#anthem of the heart icons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

12.7% of mobile users access Tumblr.

#anthem of the heart icons

ginger-grimm · 1 year

Text

I unironically love the Bad Reputations episode of Glee so much. The performances are cringy and bad but so fun and that is the point and that is the kind of teen drama that I miss so much. Everything is so unnecessarily dark and edgy nowadays.

#anna says things sometimes #glee #ice ice baby?#banger #u can't touch this?#yep i love #physical?#iconic #run joey run?#national anthem #total eclipse of the heart?#the epitome of melodramatic teen dramas

7 notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 28 days

Text

Legends Never Die

Carlos Sainz x Senna!Reader

Summary: sometimes the hole in your heart left behind by the passing of your father becomes almost too much to bear, but Carlos and his family never fail to ease the ache

Brazilian Grand Prix, 2023

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you step out onto the podium at Interlagos after winning your home race — the Brazilian Grand Prix — for McLaren.

You wave to the sea of fans, trying to keep your emotions in check. But it’s impossible. Everywhere you look there are reminders of your father.

Fans wave Brazilian flags emblazoned with his iconic yellow and green helmet. Others wear t-shirts bearing his name and race number. Signs reading “Senna Forever” make your chest tighten.

He’s everywhere … except where you need him most. In your memories.

You were just a baby when he died in that fateful accident at Imola in 1994. You only know the sound of his voice through crackling video footage, his infectious smile from yellowing photographs. But you don’t actually remember him. Your own father, the man whose immense legacy you carry on your shoulders each time you slide into the cockpit of a Formula 1 car.

By the time the national anthem plays and the champagne corks pop, you can barely see through the tears welling in your eyes. You blink them back rapidly, hoping the cameras don’t pick up on your emotional state. As soon as the ceremony ends, you practically run off the podium, heading straight for the sanctuary of your driver’s room.

You barely make it through the door before the sobs start wracking your body. You sink down onto the couch, drawing your knees up and burying your face in your hands as the tears flow freely.

How can you feel so alone when surrounded by so many who loved him?

A soft knock at the door cuts through your cries. You know immediately who it is without having to ask.

“Come in,” you manage to choke out, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks.

The door opens and there’s Carlos, looking concerned but unsurprised to find you in this state. Of course he knows. By now, he can likely sense when these waves of emotion are about to crash over you.

Carlos crosses the room and settles onto the couch, gathering you into his arms. You immediately curl against his chest, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. One of his hands comes up to soothingly stroke your hair as the other rubs circles across your back.

“Let it out, mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here.”

The gentleness in his voice is your undoing. You let out a gasping sob, tears soaking through the material of his firesuit as you finally allow yourself to unravel completely in his embrace.

“I-I don’t remember him,” you hiccup between harsh breaths. “I w-won my home race and all I could see out there were ghosts. He was everywhere b-but in my own mind!”

“Shh, I know,” Carlos soothes, rubbing your back. “I know it hurts, mi vida. But he’s here.” He places his palm over your heart. “Your dad lives in here, just like you live in his.”

You lift your head, seeking out his warm brown eyes through your tear-blurred vision. “How can you be so sure? I don’t have a single first-hand memory of him. I know Ayrton Senna the legend, but not my own father.”

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Carlos’s lips. “Because that’s how it is for all of us who didn’t get the chance to really know him.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear trailing down your cheek. “We keep him alive in our hearts through the way he inspired us, the lives he touched without ever realizing it. And for you ...” His expression turns amazed, eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite place. “For you, he’s here.” He runs his hands over the sides of your body, splaying his fingers wide. “A part of him lives on, in you and through you each time you drive. You embody everything he represented behind the wheel — passion, adrenaline, an unquenchable desire to be the best. That’s your father’s legacy beating within you.”

You stare at him, trying to make sense of the jumbled tempest of feelings swirling inside you. Part of you wants to protest, to insist your longing for a tangible connection to your father can’t be satisfied by philosophical musing.

And yet … Carlos’ words reverberate within you, striking a chord. You think of the split-second decision making, the fearless way you attack corners, your refusal to ever give any less than your full effort.

Those are all traits you’ve been told time and time again you inherited from Ayrton. And maybe Carlos is right — maybe that is how you’ll know him best in this life.

Slowly, you reach up to cradle Carlos’ face in your palms, searching his caring gaze. “How did I get so lucky?” You whisper, a few rogue tears spilling over. “To have someone who understands me, understands this hole in my life, and loves me enough to fill it as best he can?”

The look of utter adoration on Carlos’ face steals your breath. Gently, he leans in to capture your lips in the softest, sweetest of kisses. The tenderness, the depth of emotion in that one simple gesture is enough to make your knees go weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “I’m the lucky one, mi amor,” he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. “To be loved by you ...” He shakes his head slowly in seeming awe of you. “You make me feel blessed every day just by letting me share in your existence.”

You let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes but unable to fight the giddy smile blooming across your face. Trust Carlos to somehow make you feel like the luckiest, most special person in the world after you’ve just spent who knows how long crying on his shoulder.

“You big sap,” you tease, booping him on the nose. You search his expression, your chest filling with warmth at the laughter lines crinkling around his eyes. “I love you, you know that right?”

The words hang there, heavy and significant. You realize you’ve never actually said them before, not with such simple yet loaded sincerity.

From the look of surprise and unbridled joy that overtakes Carlos’ features, he realizes it too. His hands come up to cradle your face, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you tenderly.

“Mi alma ...” he breathes out reverently. “Te amo, mi vida. I love you with all my heart.”

The depth of emotion in his voice, the Spanish words of love and adoration tumbling from his lips, it’s all too much. You surge forward, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as the last of your tears, these born of happiness and love rather than sorrow, streak down your cheeks.

Carlos kisses you back with an intensity that leaves you lightheaded. His fingers tighten almost possessively in your hair as the kiss deepens, growing more heated and passionate. You’re vaguely aware of him shifting until you’re nearly in his lap, bodies aligned and thrumming with a very different kind of electricity than you’re used to on the track.

Eventually, the need for air becomes too insistent to ignore. You break apart, both of you panting heavily. Carlos’ lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown wide. He looks like a man thoroughly ravished.

You can’t help the impish grin. “So I take it you feel the same way?”

His laugh is low and gravelly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh mi amor ...” he rumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You have no idea.”

You bite your lip, about to suggest taking this celebration elsewhere more private. But a new thought suddenly occurs, giving you pause. Slowly, almost shyly, you meet his heated gaze.

“Carlos … do you really think he would be proud of me?” The uncertainty in your voice is painfully obvious. “My father, I mean. You think he’s ...” You swallow hard. “You think he’s watching over me and approving of the person I’ve become?”

The seriousness of your question douses some of the blazing desire in Carlos’ eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by a look of such fierce conviction, such affection for you, it makes your breath catch.

“Cariño,” he begins, voice thick with emotion as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Your father was the embodiment of passion and integrity in the pursuit of greatness. On the track, he gave everything. He put his heart and soul into being the best driver, the best competitor he could be. And that’s exactly what I see when I watch you race.”

Carlos leans in, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers tenderly trace the line of your jaw. “You drive with the same fire, the same refusal to let anything less than your full ability shine through. And off the track?” He lets out a soft huff of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, let’s just say the determination, the sheer force of will I see in you would make any parent proud.”

You bite your lip, struggling against the swell of emotion building in your chest at his words. “Really? You don’t think he’d be … disappointed? That I’m not living up to his legacy or-”

“Hey.” Carlos cuts you off firmly, holding your gaze. “Your father didn’t just leave a legacy of winning championships or setting records, mi amor. He left a legacy of spirit. Of personality. Of being a loving, passionate human being who inspired millions.” His thumb strokes along your cheekbone as his eyes shine with complete sincerity. “And let me tell you — in that way? You are so perfectly your father’s daughter it’s unreal.”

The tears that have been threatening finally spill over, but this time they are born of relief, of love and reassurance. You manage a watery smile, curling your hand around the back of Carlos’ neck to pull him close until your foreheads touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper fervently. “For understanding. For loving me through the shadows and the ghosts. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His arms tighten around you, holding you flush against his body in an embrace filled with devotion. “Well, you’ll never have to find out,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

A delighted shiver runs through you at his tone, at the deliciously possessive edge to his promise. Shifting in his lap, you capture his lips in a searing kiss filled with all the love, the passion, the longing you’ve been holding at bay.

Carlos responds with equal fervor, one hand burying in your hair while the other maps searing paths across your back, your sides, pulling you ever closer until there’s no space between your bodies. The room seems to simultaneously tilt and burn away until there is only the two of you, tangled together in a heated spiral of want and need.

At some point, you become vaguely aware of Carlos rising to his feet, your legs winding instinctively around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. Your back presses against the nearest wall and you moan softly into his mouth at the delicious friction. His hands are everywhere, stoking the fire burning through your veins with every scorching caress.

Finally, and reluctantly, you pull your lips from his with a gasp. “Carlos … if we don’t get out of here soon, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.”

He grins wolfishly at you, pupils blown wide with desire. “Is that a promise, mi amor?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sends sparks of pure hunger fluttering through your stomach.

Holding his heated gaze, you slowly drag your nails down the back of his neck in a deliberate tease, relishing the way his eyes darken even further. “Take me home, Carlos,” you purr, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. “And I’ll show you just how promising I can be.”

His response is to capture your mouth in another bruising kiss, pressing you harder against the wall as a growl rumbles up from deep in his chest. Then, without warning, he’s turning and striding towards the door, carrying you easily as your legs remain locked around his waist.

Breathless with wanting, you finally pull away as he reaches for the doorknob, laughing softly. “I see someone’s eager.”

Carlos’s eyes gleam with pure, undisguised hunger as he looks at you over his shoulder. “For you, mi alma?” He leans in, lips hovering tantalizingly close as his beard brushes your tingling skin. “Always.”

With that, he’s swinging the door open and striding out into the hallway, completely uncaring of who might see. His focus, his entire world, is solely on you in this moment. Just as yours is on him.

As the adrenaline of victory fades and the ache of longing for your absent father eases into a dull, familiar ache, you’re reminded once more of the incredible gift you’ve been given.

Carlos’ love, his understanding and acceptance of every broken, yearning part of you is a blessing. One you vow never to take for granted.

Winding your arms securely around his neck, you let yourself get lost in the heat of his gaze, the depth of emotion shining there. And you realize — with him, you don’t feel so alone.

Even if your father isn’t here in person, some piece of him does live on. Not in memories or old recordings. But in the love you hold in your heart. The love you pour into everything you do, every dream you dare to chase. The love that connects you to Carlos so wholly.

Maybe, just maybe, your father is prouder than either of you can fathom as he watches the remarkable life you’ve created together unfold.

Smiling softly, you lean in to feather a kiss along the sharp line of Carlos’ jaw, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Take me home, meu amor.”

Australian Grand Prix, 2024

The podium ceremony is pure pandemonium. Carlos stands on the top step, beaming and cheering, having just claimed his first win of the new season. You’re on the second step beside him, arm raised in celebration of your own P2 finish. The energy from the crowd is electric, filling your veins with the same adrenaline rush as when you crossed the finish line.

You should be deliriously happy. Scoring such a strong result alongside your boyfriend at the third race is the dream start to your championship chase. And yet … something feels off. A strange melancholy tugs at the corner of your heart even as the champagne sprays and camera flashes bombard you from all angles.

Then you spot him — Carlos’ father, beaming at his son from the front of the crowd gathered below the podium. His chest is puffed out with undisguised pride, eyes crinkled at the corners behind his designer shades.

As you watch, father and son’s gazes meet and lock, and the sheer depth of emotion in that one look breaks something inside you.

Oh.

That’s what’s missing.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath. You barely register the Spanish national anthem playing as your eyes stay glued to the tender scene before you.

Carlos shooting his father a brilliant grin, chin dipping in acknowledgment of the pride shining through. Carlos Sr.’s face split by the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. It’s such a simple gesture, but one utterly steeped in parental pride.

You should look away before it gets to be too much, but some masochistic part of you can’t tear your gaze from the heartwarming display. Seeing that effortless bond between father and son, witnessing their silent communication and affection laden with years of inside jokes and childhood memories … it awakens a hollow ache, one you’re terribly familiar with.

By the time the ceremony finally winds down, hot tears are stinging your eyes. You blink rapidly, ducking your head in hopes that the dark tint of your sunglasses conceals your fragile state. But of course, Carlos notices immediately.

He pauses mid-celebration, halfway through accepting some prize filled with the event sponsor’s product. Frowning, he leans in close under the pretense of thanking you for pushing him all the way. “Mi alma? What’s wrong?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the naked concern in his voice. Trust Carlos to pick up on your inner turmoil even in the middle of what should be an incredibly joyous occasion. Steeling yourself, you manage a smile that you hope passes as genuine.

“Nothing, I’m just ...” Your excuse dies in your throat as you look past him towards the crowd once more.

Carlos Sr. is shouldering his way through the mass of staff and media, pushing towards his son. He’s waving and grinning from ear to ear as Carlos straightens up, delight overtaking his features. The second the older Sainz’s feet cross the barriers, Carlos drops everything and bounds over, hauling his father into a tight embrace.

They laugh and cheer as Carlos pumps a victorious fist in the air, the other arm wrapped securely around Carlos Sr. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the noise of the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. Their body language says it all.

Pride. Joy. Celebration. A bond forged in the fires of hardship and sacrifice, of a lifetime pursuing the most elite level of a deadly sport.

Father and son, reveling together in the sweetness of hard-earned success.

Your throat constricts painfully as you watch them, your own arms wrapping protectively around your middle. How many times had you dreamed of recreating this exact moment as a young girl? Crossing the chequered line in first place, only to be swept up in a boundless hug by a beaming, triumphant father?

You remember pretending with your childhood race cars, standing on an overturned bucket that served as your make-believe podium. You’d mimic the anthems and champagne sprays, then launch yourself off the “top step“ and into the arms of an imaginary Ayrton, dreaming about what it would feel like to bury your face in his shoulder as he swung you around, both of you dissolving into happy laughter as you celebrated together.

Of course, those were only childish fantasies even then. By the time you were old enough to understand racing, to grasp what your father did and meant to the world, he was already long gone. You never got the chance to make those podium daydreams a reality.

And you never would.

The harsh truth is like a bucket of ice water over your head. You’re vaguely aware of your sunglasses slipping down your nose as your eyes burn with unshed tears. Angrily, you blink them back, steeling your jaw.

Now is not the time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you can muster as Carlos and his father turn back towards you. Throwing propriety to the wind, Carlos Sr. comes up to engulf you in a tight hug, the scratch of barely-there stubble rasping against your cheek.

“Another stellar drive, mariposa,” he praises in his thick, warm accent as Carlos laughs in delight beside you. “Keeping this one on his toes, I see.”

Despite your fragile emotional state, you can’t help but grin at his spirit and affection. “Always,” you reply, squeezing him back firmly before pulling away to make room for Carlos.

Almost automatically, you take a step back to give them space. You have no wish to intrude on what should be their private moment together. And sure enough, no sooner have you retreated than Carlos is wrapping his arm around his father’s shoulders, guiding him towards the edge of the pit lane where Ferrari representatives are waiting.

You hang back, a sad smile playing across your lips as you watch them go. All the teasing and laughing, the play-fights and unbreakable bonds of family you wish you could have experienced for yourself play out in vivid detail before your eyes.

Off to the side, almost like an afterthought despite your place right beside him on the podium. Just … watching.

Slowly, you turn away, the roar of the fans and celebrations fading into the distance as you head up the ramp to the McLaren motorhome.

A thousand wistful memories drift through your mind. Muted footage of you as a newborn cradled in your father’s arms, grinning up at him in pure innocence and adoration. Photos of Ayrton gazing down at his infant daughter with a look of such unconditional love that it breaks you all over again.

No matter how many trophies you win or records you break, that will always be the one achievement he never had the chance to witness. You’ll never experience a father’s unadulterated pride at his child’s success.

Your breath hitches as you finally reach the solitude of your private room, sinking onto the plush sofa as the tears begin rolling in earnest. Who are you kidding? As much as Carlos and his family envelop you in their warmth, as much as you are unquestionably part of their clan now … there is always going to be an empty space in your heart where a father’s love should be.

You bury your face in your hands, ignoring the wet streaks smearing across your knuckles as you try in vain to compose yourself. You can’t be like this, falling apart every time. Carlos deserves to revel in one of the greatest wins of his career. He shouldn’t have to devote energy to consoling you, not after a spectacular drive like that.

A soft knock at the door startles you. Swiping hastily at your cheeks, you suck in a shuddering breath and call out. “Come in.”

The door opens, and of course, it’s Carlos. Because even in the midst of unbridled jubilation, he senses your inner turmoil. He steps inside, the happiness draining from his expression as he takes in your blotchy complexion and reddened eyes.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, crossing to you in two quick strides and gathering you into his arms. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat-damp race suit as he rubs soothing circles across your back. “Talk to me, cariño. What’s got you so upset, hmm?”

You want to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you simply shake your head, a few errant tears slipping free to wet the material covering his shoulder. Carlos doesn’t push, just holds you close and lets you cry it out against him.

Eventually, you find your voice, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your celebration like this. You should be out there enjoying your win, not consoling your mess of a girlfriend.”

“Hey now,” he chides gently, tipping your chin up to meet his concerned gaze. “None of that, mi alma. Your feelings are never something to apologize for.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. “I know today was … difficult. Seeing me with my dad, it brought up a lot of old hurts, didn’t it?”

You let out a watery chuckle, amazed as always by his intuition when it comes to your innermost struggles. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows and loves every facet of you,” he replies simply, stroking your hair back from your forehead. “Will you tell me? Let me in on what you’re feeling so I can try to understand?”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod and disentangle yourself enough to sit beside him on the couch. You keep one of his hands linked with yours, anchoring you as you gather your thoughts. “It’s just … out there on the podium, when I saw you and your dad together ...” You pause, blinking rapidly against a fresh swell of tears. “It reminded me all over again of what I’m missing. What I’ll never get to have.”

Carlos’ expression softens with understanding and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging you to continue. You draw strength from his presence beside you.

“You two have this … bond. This connection, like you’re the only ones who truly understand each other’s perspectives. And I’m envious, Carlos. So envious of the lifetime of love and memories that exists just in the silent communication between you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “God, that sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”

“No, mi vida.” Carlos is firm, his eyes shining with sincerity. “Not pathetic at all. You’re allowed to feel that longing, that sadness over being deprived of something so integral.” His free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb stroking along your cheekbone. “You miss your dad. You mourn not having that relationship in your life. Those are entirely valid feelings to have, especially on days like this when I got to share my joy with my own father.”

You lean into his touch, fresh tears spilling over at his words as your breath hitches. “It’s like … no matter what I accomplish, no matter how successful I become, there will always be this hole.” Your hand comes up to clasp his wrist, holding him close. “Because he never got to see it. He never got to be that person cheering me on, taking pride in my achievements. Instead, I’m left imagining what it would be like, watching you and your dad and aching for something I can’t have.”

Carlos’ eyes turn molten, brimming with empathy and sorrow for your pain. Slowly, he guides you forward until your foreheads are pressed together, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Mi amor … I can’t replace what you’ve lost, or take away that regret and heartache. All I can do is promise to spend every day showing you how proud I am of you.” His fingers thread through your hair, cradling your head tenderly. “You are the strongest, bravest, most amazing woman I have ever known. Watching you out on the track, giving everything you have with that same fire and spirit as your father … words can’t express how awestruck I am. How honored I feel to witness your brilliance and passion race after race.”

You suck in a sharp breath at the reverent tone in his voice, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks at the depth of feeling behind his words. Carlos tugs you even closer until there’s no space between your bodies, until you’re sharing the same air in an intimate embrace.

“I only wish he could see you the way I do,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours with each word. “I wish he was here to feel the immense pride and adoration I feel every single time you leave me breathless behind the wheel.” A tender, lingering kiss punctuates his words. “You are your father’s greatest legacy, mi alma. And I will spend every day showing you that, if you’ll let me.”

A choked whimper escapes your lips as you surge forward, capturing Carlos’ mouth in a searing, fevered kiss. You pour every ounce of overwhelmed emotion, every bit of ardor and heartache and gratitude into the heated glide of your lips against his. His arms band around you like steel cables, holding you impossibly close as the kiss turns bruising, desperate, all-consuming.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both panting harshly. Carlos’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and swollen and thoroughly kissed. He stares at you with such naked adoration, such devotion, that it steals what little breath you have left.

“Thank you,” you rasp, cradling his face in your trembling hands. “Thank you for loving me so completely. Despite all my broken pieces, you see me at my core and still chose me.”

He leans into your touch, lips brushing your palm. “There is nothing to thank me for, mi amor. You are the sun, I’m merely lucky enough to orbit you and bask in your warmth.” He places another soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right over your thundering pulse. “I am yours, corazón. Every piece of me, for every piece of you. Never doubt that.”

A fresh wave of emotion rises up, this one filled with pure, dizzying love and affection for the incredible man kneeling before you. Pulling him up, you simply hold him for a long moment, relishing his solid strength surrounding you in the protective circle of his arms.

Here, in his embrace, the ache of your father’s absence dulls to a faded echo in the corners of your heart. Here, you can breathe easy, reassured and loved down to your very core.

Eventually, the sounds of celebration filter in through the door — your team must be getting restless waiting for their driver. Carlos seems to hear it too, huffing out a quiet chuckle against your hairline.

“We should get out there, hmm? Before both of our teams send a search party for their drivers.”

You nod, but make no move to disentangle yourself, soaking up his warmth and steady presence for a few more selfish moments.

When you do finally pull away, there are fresh tear tracks on your cheeks but also a peaceful smile gracing your lips. Reverently, you run your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at Carlos’ temples as his eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words seeming impossibly inadequate to convey the depth of feeling they represent. “Endlessly, meu amado.”

Carlos’ gaze when he opens his eyes practically glows with emotion, pure elation and adoration radiating from his expression. “As I love you, mi alma,” he husks, stealing one more searingly tender kiss. “Always.”

With twin smiles and your hands linked tightly, you exit the room together into the raucous cheers and celebrations. Outside, you can see Carlos Sr. surrounded by a sea of red, laughing and beaming with incomparable pride and joy at his son’s success. Your breath catches when he spots the two of you emerging, arms flinging wide.

“There are my superstars! Vámonos, we have a victory to toast!”

As Carlos tugs you forward into the chaos, his father enveloping you both in a crushing embrace and peppering your cheeks with scratchy kisses, you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

Yes, there will always be an absence where your father should have been, a hollow space in your heart shaped perfectly to his memory. But you’ll never truly be alone.

Not with Carlos beside you every step of the way. Not with his family’s boundless love and affection enveloping you, treating you as their own daughter. They are the salve for when that empty ache becomes too much to bear.

So you let yourself sink into the celebration, into the warmth of the Sainz clan and the sheer euphoria of your personal success. As long as Carlos keeps chasing his passion with the same fanatical devotion as his father … as long as you chase your own with every ounce of vigor and spirit that your father passed down through shared blood … then Ayrton will never stop watching over you both with immeasurable pride and a heart overflowing with love.

And for now, for today, that will simply have to be enough.

Days Before the Miami Grand Prix, 2024

The Miami sun sinks lower in the sky, bathing the hotel balcony in a warm orange glow. You lean against the railing, staring unseeingly at the cruise ships dotting the horizon. Your eyes are glassy, your mind a million miles away.

It’s been thirty years to the day since your father’s life was snatched away. Thirty years of living in his immense shadow, constantly reminded of the racing legend you never truly knew.

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, a steady stream of texts and calls offering condolences. Old acquaintances you haven’t spoken to in years, suddenly reaching out on this morbid anniversary.

What can you possibly say that the world doesn’t already know? That they haven’t already dissected and analyzed a million times over?

The harsh truth is that so many strangers have more vivid memories of Ayrton Senna than his own daughter. It’s a sobering reality, one that reopens that wound all over again every May 1st.

You feel numb, gutted, emptied out.

“Amor?” The familiar voice pulls you from your reverie. You turn to find Carlos staring at you with soft concern in his warm brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

You try for a reassuring smile, but it feels stale on your lips. “I’m fine, just … thinking.”

He sees right through you, the way he always does. Crossing the balcony, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. You lean back into his solid embrace, drawing comfort from his presence.

“You know you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, right?” He murmurs against your hair. “Not today.”

You let out a shuddering breath, blinking back the sting of tears. “I know. It’s just … it never gets any easier, you know? All these years later and the wound still feels fresh.”

His arms tighten around you. “I’m so sorry, mi amor. I wish I could take the pain away.”

“You help more than you know, just by being here,” you reply thickly. A tremulous smile curves your lips as you cover his hands with yours. “Thank you for putting up with my melancholy every year.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he says fiercely. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

The sound of the balcony door opening draws your attention as Carlos Sr. steps out onto the balcony, his eyes kind but assessing as he takes in the two of you embracing.

“Ah, lo siento,” he says apologetically. “I did not mean to intrude on a private moment.”

“No, no, you’re not intruding,” you assure him, reluctantly extracting yourself from Carlos’ arms. You turn to face his father, subtly wiping at your damp eyes. “What’s going on?”

Carlos Sr. hesitates, shooting his son a questioning look. Carlos nods almost imperceptibly.

“Actually, hijo, do you mind if I borrow Y/N for a few minutes?” Carlos’ father asks. “Hombre a hombre, as they say.”

Your brows knit in confusion, but Carlos just smiles faintly and drops a kiss on your temple. “Of course. I’ll be inside whenever you’re ready, mi vida.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, he disappears back into the suite, leaving you alone with his father on the balcony. The older Sainz settles into one of the plush lounge chairs with a slight groan.

“Please, join an old man,” he says, patting the chair beside him. You hesitate briefly before sinking into the indicated seat. An awkward silence stretches between you both.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Carlos’ father begins at last. “I am not usually at such a loss for words. But I find myself struggling to know what to say on a day like today.”

You manage a watery chuckle. “Trust me, you’re not the only one at a loss. I don’t even know what to say to myself half the time.”

He regards you with such tender understanding that it steals your breath away. “My dear girl, you have carried such a heavy burden on those young shoulders for far too long. No child should have to grow up in the shadow of tragedy the way you have.”

Tears well up anew in your eyes. “I just … I wish I could remember him, you know? Really remember him, not just what I’ve seen in videos or heard in interviews. It feels so unfair that the whole world has vibrant memories of who he was, but I’m just … left with echoes and fragments of a man I never truly knew.”

Carlos Sr.’s eyes glisten with empathy as he reaches over to take your hand, enveloping it in his calloused grip. “Listen to me, mija. While I cannot begin to understand the depth of your loss, I do know this — it is never strange to mourn someone you loved, even if you cannot recall the time you spent together.”

His words are like a soothing balm on the ragged wound of your heart. You squeeze his hand fiercely, struggling to keep your composure as he continues.

“Your father was ...” He pauses, seeming to carefully weigh his next words. “Your father was an incredible man, one who touched countless lives all over the world. But to you, he was simply your father. And that bond, that love between a parent and child, transcends memory. It lives on in here.” He taps his heart with his free hand. “In a way that no amount of biographies or documentaries could ever capture.”

The tears spill over, streaking down your cheeks. You make no effort to stop them this time. Carlos’ father merely watches you with infinite tenderness, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

“I know I cannot replace the father you lost,” he continues softly. “Nor would I ever try. But I hope you know that our family … we love you as one of our own, mija. You will always have a home and a family with us, for as long as you desire it.”

A broken sound escapes your throat and Carlos Sr. immediately rises from his chair to gather you into his arms, his embrace warm and secure and achingly paternal. You bury your face in his shoulder, body shaking with muffled sobs as the floodgates finally burst open.

“That’s it, let it all out,” he murmurs, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Holding in such grief for so long, it’s a wonder you did not crumble beneath the weight of it long ago. You are stronger than you know, mija.”

You cry until you’re completely spent, until the front of Carlos Sr.’s shirt is damp and your eyes are swollen and puffy. When at last the tears subside, leaving you wrung out but strangely peaceful, he produces a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabs at your cheeks.

“There now, that’s better isn’t it?” He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles down at you. “I think my son may have plans to cheer you up, if you’re amenable?”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling lighter than you have in days … weeks … months maybe. “That does sound nice.”

The elder Spaniard presses the handkerchief into your hand, then steers you back towards the balcony door with a gentle hand on your back. “Then what are we waiting for? That boy may look like me, but his sweet tooth is all his mother’s doing.”

You pause in the doorway, impulsively turning to throw your arms around the man who has, in many ways, become a second father to you. “Thank you,” you whisper shakily against his shoulder. “For everything.”

His arms tighten around you briefly. “De nada, mija. That’s what family is for.”

When at last you disentangle yourself, Carlos is waiting just inside, a bright smile lighting up his face at the sight of the two of you. On the counter, a cheerful array of pastries and confections beckons, the delicious aroma of fresh Brazilian baked goods enveloping you in a warm, sugary hug.

Carlos’ eyes are shining with love and relief as you cross the room to plant a lingering kiss of gratitude on his smiling lips.

“I love you,” you murmur when you finally pull back, cradling his face in your palms. “Thank you for being you.”

His forehead drops to rest against yours. “Always, mi alma. I’ll never stop loving you and being here for you, no matter what.”

You hold him tightly for a long moment, savoring his warmth and solidity. When you finally part, Carlos’ arm stays looped around your waist as he turns towards the dessert spread.

“So, I may have gone a little overboard at the bakery,” he admits with an unrepentant grin, waving his free hand at the sugary bounty. “But it’s been a rough day and you deserve to indulge a little.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling some of the lingering heaviness dissipate at the pure, infectious joy on his face. Leave it to Carlos to try and solve everything with baked goods and affection.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, leaning into his side, “I suppose I can’t say no to that face.”

“That’s the spirit!” Carlos crows, beaming at you with such adoration that it makes your heart squeeze. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he scoops up one of the frosted confections and holds it up to your lips. “Open wide, mi amor.”

You obediently take a bite of the sugary pastry, the rich flavors of doce de leite and buttery dough melting over your tongue. Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his eyes darkening slightly as you slowly lick a stray bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth.

His father clears his throat loudly behind you. “Ay dios mio, get a room you two!”

Carlos has the grace to look abashed, but you just grin unrepentantly at your future father-in-law as he shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Carlos says cheekily, surprising you by suddenly sweeping you up into his arms bridal-style.

You let out a squeak of surprise that quickly dissolves into delighted laughter as he starts carrying you toward the bedroom, peppering your face with noisy kisses. Over his shoulder, you catch Carlos Sr.’s indulgent smile and parting wink before the door swings shut behind you.

The rest of the evening passes in a sugary, affectionate haze. For the first time in as long as you can remember, the grief feels bearable, soothed by the love of your chosen family.

While the ache may never fully heal, you have a newfound sense of lightness in your heart.

As you lay tangled in the sheets later that night, Carlos’ arm a grounding weight around your waist, you send up a silent thank you to whatever cosmic forces brought this incredible man into your life.

And maybe, just maybe, your father can finally rest easy knowing his little girl found her way to happiness after all.

1K notes · View notes

the-offside-rule · 24 days

Text

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - The Princess

Requested: yes

Prompt: 6) "I'm not religious, but I do think I've seen an angel

Warnings: none tbh, just more requests whilst I'm watching sprint quali

The sun was setting over the glamorous streets of Monaco, casting a golden glow over the iconic circuit as the Grand Prix came to a thrilling conclusion. Max Verstappen stood atop the podium, his heart pounding with the exhilaration of victory. As the crowd erupted in cheers, he couldn't shake the feeling of winning the prestigious race yet again. He waved down to the team before the glorious tune of the Dutch national anthem began playing.

Y/n, the Princess of Monaco, fiddled with the hem of her dress as she looked down to the huge crowd. Whilst she was royalty, crowds generally did seem to get to her. Her older brother took sick and had to cancel his plan to present the winner their trophy last minute. Hence, Miss Y/n was asked to. As the announcer declared the Princess to the crowd, Y/n stepped forward with grace, her regal presence commanding attention. She held the gleaming trophy in her hands, ready to present it to the triumphant driver. Max's gaze locked onto her, captivated by her beauty and poise. He felt a surge of something unfamiliar stirring within him as their eyes met.

Y/n smiled warmly as she handed Max the trophy, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Congratulations, Max." She said, her voice soft and melodious. Max smirked, ignoring his heart skipping a beat at the sound of her voice. "Thank you, your Highness." He replied, unable to tear his gaze away from her. Max watched intently as the Princess walked away, applauding the dutchman before Max lifted the trophy and showcasing the newest clunk of metal he would add to his collection.

As the photographers clamored for their attention, Max and Y/n posed for the celebratory photos, their smiles bright and genuine. But as Lando Norris, another driver on the podium, playfully aimed his champagne bottle in their direction, Max instinctively shielded Y/n from the impending spray.

Y/n laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as Max turned his back to protect her. "Thank you, Max. I dont think this dress would pair well with chanpagne stains." She said, touched by his chivalry. "When someone like you is wearing the dress, I dont think anyone would care." Max replied, his voice tinged with sincerity. "And plus, I couldn't let you get soaked." Y/n beamed at the subtle compliment from the race winner.

As the champagne-fueled celebrations continued, Max found himself walking by Y/n's side, unable to resist the magnetic pull she had on him. "Oh, here. Let me help you." He offered her his arm, guiding her down the steps of the podium with care as she navigated the stairs in her heels. "Well aren't you just so lovely." Y/n smiled as her arm linked with his, leaning onto him. "You looked stunning up there." Max remarked, his eyes lingering on Y/n's radiant smile. "I'm not religious, but I do believe I've seen an angel today." Y/n blushed at his words, her cheeks flushing with color. "You're bold, arent you?" She asked, a tinge of amusement lacing her voice. "I'm a racing driver, your Highness. You need to be bold." Y/n rolled her eyes. "Of course, but I don't see any other drivers making moves on me, Mr Verstappen."

"Well, I think they see we are having a conversation. It would be rude to interrupt, no?" Max smiled. The pair stood for a moment,him towering over her as she simply looked between his eyes. "I'd like if we continued our conversation." Y/n whispered. "So would I. How about we return to this conversation later?" Usually, Y/n wouldn't like how suggestively the driver was being, but her gut trusted the man. She sighed. "Where do you suggest we have our little rendezvous?" She smiled. "How about dinner?" The dutchman suggested. Y/n arched a brow. "You know, for a Monaco race winner, your idea of a celebration is very boring." Max didn't really know what to say. It wasnt until Y/n leaned towards his ear.

"I'll be meeting you ag some stage tonight." She pulled away and winked. For the first time in a while, Max felt butterflies in his stomach as the Princess walked away with her security surrounding her, while he stood there wondering when he would bump into her next.

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 x reader #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x you

393 notes · View notes

sugasiren · 1 year

Text

☆Astro Observations PT 3☆

**NOTE: This blog contains Mature content.

🩷 Libra & Pisces Venus can be prone to cheating, as BOTH tend to fall in love with the "idea" of love rather than the actual person in front of them. Flaky as fuck, but they're a hella charming bunch tho! Usually attractive.

❤️‍🔥 Scorpio Risings can sometimes struggle with intimacy, due to having Air Signs over their Water Houses. They crave deep bonds (like all Scorpio placements) yet often run from them at the same time. They can allow their FEAR to sabotage their greatest connections. It's tragic!

🩷 Capricorn Moon Men are hot AF! Their sex appeal is highly underrated if you ask me. They appear calm, dominant, stoic & strong - like men whom you can truly rely upon in every way. And ohhh - they also have seriously Big Dick Energy. 🤣 Brad Pitt, George Clooney & Dwayne Johnson have all been voted Sexiest Man Alive for good reason! 💋 Gerard Butler displayed such stunning power as King Leonidis in the 300 movie; Ryan Gosling passionately stole our hearts in The Notebook; Michael Douglass snatched our panties through the screen in Basic Instinct; And Freddy Mercury is an LGBT legend whose iconic musical anthems continue to make everyone from *all* walks of life feel mightily empowered. 💪How did Cap Moons get so damn awesome?? I tip my hat off to you guys! Much love.

YUM!! 🤪 *drools unapologetically*

❤️‍🔥 Mars 2H and/or 5H Synastry are *huge* indicators for attraction. It goes deeper than money, fun, etc. The House Person is typically rather possessive over the Mars Person; and the Mars Person feels very invested in the House Person. You will greatly enjoy pleasuring each other. 💋 The 2nd House = attraction to each others bodies. You want to devour them like dessert! 🤪 But you also see real VALUE in them as well. The 5th House = romantic attraction & passion. You both bring endless amounts of joy to one another both in & out of the bedroom.

🩷 You can easily fall in love with or quickly gain strong feelings for someone whose DSC or 7H is conjunct your Venus. You view them as the Ideal Partner because they embody many of the qualities that you're looking for long-term.

❤️‍🔥 In 8th House Synastry, BOTH parties have power in different ways. The House Person sets the pace of the relationship and decides *when* they will allow the Planet Person into their heart or their "world", so to speak. And the Planet Person decides *when* they will surrender to the House Person - setting the tone for transformation, as they have a lot of influence on the HP's moods & overall well-being. BOTH parties have an emotional pull over the other! 💯 It's only "lopsided" if somebody isn't physically attracted to the other to begin with. 🤷🏾‍♀️ In that case, you're wasting your time and need to move on ASAP.

🩷 Moon + Mars Synastry = the best of both worlds!! Sexual AND emotional compatibility between you & your partner. Tough & Tender. Masculine + Feminine enraptured in a sensual Tango. 💃🏾 Hair-pulling & ass-slapping one minute... passionate kisses & slow grinds the next... with loving cuddles ALWAYS sure to follow after an explosive climax. 🔥 This is the person whom you could watch paint dry with and *still* have the time of your life together! You excite them. They make you feel vulnerable. No one can make you madder than they can. Lol. You have a rare connection & can see into each other's souls. 🫶 So cherish it!

❤️‍🔥 Venus 8H Individuals are often highly selective about who they sleep with, and especially choosy about who they commit to. It's not easy to win their heart! They typically have MANY admirers though who obsess over trying to *capture* them. They are effortlessly captivating, seductive people whom others are desperate to get the approval of. 💋 Everyone wants them, but few actually get to have them. But my God, if they choose you - they are highly loyal, loving & devoted! 💯 Their connection with their partner gets stronger (not weaker) over time. They seek to transform you sexually, emotionally, spirituality - and they deeply *crave* for you to do the same for them in return. 🔥 And if they can't be consumed by their TRUE EQUAL... they'd rather remain alone. These people DO NOT settle for less. They'll have fun with you, and that is surely it.

☆That's all for now, Darlings! Thanks so much for being apart of my lovely world. 🔮

2K notes · View notes

xtra7s · 4 months

Note

hello!! i adore your writing style and wanted to ask if you maybe would like to write a reneé rapp fic where instead of lola tung she takes fem!r to the stage and sings one less lonely girl?? and they could already be in a relationship or not either way i think that could be cute!! thank you<33

𝐎��𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 ─── 𝘙𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘱 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Synopsis: Renee sings to her girlfriend on stage during her Halloween show.

Content: Renee Rapp x Fem!Reader, fluff, Renee is Justin Bieber(confirmed)

Word Count: 700

a/n: AHH THIS IS SO CUTE, im sorry if its too short, tried to add more to make it longer. hope u enjoy gorg!

masterlist

The atmosphere was alive with anticipation as the grand concert hall brimmed with eager spectators, all awaiting the entrance of the night's headlining act — Renee Rapp. The air was thick with excitement, whispers of admiration echoing through the venue. Little did the audience know that tonight's performance would be unlike any other, a tale of music and love waiting to unfold.

As the lights dimmed and the first chords of the music reverberated through the hall, Renee made a spectacular entrance, clad in the unmistakable style of Justin Bieber. The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement reaching a crescendo as Renee took command of the stage with a magnetic presence.

Renee's performance was nothing short of mesmerizing. Her voice soared, effortlessly hitting every note, as she flawlessly navigated through a setlist that spanned genres and emotions. The audience was caught in the spell of her musical prowess, every song a testament to her versatility as an artist.

Throughout the performance, Renee danced and interacted with the crowd, creating an electric energy that charged the room. From high-energy pop anthems to soulful ballads, she showcased the depth of her talent, leaving the audience in awe of her captivating stage presence.

As the setlist reached its zenith, a hush fell over the crowd, and the opening notes of "One Less Lonely Girl" began to play. The audience erupted into cheers, recognizing the iconic Bieber tune. It was then that Renee's mischievous smile hinted at the surprise that awaited.

Midway through the song, Renee's gaze shifted to the front row, where Y/N, her girlfriend, stood among the enchanted spectators. With a twinkle in her eye, Renee descended from the stage, capturing the attention of everyone in the room.

Taking Y/N's hand, Renee led her onto the stage, seamlessly blending the line between performer and audience. The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement now intertwined with the unfolding love story. Renee guided Y/N to a chair that had mysteriously appeared at the center of the stage, setting the stage for a moment that would be etched in the hearts of those present.

As Y/N settled into the chair, Renee took a step back, gazing at her with a mixture of adoration and playfulness. A girl rushed on stage and handed Y/N flowers, making Y/N's mouth open in shock as the spotlight focused on Y/N and Renee as she began to sing the heartfelt lyrics of "One Less Lonely Girl," pouring her emotions into each word.

The audience fell into a loud cheer as Renee's voice filled the space, creating an intimate atmosphere that transcended the boundaries of the stage.

With every verse, Renee moved around Y/N, her movements choreographed to express the depth of the song's sentiment. She would occasionally reach out, gently cupping Y/N's face or intertwining their fingers, creating a palpable connection that resonated through the venue. The crowd, initially swept up in the spectacle, now watched in awe as this private, intimate moment unfolded on the public stage.

As the song reached its pinnacle, Renee knelt before Y/N, holding her hand and serenading her with a tenderness that resonated through the venue. The crowd, initially swept up in the spectacle, now watched in awe as this private moment unfolded on the public stage.

In the final moments, Renee rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving Y/N's, the concert hall erupted into thunderous applause, appreciating not just the performance but the genuine connection that had unfolded before their eyes.

Still holding Y/N's hand, Renee delivered the closing lines with heartfelt sincerity. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, appreciating not just the performance, but the genuine connection between the two women who had shared a musical love story on stage.

As the final notes faded away, Renee and Y/N shared a knowing smile, their hearts entwined in the melody of love that echoed through the concert hall, leaving an indelible mark on everyone fortunate enough to witness the enchanting performance.

#lesbian #wlw #renee rapp x reader #renee rapp #lgbtq #the sex lives of college girls #leighton murray #leighton murray x reader #mean girls

246 notes · View notes

luminalunii97 · 2 years

Text

I've seen non Iranians admiring the Islamic Republic national football team for not singing the national anthem. And then they were confused as to why iranians were happy that the team lost. Yes not singing the anthem might have consequences for them, but it won't change the fact that these people went to visit Raisi, the Islamic Republic president and bowed to him, posed happily for pictures while we were dealing with Kiam Pirfalak news, and said they don't care about politics and what's going on Iran in an interview, stating that they will focus on the game only. Not singing the anthem is nothing in comparison. And you might think they were under pressure. So were other athletes in Iran, let's see what they did:

Picture on the right is Elnaz Rekabi, an Iranian rock climber who was the first athlete to take off her hijab during Mahsa Amini protests to show her solidarity with people. She's currently under house arrest. she wasn't the first Iranian woman ever doing that. On the left, that's Shohreh Bayat, her story is so sad.

In many interviews I've seen of her, she always cries when she says her story. She was to referee the final of the Women's World Chess Championship a couple of years ago. While in another country she decided to wear her hijab loosely in an act of rebellion. She got warning from Islamic Republic twice and everytime she made it worse. She was asked to apologize but she refused, saying that she wouldn't apologize for what she believes in. At last, even though she wasn't ready to leave everything behind and start from scratch in a foreign country, she decided to ditch the compulsory hijab completely and never come back to Iran, because her life would be in danger if she did. Because of her choice she can't come back to visit her family anymore. her family supported her which made the authorities to force her father to resign (her father was the president of chess association in Gilan, Iran).

Then we had Iranian national beach soccer team. I think they were the first group who refused to sing Islamic republic national anthem. And after they got threatened to sing the anthem, they did something even more iconic. One of the players cut his imaginary hair after he scored.

Then we had these two scenes after scoring. They were recreating an inhuman thing Islamic republic did. The guy on the right is Khodanoor Lajei. He was murdered on bloody Friday in Zahedan. He was a Baloch guy. I'm going to post about Balochs and the thing that's been done to them by Islamic republic in details. For now know that this guy got killed in protests but this picture of him is for a couple of months back. He insulted a Basiji guy or something, Islamic republic police chained him to a pole in the middle of the city to make him an example for others, after beating him. When he asked for water they brought him a cup but they put it out of his reach in front of him and laughed at his thirst. (You see why we hate Islamic Republic, IRGC and Basij?!) The picture got out only after his death because Baloch people didn't think the rest of Iran would care about them enough to react. That broke my heart unspeakably much.

With so much bravery, our national girl's basketball team has been posting photos without mandatory hijab ever since the protests have begun.

Last but not least, Parmida Ghasemi, iranian archer ditching mandatory hijab inside of iran. She took it out for receiving the prize and while she was being photographed.

(Btw, non of these women "forgot" their hijab accidentally. If you're iranian you learn to never forget your hijab since you're 7, the age you start school. Without a formal head wearing you won't be allowed to attend school classes. When you grow up with it, you'll get used to it. You have no idea how weird it feels to not wear a veil in public, I'm still getting used to it.)

we've witnessed many iconic brave moves by our athletes but non of them said we don't give a shit about what's happening in Iran before the game. I'm not saying they won't be redeemed one day, I'm just saying they should work to win their respect back.

#iran news #iran #mahsa amini #iran protests #human rights #politics #sports #middle east #archery #basketball #football #soccer #qatar world cup #beach football #chess #rock climbing #iran revolution #revolutionary athletes #civil disobedience

1K notes · View notes

matan4il · 2 years

Text

Buddie 608 meta

Buck babysitting Jee Yun was adorable, but what gets to me is that it seemed to come with more question marks than when he was looking after Chris in 301. Does that imply something about how often he babysat Christopher without Eddie present even before that little “intervention��? In any case, it re-affirms that even relatively early on, Buck was very much a part of the Diaz family. ~~

It actually feels weird that in this entire ep, Buck is around kids, talks about kids, but doesn’t address the issue of him possibly fathering a biological kid of his own that he won’t get to raise. Is this a hint that he’s def in denial? It was especially loud because we saw him talking about Chris, while spending time with Jee Yun AND Denny. The former two make sense, but Denny? The only other time we saw Buck around Denny was in 310, when the scene was primarily about Eddie watching Chris with Buck. So it feels like it’s very pointed that he’s around more kids than usual, yet not addressing the biggest issue related to that taking place in his own life.

At the same time, to connect both of the above points, the difference between how we see Buck with Jee Yun, his actual family, in this ep, and how he’s with Denny (he’s in the same scene with him, but hardly interacts with the kid, they’re even physically separated by Hen) serves as a reminder that Chris isn’t like another colleague’s child to Buck. What they have is how Buck treats his own flesh and blood. ~~

Carla reminding Eddie that the fantasy is sometimes better than the reality, when she’s the person who, in 413, encouraged him to follow his heart… Is this the show building towards Eddie’s next step on his romantic journey? IDK, but with this continued theme of him watching Christopher maturing into his own person, leaving him to find out what makes him happy outside of being a dad, it would seem to fit. ~~

I loved Buck asking whether Chris isn’t too young to date, then being asked himself to reminisce about his first crush. Which was in fact way earlier (and a reminder that not every crush is about being old enough to date). It made me snicker a little, ‘coz it was such a good reminder that our boys are a bit oblivious about matters of the heart in general. And yes, it comes from an overprotective place of caring, much like Buck’s reaction to hearing that Chris is going to a summer camp in 318, but it def explains why they’re not very good at following their own heart or figuring out what it’s telling them.

At the same time, Buck asking whether Chris isn’t too young to date, followed almost immediately by Eddie saying he didn’t think his son was old enough to kiss others, screamed VOLUMES to me about how much these are both Christopher’s dads. They literally have the same reaction where no one else from the team does. This cannot be accidental or meaningless. Especially when paired up with the fact that it’s Buck who Eddie looks to first to sooth his apprehension over Chris kissing someone, and he only turns to the other teammates when his work husband is being a bit of a tease and refuses to give Eddie the reassurance he seeks... Flirting at your place of work on top of being obvious co-parents, seriously? ~~

I loved Buck’s comment about the song “It’s Raining Men.” It wasn’t just a funny comment on its own, it was also a nod to a gay anthem. One of the most well known as well as one of the earliest ganthems (that should be a word), in fact. So while it’s not a clear indication of anything about Buck’s sexual identity, it is an added hint in a long series of hints that he isn’t straight. And to add to that, when Buck makes that comment, it’s Eddie who’s there by his side to make one of his iconic faces at that. They’re not just battlefield boyfriends, they’re battlefield husbands, exasperated eye roll included. ~~

NGL, May and her crush Darius realizing where they’d rather be, or better yet with whom, after their ordeal with Erik very much reminded me of 414. Buck CHOSE to fully integrate himself into Eddie’s life and be by his side in every way that counts, while he literally saw Taylor and immediately started walking in the opposite direction, while Eddie broke up with Ana shortly after. It kills me that they still don’t get what stuff like that means. Literal bozos. ~~

Eddie threatening to only speak to Carla about stuff related to his son growing up might have been said in jest, but it also served as sort of a set up for her being the one to stay with Eddie and watch Chris outside the dance. And I adored that scene, with that soft look on Eddie’s face, his moving words! Yet, I can’t see either this arc, nor Buck’s with the sperm donation, being complete without the two of them having a real conversation about what’s going on with them and their respective parental journeys. Especially not after the Buddie stuff we got in 5b which locked them in as each other’s person forever. There’s no coming back from that stuff. So I can only assume that it is coming in 6b. And hopefully, it will be all the more emotionally effective for how long we have to wait for it. Hey, that’s the whole point of a slow burn to begin with, right? ;)

~~ Thank you to everyone liking, reblogging and especially those who consistently reblog these meta posts, you own a small piece of my heart. I wouldn’t be writing a meta post on a day when I’m sick AND working a double shift if it wasn’t my way of saying thank you. I really love and appreciate you all. Also mad love to @whosoldherout for once again slaying with her amazing gifs, and just for being so wonderful. xoxox

#buddie #911meta #buddie meta #911 meta #9-1-1 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie gif #buddie gifs #buddieedit #911edit #911 gif #911gif #911gifs #911 gifs #wm #911onabc #911 on abc #911abc #911 abc

705 notes · View notes

polysucks · 6 months

Text

Coriolanus Snow took great pleasure in torturing Katniss Everdeen post-74th Hunger Games because of Lucy Gray Baird. He relished the suffering he knew she endured because everything about Katniss reminded him of Lucy.

Katniss and Lucy were both unwilling participants and an apprehensive victors.

Katniss (despite all her efforts) is a media darling, just as Lucy was, though Lucy was a natural performer. Both girls (and I say girls because, let’s not forget that these are literal children) are icons to both the districts and the capital.

Brown hair. District 12. Conventionally attractive. Self reliant. Home life story tugs on heart strings.

Katniss’s stomping grounds are literally where Coriolanus’s world fell apart. Katniss takes shelter in the remains of the crumbling cabin that Snow and Baird shared. Katniss relies on the forest that Baird knew so well for sustenance.

Katniss sings. She knows all the songs that Lucy knew and weaponizes them like she did . She makes the Hanging Tree her anthem.

Even her fucking name reminds Snow of Lucy.

The Hunger Games Trilogy is just further proof of how vengeful Coriolanus is. If Lucy was brought to him on a platter, no holds barred, she would be physically and mentally brutalized for what she did to him in his own mind. I mean, he said it himself, killing makes him feel powerful. Think of what Snow would do to Katniss if Panem didn’t know she existed. If there were no eyes on her after the 74th games—or worse, the capital insisted he take matters into his own hands. His own insecurities drive him to violence, and he continues to validate his wrath with the power that is given to him with no strings attached. He thinks he was put on a pedestal for all he’s “accomplished” and one little girl can’t tear down his whole empire lest he look a fool, or his actions be called into question. Lucy, or Katniss.

#the hunger games trilogy #thg series #thg #tbosbas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #corio snow #lucy gray baird #ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #hunger games #katniss everdeen #personal

80 notes · View notes

clemswinecorner-socials · 7 months

Text

Anthem of the day [BC]

A/N: No one specifically asked for this I really just wanted it myself! Not a Joker Out expert so sorry if details are wrong or whatever but I'm in love with Bojan, and a clemswinecorner post isn't a clemswinecorner post without some F1 references.

yourusername

Baku

liked by bojan_cvjeticanin , wbuxtonofficial and others

yourusername TrackTV day 1!! (Plus the press conference ;) What. A. Quali. The anthem of the day was It Wasn't Me - Shaggy! What was yours tagged maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, schecoperez

posted April 28th, 2023

randomf1fan tututudu... Max Verstappen motorsportsfan i want this life randomdriver Party Rock Anthem🔛🔝 hater stop posting only drivers you think are hot yourfriend how was work today bestie? can't wait to see you again x

yourusername chaotic. (i'll stop by in london next week x) randomfan are you not going to be in Miami?

... view more comments

yourusername

England

liked by yourbestfriend, georgerussell63 and others

yourusername touchdown in England! lil' pause from the hectic tracks for some other hectic things :) Anthem of today: ...Baby One More Time by the iconic Britney Spears! What was yours? tagged yourbestfriend

posted May 1st, 2023

randomfan enjoy your small break!! any fun plans? yourbestfriend aahhhhhh i missed you sm!! motorsportsfan whatttt i was so excited to see you on trackTV this weekendddd :(( bojan_cvjeticanin how funny! we have the same anthem 😲😲 fanofyours omg miss gurl is this a soft launch? anotherfriend you're in london and didn't even text me? smh

yourusername omg wait text me!! not in london anymore but might make it work

... view more comments

yourusername

liked by krisgusti, maemuller and others

yourusername London -> Liverpool Anthem of the day: I wrote A Song - Mae Muller

posted May 3rd, 2023

motorsportfan why aren't you in Miami???? yourfriend aaahhhh yayayayay!! Call me so I can talk to the boys before they're too busy for me x randomfan omg Y/N in her eurovision era? yourfan i can't with the softlauuuunch krisgusti hahaha you did some people dirty with that second slide

... view more comments

yourusername

Liverpool, UK

liked by lissiemackintosh, juremacek and others

yourusername Loverpool <;3 tagged krisgusti, juremacek, nace_jordan, joker_out_official, bandwildyouth

posted May 6th, 2023

yourusername anthem of the day is obviously Lover (by Taylor Swift, for the uneducated ones) maemuller queenie 👸🏻 jokeroutfan omg she's hanging out with joker out??? how do they know each other??? motorsportsfan Y/N really is such a main character because wdym she's hanging out with eurovision contestants on her break?? nace_jordan 😎😎😎 wbuxtonofficial enjoy the break with your 'lover' ;)

... view more comments

yourusername

liked by bojan_cvjeticanin, joker_out_official and others

yourusername Second Semi-Final night!! Good luck to my boys 🩷🩵 🇸🇮 SSF!!! ANTHEM OF THE DAY CARPE DIEM BY JOKER OUT !!!!! tagged juremacek, bojan_cvjeticanin, nace_jordan, krisgusti, janpeteh, joker_out_official

posted May 11th, 2023

janpeteh thank you Y/N 🙏🏼❤️ randomfollower Y/N IS A JOKER OUT STAN?????? (so valid though)

anotherfollower wdym stan they're FRIENDS?????? how did she do that???? randomfollower she shaw joker out and decided stanning them wasn't enough she had to befriend them

bojan_cvjeticanin Hvala 🤍 motorsportfan this is suuuuch a random crossover omggg yourbestfriend send them a luck hug on my behalf!!

krisgusti thanks you both <33

... view more comments

yourusername

liked by paidatonriehuja, nace_jordan and others

yourusername TO THE FINALS!! almost had a heart attack (just like the boys), but so so proud of the boys @/joker_out_official (Don't forget to vote Slovenia saturday!!!!!!!!!!) tagged krisgusti, juremacek, bojan_cvjeticanin, janpeteh, nace_jordan, paidatonriehuja

posted May 12th, 2023

jokeroutfan LFGGGG SO PROUDDDD krisgusti thank you for your continuous support for all 5 of in this progress, so glad to have you with us 🥰 🥰

yourusername kris i love you so much stop😭😭

randomfan don't follow eurovision but I'll vote for them if Y/N tells me to 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ bojan_cvjeticanin ❤️❤️❤️ yourfriend so proudddd!!!!

... view more comments

yourusername

liked by lukeblackmusic, whothehellissalena and others

yourusername eurovision out 🫡 what. a. fucking. adventure. (anthem of this eurovision: Because Of You) tagged paidatonriehuja, bojan_cvjeticanin, krisgusti, juremacek, maemuller, nace_jordan, janpeteh, joker_out_official, whothehellisteya

posted May 14th, 2023

yourusername for those wondering yes I did watch quali during the show yesterday, girl's gotta keep her job x randomfollower y/n casually befriending every eurovision artist 😭😭 maemuller it was always a blast when you were around! loved meeting you and spending time with you queenie 👸🏻

yourusername no you!! giving you a call when i'm back in the uk xx

randomfan obsessed with the last pic nace_jordan whooooo!!! awesome time jokeroutfan i always love your f1 grwm videos! was just curious, how do you know joker out?

yourusername ahhh thank you!! i made a eurovision grwm storytime about it, but long story short my friend (who's slovenian) showed their songs and i found out most of them followed me on ig and we became friends :)

... view more comments

continuation

other social media works & main writing masterlist

#bojan cvjetićanin #bojan cvjetićanin x reader #joker out #joker out x reader #joker out fanfic #bojan joker out #bojan #f1 #f1 x reader

71 notes · View notes

meadhbhcavanagh · 7 months

Text

History Made | Michael Schumacher daughter fic

The Hockenheimring circuit in Germany was alive with the symphony of roaring engines, and at its center stood Lena Schumacher, the daughter of the legendary Michael Schumacher, on the verge of making history. The German Grand Prix wasn’t merely a race; it was a homecoming for Lena, carrying the weight of expectations as she aimed to redefine the narrative in her rookie season with Mercedes.

In the Mercedes garage, the air hummed with anticipation. Lena navigated the iconic track with finesse, finding herself at the forefront of the race. Unbeknownst to her, Michael Schumacher, her father, made his first public outing since his accident, orchestrating a surprise visit to witness this pivotal moment. Mick Schumacher, her brother and reserve driver for the team, observed with a mix of pride and sibling camaraderie.

As the final laps unfolded, Lena maintained her lead, the Mercedes team holding their collective breath. In a historic moment, Lena Schumacher crossed the finish line, becoming the first woman in history to win a Formula 1 Grand Prix.

As the checkered flag waved at Hockenheim, the Mercedes garage erupted in cheers and jubilation. Over the radio, Lena Schumacher's race engineer conveyed the historic news.

"Congratulations, Lena! You've just made history! You're the first woman to win a Formula 1 Grand Prix!"

"Wait, what? Did you say… history? Oh my... I... I can't believe it!" Lena said, her voice slightly cracking with emotion.

Amidst the roar of the engines and the celebration in the garage, Lena's voice over the radio reflected a mix of disbelief and overwhelming joy. The realization of her achievement, the weight of making history, echoed through the airwaves.

“You did it, Lena! Enjoy the moment, you've earned it!” said Toto Wolff, so proud of his driver.

"Thank you, thank you so much. This is... this is incredible. I couldn't have done it without the team and everyone's support. Wow." said Lena, her voice getting steadier.

The radio communication captured a poignant moment in Lena's journey, the raw emotion of achieving something extraordinary evident in her voice. The message of breaking barriers and making history reverberated not only within the Mercedes team but also through the hearts of fans worldwide.

Unseen by Lena, Michael Schumacher emerged, his presence a surprise for his daughter. Mick, among the first to congratulate her, shared a smile that spoke of both sibling rivalry and familial pride.

Lena brought her victorious Mercedes to a stop, the cheers and applause echoing through the air. As she stepped out of her car, she was greeted by the presence of her father, now using a wheelchair due to the lasting effects of his accident. Corinna, her mom, and Gina, Lena's sister, were also there with Mick, forming a family circle.

"You did it, Lena. The first woman to win a Grand Prix. I couldn't be prouder," Michael said, his eyes reflecting the joy only a father could feel.

As the Mercedes team joined the celebration, Lewis Hamilton, Lena's teammate, approached with a wide grin. "Congratulations, Lena. You've made history today!"

The emotional reunion and the historic victory became the focal point of the post-race celebrations. Lena, still absorbing the magnitude of her achievement, stood atop the podium. The German and Mercedes flags waved proudly. The national anthem played, marking not just a victory but a symbolic triumph for diversity and inclusion in Formula 1.

In an extraordinary 1-2 finish for Mercedes, Lewis Hamilton secured the second position. The podium celebration was a testament to the team's dominance and the groundbreaking achievements of Lena Schumacher.

Post-Race Interviews:

Lena Schumacher:

Interviewer: Lena, congratulations on an incredible victory. How does it feel to be the first woman in history to win a Grand Prix?

Lena: It's surreal, honestly. This is not just my victory; it's a victory for every person who has dared to dream beyond the conventional norms. I'm honored to be part of a sport that is evolving and embracing diversity.

Michael Schumacher:

Interviewer: Michael, your first public appearance in years, and it's to witness your daughter make history. What does this moment mean to you?

Michael: It's indescribable. Lena has a spirit that mirrors the essence of racing. To see her achieve this milestone, especially in Germany, is incredibly special. I'm a proud father today.

Lewis Hamilton:

Interviewer: Lewis, Lena has made history today. How do you feel about her achievement?

Lewis: It's fantastic. Lena drove phenomenally today. This sport is about breaking barriers, and she's done just that. I'm honored to be her teammate and witness this historic moment.

Mick Schumacher:

Interviewer: Mick, what's it like to see your sister achieve such a milestone?

Mick: It's amazing. Lena's always been competitive, and today she's shown the world what she's capable of. Our family has a strong connection to this sport, and today is a testament to that legacy.

Toto Wolff (Mercedes Team Principal) Reaction:

Interviewer: Toto, a historic win for Mercedes and Lena Schumacher today. What are your thoughts on this achievement?

Toto: It’s an incredible day for the team. Lena’s win is not just a milestone for her but for the entire sport. Michael’s surprise visit added an emotional layer to this victory. We are a family here at Mercedes, and today, we celebrate history being made on our home turf. Lena drove with exceptional skill, and we couldn’t be prouder.

After the historic win at Hockenheim, Lena Schumacher found herself surrounded by a sea of congratulatory faces in the bustling paddock. Among the well-wishers were her fellow drivers, each expressing their admiration for the groundbreaking victory.

Sebastian approached her to congratulate her. "Lena, my goddaughter, you've just made history. I couldn't be prouder. Your driving was exceptional out there.”

"Thanks, Seb. It means a lot, especially coming from you." Then, more drivers started coming over to offer there congratulations.

"Lena, that was one heck of a race! You've set a new standard out here."

"Thanks, Max. I had a feeling this was going to be a special day."

Charles Leclerc, his usual calm demeanor replaced by genuine excitement, joined the conversation.

"Lena, that win was incredible! You've inspired a lot of people today."

"Thanks, Charles. It's surreal, but I'm glad to be part of something bigger."

Fernando Alonso, with a grin on his face, added his voice to the chorus of congratulations.

"Lena, you've made history. This is a day to remember."

"Thanks, Fernando. I just did what I love, and it turned out to be something special."

As the drivers continued to share their words of praise and encouragement, the paddock buzzed with the genuine camaraderie and respect that existed among these competitors. Lena Schumacher's victory wasn't just a triumph for her; it was a celebration embraced by the entire Formula 1 community.

Ah this is my first time writing something, I hope it’s okay. If anyone has any tips please let me know! I hope you enjoyed and it wasn’t a total mess.

#formula 1 #mercedes #lena schumacher #lewis hamilton #mick schumacher #michael schumacher #toto wolff #women in f1 #female!reader #female f1 driver #sebastian vettel #charles leclerc #max verstappen #fernando alonso #german grand prix #f1 rookie #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #mercedes amg f1

86 notes · View notes

curekibouka-writing · 10 months

Text

They Live in You (Twst fanfic)

**mild SPOILERS for Book 7 chapter 4**

Summary: Perhaps for the first time in his life, Malleus tried to look harder at himself. He never noticed how, even if he was still young, one could see without a doubt, he was Malleus Draconia, and he was their child.

Word count: 1275

Warning: Referenced character death. Mentions of war.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This is for the event “Anthems of Old” from @briarvalleyarchives. This piece is inspired by the song "They Live in You" from the Lion King musical. This might or might not be fic number one to a series depending on whether I can finish the other two before the deadline XD

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door to the music room was swung open with an energetic bam. The young prince glanced up from the cello he was playing, a small smile warming the golden shimmer of his tired eyes.

“Lilia—“

“Malleus~ It’s been months! Did you miss me, my boy?” Lilia was still in his full armour with his iconic mask, but even so his bright grin was heard, and he asked with a vitality one would think is impossible for a soldier who had so recently returned from battle.

“I’m no child, Lilia.”

“Awww but you did, didn’t you?” Lilia opened his arms, awaiting an embrace.

Malleus put down the cello bow but shook his head slowly. A gesture that Lilia understood. The older fae’s hands dropped to the side of his body, his armour clanging in the process.

“It’s good to see you return safely, Lilia.”

Lilia nodded and bowed slightly, before taking off his mask, choosing not to kneel in front of Malleus like talking to a child, but to keep standing straight instead.

“Malleus, I’m sorry we lost the northern woods.”

Malleus’s lips twitched. Flames flashed in his eyes. He had watched from the castle balcony, when the borderlands were burnt down by crimson, pungent fire of war. It was far, far out of his reach, but he had heard it. He had heard the earth crack, the trees fall, the sky shrouded, the soldiers scream, summoning wind and water to push back the flames. But what’s gone is gone. The land had cried, and so had he, another piece scorched black on his father’s and mother’s beautiful land.

“I saw it happen,” the prince closed his eyes, “And all I did was watch.”

And though there were plenty of words Lilia could think of that were true and just and would tell the child he did no wrong, there was none that the child truly needed, none that the child would believe.

“You know what the northern woods used to be, don’t you, Lilia?”

Of course he did. He had been there before, accompanying the prince.

The then prince.

“Father used to go there. He used to negotiate with the inhabitants about conservation measures due to high magic density in the area and the rich magical resources that could be obtained there,” Malleus said, and then added, “I read that in books.”

He stood up, his height allowing to look at Lilia right in the eyes, “It was one of the last things my father left undone, before he was gone, wasn’t it, Lilia?” He put down the cello by his chair, “I thought I could take over it one day. The woods still had great potential, the woods still had father’s footsteps, I wanted to follow him one day. Like this cello, I wanted to be able to play it without feeling it’s too big for me one day.”

His shoulders scrunched up even though he tried to hide it, “And it’s gone now. They’re gone, again.”

And Lilia wished he had Mallenoa’s strong embrace that could enfold every inch of you, he wished he had Levan’s gentle touch that could seep right into your heart, and he knew he was wearing his cold, hard armour but still he offered the best he could to their child.

“They’re not gone,” he pulled the child close with his left hand and rested his right hand on the child’s head.

Because he understood why this mattered so much to Malleus. He had been there when the woods burnt down. He had felt a fire inside him hotter than whatever the humans had conjured because he had seen the silhouettes of his prince and his princess in those woods as they were warped by the heat of the flames and twisted into nothingness. Because it wasn’t enough killing them once, the war had killed them twice.

But Lilia could gaze up and come back because there was hope here. Because they were here.

“They live in you, Malleus.”

The child said nothing, and only pushed himself further into Lilia’s embrace.

“When you walk, I see him beside you. Every day I find his silhouette in your steps.”

Lilia let go of Malleus, shifting his right hand to the child’s cheek, “And when you smile, I see her in you.” The excitement in the way their eyes shimmered, the innocence in the way their lips curled, to Lilia, it was like she barely left.

Malleus scoffed under his breath, “You’re lying. Father was so much taller, mother was so regal. How could you see them in me?”

“How could I not, my boy?” Lilia laughed, creating a mirror-like surface with magic, “Look at yourself.”

“……” Malleus wiped his eyes and looked, “…it’s just me.”

“Look harder,” Lilia whispered, brushing up Malleus’s bangs that were covering his scales, “They’re right here.”

And perhaps for the first time in his life, Malleus tried to look harder at himself. He never noticed how the curve of his horns or the shimmer of his scales or the colours of his eyes resembled his mother’s. He never noticed how the shape of his face or his wide shoulders or his long legs resembled his father’s. Even if he was still young, one could see without a doubt, he was Malleus Draconia, and he was their child.

“See?” Lilia put his hands on Malleus’s tensed shoulders, “They live in your reflection.”

Malleus pursed his lips, shifting away from Lilia’s hands, “What good does it do? Could I be even half the ruler they were? Could I give all of myself to protect my land and my people like they did?”

Lilia’s smile faded. There were memories that were never written in any history books that he held within his head. What was pride for the kingdom was nightmares for him, what was a loss for the kingdom was a sword stabbing through his heart for the centuries to come until he finally finally joins them. He could not bear another loss, he could not let their son do that.

Lilia dispelled the magical mirror and flung open the curtains covering the music room’s glass walls. They gazed outside at the summer sun showering bright glimmers over the land that was healing, the land that was quiet and still and peaceful now.

“You are still young,” Lilia said to Malleus, but his eyes never left the scenery outside, “And you are already such a fine prince. I know you think that they live in these lands, in every creature and in every star. I know you love this kingdom that they gave every fibre of their magic to protect. I know you want to protect all that they’ve left behind for you.

“But you are not alone, my dear. Every soul that their spirits had touched are one with you in our love for this land,” Lilia took Malleus’s hand in both of his, “Be patient, my prince. There is no mountain too great. There is no limit to your power. May the night bless you.”

Malleus squeezed Lilia’s hands tightly, thinking, breathing, trying to believe that Lilia was right. And he thought about how Lilia had been there when his parents were alive, how Lilia had been their friends, how Lilia had known them and seen them and touched them. He glanced at Lilia kneeling to talk to him, to meet his downcast eyes, and he briefly wondered if this was what his father’s hands would’ve felt like too.

“Thank you, Lilia,” the child smiled in the way Lilia remembered of her, “They live in you as much as they live in me.”

#twisted wonderland #twst writing #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #mallenoa draconia #twst levan #twst fanfiction #twst fanfic #twst angst #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland writing #twst #diasomnia #twst spoilers

115 notes · View notes

rhapsodynew · 21 days

Text

John Lennon and Yoko Ono waving white flags at the press conference to launch Nutopia in 1973.

Everyone can get citizenship of Nutopia — the virtual state has launched a website where such a service is provided. After registering via e-mail, the user receives a digital identity card.

The citizens of Nutopia are celebrated on the globe. You can click on the dot symbolizing a particular resident and read the message, or you can click on the heart icon and "spread love."

John Lennon and Yoko Ono founded Nutopia in 1973.

"We are announcing the birth of the conceptual country of Nutopia. Citizenship of the country can be obtained by declaring your awareness of Nutopia. Nutopia has no land, no borders, no passports, only people. Nutopia has no laws other than cosmic ones. All people living in Nutopia are ambassadors of the country. As two ambassadors of Nutopia, we ask for diplomatic immunity and recognition in the United Nations of our country and its people."

The name of the country arose as a result of the merger of two words: "new" (new) and "utopia" (utopia). Thus, Nutopia acted as a living embodiment of Lennon's ideas about the ideal social structure, so vividly described by him two years earlier in the song "Imagine", - a state in which there is no religion, government and its own territory; where anyone can freely accept his citizenship or renounce it.

True, at that time, the only new Utopians were John and Yoko themselves, but according to other signs, Nutopia could be described as a completely normal microstate.

The Declaration on the Creation of Nutopia, signed by John Lennon and Yoko Ono on April 1, 1973.

The country's flag consisted of only one color - white, similar to the cover of the Beatles' "White Album", which personified freedom. However, the journalists saw this as a symbol of surrender, to which Lennon, waving a white cloth at the conference, replied to them as follows:

"We surrender to peace and love."

The flag of Nutopia

Nutopia also had its own seal. On it, John depicted a seal holding a ball with yin-yang symbols on its nose, which can be explained by a clever wordplay (in English, "seal" it means both "seal" and "seal") or a reference to another pinniped, which John once proclaimed himself in the song "I am the Walrus".

And to top it all off, the Lennon couple opened the embassy of Nutopia, located in their New York apartment in the Dakota house. However, the corresponding sign was hung not at the front door, but at the black, kitchen, entrance to the apartment, which, however, did not prevent everyone from finding the embassy. (Decades later, Yoko Ono noticed that her guests still prefer to use the back entrance.)

The Embassy of Nutopia is the main entrance to the Dakota Building, Manhattan, New York. It was at this gate that John Lennon would be shot dead in 1980

Here's a funny April Fool's joke. Or was John Lennon not joking at all?

Happy New Yorker John

Fans of John's work, we can consider ourselves full citizens of Nutopia, even though neither its founder nor she herself has been gone for a long time. After all, Lennon's ideas are still alive. And what if not the idea was the only force that kept this small invisible country afloat...

youtube

15 notes · View notes

grits-galraisedinthesouth · 1 year

Text

Worldwide Privacy Tour Part 2, it seems, is well underway.

"Yes, the night was pure Meghan Markle: A manufactured build-up of anticipation, a highly dramatic entrance afforded no other actual activist — Meghan climbed on stage to the Alicia Keys she-ro anthem ‘Girl on Fire’ — and then... a whole lot of nothing...This crowd was checking their watches."

"If anything, as the night dragged on and the event slipped an hour behind schedule – a sudden break announced so we could finally have dinner – the crowd bristled...Notably, not one person I spoke to nor one speaker or honoree mentioned Meghan. Not one said how exciting it was to have her there. Not one expressed the slightest curiosity at what she’d have to say."

"And this image, our renegade duchess without a palace-worthy advance team to prevent such cheap optics as the Hertz hiccup, set the tone for the evening: Fatuous, irrelevant, high on its own self-regard, all sense of purpose lost. Gloria Steinem, once the face of women’s rights, reduced to star-f***ery. It was a bizarre night."

MAUREEN CALLAHAN: Meghan's word-salad Manhattan gala appearance

She so badly wants to be the Queen of Hearts.

But, as she arrived on Tuesday night, making her grand entrance in Midtown Manhattan, sauntering past that rental-car backdrop, it was more like the Queen of Hertz.

Of course, as the world is now all too aware, Meghan Markle capped off winning a meaningless award with what we’re told was a ‘near catastrophic’, ‘two-hour’ car chase through the streets of Manhattan.

Yes, according to a spokesperson, Meghan, along with hapless Harry and mom Doria, were the subjects of a wild, impassioned hunt by the paparazzi.

Some sympathetic commentators have already made the gruesome comparisons to Princess Diana’s tragic final fate.

But to echo the statements made by New York City’s own mayor Eric Adams and the police department: Perhaps it didn’t quite happen the way it was painted.

Recollections may vary.

Naturally, their mouthpiece Omid Scobie is whining that no one from the Palace has yet reached out.

Wonder why?

One also wonders what Gloria Steinem, the 89-year-old feminist icon who chose to honor Meghan as a ‘Woman of Vision’ at Tuesday night’s Ms. Foundation Gala, must be thinking now.

After all, the car ‘chase’ debacle soon stole all the thunder from her event, which I was lucky enough to witness first-hand.

Now, it was hardly the red carpet one might expect. Hardly the pomp and circumstance of, say, a coronation.

Yet Meghan forged ahead as she always does, as if this were her crowning moment, sheathed in gold as if to symbolize a crown.

Or an Oscar statuette.

Same difference, really, if your only goal is fame. That’s our Meghan, none too subtle as ever, literally going for the gold as Harry and Doria took their positions three steps behind.

Harry may be a prince of the blood, but never forget — Meghan is The Star. Her Norma Desmond-ing is among the great spectacles of our modern age.

And this image, our renegade duchess without a palace-worthy advance team to prevent such cheap optics as the Hertz hiccup, set the tone for the evening: Fatuous, irrelevant, high on its own self-regard, all sense of purpose lost. Gloria Steinem, once the face of women’s rights, reduced to star-f***ery. It was a bizarre night.

Upon entering the Zeigfeld Ballroom, guests were asked whether they were ‘VIP’ — seems even feminist movements have their echelons — and turfed to the lobby.

My $1,500 entry-level ticket got me a hard seat with a front-row view of coat check.

After ten minutes, circumstances having changed inexplicably, the riff-raff were allowed up to the second floor.

Here were two open bars serving top-shelf liquor and the shock of post-pandemic dress code slovenliness. One unkempt guest was wearing sparkly Birkenstock sandals and a black stretchy minidress under a pink puffer jacket.

These were the VIPs?

The only recognizable person I saw was Peloton instructor Ally Love, and that’s saying something. Where were the stars? Where were the notables of the movement? The Malalas? The Fondas? The Beyoncés?

Perhaps no one was meant to outshine Meghan. Only one feminist icon was going to enter via rental car office!

Down in the ballroom, the plated salads on our banquet tables were ready waiting for us – dry, unsightly, stringy greens that resembled nothing so much as regurgitated hairballs. Notably, not one person I spoke to nor one speaker or honoree mentioned Meghan.

Not one said how exciting it was to have her there. Not one expressed the slightest curiosity at what she’d have to say.

If anything, as the night dragged on and the event slipped an hour behind schedule – a sudden break announced so we could finally have dinner – the crowd bristled.

It says something when a table of size-6 women tear into their heavily glazed steak and buttery mashed potatoes with abandon.

Yes, the night was pure Meghan Markle: A manufactured build-up of anticipation, a highly dramatic entrance afforded no other actual activist — Meghan climbed on stage to the Alicia Keys she-ro anthem ‘Girl on Fire’ — and then... a whole lot of nothing.

Verbiage and word salad that were content-free, except when speaking on her favorite subject: herself.

Here, in real time, we observed Meghan’s inability to read a room. She thanked the ‘other honorees’ without naming them.

‘Congratulations,’ she said, ‘and frankly, well deserved.’

It was all so smug and supercilious, this glorified podcaster telling these boots-on-the-ground activists — no matter what one thinks of their politics — that they had, in fact, earned their place on the same stage as the great Meghan Markle. That ‘frankly’ was so typical. It was meant to redound to Meghan’s benefit, as the lone wolf daring to speak the unspeakable.

There was the cringe-inducing humblebrag, calling her new friend Gloria ‘Glo’.

It brought to mind the forced intimacy of meeting Kate Middleton barefoot and insisting that the pair share lip gloss.

It's 'Glo' to Meghan, but Meghan is 'Duchess' to us.

‘We all bear witness,’ Meghan continued of her fellow honorees, ‘to you standing in elegance and the power of your strength.’

Huh?

This crowd was not convinced. This crowd was checking their watches. There were trains to catch, children to kiss goodnight. Alas, we were stuck with the vapidity of La Markle.

Her speech didn’t even deliver fresh content! She repeated the story, as told on her podcast, of poor little Meghan coming home from school to her TV dinner, cat collars and copies of Ms. Magazine strewn about courtesy of her mother — even though it’s well-documented that her father primarily raised her.

‘Having these pages in our home,’ she went on, ‘. . . signaled to me that there was so much more than the dolled-up covers and those images that you would see on the grocery store covers. It signaled to me that substance mattered.’

Says the former D-list actress and former briefcase game-show girl who used her looks to get ahead. Who has posed for those very same magazine covers.This warmed-over speech, less heated than our steaks, was Meghan’s greatest hits:

‘Change is just one action away.’

‘You can be the visionary of your own life.’

‘Daily acts of service, in kindness, in advocacy, in grace and in fairness.’

‘The imprints that were forged in my mind — I can now connect the dots in a much better way to understand how I became a young feminist and evolved into a grown activist.’

A feminist who, let us not forget, has publicly demonized her famous sister-in-law — ‘Waity Katie’ to Oprah and an audience of millions.

Kate made me cry! WAAAGH!

In truth, Meghan's a self-identified 'grown activist' who has done nothing. The pontification, her sing-song-y cadence as she luxuriated in her own praise, was as insufferable as it was revealing.

‘Ms.’ she said, ‘was formative in [my] cocooning. It piqued my curiosity, and it became the chrysalis for the woman that I would become and that I am today.’

Right: The woman who vilified the institution headed-up by Queen Elizabeth II in her final years. The woman who heavily alleged institutional racism until her husband finally backed away from that terrible smear.

A woman with no substance and no accomplishments as a feminist. A woman who is still trying to one-up the royals, even from a car-park adjacent ballroom with no red carpet. Meghan is the personification of Ms. as an organization that has lost its way.

Indeed, most of the night was spent advocating not for women but for trans rights and Critical Race Theory.

‘Abortion is racist,’ we were told.

Beware the ‘the white supremacist patriarchal system.’

Yes, even the Ms. Foundation – established for biological women out of a deep, and enduring, necessity – has been subsumed by men who identify as women.

How fitting then that the night was overshadowed by a grasping phony whose empty platitudes on stage failed to make headlines, whose spokesperson told a wild story of a high-stakes car chase.

Pity Meghan, but recognize her strength. Admire her, but never laugh at her. And never, ever question her veracity.

Worldwide Privacy Tour Part 2, it seems, is well underway.

#worldwide privacy tour #waaagh #megxit #fraud and fraudess #jussie smollett #maureen callahan #ms #gloria steinem #hertz #hertz dress #hertz so bad #sparry #word salad #low rent #participation trophies #participation awards #south park

85 notes · View notes

callmeana2310 · 2 years

Text

Old Friends - College!Nick Nelson x female!Reader

Part (1/?) if you like this one?

Parts : Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Pairing: College!Nick Nelson x female!Reader

Warnings: mentioning of alcohol, light cussing, LGBTQAI+, mentioning of break ups, NO PROOFREADING, non-native in English! (Lemme know any mistakes, especially if anything is offensive in the slightest ways!!!)

Topics: friendship, crush, old friends meet again, party, bisexuals, music, soft cute cuddly Nick Nelson

Summary: After years the reader meets Nick Nelson at a LGBTQAI+ college party. They knew each other from Truham and Higgs and (Y/N) remembers her crush on him.

Word count: 812

Note: This is for the 20+ gang who also loved Heartstopper. Nick is in his mid 20s and the reader in her early 20s!

(not my picture. All rights belong to the owner.)

Old Friends - Party

Arriving at the building I started questioning why again I agreed to go to this party. “C’mon Y/N/N Drop the face! I’m sure it’ll be fun!” my friend Emily said when she saw me frown. “I just don’t get why we have to go to a party where we literally have to put a label on us. God damnit! Everyone knows you are a lesbian!”, I laugh sarcastically. “And everyone knows you are bi! So?” I groaned annoyed, “I just hate it that someone forces me to label anything! Especially my sexuality!”

I gave in when a few more of our friends joined us. Entering the party I get handed a bracelet in pink, purple and blue with huge lettering that says “BISEXUAL” for everyone clearly to see. I roll my eyes while putting it around my wrist. “I need a drink to do this!”, I state before heading for the kitchen where drinks were handed out. I grab a drink, but before I can take a proper sip I hear that the song Girls/Girls/Boys by P!ATD starts and immediately hear how my friends scream my name, coming to get me to the dance floor. This is our anthem. Our bi anthem. At that moment I forget my grudge against all the labelling at this party. We dance and scream the lyrics at the top of our lungs. After a couple of songs, I leave the dance floor looking for a quieter place when I suddenly hear a slightly familiar voice calling my name. I turned around to see Nick Nelson in front of me. All-grown up in his mid-twenties, with the same haircut, the same soft brown eyes and some stubbles on his chin.

“Oh my God! Nick! Nick Nelson!” we both laughed and he pulled me into a long hug. “I can’t believe it is really you! I heard your friends screaming your name and then saw you dancing!” he chuckles. “It really is! It is so good to see you!” I said with a big smile. “Look at you. You were a year 9 when I saw you last before I graduated Truham! How are you doing? What are you doing here?” he said while we continued walking towards the backyard. I nod “A year 9! Yes! God! It’s been years! I’m doing fine! I study here and my friends literally dragged me to this party! What are you doing here?”. He laughs and softly shakes his head, “You study here and you don’t know the captain of the university rugby team? What a shame! That is personal...” “Shut up! That is you?! I mean I knew you were good! And I knew some “Nick” dude is the captain....but OMG!”

We sit down on a bench, continue talking and immediately click. He was an icon back in our home town, for his rugby skills but also for his outing as one of the first non-heterosexual boys at Truham. “You know Darcy and Tara are both here too, right?”, he asked. I nod “Yes Darcy and I have some seminars together! I can’t believe they never mentioned you!” He places his right hand on his chest, above his heart, and fakes a groan “I can’t believe they would do this to me!” We both laugh at his bad acting skills. “So.. Me, Darcy, Tara, You... Did I miss anyone else from home?” I paused for a moment “...Is Charlie here too?” I asked cautiously. He shakes his head “No. He went to another university after we broke up...” “Oh... sorry to hear...” I mumble. I really was. They were a precious couple and, like I said, ICONS back home. “No worries... It’s been a while.”, he says with a soft smile. I sigh on the inside, how I missed that soft smile.

He takes my hand, inspecting my label bracelet, softly laughing “When did that happen Miss ‘I have the biggest crush on Harry Greene’?” I sigh! “Nick! That crush on Harry was years ago! Before I understood how he treated people!” “I still can’t believe this...” I roll my eyes jokingly directing the conversation back to the bracelet “I hate those labels! But...That is actually your fault... I didn’t even know what bisexuality meant back when you came out... I mean I was a kid...but I started to research LGBTQAI+ topics and then realised” I shrug. “Sorry?” he chuckles and lets go of my hand. “Nope, I’m happy and it was easier for all of us after you guys started it all...” He looked at me, his eyes soft and a small smile on his lips before he pulls me in for another hug “I’m really happy you are here!”. My inner 16-year-old me, who had the biggest crush on him, screamed in excitement. My heart pounded in my chest and I hoped the hug would last a while.

324 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

inactive-lostsomeinspace

moved to @lostmeinspace

electricalplumbinghouston

Electrical Plumbing Houston

p-a-s-h

black kate moss.

largando

Untitled

ladieluxx

Untitled