many windows to close out of. Then I started hearing his footsteps come closer. I panicked and grabbed the top of the laptop to close it, but I couldn’t move. Suddenly, all the windows on the screen started to close. All except for the image of dad I had opened it. It enlarged by itself, and then the laptop started to fucking shake. I tried to get it to stop but it just kept rumbling. Fuck it. I wound up my fist and punched the screen. But there was no impact.

In less than a second my body followed my wrist into the screen. Everything went bright, and I was in a different room. I looked around. It looked like my parents’ room at our old house. The same laptop was in front of me showing the same image as before. Dad’s younger face looking back… And then I saw his eyes move. I froze. I looked at the time. 12:56 turned to 12:57. This wasn’t an image. It was a fucking livestream.

I slowly tilted my head. Dad did the same. I widened my eyes. So did dad. A smile crept over our faces. I just time travelled! And into dad’s body! Fuck there was so much I could do now!

“PING”

A old-school AIM notification popped up on screen. I maneuvered dad’s hand to the mouse and clicked on it. “Hey daddy. You gonna give us a show or what?”

“PING”

“Let’s see those hairy pits man!”

Fuck. I guess dad wasn’t kidding about these cam shows. Shit how do I reply? Do I just say something?

“Uh…” I gulped. Dad’s gruff voice was in my throat. “You guys mean… uh… this?” I lifted and flexed dad’s right arm. Immediately his armpit hair bursted out. Moist and smelly. My nose naturally turned towards the sweaty pit. Holy fuck was it musky. I took a deep whiff and groaned.

“PING. PING. PING. PING.”

“Fuck yeah daddy. Sniff that pit.”

“God damn you’re a big guy. How’s it feel huh?”

It felt amazing being so big. Watching everything I was doing be reflected by my dad on the recording was even better. The cockiness came in.

I wheeled the office chair back and did a double bicep pose. Sweat dripped off his hairy pits. I gave my face a rub and felt his beard scratch against his callused fingers. Then my hands felt the need to go down to his chest. I never felt so much pleasure from nipple rubbing in my life. The pings kept on coming. It was euphoric.

Dad’s cock was tenting the briefs I had put on earlier. I uncaged his 7 incher and let out a whiff of junk musk that filtered into my nose immediately. I started stroking and couldn’t stop. My other hand reached under dad’s taint, through the forest of pubes, and rammed a dildo into my dad’s ass crack.

“PING. PING. PING.”

“Holy fuck this is new! We gonna see a fingering show today!?”

“God damn man you enjoying yourself?”

I was. Everytime Dad’s moans left my throat I felt cock twitch a little bit harder. It just felt so amazing to feel his beefy arms rub against his beefy chest. His toes curling with every electric shock of pleasure moving through his beefy ass and legs.

I shot his load. Let out a gutteral yell. And it didn’t stop coming. My beard was soaked with three shots of cum. Chest was drenched with eight more. At this point, sweat was trickling down my temples. I relished in dad’s orgasm and then relaxed in the chair.

I watched as the notifications went crazy. Dad’s soft eyes housing my consciousness. Ugh. It felt incredible. I glanced over at his hat and felt the need to take it off. I did, and felt a wave of cool relief come off my head. Dad’s hair was cropped short, like a messy crew cut. And it was dripping with sweat. I felt the need to say something.“You like that, men?” Dad had so much suave in voice. The pings accelerated.I smiled and played with my cock. I could feel another round coming but felt a bigger presence unfold. Suddenly dad’s body started to shake. I tried controlling it, but I couldn’t weigh him down. My arms were flailing before my hands grabbed onto the edges of the desk. I whipped my head back, then head-butted the laptop screen. Light filtered through.

I was back at home, in my dad’s loose fitting briefs, his cap nestled on my head. Dad’s footsteps came by, then turned another direction. Guess he wasn’t coming by his room just yet. I looked down at his briefs, now soaked with my cum. Fuck. Was it just a dream?

It must’ve been. Just a fucking horny fever dream. What the fuck ever. Better than what I had been doing up until now. I leaned over to close the laptop but noticed something.

The image had turned into a recording.

[qqquib]

tubbo saying that dream’s brain has been, for lack of better phrasing, miss-wired from being stuck in a sphere of hate for four years is so accurate!

you see it today in people falling into alt-right pipelines for being called hated on relentlessly, mainly in a lot of cishet white men. they tend to follow people who see them being hated and support them and tell them they’ve done no wrong. it’s a huge echo chamber, and they tend to end up hating the other people back. this is just an example, (i haven’t seen dreams full VOD), and i’m not claiming that he is a trumpie.

being as online as dream has been, while also being wildly popular, is bound to make him see things differently. i’m not saying it’s right, i’m saying it makes sense.

think about it. i’ve been surrounded with people who also read fanfic for my whole life, and when i do something that isn’t perceived as normal it’s generally because of people i hang around, and content i interact with. it’s how people exist and grow.

he should however take the time to learn to see things from other peoples perspectives—despite his anger and his own emotions. he should learn how to step back and recollect before responding with pure emotion and anger.

he is trying to make people see his whole point while bringing evidence and bringing up old/past issues to make it more “sympathetic” in his eyes. that’s just defensive. and yeah, he has been able to prove certain things, or say that things are incorrect and be correct. he is good at disproving bad claims about him. (the truth video, and proving that he is not a pedo. there has been so much back and forth between what actually happened there i am not certain of anything, but for the purpose of hearing him out im going to say he was able to beat the allegation)

but, he has not disproven that he is just an asshole.

he has every opinion to be upset and distraught about people calling him a pedo and all of these others things when generally the people around him and the whole “the truth” video. he has disproven that.

but, he just sounds like an asshole for not being able to see from other perspective, and with the way he acts (very volatile) people aren’t going to want to listen to him. with him constantly deleting tweets and messages and everything! it’s a way of hiding what he has done.

i just don’t see what he wants to achieve here, or what he is trying to do. state your shit, apologize for what you have done, and do better. i’m trying to hear him out, and not be unbiased here. but wow, a lot of this is just. crazy to me, the things he is saying and the actions he has taken are arguably bad. say sorry, and move on.

anyway, idk anything. all of this should’ve been handled behind the scenes from the start, from 2020.

[moonshynecybin]

For the promptsss: rosquez and chives (building a home together. Badly) OR daylily (parenthood: prepared for and not).

daylily: parenthood, prepared for and not

as luck would have it i already had smth like this written so i’m gonna just post that thang… this is part one of a story that i am currently like halfway-ish through atm (i made an OUTLINE…) and who knows if i ever finish it but i am certainly having fun writing a lil melodrama… i am who i am what can i say

August 3, 2020:

“What is it? My arm, there isn't nerve damage, is there? I thought the scans were good.” Marc shifts, a nervous hand cupping his elbow. He’s keeping utterly still– breathing through pain, trying to keep his head on straight.

Dr. Xavier Mir, uncharacteristically hesitant and containing an odd energy in his posture, peers at Marc. He has a clipboard in his hand, and he keeps glancing at it.

“Marc, you are– you are a carrier, yes? Honda had you tested, I can see it marked in your medical file.”

“Yes,” Marc says slowly, and Mir nods, flipping over the pages in his hand. He shifts on his feet, and a bolt of fear shoots through Marc’s stomach like a rabbit. They told him there was no nerve damage. Opening a glass sliding door cannot be the thing that gives him nerve damage.

Mir keeps going.

“Well, Marc,” He makes an odd, placating sound. “I checked the blood sample that we collected from you for your pre-operative labs, and then I had them run it again to be sure, and it seems that the sample we took from you indicates that you are, well, about four months along.”

Marc blinks.

That isn't what he expected.

“What do you mean?” He asks, slow and loud.

Dr. Mir clicks his pen, Marc guesses he doesn’t deliver this kind of news too often, which explains the tone. “I mean that you are almost certainly pregnant, by the look of things.”

“I—“ Marc gapes. He tries to make his mind work, arm burning. He’s not— he’s here for emergency surgery. Dr. Mir is already dressed in the awful, washed-out toothpaste color of his scrubs. He’s about to usher Marc into pre-op. This is about his arm, all of this should be about his arm.

“Four months? That’s not possible, they would have tested me before my last surgery, it was negative. The doctors at Honda told me, they told me that it wasn’t something I would have to worry about, that I don't have enough body fat.”

Mir nods. The ringing sound fades a bit from Marc’s ears.

“False negatives are rare, but I’m afraid to say that they’re not impossible. And if you can get pregnant, there is always a possibility for conception when having penetrative sex. Have you been experiencing any symptoms? Nausea, weight gain, fatigue—“ Mir peers at him sideways, talking briskly. The shadow of anxious feet move outside the door, Álex and Jose must be pacing. “Strong emotional responses?”

Marc stares at him. Strong emotional responses. The arm that he uses to ride motorcycles is broken. This is his second surgery on it in the space of three weeks. The plate snapped this morning, three hours ago. Brno is in six days, and he will miss it, 25 points down the drain.

“No, yeah— eh. I mean, yes.” He makes himself say.

He puts his good hand to his stomach.

Four months ago. Pre-season testing in Qatar. They hadn’t used a condom, and then the world had shut down and he’d been stuck without his motorcycle until July, the longest he’s ever gone without riding competitively since he was 12 and still in school. Lately, he’s had other stuff on his mind. He’s been rehabbing his shoulder, he’s been training for the season, he’s been doing— he’s been doing motocross.

The truth is, he hasn’t noticed anything. The last few weeks, when he supposes it should have been becoming more and more obvious (four months along obvious, Jesus Christ) he’d been focused on noticing his arm, mainly, and the bike, as well— both more delicate things than he’d anticipated, and there had certainly been some strong emotional responses.

But this is.

With Vale in March, he honestly didn’t even think it was possible with the sort of life he led, and when he was 20 and his doctors all told him he didn’t have to worry about it, he’d just assumed that was the end of it. That will probably be a funny story in about ten years.

It’s not, in the moment. In the moment it just feels mystifying, terrifying— like waking up and finding out the sky had turned purple overnight, only with an additionally fucked-up impact on his life and more importantly, on his career. He bites hard at his bottom lip. A baby.

He remembers— Vale’s hands on the small of his back, hot as a brand. Vale’s hands lower. The question, knifed out between strained breaths as he thumbed slickly at where Marc was hot and wanting: Do you have one? and then Marc gripping him tighter, swallowing around the words. No, he’d wanted to say, so he had. You should just, it’s okay, and then Vale was there.

“Fuck.” He says now, with feeling. This is crazy.

His eyes dart around the sterile white of the room. When he’d come in, he’d caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sterile little sink, and hated the way he looked. Washed out and pale, small in the bundle of his jacket, his useless arm hanging out of its sleeve, but cradled close. His eyes were drawn with pain above the material of his mask, and his shoulders were postured unevenly, warped protectively over his shoddily healed fracture. He’d thought that he looked old. He turns over the feeling. Old enough?

A baby. An actual baby.

Marc is a practical man, when he wants to be. He runs down the list.

The season is still young, and he wants to be back to win—but it’s shortened because of Covid, and with him already missing two races, he realizes, with a sinking feeling in his chest, that a ninth championship at the age of 27 is looking less and less likely.

Which means that he has an actual choice here, not just the illusion of one. The doctor, having given him a thin breath of a moment, picks up on his line of thought.

“You do have— options, Marc. We have you at around four months along.” He sighs. “The injury, if all is normal after surgery, should heal in six to eight weeks, but this is not a normal injury, it has been retraumatized, and you’ve put a lot of stress on the bone,”

You let me do that, Marc thinks but doesn’t say. It's unfair to say it out loud, he’s the one who decided to ride.

“Now, if you want, there are precautions we can take for the baby, or we can see about going another route with that. We need to decide soon, though, because I want to get you into surgery as soon as possible, and I’m sure you’re in a lot of pain.”

Marc ignores his comment about pain— pain usually goes away, eventually, and he’s good at ignoring it. In a few minutes, once he doesn’t need to think clearly, he’ll ask for painkillers that are safe. Six to eight weeks. He would be back by— god, Misano. There goes his season.

“Another route?” He croaks out.

“You are past the 14 week cutoff for an abortion in Spain, but there are a few other countries where it is less of a problem— Sweden, the Netherlands. I’m sure that I can get you in contact with some people that are, ah, discreet, once we get you through today’s procedure.”

Fabio Quartararo already has 50 points more than Marc. He considers the neat zero next to his name in the standings. What’s worse— P10 in the championship or nothing at all. What’s worse— sitting out, or, or a child.

“My arm, six to eight weeks, you said,” He confirms, and the doctor nods.

“If everything goes well.”

Including the initial break, he will have been out around eleven weeks in total by the end of the healing, but the doctors will usually give him what he wants if he looks like he can stand the pain. If he tries to come back in four weeks, instead of six— no, even then the next grand prix would be in September. It’s still half the season, no way around that, and no one can DNF for half the season and still win a title, not even him.

The baby would be six months along by September, and here by November. That would give him the full offseason to heal. A nauseous, unsteady little thrill runs up his spine.

He could be the first rider to win after giving birth.

He takes a shuddering breath. He finds, even still, that he suddenly wants to cry very badly. He doesn’t.

“But, um, this surgery— the baby will be fine?”

Mir tilts his head, like that’s not what he expected Marc to say. “There are always risks this early into pregnancy with surgery, especially after the amount of stress your body has undergone these last few weeks, but it’s not unusual. There are ways to mitigate that risk as you heal, as well.”

His brain keeps catching— back on the bike in six weeks.

His brain keeps catching— 50 points already.

If he does this, he won’t be able to ride until next season, which is undoubtedly the worst and scariest part of the whole thing. He doesn’t do well with boredom, or with waiting, and he can already feel the need bunching under his skin, that gut-wrenching want to get from wherever he is to his bike as fast as possible. Whatever can get him to the top step, he’ll do it, he’ll do it fast, and if it means pain, then well, he can bear it.

But the thing that makes him pause is, if he doesn’t do this, he might never get another chance.

And the idea of that, of losing that, is also scary— scarier than he thought it would be. There’s a part of him that thought he wouldn’t get to do this at all, and it’s reaching towards the realization of the idea with a greedy sort of hunger he hardly seems aware of. If he followed his initial plan, he wouldn’t have a family for probably another ten years, once he retired. And that is only if he finds someone to do it with. He never thought he’d get to do it now, so soon, and with— he finds that he likes the idea.

Especially not with someone that he— he makes himself stop, and a pang shoots through his stomach.

That’s a stupid, childish thought. Vale’s made himself clear, best to nip that part of the fantasy in the bud.

He reviews. 6 months off of his bike.

He reviews. 50 points already. A baby. Blue eyes and curly hair.

“Marc, I know this is sudden, and it is hard to think clearly.” No it’s not, Marc thinks, a little distantly.

“—But I also know you’re in pain, and we do need to get you into surgery, so I need to know what you want us to do.”

He looks up at Dr. Mir. He swallows. He’s never been one to avoid what scares him.

He goes with his gut.

“I’m keeping it.” He says with conviction.

And twenty minutes later they put him under to fix the plate in his arm.

[guardians-ofthe-lastyoungkilljoy]

i know the end - vettel

(gif not mine @usersewis)

pairing: sebastian vettel x reader

summary: Sebastian came into your life in 2015 and left in 2020 - but you fell in love with him and he just wanted a championship.

themes/warnings: alcohol, ANGST, no use of y/n, description of a panic attack, unrequited love, waxing poetic about ferrari - can you tell they're my fav team, kimi mentioned, charles is here too !! THIS IS FICTION

wc: 3.6k

a/n: someone on tumblr said that ferrari is a haunted house with a picket fence and i have never stopped thinking about it since. i have also never stopped thinking about sebastian vettel - subcategory of seb thoughts is seb in ferrari. also still open to do requests - trying out this whole fic writing thing. will also need help with organising my blog if anyone is keen :)

read on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/60713827

Sebastian joined Ferrari in 2015. The team were ecstatic to have the four time world champion join their ranks, determined to bring Ferrari back to its former glory. 

You were working on the strategy team, fairly new but established enough to be listened to on the rare occasion. 

You met Seb in the pre-season at his factory introduction. He made his speech, charming the floor with his near perfect Italian. He popped into the strategy meeting room during his tour, a war room that had become home for you with its laptops and papers spread out. Sebastian was the perfect gentleman, shaking hands with everyone, though you thought he may have held on a bit longer with you.

The season started soon after, the entire garage working overtime. You were given the opportunity to accompany the team at races, rather than being stuck at Maranello.This is how you became Sebastian’s favourite strategist. 

You’re not exactly sure when it happened. You made a good strategy call in Malaysia, a well timed pit stop in Hungary and by Singapore, the lion knew your coffee order from the Ferrari cafeteria, ensuring to always pass you some before a long meeting. 

Falling for Sebastian was drawn out, comprised of lingering greeting hugs, good conversation at team dinners, long nights at the factory and searing glances across foreign nightclubs. 

You didn’t realise it for a while, and you wouldn’t realise it until it was too late. The attention you received was perhaps just part of Seb’s charm, and he had the whole motorsport world wrapped around his infamous finger. 

2016 brought on a winless year for Ferrari, both Kimi and Sebastian unable to make it to that crucial top step. 

You found Seb at the back of the Ferrari motorhome after a particularly tough race, hiding between tyre stacks. You overheard his PR team scrambling to find him - you slipped out to the back unnoticed, knowing exactly where he was. 

The tyre stacks were sort of a shared place for you and Sebastian, free from the prying eyes of the world. The only person who knew about it was Sebastian’s head mechanic, who accidentally stumbled upon you two sharing champagne after a podium last year. 

I’ll be there soon. Sebastian recognised your footsteps before even looking up. 

You sat down beside him, trying to find the words while he absentmindedly played with his water bottle. 

I’m sorr-

I don’t want to hear it. 

Sebastian had never snapped at you. You knew the strategy calls were bad today, resulting in an ill timed pitstop and Sebastian falling through the other. This Seb, this was completely foreign to you. 

Seb stood and left, sparing no further glance at you. It was a punch to your gut. Did he blame you? Drivers were always temperamental, that you knew, but Sebastian had always been nothing but kind and mature with you. 

Your body went into autopilot mode, packing up what you can before the team debrief. 

Sebastian barely spared you a glance as everyone settled in for the debrief. Perhaps a sign that he calmed down during media duties, but you knew better than to play detective with another man’s emotions. 

Strategy seemed to be the biggest issue to tackle with your boss taking the lead. You half listened, taking notes occasionally until he mentioned your name. 

One of the plans you brought up in pre-race meetings was bold and daring. It was entertained, but ultimately shoved aside for what ended up happening during the race. However after witnessing what happened in the race, it would have gained the team some higher positions. 

Ferrari is a team, one where we win and lose together. Every aspect is just as important as each other. Admitting mistakes and learning for them is how the team gets stronger. 

The strategy admission had Sebastian sneaking glances at you for the rest of the meeting. You felt it, but you weren’t exactly ready to forgive yet. 

You returned to your home in Maranello without so much as another word to Sebastian. You were, however, greeted by a bouquet of peonies on your dining table, along with a note from the man you were so desperately trying not to think about.

By 7PM the same day, you and Seb were sharing a blanket on the couch and watching a romcom, having devoured pizza and now working your way through a giant bag of chocolate wafers. 

Unfortunately, Seb knew the way to your heart. As you tucked yourself into bed that night, you realised that you never shared a conversation with him about Sunday and an even scarier thought, you had forgiven him. 

2017 saw you and Sebastian grow even closer. Movie nights at your apartment became the norm and Seb often took you to dinner on race weekends, despite your protests that the dinners were too fancy. He had to spoil his favourite strategist would always be his response. 

Sebastian returned to the top step of Monaco that year, the Italian anthem blaring across the track along with a chorus of devoted Tifosi. He sneaked off after the celebrations, pulling you with him to the tyre stacks, champagne bottle on the other hand. 

Seb passed you the bottle and you took a large sip, pushing down the thought that his lips were on it mere moments ago. 

Are you coming to the afterparty?

Yes, but I don’t have anything to wear? 

No party dress packed? Ye of little faith. 

You rolled your eyes and shoved the bottle back into his hands. The endless banter and teasing simultaneously made you forget about your feelings for Seb but also made you fall harder for him. 

Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. He kissed your cheek and walked away. 

Cheek kisses weren’t new for Seb, having evolved from greeting hugs long ago. But “take care of it”? Well, he better not be doing what you were thinking. 

You returned to your hotel room to a large black box on your bed, an extravagant red bow tied around it with a handwritten note, definitely scrawled on by a tipsy Seb. 

The box revealed a red dress, and on top of it, another small box. You opened it and out dangled a small necklace with a heart charm. Engraved on one side was the number 5. Sebastian. 

Sebastian knocked on your door two hours later, dressed sharp and ready for the night ahead. He took you in, the dress he picked out was the perfect fit against your skin. There was however, one missing detail. 

The necklace? 

It’s a bit much, no?

Nonsense. 

Sebastian walked into your room and spotted the necklace on the bed. He took it out of its pouch and motioned for you to stand in front of the mirror. He stood behind, putting the necklace on you. His fingers ghosted over your neck, raising the tiny hairs on your skin. 

Team number 5. 

Sebastian kissed the side of your head and his fingers trailed down your arm to grab your hand. You followed him out in a daze to the elevator. 

The dim light of the elevator and Sebastian’s intoxicating cologne enveloping the cramped box. The elevator dinged, letting in more people. The sound woke you from whatever spell Sebastian cast. You counted down the floors until you had to leave the warmth of Sebastian’s side and his calloused hand around yours. 

Ground floor. The air was clearer as you exited the bubble - reality. Because despite everything, Sebastian wasn’t yours. He is Ferrari’s. You are Ferrari’s. For now, sharing a home would be enough. 

You never left Sebastian’s line of sight all night. Between partying with your girlfriends, sharing a drink with your boss and a few dances with Seb, the clarity in the haze of the club was Sebastian. 

As the night began winding down, Sebastian approached you at a booth. He was holding a mystery drink and his pupils were blown wide. He began blabbering about something Kimi did, the Finn possibly to blame for Sebastian’s current state. You took one look at him and began arranging a cab back to the hotel. 

You managed to drag a half asleep Sebastian back to his room. You sat him on the edge of the bed while you filled up a water bottle. You came back and found him spread eagle on the bed. At least he took his shoes off. 

Goodnight Seb. 

You were halfway out the room when you heard it. 

I love you.

You froze. Looking back, you saw Seb snoring peacefully, hugging a pillow to his chest. No, he’s drunk and sleeping. It wasn’t for you. It could’ve been for his bed for all you cared for. It didn’t matter, despite your heart wishing it was for you.

2018 was another successful year for Ferrari. Sebastian came home with five wins that year, placing second in the drivers standings and Kimi in third. All in all, you were quite proud of the team’s efforts that year and you knew you could unlock more of that potential. 

However, you could feel something bothering Sebastian. An itch that had been present all season. You had asked a few times, but Seb always insisted it was nothing. You knew Sebastian well enough by this point. You could read him, to an extent. But if he truly wanted to hide something, you would be helpless at getting it out. 

Sebastian invited you to stay at his farm in Switzerland for a week during the winter break. You happily obliged, having not seen him since wrapping up in Abu dhabi. You could use the tranquillity of farm life for a bit. 

Your days there were spent helping Sebastian with the animals. He taught you horse riding and you taught him baking. You let yourself get lost in that life, if just for a mere moment. Perhaps in some alternate universe, this was your home with him, that you weren’t only playing house for a week. 

You and Sebastian were laying on the carpet in front of the fireplace, sharing a bowl of attempted smores. It was your last night there before you had to jet off back to Maranello to begin pre season work. 

Seb got quiet, not exactly rare but it was different when something was on his mind. 

Would you ever leave? 

Leave where?

Ferrari.

No. Ferrari is home. 

Sebastian hummed, adding nothing more but deciding to bite into another smore. A bit of chocolate dripped onto his chin. You chuckled and wiped it off with your thumb.

Besides, you don’t need to worry about that new French kid. You’re still my favourite, world champion. 

Sebastian laughed, but you missed the melancholy in his eyes and the smile not quite reaching his eyes. 

Being a Tifosi came with many highs and lows - any balding Italian man can tell you that. It was felt even more within the team, especially for Sebastian this year. 

2019 saw the meteoric rise of Charles Leclerc, the predestined. He cemented his place as not only the future of Ferrari itself, but of the sport as well. 

Charles was full of energy and light. You grew fond of the kid and it was nice to have his company amidst the turmoil surrounding the team that year. 

You went into that year determined to get Sebastian his championship he so desperately craved. You were instead met by cheating rumours, bad calls, power shifting and well, an increasingly frustrated Sebastian. 

Sebastian who has been chasing that championship feeling for years. Sebastian who bleeds Ferrari red. Sebastian who is determined to bring the team back to the top. Sebastian, who is not quite yours, but you devoted your red heart to. 

Perhaps that’s how you ended up in this position. 

Sebastian pulled you into his driver’s room after a race. The habit has raised a few eyebrows from passing crew, but none have said a word. 

Nothing ever happened anyways. 

Seb would sit you on his couch and you’d listen. Listen as he rambled in a heinous mix of German, Italian and English. Listen as he let out his emotions after a race and all the lows he went through that weekend. 

You’d bring up some of these points to relevant crew members. It would be worked on and by the following race, it would be better. But it was never enough for Sebastian. 

You understood, he was supposed to bring Ferrari back, follow in the footsteps of his mentor and hero. It was an immense pressure and responsibility that has been carried for years. Now, the Italians have put their faith in his teammate, throwing him aside like an old toy. 

It was draining for you too, being subjected to this almost every weekend. It wasn’t your burden to bear, but this was Sebastian. He is still Rosso Corsa, and you weren’t one to deny a cry for help. 

Singapore rolled around, one of Sebastian’s favourites. He crossed the line in first place that night. You haven’t been so happy in months. 

Sebastian found you at your desk after media duties. You were still on the adrenaline high, but the tiredness began seeping back into your bones. You knew you weren’t sleeping well, the stress of the season getting to you and your eyes looked darker than ever. For Ferrari, the pain was always worth it. 

Come out tonight. 

Seb, I feel dead. 

And the race winner is personally inviting you. 

You could never resist him, which is how you have an extremely plastered Seb on your arm as you walk back to the hotel. Apparently being part of Team 5 also meant babysitting when he’s had one too many. 

I LOVE FERRARI! I NEVER WANT TO LEAVE! FORZA FERRARI! 

Sempre. 

May 2020. F1 was still on the break. The only place you went was your home in Maranello and occasionally the factory. You hadn’t seen Sebastian in months and to be honest, you haven’t heard from him as much as you wanted to. 

Then, the announcement. Sebastian Vettel to leave Ferrari by the end of the 2020 season. 

It came as a shock to you. Seb’s contract was up for renewal, you knew that. But he never said anything about leaving, at least, not to your face. And to find out from Instagram, rather than from the man himself, that was a whole other issue. 

You left several messages on Seb’s number over the next week, all remained unanswered. You knew he was a bit of a recluse sometimes, preferring quiet company over the glitz and glamour other drivers seemed to surround themselves with. Ignoring you however, that was unheard of. 

You asked some of Seb’s mechanics, but none have heard from him. You even asked Charles, but all he received was a polite thank you message. 

After a while, you gave up on contacting him. You knew better than to beg for a man’s attention, even Sebastian’s. It broke your heart to walk away, but you had to keep pushing and Ferrari needed to keep pushing. 

Red Bull Ring, Austria. The first race back was a much quieter environment than what you’ve been used to. Despite wanting to stay in Maranello, mainly to stay safe but also to avoid a certain German, your boss wanted you at the races. Who were you to deny the call of the Prancing Horse. 

You ignored him all weekend, refusing to make eye contact or be in his general presence at all. It was perhaps a bit petty, but you deserved to be after the last two months. 

Charles placed P2, a great result from the team for the first race back. You chatted to him at your desk after the race. Charles was a young man that had raw talent, immense passion and was wise beyond his years. You were lucky to call him a friend. 

Mid conversation, Charles glanced behind you. You knew exactly who was standing there, but he could wait his turn. 

You finished up with Charles, giving him a hug before he left. 

You stared at Seb standing awkwardly in the doorway. He shifted on his feet, for once not knowing what to say to you. 

Please say something. 

I have nothing to say to you. You’re the one who went radio silent for months. 

I’m sorry. 

You shook your head and looked away, not wanting him to see how much this affected you. 

I didn’t know how to tell you. 

Seb moved closer, stepping into your space. He reached out a shaky hand to yours. You gripped his, you couldn’t help it. A silent sob escaped your body. 

Come with me. 

You whipped around, searching his pleading eyes. 

Come with me. To Aston Martin. 

His other hand came up to the side of your head, cupping your cheeks and wiping away the tears on your cheek. 

Come with me. I need you. 

His hand brushed down the side of your neck, fingers finding the necklace he gifted all those years ago. 

Team 5. That’s our home. Please. 

Sebastian fiddled with the charm. He found the engraved 5 turned around, no longer facing outward like how you’ve always worn it. 

You took Sebastian’s hand and pressed a tender kiss to it. 

Ferrari is my home. I can’t come with you. 

You dropped his hand and looked anywhere else but him. You couldn’t bear to see the tears welling in his eyes. 

Please leave. 

Sebastian walked out, hesitating at the door. He took a last look at you and left. 

You let the cries come out. Every emotion you’ve kept the last few years came out in a tidal wave. 

You felt an arm wrapping around your shoulders, recognising Charles’ hand. He helped you to the floor and let you lean against him. 

I’m sorry. 

You requested to be transferred to Maranello for the rest of the season, citing health concerns. The team was sad to see you go, many of them enjoying your company on long race weekends. 

You only saw Sebastian in passing for the rest of the year, heard about him from mechanics, through strategy feedback and once from Charles. He knew not to press, but you didn’t miss the occasional flicker of sympathy from his eyes. 

Sebastian came by the factory after the season ended, a formal goodbye to Ferrari. There was food and drinks passed around and some quick speeches made. 

Sebastian was the last to come forward. 

It has been my dream to race for the Scuderia since I was a boy. Here I stand now, as a Ferrari driver for six incredible seasons. It still feels like cloud nine everytime I get to walk into this beautiful place and be greeted by the passion from every single one of you. I thank you all for the hard work you’ve put in all these years. 

Sebastian took a breath, as if hesitating on what to say next. You found yourself waiting, a small part of you hoping for him to say something, anything that would allow you to forgive him. 

I want to say a special thank you to those who have been by my side. You know who you are. I know I haven’t always made it easy, and I am sorry for that. But I am eternally grateful for you. 

Sebastian’s eyes found yours in the crowd. You found yourself fiddling with the necklace for comfort, forcing your eyes to hold back tears. 

Thank you all. Forza Ferrari sempre. 

The crowd erupted in cheers, applauding Seb as he made his way back into the crowd. 

Your ears were ringing, vision blurry and the swell of the crowd was suddenly too much. Your feet relief on instinct, turning you around and leading you towards the exit. 

A hand found your arm as you reached the lobby. Charles. The youngster took one look at you and said something about a car and to wait. Your body curled into a ball as you heaved. 

This was it. Sebastian was leaving. Leaving Ferrari and the home you built in it, with him. And neither of you could muster the courage for a proper goodbye. What an irony, Ferrari who creates heroes and legends but two of their best and brightest are cowards with each other. 

A sleek black Ferrari pulled up to the front. The rumble of the engine was enough to push yourself to stand and stumble your way to Charles who had opened the door for you. 

You turned, taking a look at the building. Ferrari is always going to be home, but the people in it give it meaning. Sebastian left, and your sun set, but it will rise again soon. 

You were at the door and hesitated for the briefest moment. That was enough for Sebastian to come running into the lobby. 

You stood in the moonlight with windswept hair and teary eyes. From the distance, Sebastian could just make out the glimmer of the necklace he gave you all those years ago and the most important thought - you were still the most beautiful woman he ever got the chance to know. 

He loved you. Loves you. It was real all along, not some drunken stupor that he convinced himself it was all those years ago, hiding because it would be easier than to let himself fall. 

He understood. You were always by his side, and he was too late to notice it, much less be grateful for it. You can't forgive him now, and he’s caused too much harm. It would be selfish of him to keep you tethered.  

 He needs to let you go. 

Sebastian nodded at you from his frozen place in the lobby. This is the end. You touched your hand to your heart, where your necklace fell. In another life. 

[buskingalbatross]

AmazingPhil channel marathon musings

during a pre-show q&a back in november, in response to a question about what show someone should binge next, dan said they should watch all of the AmazingPhil channel from the start. I was not the person who asked this (nor was I at this show), but regardless I did decide I wanted to take dan’s suggestion seriously. just a few days ago, I finished watching all of AmazingPhil in chronological order. and now i really want to talk about what it was like and why I would recommend marathoning his channel to pretty much anyone—because it was a blast.

I watched all of the 369 currently public AmazingPhil videos over the course of 35 days, which is from my perspective a pretty casual marathon. 369/35 = roughly 11 videos a day, though due to algorithm and monetization policy stuff, phil’s videos became longer in duration around 2015-2016; for many years, most of his videos were around 4 minutes long or less, which for me meant that early on in this marathon I was watching more videos per day, and then later on my pace slowed. phil’s videos with dan are usually pretty long as well, so if I had something like a baking video or wdapteo up next to watch, I might have only watched one or two videos that day. 

unsurprisingly, watching all of phil’s videos in order in a relatively short span of time gave me a really cool perspective on how phil has grown as a person and as a YouTuber over the past eighteen years. surprising to me, though, was how I felt like watching his channel in such a linear way felt a bit like coming to know who phil is for the very first time, again. despite having watched his videos for over a decade, i feel like i understand his style and creativity and personality more fully, and in general better, than I did before. watching 2007 phil become 2009 phil become 2011 phil and so on in the span of a few days or a week meant seeing clearly how his sense of humor evolved, how his editing and creativity developed, how his perspectives on life and relationship with his audience shifted. much as when you binge an entire tv or book series and immediately afterwards feel like you’re brimming with information, and have all the context, that’s sort of how I felt. and it was new for me because I’d never done that with phil’s content before—I’d never followed the course of his life the way you might a fictional character’s. 

AmazingPhil is also an incredible capsule of 2000s, 2010s, and 2020s Western internet culture, obviously. it’s like an anthropologist from the future with a very hyperspecific thesis topic’s dream treasure horde. what a person can learn about one corner of the world, and one corner of society, from AmazingPhil’s videos is, well, a lot. I see so much cultural value in AmazingPhil, it’s insane. his videos are not sketches, essays, and commentaries on society and life like Dan’s, but I’d make the argument (as I’m sure most of you would) that they’re just as important and critical to helping people understand themselves and the world they live in. and the kind of people they want to be, too, perhaps.

there were also certain videos that stuck with me more than they had in the past. I discovered new favorite videos and videos that I considered more interesting than I previously had. (I tried just now to make a list of some of these but it rapidly got too long, so instead I’ll restrict myself to mentioning only one, a new favorite, from 2021: “I Got Catfished.” - which i think is a fantastic example of phil’s storytelling style). dnp have both said before that they view life as a performance – and phil is without a sliver of doubt a magical and incredible performer. he knows so well how to tell stories with words, pacing, structures, and effects that are hilarious and entertaining; he turns anecdotes from his life into these amazing whimsical pieces of art made in a way no other person has ever made things. YouTube has from the beginning presented him with the perfect way to be creative in a way that suits him. and more than that, i found that it was never even remotely unpleasant to watch his videos every day for over a month. there is simply not an AmazingPhil video that doesn’t bring me joy and make me sit there smiling like a fool. my cheek muscles are probably stronger than they were 35 days ago. 

so, to you I say, go: watch all of AmazingPhil, draw your own conclusions from his current oeuvre and deepen your parasocial relationship with Phil Lester in ways you cannot yet comprehend. I really recommend. 

(final notes: one side effect of watching all of phil’s videos was being unexpectedly yet thoroughly convinced he does indeed possess psychic talents. even though i don’t believe in magical anything, i do now believe phil lester inherited prescience from his grandmother.) 

(also dan is completely right that every time phil changes his hair, he regenerates into an entirely new man.)

(also also I made an AmazingPhil spotify playlist that is highly specific to my music tastes but that anyone is welcome to listen to all the same) ✨🐗💙🥱