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aronarchy · 1 year

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FYI this has been going on— (cw for screenshots from a racist rightwing blog)

[image IDs: several screenshots from a blog post by Noah Carl, a rightwing “researcher” of racial pseudoscience, regarding “Nick Bostrom’s pre-emptive apology”

2nd screenshot of Carl’s statement shown above:

Nick Bostrom is a philosopher at Oxford who works on topics like existential risk and human enhancement. I haven’t read much of his work, but people I respect rate it very highly. Anatoly Karlin (whom I had on the podcast recently) considers him “the greatest living philosopher”.

A few days ago, Bostrom posted a document titled ‘Apology for An Old Email’ on his website. The document was subsequently shared on Twitter by his colleague Anders Sandberg, apparently at Bostrom’s request. It begins:

> I have caught wind that somebody has been digging through the archives of the Extropians listserv with a view towards finding embarrassing materials to disseminate about people … I fear that selected pieces of the most offensive stuff will be extracted, maliciously framed and interpreted, and used in smear campaigns. To get ahead of this, I want to clean out my own closet, and get rid of the very worst of the worst in my contribution file.

The email in question, which was sent “in the mid 90s” as part of a discussion about “offensive communication styles”, is as follows:

> I have always liked the uncompromisingly objective way of thinking and speaking: the more counterintuitive and repugnant a formulation, the more it appeals to me given that it is logically correct. Take for example the following sentence:

> Blacks are more stupid than whites.

[I cut off the rest of Carl’s screenshot of Bostrom’s email, as it contained more unpleasant antiblack commentary]

3rd screenshot:

You don’t have to apologise for saying offensive things in a setting that people have selected into for the specific purposes of discussing offensive things. Stand-up comedians don’t need to apologise for telling jokes at their shows that it would inappropriate for them to tell in church. Moreover, Bostrom made the comments more than twenty years ago, and he “immediately apologised” at the time! End of story.

Yet as you well know, academia is crawling with offence archaeologists – low-lifes who spend their time combing through other people’s writing with the hope of finding something they can use to ruin their careers. They are not virtuous, and they do not care about the downtrodden. Their aim is simply to “take down” someone whose views they disapprove of – usually someone who contributes far more to society than they do.

In light of this, you can understand why Bostrom wanted to “get ahead” of the controversy by saying his piece pre-emptively. Unfortunately, what he said may have made things worse – not only for himself but for others who might find themselves in similar situations in the future.

4th:

Rather than making the points I made above (and perhaps apologising for needing to bring the admittedly provocative email to people’s attention), he issued an embarrassingly grovelling apology:

> I completely repudiate this disgusting email from 26 years ago … The invocation of a racial slur was repulsive. I immediately apologized for writing it at the time … and I apologize again unreservedly today. I recoil when I read it and reject it utterly.

As for his “actual views”, Bostrom thinks “it is deeply unfair that unequal access to education, nutrients, and basic healthcare leads to inequality in social outcomes, including sometimes disparities in skills and cognitive capacity”. And he wants you to know that he has given to charities “fighting exactly this problem”, including “the Black Health Alliance”.

The one saving grace of his apology – from the perspective of grown-up intellectual discourse – was that he didn’t denounce the hypothesis that genes contribute to group differences in cognitive ability. “It is not my area of expertise”, he wrote, “and I don’t have any particular interest in the question.” Note: the latter claim is likely to be false; how could you not be interested in it?

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https://twitter.com/rechelon/status/1615072322058076166

[image ID:

tweet by xriskology:

The real victimhood culture is on the political right:

[a screenshot from the same Noah Carl blog post shown above]

thread QRTing their tweet:

“That which can be destroyed by the truth should be.”

My line is that your career can be destroyed by exposing the truth (that you’re still soft on vapid racial pseudoscience 25 years after endorsing it), then it deserves to be.

I find it deeply disgusting and infuriating the way that so many “rationalists” are framing everything in terms of “he said a bad word and immediately apologized 25 years ago” when that’s not even fucking remotely the issue and would amount to almost no blowback on its own.

I think almost no one gives a shit about Bostrom using the n-word 25 years ago, his apology for that isn’t the issue. The issue is that his recent apology is stunning in what it studiously doesn’t renounce and the way it leaves claims about genetic racial intelligence open.

I’m well aware that Bostrom makes the perfectly fine transhumanist move that “even if racial intelligence disparities were a thing, they’re irrelevant because everyone can individually tinker with themselves in whatever direction” but it’s not enough to merely bracket the claims.

Bostrom’s “apology” sounds perfectly fine to him and his circles because “I am not an expert on racial science” sounds like a renunciation of his claim “blacks are stupider than whites” to them. But it’s anything but! It doesn’t address at all what he still believes.

The fact is that the specific measures the rationalist community chooses to valorize, certain limited performances of rationality, do not exclude shitbags willing to make some contortions so those shitbags flock into their circles, expelling others, and shaping background norms.

I’d be willing to bet at sharp odds that >50% of the self-identified rationalist community believes “there are significant genetic racial disparities in intelligence between the races and unfairly we can’t talk about this.”

That is the problem Bostrom’s non-apology exemplifies

Now there are myriad good mechanisms and reasons to dismiss the object-level claim, but sure, ghosts could exist and it could be true, the biggest problem is the way this “likelihood” has been drastically inflated within the rationalist community by their social dynamics.

The rationalist community is running the proverbial bar where they let nazis in. And if you fail to draw the line with one nazi, you very rapidly just have a nazi bar. Because nazis are large in number, have few other options, and are willing to go through a lot of contortions.

Nazis will absolutely shit themselves silly writing endless papers throwing chaff everywhere like the “200 proofs the earth is not flat” and credulous “rationalist” bros whose whole self-image prioritizes feeling smarter than everyone and holders of esoteric truths love that.

And so we see vast asymmetries and distortions in the epistemic frames of most “rationalists” as a consequence of their sociological dynamics. They proactively read anti-woke folks on the right and then pretty much never delve deep into radical leftist arguments.

They’ll delve into the most esoteric neoreactionary screeds with giant bibliographies of catholic and postmodern writers to find the secret actual argument for an inane conservative position, but then assume every leftist argument is the first related tumblr post they found.

Scott Alexander Siskind BRAGGED that his readership was fair and balanced because he had some socialists and only like 22% identified openly as alt-right or neoreactionary. That is not balance. That is a nazi bar. And that social fabric warps one’s epistemology.

Bostrom honestly thought he was addressing the problem with his racist email in the 90s. And Sandberg (god damnit dude) read it and was like “this is a knockout response I want to be associated with” and hordes of fuckers saw the same.

reply to the thread by zorangecats:

One observation I’ve made is I’ve never seen the rationalist “steelman” for the feminist worldview. An interesting omission.

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https://twitter.com/rechelon/status/1614428504581607424

[image ID:

tweet by Aella_Girl:

Lost some respect for EA due to the response to the Bostrom thing. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised? CEA has always leaned a bit too far towards PR at the expense of integrity. I guess I’d hoped to see some more bravery. Feel like the correct response would have had more nuance.

thread QRTing her tweet:

The lost “integrity” she’s bemoaning is that the Centre for Effective Altruism released a very thin anodyne statement condemning Bostrom’s “words” (presumably just his original email and no detail on whether the racial pseudoscience in particular sucks)

Imagine being so fucking twisted that you see condemning racist shit to any minor degree as a lack of integrity.

These people’s entire morality is about fiercely condemning and ostracizing anyone who ever dabbles in condemning or ostracizing people over shit like racism, rape, and transphobia.

It’s pure Coalition Of The Bad shit.

/end image ID]

#repost of someone else’s content #twitter repost #nick bostrom #racism #antiblackness #antiblackness cw #gillis #Enlightened Centrism #the self-proclaimed ‘rationalist’ community #aella #underdiscussed but important #claiming rationality =/= your calculations are free of error #(or that your formulas are correct in the first place)#(or that you are automatically free of bias or inaccuracy)#aesthetic (but ultimately irrational) posturing masquerading as a takedown of of others’ supposed aesthetic irrationalities #as it always goes -- whites make counterfactual statements & construct theories around them motivated by (yes) *bias*#and pass it off as fact --> any of the marginalized who debunk those inaccuracies & present the facts are labeled as biased ourselves #claiming we debunk bioessentialism & tie that to our egalitarian ideology bc ideology first ‘pseudo’science second #when in fact that it exactly what *they* did and what we do is *to undo what they did first*#however their epistemology also has a built-in self-defense mechanism:#‘if they claim x y z they must be wrong because as our ‘facts’ prove they’re too irrational & stupid to know what’s right #(and their disagreement proves our theories are right)’#same self-reinforcing mechanism fundamental to western colonialism (& patriarchy) in the modern form that claims to be rational/scientific #also how the entire psychiatric field conducts itself (heavy ties to other fields of human biological study esp. neuroscience)#& can successfully hook a lot of ppl already motivated to fall for this kind of stacking the deck #but the (yes) *aesthetic* they present themselves w/ makes it easier for them to deflect criticism #bc ‘I am Objectively Right according to Science --> all those critics are just irrational moralist science-haters’#especially frustrating when many in that crowd *do* promote genuinely suppressed but correct ideas (such as transhumanism)#but then try to lump in things like racism as similarly suppressed unjustly as if the dynamics are anywhere near the same #I wasnt aware abt Bostrom bc Ive been off twitter for months

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steddieas-shegoes · 4 months

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AU where Eddie’s mom manages to get away from Eddie’s dad when he’s a small child, goes to the only place she knows is truly safe: Wayne.

Wayne takes them in no questions asked, helps her raise Eddie, makes sure his dad never comes around (maybe works with Hopper once he’s named Chief to make sure he gets behind bars as soon as possible).

So Eddie gets the love of his mom, and the love of his Uncle Wayne, and shit is still hard, money is still tight, he still has trouble fitting in, but it doesn’t distract him from school so much.

He graduates his first try, squeaks by with Cs and Bs because he’s smart, he’s just so easily distracted. Even gets into the community college, but has no idea what he wants to do until his mom is helping him with a pre-req English course. She says he’s naturally good at unpacking a story for anyone to understand it -“even when I ain’t the brightest star in the sky”- and he realizes maybe his talent of telling stories and helping people understand stories could make him a good English teacher.

Now that he has a plan, he’s focused, invested on getting into a university so he can be certified to teach. But he still struggles with math and unfortunately, he has to pass to move on.

That’s where Steve Harrington, freshman at Hawkins Community and Technical College, comes in. This isn’t the Steve that Eddie remembers from high school at all: he’s quiet and shy, doesn’t make eye contact, is really fucking smart.

Steve agrees to tutor him if Eddie agrees to help him with his final paper in his English course, a 10 page fictional exploration of a time in history.

“Use your imagination!” “Just pretend you’re writing a memoir.” “This is the longest sentence I’ve ever read and that includes Tolkien books.”

Steve blushes, makes corrections when Eddie suggests them, makes flash cards with formulas for Eddie to memorize for his exam.

They spend nearly every day working together, studying together, tutoring each other.

When Eddie passes his exam, he’s so excited, he runs right to the library, where he knows Steve is putting the final touches on his paper. He doesn’t even wait to catch his breath from running across campus to kiss him.

And suddenly Eddie isn’t the only one out of breath.

#someone wanna write this?#someone please take this away from me #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #this could be the 80s or modern tbh #I just think it’s neat to put them in all the situations #migraine thoughts are going crazy today sorry

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rninies · 21 days

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✮ math problems

౨ৎ veritas ratio x reader. fluff, gn!reader, annoying ass ratio — wc: 711

notes. IM FINALLY BACK HI EVERYONE WHO MISSED ME (probably no one)

veritas ratio is known to be the math expert in your university. not only was he the top student in your class, but the first-place champion in the mathematics olympians last year. sure, most girls are after him for his intelligence, but he is also insanely good-looking. lucky for you, veritas has had his eyes on you ever since your first day in university. it wasn’t a necessarily admirable first meet, but you came in late for your first class, and the only seat available was right next to veritas (you are sure every single girl in your class was looking at you with jealousy).

ever since that day, veritas has made it his goal in life to annoy you with his stupidly smart use of vocabulary and math knowledge. While he is basically flying as free as a bird during math class, you are suffering, not understanding a single meaning on your worksheet.

veritas, seeing you looking down on your paper confused, laughs mockingly. “are you seriously stumped over a math question? you know that’s the first question, right?” he places a hand under his chin, using it as a support to look at you. “do you need help?”

“no!” you immediately decline his offer, wanting to prove that you did not need his help. but, after five minutes of looking over the formulas and back to the worksheet, you sighed in despair, forehead coming into contact with the table. “okay, fine. Help.”

veritas raises his eyebrows. “ask nicely, then i will consider.”

you groaned. “please help me.”

veritas smiles, satisfied. “okay, you need to use this formula instead of the formula you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes. that formula is only needed in the later questions.” he points at the formula you’ve written on the first page of your notebook.

“why didn’t you tell me before?!” you exclaim. “you must have thought i am an idiot for staring at the wrong formula.” you chewed the inside of your cheek, avoiding eye contact from veritas.

“you didn’t ask.” veritas shrugs. “besides, it is kind of funny seeing your struggle to correlate the wrong formula to the equation.” you slap his forearm, and he dramatically holds his arm, face scrunching in pain. “ow! that hurts!”

“oh come on, don’t be dramatic. besides, you’re way stronger than me.” you point out. “now help me solve the rest of the questions.” you give veritas the sweetest smile you can muster. “please.”

veritas scoffs at the fakeness of your smile but helps you regardless. he won’t admit it out loud, but seeing you smile at him makes his heart flutter — the way you smile at him, how you give him a proud look after solving a math question without his help, anything that you do makes his heart flutter.

as you solve the next questions, finally understanding what each means, you don’t notice the way veritas looks at you, eyes softening as he sees you concentrate on the questions.

the bell rings, snapping veritas out of his daze. he clears his throat and starts packing his bags. But, before he gets to do so, you slam your worksheet on his table. “look! everything’s correct, right?” he looks up and sees your eyes filled with hope. as he checks your worksheet, a warm feeling embraces him, finding out that everything is indeed correct.

“mhm. perfect score.” veritas messily drew a smiley face on top of your worksheet and you smiled happily, squealing. unable to contain your happiness, you hug him tightly. “woah-!”

“thank you, thank you, thank you!” before you know it, you plant a kiss on his cheek. shocked by your own actions, you immediately pull away, embarrassed. “i-i’m so sorry! that-”

“no, i don’t mind.” veritas mumbles, his cheeks turning red. “that was… nice.”

you blinked and burst out laughing. “nice? that's your first response to someone kissing you?”

“what else do you want me to say?” veritas huffs, crossing his arms. “oh, your kiss has saved me from the pain and suffering of math class?” he says sarcastically.

“now you’re exaggerating it.” you sigh. “since when did you ever suffer during math class?” instead of answering you, veritas just winks at you.

“so,” he starts. “when's our first date?”

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final-script · 2 months

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First Moves | LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Sumary: The first movements of the Little Norris

Warnings: English is not my first language !!!There are probably many mistakes (I will correct them later), Pregnancy

Gif: princemick

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Although we were constantly afraid of failing at everything during pregnancy, it wasn't all bad. Aside from the nausea and some pains, there were other things that were beautiful to experience. Both for you and for Lando. They both shared the excitement of documenting the growth of your belly, month by month. (…)

The last week of the fourth month was one of our favorites.

While Lando was taking a picture of me, next to a small apple that was the size of our baby, one of the most beautiful moments occurred. We feel our baby's movement for the first time. Y/N- HONEY!!, come here.

L- What's going on? Are you okay? Y/N- has moved! Moving my hands in different directions looking to feel it again. L- Really? Putting the camera aside and coming closer to you. Y/N- really!, here looks. Taking his hands and placing them on my stomach. - Hey, honey, say hello to Daddy.

In return, they got a couple of kicks. The smile on Lando's face was arguably the biggest he had ever expressed. L- HE DID! , Hello little one, I'm daddy, me and your mommy are looking forward to your arrival to love and take care of you very much. Our little apple kicked again. I was sure that Lando would be the best dad in the world and if he wasn't already, he would try very hard to be one.

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ANOTHERS

FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

Goodfather Lando - Carlos Sainz Jr.

#lando norris #formula 1 #lando norris one shot #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 one shot #f1 #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine

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cl6teen · 10 months

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GQ COUPLES QUIZ ⍟ CL16

a GQ interview featuring the paddock’s favourite couple

mature/crude language and jokes, fluff, sexual/suggestive innuendos but not a lot, inaccurate tellings of the 2023 season, a lot of questions/inspo taken from the actual couples quizzes on GQ’s yt (rosalia and rauw) reblogs/interactions always appreciated !!

cl6teen 2023. do not copy/repost any of my works/ideas pls!

charles: i’m camera shy so maybe you should start!

y/n: you’re literally the least camera shy person i know, charles.

he laughs and readjusts himself in the wooden chair, placing his hands on the armrests to get comfortable just before speaking.

y/n: get on with it.

charles: hello, i’m charles leclerc, a driver for the scuderia ferrari formula one team.

y/n: and i’m y/n l/n, a model and partial social media influencer.

charles: and today we are here with GQ to do the couples quiz!

you smile, holding the stack of cards in your hands up to the camera.

y/n: i’m going to be asking charles some questions about myself and our relationship, so let’s see if he’s really the paddock’s boyfriend of the season.

charles: i am.

his face is stoic when he meets your eyes, leaving your mouth to tremble in a futile attempt to bite back a giggle. his silence doesn’t last long, laughing at the sight of you doubling over in your seat.

y/n: you’re so serious!

y/n: okay! first question of the day, cha: what is my favourite colour?

charles: come on, this is easy! it’s (fav colour), you’re wearing it now

y/n: correct! you actually bought this for me at the start of the year.

cockily, his eyes pan to the camera and he quick a quick shrug as if to say, ‘no big deal about it’, but you don’t catch it.

y/n: what is my go-to karaoke song?

charles: oh, fuck.

you laugh at the way his eyes widen, mocking his words with a deep tone.

y/n: oh. charles leclerc you should know this.

charles: nono i do, i do mate! give me a moment.

the camera zooms into his face, placing calculations across the screen as he’s searches around in his head for the answer—you just went on a karaoke date some nights before; it was in there somewhere.

charles: ah! voulez-vous by ABBA.

y/n: i should dock you half a point for taking so long, but i’m feeling generous today so i won’t.

y/n: what has been my favourite grand prix of the season so far?

charles: baku, because i won no?

y/n: australia actually—lewis’ win.

he cocks his head at you with a raised brow as if to ask if you were serious, and you rush to cover your smile with the stack of quiz cards.

y/n: i’m joking, of course it was baku!

you briefly reach for his hand.

y/n: my love’s first of many wins of the season.

charles: it’s my turn for a question now, yes?

y/n: no charles, i’m asking you questions right now! you go after i’m done.

charles: then why is it called the couples quiz, GQ! should be called the y/n quiz.

y/n: do you see how whiny he is? wait your turn.

jabbing your manicured thumb towards the monegasque, you shake your head at the camera.

y/n: next question, what is my hidden talent?

charles: but it’s hidden for a reason right? we cannot say it.

you both laugh at his words.

y/n: a hidden talent that only you know of.

charles: well then i definitely can’t say it out loud, i’d get in trouble.

he smirks boyishly, leaving you to gasp and reach over to smack his shoulder.

y/n: say something else! one that can be said.

charles: ermm, you can memorize any recipe you make once.

y/n: that’s normal though.

charles: no it’s not! it’s very weird how you know the exact measurements of everything without having to check. carlos agrees too!

you shrug and give him the point.

y/n: how did we meet?

you turn to the camera and cover your lips from his view before mouthing, ‘he better know this one’.

charles: we met at the monaco grand prix after party in 2021—lewis introduced us and you were too drunk to remember my name.

charles: you didn’t think i forgot, did you?

y/n: i was hoping you forgot the drunk part.

he laughs at the small pout drawing on your face.

y/n: when and where was our first kiss?

charles: monza, 2021—i have it on this bracelet.

he holds up his wrist to show the camera. right above his forza ferrari bracelet is one that has the aforementioned date engraved on it.

y/n: isn’t he so romantic?

y/n: what’s the first thing i eat after waking up—don’t make a joke.

charles: i wasn’t going to make a joke.

dramatically, you roll your eyes at him — the smile on his face says otherwise.

charles: you have yogurt so you have something to snack on while making your actual breakfast.

charles: i’m an observant man.

y/n: my favourite thing about you. so, what have i always wanted to learn?

charles: like sports? or music?

y/n: hmm…let’s do both for two points.

charles: okay…you’ve always wanted to learn piano.

you nod your head as he counts his fingers.

y/n: correct.

charles: and…you want to learn how to play tennis

y/n: wrong! i know how to play tennis charles. i want to learn how to ski.

charles: but you never come with me on my ski trips!

y/n: you always go when i’m working babe.

he gives an apologetic look, which you return with a small smile.

y/n: this one is a bit difficult, but what is my signature scent?

charles: ah…is it one of the margiela?

y/n: i like some of the scents…but no, it is (fav perfume).

rolling his eyes, he takes your wrist to his nose to get a smell.

charles: ah! you do smell good, though.

y/n: merci, mon amour. what are the three main things that i cannot leave my house without?

charles: three things you can’t leave without?

charles: me, of course.

y/n: that’s true! but apart from you.

charles: your lipgloss, your phone, and a pair of flats. you don’t even need to tell me if i’m right, open her bag and check!

[OFF CAMERA]: he’s right.

charles: bring-bring it here!

a hand emerges past the camera to hand charles the vintage chanel bag. with a shit eating grin on his face he opens the bag towards the camera to reveal the three items listed.

charles: where are the rest of your things, my love!

he laughs at the way you snatch your bag from him.

y/n: first of all, lipgloss is meant to be retouched, and heels aren’t always comfortable.

y/n: plus, when’s i’m with him i never need anything else do i?

charles: what’s your next question?

y/n: what is my night time skin care routine?

charles: ehm…can i get the next next question?

you burst out into laughter, doubling over as you try to collect yourself.

y/n: he didn’t even try!

charles: do you know my skin care routine?

y/n: i gave you your skin care routine!

charles: it’s too complicated to remember. please, next question.

y/n: what is my—who approved these questions?

[OFF CAMERA]: our boss, please continue.

y/n: charles, what is my bra size?

charles: easy, (bra size).

silently, you stare at him in slight confusion that he paid attention to such little detail.

y/n: what is the best way to make me laugh?

charles: hearing my laugh!

y/n: that is true! specifically the one where you kind of sound like a duck.

[OFF CAMERA]: alright charles, you’ve scored eleven points.

charles: that’s a good score, no? think you can beat it?

y/n: of course!

charles inconspicuously reaches for his stack placed on the console inbetween your chairs. there’s a cute smile on his face as he shuffles through his cards.

charles: what was my first f1 win?

y/n: spa, 2019. how could i not know!

charles: that’s true! where do i want us to next travel?

y/n: you didn’t tell me this though! charles always does this thing where he surprises me with our vacation destination.

charles: ah, you’re right.

he goes to shuffle the card to the back, but you’re quick to stop him.

y/n: i can guess, but if i get it correct i get two points. is that allowed?

the both of you pause to look past the camera for a go ahead, which is given by a swift thumbs up from the crew.

y/n: i actually don’t know if you want to go here, but i do. morocco?

charles: correct.

y/n: alright guys, look out for morocco baecation photo dumps on my instagram within the next few months!

charles: next question, if i wasn’t an f1 driver, what would i be?

y/n: a tennis player? i would say a footballer but after that charity match…

charles laughs loudly at the mention of his game and the memory of his dive head first into the pitch ground.

charles: tennis player is one of them, so i’ll give the point out of the kindness of my heart.

charles: so, how many kids do i want?

y/n: you want three, but don’t mind two if i can’t handle the stress of a third child. you don’t mind the genders, but it would be nice to have a least one boy and girl in any order.

charles: you have a great memory, my love.

charles: how can you tell that i’m angry?

y/n: oh my god, it’s always written all over your face cha. you get all like this and your bros furrow so much.

you try your hand at imitating it, clenching you jaw and giving your most menacing look to the camera before showing it to charles.

charles: hey you’re pretty good at it!

y/n: i think it’s quite attractive though, i love when the cameras catch it during the grand prix.

he winks at you.

charles: what is my favourite way to spend time with you?

y/n: sex? am i allowed to say that? can you cut this part out?

charles: who has the corrupted mind now! the answer was cooking together!

you make a helpless face at your boyfriend, almost feeling embarrassed that your words are going to be stuck on youtube for all to see.

y/n: whatever.

charles: what is my favourite animal?

y/n: ah…monkeys?

charles: monkeys? monkeys!?

he leans in closer to your seat in disbelief and slight fear.

y/n: wait wait wait!

charles: i’m afraid of monkeys!

y/n: but the little baby ones are so adorable!

charles: no, absolutely not. no point for you, y/n.

he dramatically crosses his forearms to each other to make a large x at your face.

charles: what is my sign?

y/n: libra, next question.

charles: wait—i don’t even know my sign!

y/n: i was the one who told you it!! it was one of our first dates and you asked me about your birth chart!

charles raises a shocked brow towards the camera.

charles: what is my favourite colour on you?

y/n: red on race day, and then sage green or white normally.

charles: it’s lovely seeing your girlfriend in your colour, no?

charles: what is the most annoying thing that comes alongside living with you?

y/n: absolutely nothing.

charles: is that your final answer?

y/n: would it be anything else…?

you both sit and stare at one another in silence.

charles: i don’t like how majority of our bed is taken up by stuffed animals.

you groan loudly at him, reaching over to swat his thigh.

charles: ow! okay, i’ll ask you one more question for redemption. what would be my ideal retirement plan?

y/n: obviously we’ll be married and hopefully with kids. you wouldn’t mind staying in monaco but you’d also like to try living in italy—but in the countryside on a large plot of land.

charles: are you sure that’s not your retirement plan?

y/n: charles leclerc.

charles: okay okay, you’re correct!

y/n: i’m pretty sure i just moped your ass in this quiz

[OFF CAMERA]: actually y/n, you only scored nine points.

charles claps obnoxiously with a wide smile on his face, to which you flip him off and brush him aside.

charles: hah! i guess that settles it!

y/n: whatever, i have you beat in lots of other things.

charles: not this though—but i believe our time is up!

turning to face the camera, you both give a curt wave.

both: thanks for watching our GQ couples quiz!

…

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#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x you #cl16 x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #cl16 #cl16 imagine

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sonicslushie · 1 year

Text

Slipped My Mind ~ P.P.

Summary: You’re the person who designs Spiderman’s suits, but you never actually met the man- or boy- behind the mask.

A/N: terrible summary & first fic, originally this was going to be based on the conan gray song “yours” but it took an odd turn in there so it's not lmao. But if you wanna read that let me know i’m dying to write more for petey boy. This is also like a little fluff thing that i threw together in a few hours so it’s not the best (my b)

a playlist for u to listen to as u read<3

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark Intern!Reader

TW: kinda a clueless reader, mentions of blood and open wounds,

Wordcount: 3.6k

Ice cream was all you wanted. It was your lunch break from Stark Industries, the place you interned at because of your impressive resume, and partly because your dad just so happened to be the owner of Tony Stark’s favorite burger place. You had been a pretty smart kid, finished highschool early and graduated MIT with a degree in engineering and all you wanted was to build supersuits. That was the dream, wasn’t it? Helping the world’s mightiest heroes by being the one who created their high tech suits and accessories, actually making a difference for those who saved billions of lives? Yeah, no.

You started out three years ago as Ms. Potts' personal assistant at the ripe age of 16. You spent 2.5 years of that assisting just doing the basic intern stuff; grabbing coffee and burgers, attending meetings to take notes, scheduling and yatta yatta, the occasional fake laugh at a dad joke that Mr. Stark made. It wasn’t until you joined Ms. Potts in Mr. Stark’s lab to give him his burger, and you corrected his formulas on some project and you thought it was OVER. He looked surprised that you even spoke to him, oh fuck, you messed up. Or so you had thought. He actually told you that you were right?? Then, I swear to god, he asked what you would do to improve the project he was working on. (It was a super suit for the newest hero, Spiderman.) He liked your idea to add what you called the “training wheels” protocol. Mr. Stark decided to give you a chance and he had you help him create the rest of the suit, and now 6 months later, you were in charge of all things Spiderman.

But that’s not the point of the story right now, right now, you wanted ice cream.

And you had just bought two big scoops in a freshly made waffle cone. Honestly the best use of 5 bucks, or so you thought. Just as you were about to take the first lick, a red and blue streak sprinted past- no into you. It was like a movie, all you saw was your delicious creamy dessert flying up in the air in slow motion, then- SLAT! Both you and the ice cream were on the ground, a familiar looking super suit standing above you, stammering about how he was “so sorry” and “chasing a bad guy” in a very peppy voice.

“You’re Spiderman, why weren’t you swinging from building to building?” You asked, furious you were now going to have to buy another one. You just wanted one thing, could you not just have it without dealing with this bozo?

“Forgot to put in new web fluid. I’m sorry about your ice cream but I’ve really gotta- I don’t see him anymore. Shoot.” He says, shaking his head. “You know what, let me make this up to you. I’ll buy you another one.”

Well that seemed fair and it slightly cooled off your now bad mood. You agree and wait in line with the dude who you create super suits for. The funny thing is, this was actually the first time you ever met the one and only Spiderman- or Spiderling as Mr. Stark calls him. You don’t even know who the person is under the mask, but at this point you really didn’t care about it, you just wanted your ice cream.

After waiting in line for what felt like forever and making meaningless small talk with the masked hero, you make it to the front of the line.

“Two scoops of strawberry, please. Waffle cone.” You smile at the worker, then turn to Spiderboy. You say at the same time as the employee, “5 bucks.”

The Spiderdude pats his sides as if feeling for a wallet, then looks at you with that expressionless mask- god you had to work on that- and says, “I don't have my wallet.”

You could almost smack him in the back of the head, but you just take your wallet out and give the worker a 5 dollar bill. Taking the new ice cream, you turn to the hero, “Well now you owe me two, Spidey.”

“I-I’ll make it up to you, do you have Venmo?” He asks, panic rising in his voice. He sounded young, maybe around your age. If you were honest, he piqued your interest. So instead of rolling your eyes and walking away, you pulled your phone out.

“Here,” you say, ready to just get back to the lab. He takes a picture of it and gives you a thumbs up.

“I’ll have to make a new venmo so you can’t figure out my identity, but I gotta run.” He says, and literally runs off. You stand there, looking at the hero you basically manage but just met, then your ice cream. What a day, huh? You shrug it off and begin to eat your ice cream as you head back to the office.

The ice cream had been off your mind ever since you finished the yummy dessert, and went back to designing your own web fluid. Sure the dude had his own way of making it (you weren’t really sure if it had been coming out of him or not until today, you never really had the chance to ask anyone), but you knew you could do it better. Everyone at Stark Industries called you ‘Junior’ for a reason, and it wasn’t just because of your crazy intelligence. It might have also been the slight egotistical self assurance and the stubbornness you possessed.

As you worked you listened to music and snacked on the various foods you hid in the lab unbeknownst to Mr. Stark. Here and there you would test the web fluid with some of the new web shooter prototypes you had made, at this point you could swing around New York from how often you used these things. You often thought of it and giggled at the thought; ridiculous, these silly little dreams you possessed.

You had been giggling about it to yourself when the one and only Mr. Stark walked in- with a kid who was talking so fast and in such a familiar peppy tone that you couldn’t help but look up.

“-and then I looked up dodo birds and did you know they’re basically just big pigeons?” He finished, looking up at Mr. Stark with big brown doe eyes that sparkled in the light. Sparkle in the light? Oh come on, y/n. You caught yourself ogling at the new kid, still trying to figure out where you heard that voice before. Little miss genius might be able to create the highest tech super suits in the world, but boy oh boy did you have a hard time connecting dots.

“Right, big pigeons. Anyway, Peter, this is y/n y/l/n. Junior, this is Peter Parker.” Mr. Stark says, looking at you as if you could take the excitable kid off of his hands.

Now, Mr. Stark is a lot of things, and busy is one of them. This just so happens to affect his memory, and in this case, he completely forgot that he never introduced Spiderling- Peter Parker- to his favorite intern. It slipped his mind, I mean when you’re a billionaire CEO and a superhero, the little things tend to slip the mind. It’s not like he meant to never introduce you two, he really did mean to. But every time Peter’s been at the tower, Junior was always gone either for the weekend or for her lunch break. Plus, Mr. Stark had things to do. Like right now; get out of this boring conversation and get burgers from his favorite burger place with Happy.

“Oh it’s nice to meet you, Peter.” You say, not knowing that you met Peter earlier that day as Spiderman. But Peter knew, and he also forgot that he had to venmo you for that ice cream from earlier. Caught off guard, his eyes just go wide and he awkwardly smiles and waves at you like an idiot.

“Um okay. Anyway, Mr. Stark, I was about to head out, but I got the new web fluid made and finished up the new prototypes for web shooters. I also started up blueprints for a new suit. I forgot to mention I saw Spiderboy today and I gotta say, that suit does nothing for his ass.” You say, going back to the blueprints in front of you, making sure everything is perfect for tomorrow morning. Mr. Stark takes a peek over your shoulder, nodding in approval, then says, “Well I’ve got to hit the road, I’ve got… an important meeting to attend. Yeah. See ya tomorrow, Junior, same to you Pete.”

You and Peter tell Mr. Stark bye in various fashions, being left in an awkward silence, neither of you really knowing how to proceed from there. Mr. Stark never told you that you would be meeting with Spiderdude to discuss your progress on the new ideas you had come up with but if he didn't show up before 5 you weren't staying, you'd didn't get paid enough. Peter wasn’t told he would be seeing the girl he literally ran into and owe her ice cream money. Seems like it just slipped Mr. Stark’s mind again.

“So um, whatcha doing here Peter?” You say, begin to clean up your workstation to go home. Peter was just standing awkwardly behind you, trying to figure out what to say. He was also unaware that you didn’t know that he was Spiderman, he had figured Mr. Stark would have told you if you were the one working on his suits all this time.

“Oh I was um- just leaving actually. Looks like you’re ready to go home, so I- Yeah I’m just gonna go.” He says quickly, turning on his heel to leave. At this point you were just ready to go home, so you shrug it off and say, “Nice meeting you, Peter. See ya.”

He doesn’t say anything as he leaves. If he was being honest, he’s never been good at talking to pretty girls. Not to mention super awesome pretty intern girls who have been providing him his super awesome super suit. Probably too many “supers” but he didn’t care, he could barely even function in the same room as you. Not to mention he made a fool of himself earlier, but honestly you didn’t even seem to remember, which threw him off even more. And when you said “nice to meet you” it confused him, you two had met earlier that day. God, he had to get some fresh air.

Peter made it outside and was cooling down from that super awkward and weird encounter, when he saw you pulling out of the car park in your car, singing along loudly to some Miley Cyrus song. He turns away, trying not to make it obvious that he was avoiding you. But you turned your head as you were looking for oncoming traffic, and you saw him.

You don’t know why you did it, but you rolled your window down and yelled above the loud ass music, “Hey Peter! You waiting on a ride?”

He was too caught off guard to lie, and to be fair he didn’t even like lying, so he shook his head and before he knew it, he was getting in your car.

“Where are you heading?” You asked, turning the music down. He tries not to be as awkward as before as he says, “Queens, but it’s a far drive you really don’t have to-”

“Oh I live there too! Don’t even worry about it,” you say, happy you could do something for the odd kid. He was a bit awkward, but in a cute sort of way. It almost made your stomach get butterflies at the thought of you of all people making him nervous.

“Oh okay, thanks so much. I really appreciate it,” he says, then after a beat of intense silence with Miley wailing in the background, he decides to try and make conversation. “So how long have you been working for Mr. Stark?”

“Since I was 16, so like 3 years. Most of it was being Ms. Potts’ assistant though,” you say, tapping your fingers to the beat.

“Woah, wait so did you like graduate early?” He asks, now immensely intrigued. You give him the rundown of the past 6 years of your life, to which he’s very impressed and totally not thinking about how pretty you look in the dying sunlight. Totally would never do that.

“But yeah, that’s me. What about you, how did you get involved with Mr. Stark?” You ask, glancing over at him slightly. You must say for a dork, he had some very nice features.

“Very long story that includes him hitting on my aunt. Ugh,” he shivers at the memory, “And a trip to Germany.”

That rings some bells in your head, but to be fair Mr. Stark is in Germany a lot so you don’t really question it. Like I said, you don’t connect dots very well unless it’s in the form of equations.

You guys talk all the way to Peter’s apartment, you even give him your phone number if he ever needs a ride to the office. As Peter walks off, you both can’t help but wonder how weird the day has been. But as you drive off and turn up the radio, you put it out of your mind. Time to go home and relax.

Only when you got home, you didn’t relax. Almost as soon as you step into your apartment, your phone lets out a little “cha-ching” noise, notifying you that someone just venmoed you. You completely forgot about Spidey owing you for your ice cream until you saw the little notification: Spidey paid you $10 with an ice cream emoji underneath. You smirk, then go back to fully entering your apartment. Only to hear your phone go off a few seconds later, another venmo notification, this time a comment left under the money he just paid you.

I feel really bad about earlier. I figured I’d pay for both.

You raise an eyebrow at your phone, smiling a little to yourself. He seems sweet. Sweeter than most guys you’ve run into in the middle of New York. And trust me, it’s happened more often than you’d like to admit.

You type back.

I really appreciate that Spiderdude. Love the profile pic;)

His profile picture was that one Spiderman meme with the three Spidermans pointing at each other. It made you giggle, at least he had a sense of humor. Most superheroes (*cough* Steve Rogers *cough*) didn’t. A few seconds later he sends another message.

Next time I’ll get you three scoops:)

You smiled and decided that was a pretty good deal, three free ice creams? Sounds like a scam but you weren’t going to question it. You just put your phone down and decided it was time to have a nice warm bath and rock out to Taylor Swift.

It was a while before you heard from both Peter or Spiderman, and you were still clueless to the fact that they were the same person. After a few weeks of that whole situation being off your mind, you were going into work on a late night call from Mr. Stark said that something urgent came up with the Spiderling and he wasn’t in town to take care of it. So, you jumped out of bed and rushed out still in your pajamas to the Stark Tower.

You sped all the way there, the stars oddly bright for the city. You made note to go to the rooftop of your apartment whenever you were able to make it back. You always had a thing for the stars, having not grown up in New York. The city was beautiful, but you could truly say that you hated the nights there. No stars glittering overhead, cars and people being loud at all hours of the night. The only good thing you could say about the night in New York was all the food places that were open 24/7. (You tend to have a craving for Thai food at odd hours of the night.)

Upon arriving at the Stark Tower, you ask F.R.I.D.A.Y what’s going on, and she directs you to your lab. You make your way up there, wondering what in the world this kid could be needing that’s so urgent. If it’s something stupid, dear god, help him. You would molly whop him into the next dimension.

The lab doors upon a very beat up Spiderboy, who’s laid across your desk. Laying in a pile of blood. Okay, good enough reason, you supposed, immediately dropping all idea’s of punching the poor kid in the head.

You rush up to him, taking in his half dead state of being. A giant would- no a hole would be a better way of putting it. Just a big hole in his side, with a lot of blood seeping out of it. You poke him, making sure he’s still breathing. He groans in response, it’s enough to get you moving. You had planned on this a long time ago, you created a device to regrow skin just for this occasion. You found it and within seconds, his wound began healing, though it might take a while for him to create enough blood to be able to even be able to sit up again. At that thought, you ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y. to get the building’s onsite medical team to get the kid.

Once you were finished fixing his gaping hole, you poked him again, praying he was still alive. There was so much blood everywhere, but you tried to keep your Thai food down as you begged for him to wake up.

“Come on kid, you can’t die on me. Mr. Stark would kill us both,” you say, starting to shake him now. You could see his chest moving up and down slightly, but he wasn’t waking up. You pleaded in your head for the med team to get there quickly, you didn’t know why you were so upset by this. Sure, it would be sad if the kid died, but you didn’t know him like that. You didn’t know him well enough to be crying over his dying body, begging him to just open his eyes or say something. Not that you could see them through the mask-

The mask.

Your trembling hand goes to take it off, but the medical team rushes in just as you begin peeling it off, only exposing his neck.

You step back as the med team begins working on him, you let them know that you healed him, but he needed blood. That was all you could say before they moved him onto the gurney and began taking him away, you called after, “Just wake up, Spidey, please!”

That was the first thing that Peter remembers hearing, your voice. Lights were flashing overhead as he heard people saying things above him, though he couldn’t comprehend any of it. God, he was so dizzy. And why wasn’t his side hurting anymore? He started grabbing for his side, but the people around him stopped him from doing so. What was going on?

“You were bleeding out,” one of them says from above him, he’s starting to hear them more clearly now. Maybe his superhealing had finally set in. “No, Ms. y/l/n just saved your life. Now calm down, you’re going to be okay.”

Peter didn’t realize he was just speaking his thoughts as they came to him, he also didn’t realize that you had decided to follow the medical team just to make sure he ended up okay. It’s not that you didn’t trust them, you just wanted to be sure. So much for looking at the stars, huh?

Peter kept babbling as the medical team got him to their facility a few floors down, starting to connect tubes to give him more blood. One of them goes to take his mask off to check for any head wounds, but he stops them. He’s conscious enough to know that he knows none of these people, and none of these people need to know that he’s Peter Parker.

“You’re Peter Parker?” You say, total confusion in your voice. Damn it, did he say that out loud? “Yes, you did, you idiot.”

You get as close as you can without getting in the way of the people trying to help him. Once they were all done and he was getting the blood that he needed, you asked them to leave so you could talk to Peter. How did you not realize? He has a very distinctive voice, and obviously that’s why Mr. Stark brought him into your lab a few weeks ago. Seriously, not your best moment.

“So you’re the infamous Spiderman?” You say, sitting on the edge of his cot. He peels his mask off and takes a breath of fresh air.

“Wait,” it hits him that you didn’t know, what is going on? “You didn’t know?”

“Nope,” you laugh, “I’m not really sure how I didn’t, especially after Mr. Stark brought you in there. I’m also not sure how he never mentioned that you were there person I’ve been making all this superhero stuff for. Must have slipped his mind.” Understatement of the century.

“I thought you knew, that’s why I never really mentioned it. Also,” he smiles a little to himself, “I promised to get you ice cream next time I saw you. How about it?”

You raise your eyebrow at him, “You’re in a cot getting blood poured into you.”

“When I’m better?”

“Sounds like a date.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #mcu peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fanfic

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goldsbitch · 1 month

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Just don't talk-------

-before I get my story straight.

p9 to Just don't talk

summary: Enemies to lovers on steroids. And it's getting really hard keeping it a secret.

It was only lately that Lando started to notice when people watched and flirted with Y/N. Not the fans exactly, but VIP people roaming around the paddock, engineers and anyone falling into a similar category. How did not see this before? It felt like it was everyone and all the time.

That was of course far from the truth, but when one is crushing hard on somebody, it's hard to realize that the rest of the world might not see your desired person in the same light.

He observed her from afar - she practically glowed. Standing in the shade, talking to some guy. He was so focused on watching her that he noticed only later that he knew very well who that guy was - and it was not a pleasant discovery. Out of all the people around, she managed to get talking to a guy that was as far away from being good news as possible. Lando's father rarely gave him advice, but he made sure to highlight to Lando years ago that this guy came from a very dodgy family that was known for attracting dangerous people. Formula 1 attracted lots of rich people and many of them were just not safe company.

He really tried to focus on his data charts and prepare for practice, but that was virtually getting impossible. Y/N wasn't racing today, as a reserve driver was assigned to the session today. So she stood there, in a cure dress, without a care in the world, getting wrapped in the charm of that fucking guy.

That's it - he had enough and his own self-control took a vacation, as he excused himself and marched down her end of the paddock.

Y/N understood that there were important people attending the races. One would never know how much important sometimes, so she made sure be friendly with everyone who was introduced to her, so that she didn't accidentally close any doors. But sometimes, it was a quest of getting out of the conversation as fast as possible. Creepy, overly friendly strangers, who felt like they were entitled to her attention, just because they were part of the sponsors. She had yet to figure out how to get out of these smoothly. Once again, she was stuck in this type of conversation she had no interest in being in at the first place. So she nodded and smiles.

"I can't accept this," she tried to reject a gift, incredibly expensive watch that this person was trying to put on her hand. He was towering over her and she felt slightly intimidated.

"Oh, hello, Y/N!" was a loud and obnoxious interruption from her current secret crush - Lando. He stormed in and yet again inserted himself into a conversation he was not part of. This time, she was relieved to hear his voice and feel his presence behind her.

"Ah, morning Norris." The guy, who's name she forgot, gave Lando a very cold greeting and extended his right hand into a handshake. Lando shook his hand and noticed the watch and his blood boiled even more. Expensive, but cheap tactics to get her under his spell.

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I have to steal Y/N for a moment - we have some media obligations to attend. Sincerest apologies," he said, not even trying to make it sound convincing. Both of the men knew what kind of a game was at play.

"Ah, busy life of a driver," he said, smiling at Y/N once again. It took Lando all that he had not to physically step between them. "Please, accept this small gift from my family. It's a token of gratitude of what you do for the team," he turned to Y/N once again and tried to get a hold of her hand. This time, Lando did stop him and looked him dead in the eye.

"Ah, that is sweet. But I believe she is contractually obligated to wear only certain brands of watches, correct, Y/N?"

Lando burned with a "don't you fucking dare" stare, one that she'd only seen on his face when she'd stop wanking him out of nowhere before he could finish, just to tease him. It was a very different setting and Y/N was more that happy to nod.

"Sadly, that is true. Though it is very pretty!"

Lando mind screamed with disbelief. Was she for real? Pretty?

He was set on getting them out asap. "We really need to get going. Hope I'll see you again soon." NOT.

"Of course. Please, Norris, say hi to your father. Would like to invite him for a dinner sometime," he responded nonchalantly.

"I definitely will," Lando replied with a crooked smile as he dragged Y/N out without letting her say goodbye. It was a habit for him to pick the least visible path around the paddock. He did not need any prying eyes as he held her hand firmly while sprinting away.

"Lando, slow the fuck down!" she whispered, trying to keep up with him. Normally, Lando would throw in a racing joke, but he was really not in the mood.

"If you wanna a fucking watch, I’ll buy you a watch. With no strings attached," he said, hoping that she'd get his message without him needing to explain it.

Yes, great. No strings attached again. Perfect.

Y/N was happy when Lando came to save her. She thought that he saw her being uncomfortable and decided to save her. But apparently no. It was just a male ego game.

"But what if I want strings attached? What if I want to know you family, friends and be there for the good and the bad?" she almost said outloud - but did not.

"I don't want any watch," she replied eventually.

Lando was annoyed even more now. She was acting all naive again, same as when there was the cloud of confusion about her future in F1. How could someone be so smart and so clueless at the same time? Why did he even care about her getting in trouble? They walked in silence for a moment. Both trying to get out of this rut.

"You look great, by the way," he said to ease the tension. The dress was distracting him from the fact he was somewhat mad at her. Her cleavage pushed up just enough for his liking. He couldn't wait to fuck her again. And preferably to cuddle also afterwards. He had start working on that too. Getting these other men out of her head.

"Thank you," she said, unable to prevent her cheeks from blushing. He missed that, as he walked fast like a mad man. "Where are we going exactly?" she asked as she rushed slightly behind Lando.

"Somewhere private."

He dragged through the side entrance into the McLaren space, at some point even reaching for her hand to keep her close. Luckily, they hadn't raised any alarm passing by on the way to his driver room. Her heart was beating slightly faster than his.

Lando was rilled up after watching the guy flirt with her so shamelessly. She was way better than those people. Precious. His.

He swiftly opened the door, let her in and then locked it. She was looking at him with her doe eyes, looking all cute and sweet. Not her usual look. There was tenderness in her face.

"I like you in dresses," he said as he walked closer to her.

"Do you now?"

He nodded and took a strand of her hair and put it behind her ear. She batted her eyes and that was when he lost it. There was just so much about her that he was attracted to - he wanted to know everything. What were her desires? Darkest fantasies? What made her shiver? What made her scream in pleasure. He knew lots of things, from all of their "practice sessions" they'd have. But this was more about her mind then body. He wanted to mind fuck her into becoming obsessed with him. To hell with healthy.

He picked her up, sat her on a table, put his hand on the back of her neck and slammed his mouth onto hers. She gasped, slightly suprised, but quickly opened her mouth and invited him in. They way she sat there, legs slightly open, was driving him mad. She wrapped around his torso and Lando felt his growing cock hitting his suit. She smiled, knowing well enough what she was doing to him. He moved to kiss her neck, trying to avoid making a mark, but it was so hard when she was moaning so beautifully. He squeezed her boobs, after having to stay away from them the moment he saw the dress hugging her tightly. It was passionate, yet every touch came not only with eagerness but also care. He had selfish thought - but not about making himself feel good, but about being the one who made her feel great. He was about to put his hand under her skirt and tease her more, but his actions were interrupted by the other door opening.

"Fuck," he said, burying his head into her neck. He forgot to lock the door to Oscar's room. "Osc! Hello mate. Get out."

Oscar stood there, more annoyed than confused. "Mate, I don't care about what you do, but half of the team is looking for you."

Y/N was mortified. They really should be more careful.

"Great. I'm coming in a moment," Lando said to Oscar, visibly irritated.

"Again, I can see that, but we need you at the engineer room." Oscar joked, but as he saw that Lando was looking for something to throw at him, he backed away. "Joking, joking. And also leaving. Hi, Y/N," he waved at her awkwardly.

"Hey," she responded, utterly humiliated. "Can you please keep this between us?" she asked quietly.

Lando was hurt by the shame he heard in her voice. Was she ashamed by being seen with him?

"I was never here," was Oscar's simple reply as he walked out the way he came in. Yet again, another moment of silent tension.

"Lando, this is getting out of hand," she said, after analysing how much her hormones dictated her actions. Even now, after being caught by Oscar, the only thing she wished for was to see Lando's eyes closing while coming and his body getting all tense - as it usually did.

He was flustered and went into damage control mode. He had good faith in Oscar and his confidentiality. It was here her that he was worried about. Cold feet. Not now, not when started to become sure himself and what he actually wanted. "I know, I know." He wanted to stay there with and talk, figure shit out. But he had responsibilities. And these things were better not rushed. And he was a good ol' chicken anyway. "Y/N, please stay calm and don't do any rushed decision. I gotta run now, but let's put a pause and resume soon. Does that work for you?"

How could she do anything else when he his intense stare was making her melt. Raw honesty in the air.

"Of course."

"Good," he said and kissed her goodbye. As if he had done that thousand times before.

He rushed away and she sat there for good two minutes before making any move. One thought skipping over another.

p10

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@scopeiguess @leclercsluv @sulliamour @starmanv @riverxsq @eviethetheatrefreak @chonkybonky @bicchaan @saachiep81

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luckyarchivist · 2 months

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Touchstarved LIs and Fanfiction AUs They Should Be In

Haven't been able to stop thinking about the people who said Ais is "always the tattoo artist in tattoo shop/flower shop AU". I don't even like tattoo shop/flower shop like that but it was such a correct thing to say and I have to acknowledge that. So here's that plus AUs I've seen that I think the LIs should be in.

Ais

Flower shop/tattoo shop, as mentioned. This one is TOO good. Come ON. Ais as the hot-ass owner of the local tattoo shop? Him listening to your idea for a tattoo and then smoothly and easily inking it into your skin and telling you you're good when you don't cry? I don't even need to explain this one. It makes sense in like every way.

NASCAR/Formula One AU. The idea of him getting out of that car sweaty as hell in the full racing suit after crushing a track record? Like, taking off the helmet and shaking his hair out and looking like he couldn't give less of a shit about winning first place? Yeah. I am not immune to vroom vroom

Mermaid AU but he's a bull shark or an octopus, not a fish. IDK if I want his claspers or his tentacles more, but either way he should be lurking in the briny deep and protecting me from the real ocean monsters and threatening to eat me even though he probably doesn't mean it, probably.

Vere

Magic/Witches AU. - C'monnnn, he's already so witchy! He's got the sleeves and everything. And yes I know TS already has magic in it, but you know what I mean. He, like, lives in the spooky forest and the people of the village are deathly afraid of him, but you need his magical help, so against the wishes of family and friends you seek him out. And he forces you through a series of dangerous illusions as a trial and, when you successfully pass them, finally agrees to help you for a price...

Royalty AU as either the capricious king of a powerful nation or that king's advisor, formal or informal (smart concubine). I've never seen Game of Thrones but that kind of castle politics, shadowy backstabbing shit seems right up his alley.

Modern AU as an artist: I already talked about this with Vere as an artist and game dev, but I think it'd be so funny if Vere was just sitting in a coffee shop (local, Starbucks is below him) trying to finish his commissions in peace because his roommate(s) are annoying and/or distracting. Honestly, Vere would also rock as a modern AU witch, like urban fantasy type.

Leander

Barista/Bartender AU. He's so extroverted and congenial I have to put him in a drink service AU. He definitely has a "time to mix drinks and save lives" type of work ethic behind the counter. He remembers regular customers and their drink orders, he is LIBERAL with discounts, and he leaves little notes to the people he thinks are cute.

Serial killer AU. I am so basic and even though I have no desire to watch or listen to true crime now, I was raised on the Investigation Discovery Channel and I've never lost that. Look at his fucking face. He's asking for it to be covered in blood. Even better if this is combined with the above AU and he's a sweet server by day and a ruthless murderer by night but he keeps the same wide, pleasant, and genuine smile on because both things are things he loves to do. Even BETTER if he has an obsession with one of his regulars and starts killing people around them in an attempt to get closer with them.

Theatre AU. Siiiighs. Yeah, I'm a theatre kid. And I just know this guy would be one of those actors who wants to be a mentor/older brother figure for any new troupe-members. He's walking you through all the vocal warmups. He's offering to help you run lines. He's driving you home after rehearsals. He is a triple threat, but he doesn't prefer musicals because he doesn't like singing in front of an audience (even though he's an amazing singer). And I just know props absolutely hates him because he keeps touching shit that isn't his.

Kuras

Hospital AU and Angels/Demons AU is too easy. Instead, I'm giving him the flower shop owner in flower shop/tattoo shop AU. Anyone here like KurAis? Anyways, I think it would be sweet to have him be the super-tall, kind but a little awkward and very knowledgeable owner of a flower shop. He probably enjoys crafting bouquets that have meaning in flower language. And yes, he knows about the nice meanings and the rude meanings, so you can get a "fuck you" bouquet from Kuras.

Detroit Become Human AU as an android. I barely remember D:BH but it was one of the first things that occurred to me when thinking about AUs for Kuras. Maybe because he'd be the kind of android who was like, "Don't worry, I'm not a real person, it's okay if I get shot repeatedly," and wouldn't understand why someone would be concerned about him anyways.

Elementary school teacher/single parent AU but I don't know if I want him to be the teacher or the parent. Do I want him to look after a group of children, making efforts to understand their silly little words and communicate with them so they learn and feel cared for? Or do I want him to be the struggling single parent who is so happy to see their child finally getting the attention they deserve outside the house? IDK, but I'd be happy either way.

Mhin

Superhero AU. They're kinda already halfway to superhero gear with the hood and the cape and the tight pants, but I think it be cool for them to dart from rooftop to rooftop, saving civilians and fighting crime. IDK if it'd be cooler if they were half-hero half-villain (controlled by their bird-monster side and wreaking havoc) or if it'd just be nice to have a crow hero motif. Anyway they save me and I'm a reporter who uses my reporter contacts to try and track them down not knowing they're actually my upstairs neighbor who I bring shepherd's pie and strawberry cupcakes to sometimes.

The other tattoo artist in tattoo shop/flower shop. You know how there's always some other character working in one or both of the shops? Ayeah that's Mhin. Number one, I think it'd be hot if they had tattoos. But even if they don't they're still hot when they give the tattoo because focus and skill are attractive. They're talented enough that Ais keeps them around even though they hate him. They never talk to him even though he's their boss. Over the course of the fic Mhin and Ais get closer b/c Kuras is friends with both of them and he wants them to like each other.

Angel/Demon AU as an angel because I want them to be corrupted :) I want them to be forced to submit to their own worst impulses :) and eventually realize that being evil makes them feel good and more importantly liberated and in control :) also maybe they can get wrecked by a demon please :)

Aaaand the DLC cast gets one as a treat!

Sen

Pacific Rim AU but PLEASE don't ask me why. I don't even REMEMBER Pacific Rim. But the clarity with which I could imagine Sen in a Pacific Rim AU is startling. She's gruff and she doesn't want to partner up with you, a rookie, but somehow you have perfect chemistry in the mech she doesn't want to acknowledge. She's too reckless out of disregard for her life, and you reel her in; you're inexperienced, and she fixes your mistakes. Then one day she starts to notice that she's guarding her own life more fiercely than ever before...because of you.

If that's not what Pacific Rim is about shhhh don't correct me /j

Elyon

Easy answer is pornstar/industry AU or camming AU but I'll never take the easy way out. And I know we don't know shit about the guy but I think reincarnation AU would kinda hit with him. His promo talks about wanting things money can't buy? Like possibly the ability to save his soulmate from dying and forgetting him over and over while he retains the memories of every life they've both shared and lived separately, as friends, lovers, enemies, and strangers? That would go hard imo.

If you read all of that, thanks! I hope you enjoyed~

#luckyfiction #touchstarved game #touchstarved vn #ais #vere #leander #kuras #mhin #sen #elyon #touchstarved au #was gonna include psychopass au but istg i'll put ANYBODY in psychopass #when i rewatch psychopass s1? it's over for y'all #also don't get me STARTED on omegaverse #maybe later i'll do smthn for that #(if people won't strangle me)#anw that ppt post is so fucking funny #i started laughing all over again please look at it if you haven't

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triple-asstro · 2 months

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rottmnt!donnie x makeup!reader

a/n: a quick fic i wanted to write, hope you enjoy! love you all <3

“Wait, you understood…all of that?”

Disguise: blown. You’d been hunkering incognito in the public for a few months now because of the optimistic and rather chaotic opening of your makeup brand. The internet was absolute chaos frothing over the strong pigment and affordable prices: everything a makeup brand should strive to be. It got orders, and that was what’s most important. However, the noise was overwhelming, and you needed to escape. Working under the guise of a pseudonym proved more useful than ever, and it let you breathe. Because of your newfound skills in makeup, you gained a few facts or two about cosmetic science and science‌. That proved to be your smoking gun when Donatello, your science friend, was ranting about his latest project going awry. He ranted, you listened. But this time, you corrected him. Two miracles: one, he was wrong, two; you knew more.

Now, you were sneaking into your own lab to sneak Donnie in to see your lab: his request. Do you feel stupid? Ashamed, even? Going out of the public eye because of your contributions to the makeup industry, only to have it return like an unwanted family member.

Donnie zipped to each glass window showcasing the millions of rows of pigments and chemicals, eyes wide like a sleep-deprived child.

“You have all of this? Locked away?”

“Yeah, mostly parabens and formaldehyde, but we also keep some chemicals like polonium, radium and-”

“Uranium?” he said, zipping from the window to your face to an uncomfortable distance. The smudges in his drawn-on eyebrows were more visible than ever, his breath resting on your face. “You have it?”

“Yes. I’ll get you some if you wait.”

You moved away, inching towards the door. Digging through your pocket brought up a dusty old keycard you kept. The photo you took on your first day, the excited face of you, the same age but optimistic. You owned a company, like a big kid. It looked hideous. The words: “FOUNDER” faded, but still legible. This is your lab, your company; should it count that you’re stealing from your own company? No, right? You made this place, and you’ll take what you want. This is your big kid company. You take what you want.

Your eyes glanced back, just for a moment, and you can already see Donnie staring at you as if you grew spider legs on your back. Right, making this quick. In, out, five minutes. You quickly scrubbed in, dressed in a white coat and blue gloves. Entering the room, a wave of dust hits you. This caused you to cough vigorously, trying to get whatever entered your throat out.

Eventually, you got your breath back in you, and gave Donnie a thumbs up. His expression is unchanged, giving you one back without looking up from his notebook. Of course.

“How much do you want?”

“As much as possible, five grams exactly.”

It’d been a while since you strolled down your lab, but the descent reminded you of when you were mixing your first lipstick formula. Olive oil, coconut oil, and beeswax into a bowl and adding a few drops of purple food coloring were the first of many that you made. It was rudimentary and tacky at best, but all your mother did was pat you on the back. Mommy’s little chemist. Now, she speaks to you more like a coworker than her child. In the eyes of success, you got robbed of the thing you didn’t know you’d miss: an embrace.

But now’s no time to reminisce. Now’s the time for uranium, which was conveniently at the back of the hallway in a little lead container locked behind a plastic door. The uranium had probably five grams from the size of it. You looked around the room, seeing if there were any drawers or cabinets, and thankfully there were plenty. Cabinet after cabinet after cabinet, you finally found the keys in a drawer a few steps away from the uranium. You didn’t question why the uranium was there, which in hindsight sounds idiotic, but that wasn’t on your mind at the moment. You unlocked the case and quickly took the disc of uranium out of the cabinet and was out of the door faster than you could count. An alarm was what you’d expected, but surprisingly, it was quieter than a mouse. A relief.

Before you could blink, the disc was out of your hands and into Donnie’s embrace. He practically cradled it like it was his child.

“You’re welcome.”

Donnie’s head clicked towards you. “Oh, thank you. This means a lot. I’m not trying to be sarcastic about that, really, thank you.”

“No problem, can’t wait to see what you cook up with this,” you said, noticing a hidden square behind his back. When you stepped to his side, you spotted an open notebook with what looked like scribbles.

Scribbles? When did Donnie draw?

“You draw?” you questioned, looking at the notebook without a second thought. Donnie tried quickly turning back around to hide the contents, but you’d already gotten a view: it was a drawing, or more a sketch of an invention. A new eyeliner, covered in holographic purple metal, was obviously marked with his signature on the bottom. Then it clicked. This was a gift. Donnie’s gift.

Donnie froze, staring at you as if to judge and gauge your reaction. In truth, he was terrified. To him, giving handmade gifts was everything. The attention to detail, the effort and work to make it personal, it was everything. But people hadn’t always appreciated those gifts in the way he hoped. So, with this, everything changed in the balance. Whether he’d keep or lose a friend, that friend being you.

“Is that for me?”

“No…it’s not finished yet. It’s unpolished, barely even refined. That doesn’t make a suitable gift…”

You could see the lies that covered his obviously first plan for a gift, but knowing Donnie, it wouldn’t do any good to call him out on his lie and injure his already egregious ego. However, a snort escaped your throat as you tilted your head to the side. It was adorable to see him stare in confusion, clutching the notebook like it was his personal schoolgirl diary.

“I won’t judge, honest. I thought you’d sketch on your many tablets.”

“Those are for calculations, not meaningless sketches.”

“Can I see your drawing?”

If we’re being honest, Donatello’s opinion shifted about you so many times that day. It was troubling. When he first met you, he thought of you as he did everyone: ordinary. Another known person to wave to when you crossed paths. But in just one night, it catapulted into something he could never imagine. First, you corrected him on one of his experiments. You listened, and you were right. But one data point isn’t enough to make a valid analysis for someone. So, he inquired more and went to your lab. Second, what he failed to get for how many years now, you simply got like that. He didn’t know if that ticked him off or if it made him adore you more. You were an equal, maybe even more. Hell, probably more than he could ever imagine. Two points.

You can’t make an assumption on just two data points, but Donnie handed over the notebook, trying his best to make it seem nonchalant.

He failed. But you wouldn’t say that.

Now that you were looking at the drawing Donnie did up close, it was, to say succinctly, amazing. The lines were grainy, yet perfectly straight, the shapes were sleek, and of course, lovely shimmering purple as an official coat of paint. It was better than any of the chicken scratches you called designs. This could be the best design for any packaging you could’ve asked for.

Donnie was silent as you, obviously, surveyed the designs he made. At first, he was in a mix of utter panic. You’re looking at his designs. But they were drafts, sloppy scribbles. If he wanted to present his design to you, it should be polished. Just like him, or more, the confident persona he presented. But, as your observations grew longer, that panic bubbled into terror. Was there a mistake, a potential oversight he overlooked? Could there even be one?

“You made this, Donnie?”

“Yes…I did- make it just now.”

“It’s…”

Donnie’s shoulders tensed up. This could be- no, this was the loss of a friend.

“... amazing. You made this just now?”

Huh?

“Huh? Oh, yes. I got a flash of inspiration, if you should know.”

“It’s great. I can’t wait to see it polished. Send it to me and I’ll try to make it real.”

You slammed the notebook back into his arms, walking towards the door. You had enough events to happen tonight. But surprisingly, Donnie followed with eager enthusiasm, more than you ever saw in him, and even though it could’ve been the bright light of the moon, you could’ve sworn you saw a smile.

#rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt #rise donnie #donatello #fic writing

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folkloresthings · 8 months

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Okay, I know I said the last one was the last one, but I just keep having ideas and you write so much better than I do, I’m sorry (😭).

That said, can I pretty please ask for a NORTHANGER ABBEY with Fernando Alonso and the sunshine x sunshine protector trope? Like his S/O is super sweet and cheery and he wants to keep them from getting hurt? I just feel like that would be so cute!

Thanks in advance, my love, and I hope you’re doing well!! ✨🧚‍♂️💗

thank you darling dolly 💌

WHATEVER IT TAKES. ❨ fernando alonso x reader ❩

✩⡱ warnings: implied age gap bc duh it’s a nando fic

after twenty—two years in formula one, a driver learns how dangerous it can be. not the cars, not the crashes or the risking your life every time you break a little too late. no, it was much more dangerous off of the track, in front of the prying eyes and camera lenses: the lion’s den.

fernando knew well how he was to blame for this cloud of prejudice that followed him around. he’d quickly made a name for himself as a womaniser in the sport, a different girl at every race and a new one at night. that kind of reputation stuck, even at forty—two years old.

you were different. fernando knew, from the very moment he laid eyes on you, he wouldn’t be capable of treating you like a temporary plaything. you were a breath of fresh air, younger than him and oh so optimistic. he was getting old, losing out hope on ever having more than his racing career, and you had come along, bringing a whole new life with you.

hell, you’d even made his time at alpine fun.

he knew everyone on the grid would love you before they even met you, and his suspicions were correct. you were sweet, tooth—rottingly so, and every single person you came across couldn’t help but love you. nearly as much as he did.

the media, however, was not every person. no matter your heavenly goodness, the press would find any reason to belittle you. fernando alonso’s next playgirl, this month’s challenge, formula one gold digger. from the second things got serious, fernando swore on everything that he was to protect you from all of that mess.

it worked, for a while, dodging cameras and hiding nasty articles from you. the little bubble he’d created around your relationship was perfect. he could love you with his whole heart and not worry about anything ruining it. because, god, he couldn’t let anything ruin this — not the one good thing he had.

it was a few days after you’d arrived in barcelona for the race weekend. in fernando’s favourite little summer dress of yours, you skipped along to the track for the first free practice of the week. standing off to the sidelines, sharing a coffee with alexandra, everything was perfect. the sun, the cars, the feeling that everything was falling into place.

“y/n! y/n, can we get a picture!”

“y/n, any comment on fernando’s romantic past?!”

“what do you think about being labelled as the grid slut, y/n!”

the reporters had swarmed you in seconds, coming out of nowhere. tabloids, you presumed, god knows how they got press passes. alex reached for your arm, pulling you back from the mic shoved in your face. she’d gone through the exact same thing mere months ago.

“get away from them, right now!”

that familiar voice, though hollering, relaxed you immediately. fernando had shoved his way through the mob, standing guard in front of you. his hand reached back to grasp at your arm, securing you close to his side, his shoulders heaving with anger.

“any of you bastards speak to her like that again, and i’ll make sure you don’t have a career left in the morning,” he seethes, sending the reporters backing off in seconds. he takes your hand, charles taking alex’s, pulling you both to the safety of the garages. fernando doesn’t slow down until he reaches the aston martin motorhome, face red with anger.

“are you okay?” he asks, taking your cheeks in his palms, eyes desperately raking across your features for any sign that you might be hurt or upset. in truth, you were just shocked. the whole interaction had sprung up out of nowhere, and it had happened in a flash before your eyes, back in the garage before you knew it.

“i don’t— what they were saying…” you mutter, brows furrowed. the words play over and over again like a broken record. slut. the tears that stung at your eyes were hot, willed away with everything that you had.

“don’t listen to them, please,” fernando softens, chest aching at the sight of you welling up. “i… i tried so hard to protect you from this, mi amor. i should have been there.”

you shake your head, nestling your face in the material of his race suit. fernando’s arms wind around your shoulders, squeezing you as close as he can without fear of breaking you. he’d curse himself forever for not being there to stop the reporters, but he would hold you while he could.

“i’m sorry, corazón. you deserve better than all of this,” your doting boyfriend murmurs against the crown of your head, lips moving on soft hair. you shift to look up at him, that familiar light that dances behind pupils making him keel with adoration.

“all that talk is only temporary,” you mutter, stretching up on the tips of your toes to reach his lips. soft and lingering kisses, his hands holding your hips close by. “this, us, is what matters.”

fernando smiles, so deeply you can feel it in your stomach. “i love you, so very much. i’m not going to let anything ruin this.”

he tangles you up in another kiss, pouring every ounce of love he has for you into one searing show of affection. a clear promise: to protect you every day of his life, no matter what it took.

#🍾 ﹐ becca hits 1k!#🌙 ﹐ drabbles.#formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #fernando alonso fluff #fernando alonso drabble #fernando alonso imagine #fernando alonso blurb

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chaifootsteps · 2 months

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One of the main reasons why Sir Pentious getting to Heaven felt so underwhelming and unwarranted to me is that HH paints it as Charlie's redemption theory being valid and true and her methods actually working

When she barely did anything to help Sir Pentious as the show barely showed us what Charlie's methods are beyond that trust fall bit you can see in summer camps

It doesn't help that redemption is about correcting the wrongs of the past after fully admitting you were at fault when you did them and feeling legitimately regretful that you committed those wrong acts

... We still don't know what Sir Pentious did in his past to end up in Hell. We as an audience know JACK about his backstory and I don't think the cast knows anything about it either

By all means, SP might have gotten to Heaven for doing things that had nothing to do with his mistakes back when he was alive. If that's the case, then not only is Charlie's redemption theory false as what happened with SP has nothing to do with redemption, her methods to reach Heaven are pretty basic and already standardized which brings the potential for the show down to zero. The premise got shot with this finale twist as it's pretty clear Charlie's methods at her Hotel are formulaic and don't depend on the sinners' past wrongs

You know what could have been a good concept ? Have Charlie show SP's progress to the Council of Angels through the globe instead of Angel Dust's only for them to ponder about it and see rather positive on the matter, Sera included, before saying: "As final trial, we will bring them here and have them be his judges."

The doors open and a dozen angels walk in having seemingly been summoned

The Council motions to the globe: "You have been called today to make an important decision. We would like you to first observe this fully then answer a simple question."

The angels do that, they watch the entire reel of everything SP did while under Charlie's care, with Charlie nervously anticipating their answer

The Council: "Now for the question: From all that you've seen,

Would you consider this man worthy of redemption and as such ready to join this side of the Afterlife?"

Many of the angels are just dumbfounded at hearing this, a bunch just storm off and others look scared at the thought.

What remained decide between each other before whispering the answer to Sera

Sera then declares simply: "The Jury have made their decision :

Sir Pentious hasn't done what it takes for his soul to be redeemed and accepted into Heaven."

Charlie: "What? Why not? Not that I have anything against your Jury but what power do they have to decide that you lack for this decision?"

Sera: "The Jury overseeing your Sir Pentious is made up of every soul he has wronged in his past. You have to understand: They have fairly earned their Afterlife regardless of what awful and unjust things he has done to them. To have us decide ourselves if he can join them up here after all the wrongs he has done to them in the living would be unfair; as such the final decision is theirs. If they see his new ways as a true change on his part and choose to forgive him, he would have indeed earned his place in Heaven.

This wasn't the case today."

I want this so much. I want Hazbin to be in the hands of someone mature enough to actually write this.

#Anonymous #Hazbin Hotel critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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dilemmaontwolegs · 10 months

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Running From The Flames {Epilogue 1/2}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x OFC Warnings: parenting - that should be a warning lmao, sexual themes

F1 Masterlist || Previous Chapter - Epilogue 2/2

There was only one word to describe my life and that word was: chaotic. That being said, I still wouldn’t change it for the world.

The family calendar on the fridge was completely full and colour coded so we could all see where we were needed on any given day. Even so, I still lost track of my husband or our kids at least once a week.

“Sydney, honey, have you seen your father?” I asked the spitting image of Pierre who was in the race simulator. He was always in the machine, practising for his upcoming debut into Formula 4 now that he had turned 15 and could move up from karting.

“Picking up Addie from the airport.” He barely looked away from the triplet of screens in front of him as he answered with all the attitude of a teenage boy being interrupted in life. “It’s on the fridge.”

I looked at the calendar and realised I was looking at the completely wrong day. “Shit.”

“Ha,” he laughed loudly as he navigated the virtual track of the Red Bull Ring. “You forgot.”

“I didn’t forget,” I said as I scanned over the correct day and saw I had a board meeting to prepare for tomorrow. “I just thought it was Tuesday today.”

“Whatever you say, maman. You can tell me I’m your favourite, I won’t say anything.”

“I don’t have a favourite, I love you all equally. Now, can you finish that game and go do your homework? You still need to pack your bag for the weekend too.”

Addie was coming home from London for the week, taking a little break from her own busy schedule, to watch Sydney’s first race with us in Austria.

It had been difficult to let her leave home at 18 but she had worked hard to get a place in the Arsenal Women’s Under 21 team. I had left home at the same age and Pierre had left even earlier, so we were hardly the exemplary figures to deny her. All we could do was make sure she stayed safe and she knew she could call either of us 24/7 if she needed help. It was also never that long between visits, making plenty of stopovers in England as we travelled.

The travelling for work was tiresome but so far we had yet to miss a football match on Saturday or a karting race on Sunday. It did help being our own bosses so Pierre and I could manage our schedule around the kids. He had been running Strauss Fashion for the better part of the last ten years, after Granny finally retired properly, while I had been the Chief Technical Officer at Alpine, which Grandpa had purchased.

When Harry passed away three years ago I found myself suddenly thrust into the ownership of the team and though there were plenty of offers to sell it, I decided to take the leap of faith and see where the journey would take me. I hadn’t looked back and so far we had two Constructors' Championship wins with our seasoned pilots, Gabriele Minì and Oliver Bearman.

We had come so far, it was hard to believe until I saw the wisps of grey hairs among the dark strands.

“Maman!” I was pulled from my reminiscence and looked at my watch to realise how quickly the afternoon had gotten away from me as Clare bounded through the front door and leapt into my arms. “Maman, look!”

Clare had been a wonderful surprise that completed our family two years ago. After Sydney’s unexpected and frightening early arrival Pierre had been reluctant to try for another child, though he had always wanted three. I thought maybe he would change his mind after the terrifying memory faded with time but then a few years passed, we both got caught up in work, and after that it seemed too hard to imagine returning to sleepless nights with a newborn.

But, the universe had other plans for us. What I thought was a long-enduring hangover, after celebrating the rebranding of Alpine into Gasly Racing, actually turned out to be morning sickness. Those final weeks before her birth were stressful enough to send Pierre to his doctor for a vasectomy but thankfully her arrival went exactly to plan and he could breathe calmly once again.

“Hello my Clare-bear, wow, you have another bracelet.” You quirked an eyebrow at Charles as he arrived with Clare’s backpack on his shoulder and her spare carseat under his arm. “Uncle Charles has absolutely spoiled you.”

“Of course. A princess deserves it,” he stated proudly as he placed her belongings down and nodded his head to the simulator. “Is he all ready for the big day?”

“He is, I’m not sure I am,” I admitted as I put Clare down and she immediately went to interrupt Sydney by climbing onto his lap mid-race. If it was anyone else they would have received an earful but he just paused the game and listened as she told him all about her day at Uncle Charles’ house. “God help me when he gets to Formula One, I think I’ll have to revert the car back to a slower predecessor for my own sanity.”

Charles laughed but I wasn’t completely joking. The cars were so much faster than they were when he and PIerre raced. Though the safety features improved along with the technology that made them rockets on wheels it was still difficult to imagine putting my little boy inside one and sending it off.

“You could keep him as a reserve driver,” Charles offered before shaking his head at the thought and taking a seat at the kitchen island. “But he’s stubborn like his father, he’d just find another team to race for.”

“No way, I can at least trust my own team to keep him safe. Same goes for Marc.”

Charles chuckled at the mention of his son who at 8 years old he was already a junior karting champion. “He said someone called him Il Predestinato after his race last weekend.”

“Yikes, I’m sure they meant it in a good way.”

The front door opened again and Addie blew in with all the gusto of a tornado, whipping around the rooms to greet everyone before she was up the stairs to her old room. Entering a little more sedately was my husband, his arms laden with more suitcases than anyone needed for a week away, especially when she still had a wardrobe full of clothes upstairs.

“You are lucky you only have sons,” Pierre said to Charles as he kicked the door closed behind him. “I don’t work out enough anymore to be carrying this shit.”

He dropped the suitcases in front of the elevator and hit the call button rather than carrying them up the stairs before pushing them inside as the door opened. After a few bad winters, where not even the central heating could keep the aches of my bones at bay, Pierre had made the call for the elevator to be installed and it had been a godsend in moments like this when heavy items needed to make it to the floors above.

Sticking his head up the staircase he called out, “Addie, your entire life and everything but the kitchen sink is heading your way.”

“Thanks, dad!”

“What was that about?” I asked after he joined us in the kitchen while the coffee machine churned out our usual drinks. “I thought she outgrew the ‘I’m too cool to hangout with my parents’ phase.”

Pierre's lips pressed together and he took a seat next to Charles, picking up Clare who had left Sydney to return to his practice. “Elias.”

“Vettel?” Charles asked, his eyebrows lifting when Pierre nodded and pushed his mug away so Clare couldn’t reach the hot liquid.

“They have been out on a few dates, apparently. I’ll have to ask Davis about it, assuming he went with them, it’s not like it’s his job or anything. Did you know that?”

I shook my head at the news, cradling my mug in my hands as I leaned against the bench and wondered if she had ditched her bodyguard once again. “He’s a sweet boy from what I remember, much like his father.”

“I don’t like it. I don’t care who his dad is,” Pierre grumbled before repeating, “You are so lucky you only have sons, mate. Teenage girls are stressful.”

“Ah, but I have two boys who think it is funny to have a competition to see who can fart the loudest,” Charles said as he took a sip of his drink.

“I mean, that’s kind of funny,” Pierre said with a smirk.

Charles sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. “Not when one always pushes too hard to win.”

The sip I was taking went the wrong way and I spluttered as Pierre laughed, “It’s all shits and giggles, until someone giggles and shits.”

“To think my poor mother went through this too. Drives me insane, mate. Bet you’ve never had to worry about that?”

“Thankfully, no,” I answered after recovering from choking on coffee. “But it also wasn’t bad enough to stop you from having another.”

“And on that note, I should get going. Mia won’t let me back in the house if I don’t pick up her favourite carbonara on the way home.” He smiled as he thought of his wife’s pregnancy cravings. It was the same one she had when she was carrying Marc and Antonio so it came as no surprise at the gender reveal when the backyard was splattered with blue confetti. “Thank you for letting me borrow Clare.”

“Any time,” Pierre chuckled as he clapped his friend on the back. Charles had been busy reinstalling all the baby gates and safety locks in his home, despite the baby boy not even being born yet, and wanted a toddler to help test his craftsmanship. “I won’t complain about a little free babysitting.”

Charles placed his empty mug in the sink and before kissing the top of Clare’s thick wavy hair. “Bye petite chérie, I’ll see you on Sunday.”

“Bye Uncle Charles,” she said with a wave, but it sounded more like Unk Cha and made him laugh as he approached the simulator.

I saw Sydney pause the race and Charles crouched down beside him, sharing a few quiet words of encouragement for the upcoming debut race. I couldn’t help feeling incredibly lucky to be surrounded by so many supportive people and my smile grew as a pair of arms wrapped around my waist.

I turned to meet his lips over my shoulder and the magnetism that attracted us was still evident even after 17 years. Of course, like any relationship, there had been times when stress led to arguments and I would find him hours later in a spare bed, wide awake because he couldn’t sleep without me beside him. Those fights never lasted long enough to even remember what they were about and forgiveness came easy.

I turned in my husband’s arms and draped mine around his neck to admire him. Pierre was truly like a fine wine. Age had made him even more handsome and the small wrinkles at the corners of his lips and eyes were a testament to a life that was full of smiles and laughter.

“Addie said she’ll watch the kids tonight,” Pierre whispered in my ear as he gently swayed to the melodic tune of his voice and I hummed with contentment. “And I got us a table at L'Ambroisie. You’ve been working so hard I thought we could do with a night away, just the two of us.”

“You think I don’t know your game, baby,” I whispered back, all too aware Charles was still chatting with Sydney and imparting some real world advice. “Wine and dine, pretty words, a hotel room. There’s only one thing you want.”

His lips curled into a smile against my cheek. “You know me too well.”

“You would actually get a full night’s sleep if you put your foot down.”

Pierre looked over at Clare who had helped herself to a banana from the fruit bowl and as if sensing she had been caught she looked up with an innocent smile. “How can I tell her no when she looks like that?”

“Mhmm, and that’s why she keeps climbing into our bed. You are a big softy.”

His smirk was flirty and fun as his arms tightened around me, pulling our bodies flush together. His breath was hot on my neck as he hid his face in the curtain of my hair. “Not tonight, ma femme. Tonight you will see just how hard I can be.”

Pierre backed up with a smirk but not before he sucked at the sensitive skin above my racing pulse. He knew exactly what he was doing and the smugness showed as he whistled a little tune on his way to help Clare peel the banana.

Shaking my head, I made my way to the stairs and said goodbye to Charles with the message to remind Mia that our plans for a spa day had been booked - but that didn’t mean he could slack off from the ankle massages he was giving her each night. He gave an amused salut but I didn’t see it as I pressed the button for the elevator. He was well used to the reminders by now, it wasn’t his first rodeo.

Knowing my evening plans had changed I went to my office and shut the door to silence the music drifting down the hall from Addie’s room. As CEO of Gasly Racing there was an endless stream of paperwork to be checked and signed, especially with the new expansion plan for the factory about to break ground. On top of that were the invites to attend fundraisers or speeches to prepare for the various charities I was ambassador for such as Women's Refuge.

When I finally emerged with my inbox up to date I could hear the laughter of all my children from where they lounged in front of the tv and the sound never ceased to make me smile. I had missed the sound since Addie moved out because it was rare to have all five of us here at the same time and I was reluctant to leave even for just one night when it came time to pack an overnight bag.

“We are allowed one night away, mon amour,” Pierre said as he stepped into the master bedroom to see me hesitating to step inside the wardrobe. “You and me, no interruptions.”

I relaxed into his embrace and sighed as he brushed my hair over one shoulder before kissing my collar. “And what were you planning that was so important it couldn’t be interrupted?”

His chuckle sent a shiver of delight down my spine and his fingers trailed down my ribs to the hem of my shirt before they slipped underneath the material to caress the soft skin over my stomach. I had to take a shaky breath when his thumbs caught the waistband of my skirt and I held it as I waited for them to hook underneath.

His lips brushed the shell of my ear and my lips parted in anticipation of his dirty words. “To sleep.”

“Huh?” I blinked twice, peeking over my shoulder to see his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

“To sleep. Why, what were you thinking?” He tried to look innocent but when he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and his hand slipped down beneath my skirt he let the truth show. “Did you want me to tell you how I am dying for a taste of you? How I can’t wait to have these sexy legs wrapped around me when I make love to you tonight? I don’t need to tell you, baby, I’ll show you.”

I knew he could feel how damp my panties were for him from the smirk on his face and I almost whimpered when he withdrew his hand from where I needed it. “Now pack your bag, and make it quick, I’m absolutely ravenous.”

I bit my lip at the depth of his tone and knew exactly what it was he was dying to taste. I didn’t even look at what I was packing, tossing the first items that touched my hands before he stopped me and grabbed one dress instead.

“This one,” he said as he held a colourful sundress that I rarely wore anymore, a soft smile warming his eyes. “It’s my favourite.”

Click here for the final chapter. 🥺

Tagging: @my-only-way-tocooperatewithlife @prrttysposts @alwaysclassyeagle @dr3lover @adalynneva

#pierre gasly x poc!oc #pierre gasly x oc #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly imagine #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #running from the flames

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dear-ao3 · 6 months

Note

Re your RB cursed second seat post, just wanted to add a few things and make a couple of corrections because this stuff really does add to the uh... flavour

First, while I know it's not entirely relevant, the whole Racing Point driver swap was SO MUCH more dramatic because Lance Stroll and Esteban Ocon are like. Besties. Like BFF friends forever since childhood. Poor son of mechanic and rolling in cash son of billionaire true friendship story. Esteban was fired in favour of his best friend, by his BEST FRIEND'S DAD. PEAK drama. They're still besties, bee tee dubs, because Esteban only makes enemies with his teammates.

F1 Invisible Moustache Twirling Supervillain Christian Horner also has a history of 'we're fully supportive [x driver] to be the best they can be and have no intention of changing our driver line up' and then oops, sorry. We lied. Like... five minutes later. Happened to Gasly, happened to Albon, and the former is currently where we're at with Checo. Christian has admitted that they were too hasty with Albon but oh dear how sad too bad boy's thriving now oopsie doopsie.

Also not forgetting that while Daniel was twiddling his thumbs waiting for his metacarpal to heal, Liam Lawson, the AT and RB reserve, got the highest placing position for the Alpha Tauri team this season (up until Mexico, anyway) while driving in Daniel's seat, and also threw himself into the RB second driver conversation.

And a couple of minor corrections:

DR didn't just leave RB because of the unreliability, it was more about being pushed aside for Golden Child Max Verstappen (affectionate, maybe slightly derogatory), which of course he knows all about because DR did the same thing to Vettel back in 2014. Who also had experience in that field because you could argue the cursed seat actually started with Mark Webber vs Seb Vettel back in like... 2010

Honda has been in F1 before. They sold to Brawn GP for the princely sum of one euro symbolic cash when they were going under, because Ross Brawn knew they'd built a MEGA car and couldn't bear to see them not run it for the 2009 season. Brawn GP won that year, it was Jenson Button's one and only championship win.

F1 drivers can't really go back to F2. If you've won it before, you can't compete again, but it's a feeder series so there's no way some ex-f1 driver is ever gonna be in F2 (or any of the lower formulas) because it's specifically for young talent. IDK maybe you meant Formula E? They also often go to WEC or IndyCar. Even rallying.

RB didn't give Checo another car at Suzuka he went out in the same car after they fixed it up enough for it to drive around one lap. Worth noting he was like 32 laps behind by this point (IDR the exact number but it was LORGE). spare cars haven't been a thing in F1 since 2008

Finally, the Fernando and Charles rumours are so fucking funny ain't no way either of them are gonna go to RB only to be a second to Max. I can see Carlos doing it though, trying for the grand return a-la DR. He's just Like ThatTM (affectionate, again also slightly derogatory). They've also been hardcore courting Lando Norris, who's way too smart and aware of his mental health to put himself into that depression spiral.

ANYWAY this isn't intended to be a big GOTCHA i just wanted to, as I said, add some extra flavour because F1 is so much more insane than anyone who doesn't follow it can POSSIBLY comprehend. Thanks for the post, I love seeing people explain the bonkers bullshittery.

yes yes thank you for pointing out all my mistakes and all that i j ew i was going to be getting Peer Reviewed (again, tumblr deleted my damn post so the first version was more accurate but i was pissed and i was also 1am so…) but yes. i am also new here in terms of the f1 drama. but yes it’s totally positively bonkers do you guys See now why fandom people are attracted to it???

#not a tag #from saph #f1 #thank you my anon bestie

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dreamingcloudie · 1 year

Text

❛❛If Loving You Means Hurting Me, I'd Gladly Suffer More❜❜

✎ ❛❛ It hurts to see you die over and over. But no matter, I'll still love you the same, even when you forget about me each time ❜❜

Pairing(s): Creator!Dottore x Creation!GN!Reader

Genre/Format: Angst + fluff (One shot)

Warning(s): reader dying, probably some grammar mistakes, blood, maybe an OOC Dottore? (Then again, I tried to make him soft here, so...)

wc: ~1.1k

Note: Was scrolling through some tags and I saw someone posted a concept/idea of creator Dottore and creation reader. And that got me thinking...

I usually don't write angst because they hurt me 💀 BUT, I'll make this one an exception. I love this idea a little too much. I hope you guys will like this one :) Any feedback is greatly appreciated ♡

“Open your eyes, Dove,”

You felt a hand caressing your cheek as you stirred awake. Beside the bed, there stood the man who had taken the lives of many.

“There you are, sleepy head,” spoken in a gentle voice, Dottore pressed a quick kiss on your forehead. You slowly sat up with the help of Dottore and you lifted your head up to look at him. His usually hardened gaze soften upon meeting yours. Ah, how familiar, just like the other times, here he was again…

It was funny, the time when you were created, he intended to make more of his clones. After days, or even weeks of making sure that he had the correct formula. He was expecting to see a clone of himself step out of the machine, but instead of his clone, it was you that appeared.

He stared at you in bewilderment, muttering a curse under his breath.

“Darn it, were my calculations of the formula wrong?”

At first, he wanted nothing to do with you. But just like a duckling to its mother, you followed him everywhere. The other harbingers would often tease him about it, saying things such as:

“Hah! look at mama duck go!”

“Hatched an egg, Doctor?”

He was not amused, however. Constantly calling you “an annoying pest” with a scowl on his face. Later on, he had to accept his defeat because no matter what he said, he could still find you behind him. Observing him with a glint of curiosity. He gave up on trying to shoo you away, and just let you stick around.

“Let’s head out now, there’s something that caught my interest,” Dottore said as he opened the door for you.

Like usual, you tagged along with him to go to a spot where he found interesting things to tinker with. Dottore stopped on his track as he couldn’t hear your footsteps anymore. He turned around only to find you being distracted by a bed of flowers on the side of the road.

“What now?” He sighed and walked over to see what caught your attention. As he got closer, he noticed a look of adoration on you. Following your line of sight, a crystalfly was situated on one of the flowers. Feeling his presence, you turned to him and tilted your head, as if you were asking what this magnificent creature was.

“That’s a crystalfly,” he explained.

Upon hearing his answer, a smile graced your face.

“Crystalfly…” you repeated after him.

He was taken back, that was the first time he has ever heard you talk. He was so used to his test subjects screaming in fear and colleagues yelling at each other. Hearing such a tender tone for once was oddly a nice change…

Shaking his thoughts away, he pulled your arm and got you back on your feet.

“You’ve stalled long enough. Come on now, I got work to do.”

Finally arriving at the research site, mechanical parts were scattered around the place. Striding over to one of them, he started to examine it. Out of nowhere, he heard a yelp which brought him out of his trance. Turning to the source of the noise, he found you laying on the ground and an activated ruin guard hidden underneath a shade of trees not far from here. The ruin guard launched its missiles again, aiming straight at Dottore. He dodged left and right, charging at the machine before blowing an attack toward its core.

After making sure it was deactivated, he rushed over to you.

The sight before him was making his stomach twitch and turn, an alarmingly large pool of blood was surrounding you. He placed his fingers to where your neck was and checked for your pulse.

But he felt nothing.

‘Why the hell am I shaking,’ he asked himself.

You were just an annoying pest. He could’ve just left you there so he wouldn’t have to deal with you anymore. You meant nothing to him and he did not care about you. So why? If he didn’t care, then how come every time you showed that toothy grin of yours, he suddenly felt all fuzzy and warm inside? If he didn’t care, then how come every time his fingers slightly touched yours, he could feel the heat slowly creeping up his face? If he didn’t care, then why was he carrying your body back to his lab in a hurry, trying to bring you back?

He stood there and watched as you laid on the bed. Waiting for you to wake up. He could see a little bit of movement before you opened your eyes.

“Finally awake, I see?”

And that was the first time, the first time where he witnessed your death. It did hurt him a little, but he didn’t think much about it as he was able to bring you back to life.

The second time was when you drowned in a lake. His heart ached a bit more this time. But he was successful in bringing you back to life, again. And that’s all that matters.

The third time was when a new Fatui recruit who has never seen you before mistook you for an intruder and killed you. The wound of his heart reopened itself once more. But nonetheless, bringing you back was still manageable.

And there’s a fourth.

A fifth.

A sixth…

Just how long did he have to endure this constant torment? It hurts having to watch you die over and over, not even knowing if he was able to bring you back. And even if it was a success, every time when you were greeted by the world once more, you’d forget about him. Dottore never thought he would get attached to someone. Let alone you, an accidental creation. He was someone that has witnessed countless deaths, and none of those affect him at all. Ironically, he was also someone who has killed a lot without an ounce of regret.

What was so special about you?

What made him so drawn to you?

Dottore sat there on the edge of your bed, berating himself for not doing a good job at protecting you. You may not remember who he was, but your body definitely did. It somehow always acted on its own whenever you saw a frown on him. Somewhere at the back of your mind, you remembered seeing a crystalfly before. And watching it flutter made you happy. You tugged at Dottore’s sleeve and pointed at the jar filled with crystalflies that he got for you on the bedside desk.

“Crystalflies!” You beamed with a grin, hoping their hypnotic movements could make him feel better. Just like how they made you happy.

Ah… there it was, that cute little grin of yours. The way your eyes would always lit up whenever you saw him. The way that you would always cared for him even when your memories of him were long gone...

If loving you means hurting him, then he would gladly accept all the pain the world would throw at him. All he had to do was simply bring you back to him, a small price to pay just to see you smile.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x yn #genshin x you #dottore #dottore x reader #dottore x you #dottore x y/n #genshin dottore #harbinger x reader #fatui x reader #genshin impact

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pitconfirmbutton · 1 year

Text

what's in a last name | mick schumacher

pairing: mick schumacher x oc (maria senna)

was the schumacher-senna fight going to be as competitive the second time around?

word count: 4.5k words warnings: death of loved ones, motorsport accidents, anxiety

not super happy with this one but wanted to get it out for y'all. most likely will be a part 2 :)

Ayrton Senna. Champion of 3 World Driver’s titles. Winner of 41 F1 Grand Prix. Holder of 65 pole positions. Driver for Toleman Motorsport, Lotus, McLaren and Renault. Father of one.

That one being Maria Senna. That’s me. I was born in São Paulo, Brazil on the 1st of May 1999. 5 years to the day after my father had died going into Tamburello at the Autodromo Enzo e Dino Ferrari circuit in Italy.

I know what you’re thinking, that math doesn’t make sense. You’d be correct. My mother, Adriane Galisteu and my father had decided to try for children in 1994 and were unsuccessful. Ayrton wanted to be a dad more than anything in the world and as such they organised for IVF, a sample being taken from both of them. The crash happened and my mother swore she would never have kids, unable to face the pain of seeing even a tiny bit of Ayrton in someone else, wishing to never be reminded of the loss of him.

Life went on and my mother decided that she wanted to instead honour Ayrton’s legacy and as such the samples were used and 8 months and 24 days later, I was born. Maria Clara Senna da Silva. However, for most of my life, I went by Maria Clara Galisteu, hiding in plain sight. I had grown up hearing about my father’s talents and achievements, watching all his races on television. My cousin, Bruno would watch with me, placing me in a laundry basket and giving me a plate to steer with, copying his onboard footage.

My mother disapproved vehemently, not wishing to watch another loved one enter motorsport and succumb to the same demise as Ayrton. She knew she could not stop me from wanting to honour my father and my love for what he did. As such I began karting at the age of 6, Bruno taking me to his old karting track in between his British Formula 3 season. I adored it and picked it up quickly, feeling my happiest with a radiator to my left and an engine to my right. No one in Brazil compared to my talent, except for my close friend and “teammate” Felipe Drugovich. I say teammate lightly, his father helping me as a mechanic at karting races when Bruno was away.

Felipe and I got along like a house on fire, making our way to Europe together, both of us competing in Italian Formula 4 for the 2016 and 2017 seasons. It was here that I met some of my greatest friends; Marcus Armstrong, Juan Manuel Correa, Enzo Fittipaldi and Olli Caldwell.

It was also here that I met my biggest enemy, Mick Schumacher. I will be honest, but only because I’m telling you, I probably wouldn’t have hated him if it wasn’t for his last name. I was aware of my father’s battles with Michael, and this meant that I immediately held a grudge. I still remember him coming over to shake my hand, his bright red Prema hoodie making him impossible to miss. “Hey, it’s so nice to meet you, I’m Mick.” His hand suspended between us. “I know who you are,” was all I said, turning on my heels and walking back into the Van Amersfoort Racing trailer. “Spoilt brat” was all Mick whispered under his breath as I turned. I hadn’t told anyone who my father was and as such, I had no leg to stand on as to why I was angry at him. Chatting to Juan Manuel one day he had asked about Mick. “Why do you hate him so much?” I pushed my pasta around the bowl a bit. “I don’t hate him, he’s just so up himself.” “Wait, are we talking about the same person?” “Oh yeah, I forgot, it’s probably in your contract to protect the Prema golden boy.” “Give him a chance, Maria.” “No thanks.”

I was meticulous, always the first driver to the track and the last one to leave. I would go over data for hours, spend time with my engineers and walk the track as much as I needed. I was a winner and I was a winner because I put in more work than anyone else. Although in 2016, I placed second, the first loser to my number one rival, Mick Schumacher. But in 2017, I won.

2018 brought on a move to the FIA Formula 3 Championship, staying with Van Amersfoort Racing. I kept my friends and I kept my discipline. The way I held myself, trained, practised and raced brought the attention of a few driver academies. Nothing would have prepared me for the email I received halfway through 2018, the header filled with papaya orange and the footer containing the speedy kiwi. “I am taking us home, dad.”

2018 involved me coming second… again, to Mick Schumacher… again. I was beyond annoyed but I was able to move up to Formula 2 for 2019, moving to Prema of all places, alongside Mick himself. I was peeved but I knew the car was fast and I knew I could ignore him like I had the last 3 years. He was not going to ruin this for me now. With my McLaren backing, I had a real shot to get to Formula 1, I needed these super license points and I was ready to do anything to get them.

“Do you ever have fun?” Mick had said as he entered our driver’s trailer, watching me highlight my data and analyse a different graph on my iPad. “It is fun, you’d find it fun too if you won more.” I quipped back. He scoffed and sat down next to me at the table. I slid my notes and data up into a pile and put it in my bag, turning to look at him, arms crossed and an unamused expression on my face. “Can I help you, Schumacher?” I straightened my back, making myself seem scarier than I was. “Yeah, you can actually! I want to know why you hate me so much! You are friends with everyone, except me. Why?” He looked exasperated, flailing his hands around in a way that I had never seen before from the usually composed and cool-headed German. “You are just so entitled, Mick! Using your last name to get you wherever you need to go! Showing it off to the world like it is something to be so smug about. You know some of us had to work to get here, right? On merit and hard work!” I had stood up, knocking my chair to the ground, pointing down at him. He stood to match me. “How dare you, Maria! I can’t help that I am my father’s son and I cannot help that I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to make it to where I am. But you know what, I would give it all up, in a single second, if it meant that I got to talk to my dad one more time. If I got to hear him say he loved me one more time. So yeah, I have the most powerful last name in Formula 1 history, but I wear it like a fucking badge of honour because every day I go out on track, I can only hope to be half the driver that he was. That is something that you will never understand.” He was breathing heavily, piercing me with his blue eyes. “You’re not the only one with a father who is no longer here, Mick” and with that I stormed out of the trailer, ready to run the track 2 more times to purge my brain of the conversation.

I won that weekend, at the Hungaroring. A place my father had taken 3 wins in Formula 1. I smiled up at him on that podium, hoping that I was making him proud. I turned to my right, briefly looking at Mick, wondering if he thought the same thing every time he was on a podium too. I wondered if he was thinking about his dad’s four wins here in Hungary. I shook my head slightly, fighting to free the thought of how similar we were. I didn’t want us to be, but there was no denying it.

Five. That was the number. The number of wins that my father had taken here at Spa-Francorchamps. I was hoping to have my first. I knew Mick was too.

“Red flag, red flag, red flag!” My heart sunk. I had watched the two cars collide in my mirrors. The bright pink car turning to scattered pieces in less than a second. Being around motorsport for my whole life, I knew, I could tell. It was not good. And for the first time in my racing career, I realised that I couldn’t breathe. I’d never felt like this before. “Oh my god” was all my lungs could push out down the radio as I headed back to the pits.

“Everything ok, Maria? Do you have a puncture? You are traveling quite slow but we can’t see anything here on the data.” I couldn’t answer, I could barely breathe and I felt like my world was going to collapse. The 1st of May 1995 had come flooding back to my mind, but this time, instead of my father, it was my friend, a good friend at that. In that moment, as I sat in my car, finally back in the pits, I experienced the grief of my father’s death 24 years ago. An event I never had to mourn until now.

I was suffocating and suddenly my suit was too tight, my harness felt like vines trying to pull me to hell and my helmet felt like it was trying to kill me, compressing my head. I was clawing at my neck, unable to find my zipper or my helmet strap with my gloves on but when I tried to remove them, my fingers didn’t move. I told them to and they didn’t. I realised in that moment that I had been screaming, the sound so muffled by my helmet and the roar of engines, the blast of sirens and the chatter of people. But then my neck didn’t feel as constricted and when I lulled my head, I was staring back at Mick. He flipped my visor up, the breeze stinging my tear stained face. “Let’s get you out of here, ok?” And with that, my harness was undone and I was lifted from my car. My legs gave way and my sobs were so much louder now, Mick propping me up as he rushed me through the garage to our trailer.

I didn’t stop crying once, I was babbling nonsense as Mick lifted me to sit on a workbench in our trailer. “Can you take your helmet off?” He had asked, looking straight into my eyes, watching the tears flow. I shook my head, no, I couldn’t, I couldn’t even think right now. It took me about 13 more restricted breaths before I realised that my vision was becoming blurred and I could no longer distinguish Mick’s freckles from his complexion. He turned to wave someone over but it didn’t matter, I was out.

My eyes fluttered open, squinting from the harsh light that shone from the trailer roof. I moved my limbs slightly, feeling the hard massage bed beneath me. Turning to my left, I saw Mick. He hadn’t seen me wake yet but as I looked closer, I began to notice just how badly he was doing. He had his head in his hands, his shoulders moving occasionally, soft sobs echoing through the room. He was now back in his Prema hoodie and tracksuit pants, I had clearly been out for a while. “Mick.” I was surprised that my voice was even audible. He looked up and my heart broke and for the first time, I saw a scared boy. He no longer towered over me, he crumpled where he sat and his usually rosy cheeks looked pale and tear-stained. “Hey” was all I got from him. I stood up to sit next to him, transferring my weight from the bed to the bench that I had been propped up on not so long ago.

“Was it Anthoine?” I couldn’t look at Mick, if I did, I would break all over again. “Yeah. Yeah, it was. I am sorry Maria, I know you guys were close.” I nodded, looking down at my lap. “What.. what happened to you on that in lap?” He finally faced me. I knew he would have asked, I was always so fierce and composed, my breaking down was unheard of. I tossed my options up in my head but when I turned to look at Mick, I knew then that he could have asked anything of me and I would have. His eyes were watery but kind, not how I remembered them to be before that, always so beady and harsh. His hand rested on mine, softly to test the waters but then his fingers curled encasing my hand in his. I had to tell him. It was only fair. I knew he would keep my secret, if only because he knew my pain.

“My dad.” I was scared to say more than that but I knew it wasn’t enough to explain the situation. He surveyed my face, picking up on my need for him to continue the conversation. “It reminds you of your father’s passing?” He spoke timidly, without his confident facade, weary of upsetting me and ruining our first proper chance at friendship. I nodded in confirmation of his question. “He was a racer? He drove cars too?” Again I nodded, willing myself to finally speak any words. He smiled at my nod, resonating with the bond that children have with their father’s legacies. “Was he in NASCAR or Indy? Rally?” I could tell that Mick was racking his brain trying to place my surname. It was obvious that he knew all the F1 drivers and none of them shared my last name. “No. F1.” The way his head flicked towards me, trying to catch my eye to see if I was joking. I wasn’t. He was racking his brain for a question to ask, to confirm it. He wasn’t stupid, here was a Brazilian girl in front of him, the same age and there was only one possibility.

“Imola?” He leaned back, waiting for my reaction. I nodded. He didn’t react, just turned to look straight ahead, processing the information. “But, how could you be my age if-“ “IVF, yeah” I knew he would ask. He nodded again, seeing that it added up. “Does anyone know?” He turned to me again, his eyes softening. “No, no one, well except Bruno and my mother obviously. Not even Felipe does.” I sighed, it felt almost refreshing to be able to get this off of my chest and tell someone.

“I think in that car hearing the red flag called, that was the first time I properly grieved my father’s death. It had always seemed too far away and impossible but it happened again. I have never felt sadness like I have now.”

We sat together in silence until the team came and got us. It was only when Bruno, who had been acting as my manager during this time, gave me a weird look and I realised that Mick and I had been holding hands, finding comfort in one another as we processed the events of the day and the revelation I had dropped. Bruno’s look quickly softened when he realised just how upset I was, my eyes still watery and my skin pale. I thought at that moment, that I had hit rock bottom, that nothing would ever feel as painful as how my heart felt right there. But I think we both know that I wouldn’t be saying that if it was the case. Life has a way of kicking us when we are down and it kicked me hard.

Mick had messaged me throughout that week and over the next few races we had grown closer. Not friends just yet but we were amicable and I always felt his watchful eye on me. During interviews, training, conferences and racing I felt for the first time like I had someone ready to catch me if I fell. I showed my vulnerable side and through that, I had gained a confidante. He hadn’t told a soul of my secret and I was grateful. I suspected it was because he understood my desire to stay invisible, to be able to have the opportunity to rise through the ranks myself, a privilege, I realised, he never got. I had reflected on my comments towards him and had apologised, he knew now that I was merely projecting but I still felt bad.

The last race of the season was at Yas Marina, both F2 and F1 ending the 2019 season here. I was expected to win but I was only leading Mick in the championship by 7 points. It was close. I wanted to win and I hated all of the remarks from broadcasters and even my team of, ‘you can win the championship if he comes second and you get at least third, fourth or fifth’. I know they were trying to show me how possible it was, how I was right there, to win the championship in my rookie season and to be the first woman to win an F2 championship. I knew it settled my nerves, my engineer going over it all with me so that radio messages during the race made sense when comparing my results to Mick but I just wanted to be first. It was in my nature and no one would stop me.

As I walked through the paddock, my headphones in, the sound of rock pouring into my ears, I knew that I belonged here, stopping into the Mercedes garage, I quickly said hello to Lewis, who had been an avid support of mine, both on talent and my battle to overcome my diversity. He gave me a hug and a good luck and I was on my way again. As I walked the paddock, I became more and more aware of the eyes on me, engineers stopped what they were doing to point and whisper, broadcasters looking at me too. I was confused, obviously I was well known, I was leading the F2 championship currently but there had never been a reception like this, especially from the F1 teams who were always too busy (or too important) to care. I started my way back to the Prema motorhome, the stares starting to freak me out.

One second I was walking past a short alleyway between trailers and the next I was leaning against one, my shoulders being held and my eyes looking straight at Mick, his eyes filled with worry. The more I looked over him, the more I realised how dishevelled he looked, hair messy, face glowing with sweat and breathing heavily. “Mick, get off me. What is going on?” I stood up, straightening my hair with my hand. “I swear it wasn’t me. I would never do that to you. I promise. I’m so sorry and we will figure this out together. I’m by your side.” He muttered out, his ramblings so foreign compared to his usual composed and calm speech. “What are you talking about?” I hadn’t a clue what was going on. “Oh god. You haven’t heard yet, have you?” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, tapping through an app before passing it to me.

“I’m so sorry, Maria. I needed to find you before anyone else did and let you know” His eyes were wide and his brows furrowed, pleading with me to believe him. My first instinct was to be mad at him, be so furious that I kicked and screamed and threw punches but I just knew it wasn’t him. If my teammate was anyone else, I wouldn’t have believed them but we had lived such similar lives, I knew he couldn’t betray me like that. “I believe you, Mick.” His shoulder tension dropping at my affirmation of his innocence. “What do I do now?” I was genuinely clueless. I had always had a plan in life, everything following as I had planned, but now… I had nothing. “Let’s go back to the garage and see what we can do next, Rene can handle this.”

My hands had never been as sweating as they were sitting in that conference room. I looked around the circular table, Rene, Mick, Bruno and then myself, that was it. “It’s true, Rene. I should have told you and I understand if you are mad but I really was just trying to make it on my own. I didn’t want to wear my father’s name like a label.” He nodded and smiled. “I know, Maria, I know. What do you want to come from this?” He reached across the table and squeezed my hand, giving me a sympathetic thin-lipped smile. He was like a father to me and what I imagined it would be like to have Ayrton around still, he was always pushing me, always wanting me to do more, but he was so proud of my achievements and wanted the best for me. “I don’t want to say anything until after the race. Please.” He nodded. “No media until after the race, you decide then what your answer to everyone’s question is. Same for you, Mick, no media.” He smiled and then let it drop, remembering that him being excused from media was because my identity was being leaked. It made me smile a little if nothing else. “Also, I have spoken to a few people around the team and apparently one of the mechanics leaked this to the press. He overheard you both talking after Spa and wanted to make some money off of this. I am truly sorry, Maria. He was been let go of immediately and if you would like, we can pursue legal action.” All I could do was nod, what was done, was done. But it was race time and I needed to focus.

In true Mick fashion, I had gotten a fist bump and a smile and good luck before the race. The Prema garage was tense but excited. No one knew what was about to happen but they were keen to find out, much like we were too. I won’t get into the final race, if you are reading this, then you probably know the results and if you don’t, have a look on F1TV, it wasn’t a bad race, although I may be pretty biased. All I can say is that, as I jumped from my car, parked behind the sign with a one printed on it, I was on top of the world. I wasn’t thinking about my father, about my team, about my mother back in Brazil… I was actually thinking about the person driving the car that pulled up behind number two. Who sprung out of their car like there was a fire and who picked me up and twirled me around like I weighed nothing. Up on the podium, as the Brazilian national anthem played, I looked to my right and wondered if Mick had the same thought as me, the next generation of Senna and Schumacher, the future greats battling it out on track.

“Yes.”

“Sorry Maria, what do you mean?”

“I know what you were about to ask me, yes.”

“We were trying to do the math before an-”

“IVF. Any other questions?”

“Is it true that you like the second-generation Schumacher more than your father liked the first?”

Looking over my shoulder, Mick was graciously completing interviews and my heart swelled. I wasn’t dumb. I had known all along that my projection of my own fatherly situation and my supposed hatred of him was to mask how I really felt. That the first day we ever met, when he came over, Italy coloured hoodie on and introduced himself, it had been love at first sight. Nothing had changed and looking at him now, chatting away with pride after just narrowly coming second in the championship, my heart felt the same love.

“He wishes.”

The next season, 2020, Mick had won the F2 championship and I was spending my time as the McLaren reserve driver, beside Carlos Sainz and Lando Norris, soaking in every detail I could and trying to honour my father’s legacy as much as possible. 2021 involved Mick in Alfa Romeo with Valtteri Bottas and myself now in the second seat at McLaren with Lando Norris.

4 years with our teams, blood, sweat and tears both on and off track. A few pole positions and a few race wins, a few crashes and a few too many DNF’s (although if you ask me, 1 is too many). Our love grew and was tested daily but I knew that nothing was ever going to change how I felt about Mick. He was the smell of pine amongst the ice of Swiss mountains, he was the reflection the sun made on the sand underneath the shallow ocean water and he was the soft crackle that a fireplace made. He was my comfort and my support through everything. We were private but never secretive and I knew that if he asked me to give up racing, I would in a heartbeat but he never would, it wasn’t in his nature.

I looked up from my laptop, a soft knock rousing me from my work. “Are you writing right now? On your wedding day, oh my goodness, Maria, no!” Lily was standing there in her bridesmaid dress, hair curled and makeup on. “You need to get your dress on, Lewis, you were meant to be keeping her on track.” She gestured to the man lounging on a desk chair, who sprung into action at realising the time. “Shit, Maria, you need to get ready!” Lily rolled her eyes. “We are all ready to go, so dress on and let’s get you married, hey?” I nodded and slipped into my dress, Lewis helping when I called for him to do the zip for me. With my shoes on, I was ready to marry the love of my life. “He would be so proud of you, prodígio. I just know it.” I smiled back at him as we waited in the entrance room of one of the Schumacher ranch barns. Having converted the whole property for our wedding. White flowers adorned the area, small candles in jars and a line of luxury cars, it was us to a tee.

As I met Mick at the end of the aisle, I had to tilt my head back, stopping the tears that brimmed. “You look utterly breathtaking, Liebling.” He was in awe and I felt more beautiful than I ever had. “You don’t look so bad too.” “Wait, is it going to be Schumacher-Senna or Senna-Schumacher?” He furrowed his brows together, wanting to make sure his vows were correct, I chuckled. “Take a guess, Mick. The Senna name won a championship first.” We giggled with each other before the minister started his speech. All I could do was look into those beautiful blue eyes and know everything would be okay.

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic

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