#Defensive driving strategies

[techdriveplay]

A Comprehensive Guide to Defensive Driving Techniques

Defensive driving is more than just a set of skills; it’s a mindset and a commitment to safety on the road. This guide aims to provide drivers with an in-depth understanding of defensive driving techniques, empowering them to anticipate and respond to potential hazards and reduce the risk of accidents. The Defensive Driving Mindset Situational Awareness Develop a heightened sense of…

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#Adhering to speed limits #Adverse weather driving #Adverse weather strategies #Aggressive driving avoidance #Blind spots #Calm driving #Continuous education #Defensive Driving #Defensive driving behaviors #Defensive driving commitment #Defensive driving courses #Defensive driving culture #Defensive driving education #Defensive driving habits #Defensive driving knowledge #Defensive driving mindset #Defensive driving philosophy #Defensive driving practices #Defensive driving principles #Defensive driving responsibility #Defensive driving skills #Defensive driving strategies #Defensive driving techniques #Defensive driving tips #Distraction-free driving #Driving techniques #Expect the unexpected #Focus on the road #Fog driving #Following distance

[deception-united]

Let's talk about fight scenes.

Writing fight scenes requires a delicate balance of action, emotion, and detail to keep readers engaged and immersed in the moment.

Here are some tips to craft compelling fight scenes:

Know your characters: Understand their fighting styles, strengths, and weaknesses—are they offensive, or defensive? Spontaneous, or strategic? Trigger-happy, or reluctant? Their personalities and motivations will influence their actions and decisions during the fight.

Create tension: Build tension leading up to the fight to increase the stakes and make the action more gripping. Foreshadowing, verbal sparring, or physical intimidation can all contribute to a sense of anticipation.

Use sensory details: Engage the reader's senses by describing the sights, sounds, smells, and physical sensations of the fight. This helps to create a vivid and immersive experience—but make sure not to overdo it. Too much detail can distract from the adrenaline of the fight.

Maintain clarity: Ensure that the action is easy to follow by using clear and concise language. Avoid overly complicated sentences or excessive description that could confuse readers.

Focus on emotions: Show the emotional impact of the fight on your characters. Describe their fear, anger, determination, or adrenaline rush to make the scene more compelling and relatable.

Include strategic elements: Incorporate tactics, strategy, and improvisation into the fight to make it more dynamic and realistic. Think about how your characters use their surroundings, weapons, or special abilities to gain an advantage.

Balance dialogue and action: Intersperse dialogue with action to break up the fight scene and provide insight into the characters' thoughts and intentions. Dialogue can also reveal or support the characters' personalities and motivations.

Keep it concise: While it's important to provide enough detail to immerse readers in the action, avoid unnecessary padding or overly long fight scenes. Keep the pacing brisk to maintain momentum and keep readers hooked.

Show the consequences: Illustrate the aftermath of the fight, including injuries, emotional trauma, or changes in relationships between characters. This adds depth to the scene and helps to drive the story forward.

Hope this helped ❤

#writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing resources #creative writing #deception-united

[shrimp-apocalypse-now]

I wish my work would give me a pickaxes so I could battle the ice monster in the parking lot

#unfortunately all wheel drive is a defensive strategy ONLY

[leclsrc]

you know it ✴︎ cl16

genre: porn WITH plot (for once?! everyone cheered), humor, bit of fluff... oh inaccurate depictions of the 2022 season sorry

word count: 7k

Charles is a bit disappointed the pretty girl he harbors a crush on doesn’t have him listed as a Formula 1 crush. He is a lot disappointed that you two can’t fuck.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... degradation, praise, charles is a bit switchy here lol, penetrative sex, a bit of ass play sorry...., oral (m receiving), semi public sex, yeah

title from this. i love u guys im so sleepy

Joris insists there’s some big present waiting for Charles in his car, to celebrate the middle of the season that has, and will no doubt continue to stretch into a period of conflict and strategy woes. He yanks off the beanie sitting on his head, listens to small talk drifting between Joris and Carlos as they all walk toward their cars to alleviate the bubble of nerves in the low of his stomach. 

Sure enough, there’s an unassuming box lying on the driver’s seat. Joris slides into the passenger seat after Carlos drives away with his girlfriend, his grin shit-eating and mischievous. The door is half open when Charles takes the box to inspect it. White, with the Ferrari logo printed neatly on the centre (very classy touch), the sides are signed by different members of his team. He scratches through the seal and pulls the flap open.

He’s been given a quasi-official Ferrari box of condoms.

Thirty-six condoms, at that, small squares neatly lined up next to each other. Talk about a welcoming present. Not a camera, not racing memorabilia, not a new pair of shoes. Just condoms. Thirty-six of them.

“A mid-season pick-me-up,” presses his friend, giddily. The shorter male lounges comfortably on the seat, a blissful look of pride on his face. Laughing with exasperation, Charles wedges the box shut and tosses it carelessly into the backseat, preparing to drive. This isn’t his first rodeo with weird gifts—he’s half-sure he got adoption papers from an especially excited fan once before.

“You are such an asshole.”

“It’s also a congratulations on winning literally every race so far present,” Joris adds. It’s hyperbole but has a ring of truth to it. As the season closes, Charles’ chances of holding up the trophy this year increase. 

Despite himself, Charles has a better outlook on his chances for the remainder of the season, driving-wise. He’s given it his all so far, and the rest looks promising enough. He only hopes he’s right. Netflix also increased the amount of people getting into the sport, so he’s dealing with tons more fans and nosey DMs, but it’s not too much of an impediment to a hopefully stellar season.

Charles makes a right. “Do you plan to use them?” Joris asks then, a teasing tone taking on his voice as he scrolls through his phone.

“No, not really,” Charles says, lying straight through his teeth.

“You’re a fucking liar, you are.” He whips his head toward Charles, observing his stoic side profile. “You’re single, haven’t gotten laid in months—”

“—weeks.” Corrects Charles with a cough, the defense coming at an embarrassing speed.

“…Case in point. And sports gets everyone horny. And if you didn’t know, Mattia actually OK-ed the condoms, so you’ve basically been greenlit by your boss to fuck half the world. Thank me later. I’m proud of myself.”

“Sports gets everyone competitive. Because it’s sports. Which, you’re conveniently forgetting, is my life profession.”

“Loosen up,” Joris whistles lowly. “You think Lewis got seven titles by being a closed-off celibate? It’s practically tradition to fuck around if you’re single in sports. And, for others, being in a relationship is barely an obstacle, anyway.”

Charles hates to admit that Joris is right—because he is. Racing isn’t racing without the extravagant parties that follow, and the girls and guys brought back to hotels for reasons known to everyone. People from everywhere come to the paddock and the clubs—models, influencers, actors. The pent-up energy has to go somewhere, he supposes.

But even if the little shit is right, Charles still maintains a level of dignity. Ergo, he’s steadfast in his belief that he will not be sleeping around or putting this godforsaken box of condoms to any semblance of use while the rest of the season progresses. He just hopes he won’t eat his words.

—

Monza kicks off with a 1-2 and secures Charles with a comfortable lead ahead Max.

He is high on adrenaline all night, toasting and chugging to the win, snapping pictures with Carlos, proud out of his mind. It’s everything he’s wanted and more, a quench to the thirst he’d developed over the season, a slap in the face to his doubters, a kiss on his. He texts his family, friends who aren’t present, some other people who he feels are deserving of a personal announcement, and pockets his phone.

“Now would be a great time to put that gift to use,” Carlos says at some point, when everyone in the garage is kicking back alcohol and slowly preparing to move the celebrations someplace else.

Charles cringes visibly, having almost forgotten about the dreaded gift, and totally forgotten Carlos’ knowledge of it. Even with the recent win, he’s already thinking of the next, the promise of a two-peat, another podium, hell, another 1-2. The condoms were honest to God the last thing on his mind.

They break apart an hour later, when Charles is heading to the hotel and Carlos is headed somewhere else. He’s almost to the exit when someone calls his attention in a curt English voice.He turns and finds Lewis jogging toward him, outside of his race suit and back in the fashionable apparel Charles merely wishes he could pull off.

“Lewis,” he waves, pacing toward him to save the extra few seconds of waiting. 

“Amazing, amazing race, man,” the elder compliments. “You’ve got the best chance at the title here.”

Warmth melts into Charles’ body and he offers praise back, which—praising Lewis is just about the easiest thing in the world. Nerves bleed out of him as the conversation continues, the atmosphere of a finished race a welcome accompaniment to their strategic talk. 

“Headed to a party, yeah?” Lewis asks when they’ve both exhausted the topic. Charles gives a half-hearted shrug, already energized enough from such a momentous win, and he nods in response. “Nah, I get it. Sometimes you just gotta sleep. But hey, if you’re ever free, we should go get dinner sometime.”

—

The “dinner sometime” happens in Singapore. Having gotten P1 beside Lewis and therefore once again high off the adrenaline, Charles claps Andrea on the back and retrieves his phone to view two texts. One reads Put the condoms to use yet, champ? from Joris, and the other Can I take you up on the dinner? from Lewis. One goes answered and the other goes muted on his iMessage.

A little something he failed to remember was Lewis’ plant-based diet, a fact that hurtles back toward him when he can’t find steak on the menu of this classy, hole-in-the-wall type of restaurant. Of course Lewis would know these types of places, he thinks. He’s a millennial semi-hipster with a separate Instagram account for his dog.

Charles ends up ordering pasta, and Lewis beside him orders a cacophony of very vegan, hippy sounding meals, the quantity of which could feed the two of them. “I hope you don’t mind,” Lewis says when the waiter departs, “but a friend is actually joining us tonight.”

“Sure,” Charles says honestly. As long as it’s not some deranged hyperfan, he does well in social situations. Right then, Lewis calls someone over. Charles looks up, squints through the dim mood lighting to try and make out the nearing figure. And then you’re sitting down across them, smiling softly, exchanging hellos with Lewis.

A little something Lewis fails to remember is his “friends” can just as well be called “celebrities,” because he is, after all, a sporting legend. So if Lewis says “friend,” Charles will assume it’s a “friend,” and not a world-famous model whose face is plastered everywhere on and offline.

“Charles Leclerc,” he says blankly.

You introduce yourself, sliding easily into a bout of questions, apologies for missing the race, you’re impossibly jetlagged, it’s crazy. Lewis chips in with something about how he’s already ordered food for the both of you, and this and that, and Charles is hopeless, staring at your face the entire time. He hopes he looks more sexy than aloof or, worse, starstruck, because it’s turning out to be the kind of situation where he looks like the deranged hyperfan, and not the other way around for once.

To be clear, Charles isn’t a fan of you. He just knows of you, because honestly, who doesn’t at this point? You’re talking on and on about how your latest shoot with Jacquemus was a pain because you shot in a tank top in sub-zero weather, but you express it like it’s the most profound topic on Earth.

Lewis turns to him and, in an (eventually successful) effort to include more of Charles in the conversation, goes, “She’s a big Formula One fan, Charles.”

Okay. Common ground. Charles lifts both brows smugly, his eyes flickering back over to you. “Really?”

You meet his eyes and smile, looking downward and blinking owlishly. You’re so pretty, long lashes fluttering as you blink and try to find an answer. Christ, you’re so painfully his type.

Lewis chimes in again—“Really. And not just because she and I are friends. I mean she was into racing before we got acquainted. Honestly. Quiz her and everything”—then excuses himself to “take a call.” (His phone wasn’t even ringing—total bullshit—but Charles is ultimately grateful for it.)

You make a face of shut up toward the departing Lewis, and Charles exhales a quiet laugh at your defiance. You clear your throat and come up with an answer.

“I’m not a big fan,” you say. “I’m more of a casual, ‘every once in a while’ type of fan.”

“That’s what every big fan of sports says,” Charles says smoothly. 

“Is it?” You ask, cocking your head to the side, making a tch noise. You chuckle before going, “Well, if you insist, I’ll be honest. I didn’t want it to come to this, but okay. I am a fan… of Red Bull.”

Charles fakes extreme offense, his jaw dropping as if totally scandalized. You laugh, throwing two hands up in faux surrender. “Not Red Bull,” he says, his tone making him sound even more devastated. “You’re telling me you—don’t tell me you think Max Verstappen is attractive.”

“I mean, a bit!”

Charles makes sarcastic sounds of disapproval, and you laugh. Charles leans forward, and you do, too, both of you smiling. “So you’re into the angry drivers?”

“I’m not into a specific kind of driver,” you say casually, your tongue peeking out to lick over your bottom lip. Your voice is as soft as it is firm, slow and demure, matching the way your eyes glint. You’re impossibly pretty. He almost can’t handle it.

“So who’s making the cut?” He prompts, interested.

“Well, for starters, drivers who are my age,” you say slowly. “I turned twenty-four this year, so anyone within that bracket.”

“Oh?” Charles pretends to delve into deep thought, teasing. “Maybe Stroll? He’s very funny, speaks good English. You can never really say no to a Canadian.”

Your face warms, and you hope your flustered state isn’t too obvious as you shake your head. “He seems fun, but I prefer somebody a bit… a bit older.”

“Older…” he hums. “Pierre, perhaps? Tad bit older, real charming, great driver. I can introduce you. We’re good friends, you know.”

You click your tongue, smiling shyly. You bite your lip and it takes everything in Charles to not turn on his horny gears when he sees you, big eyes and lip bite, look so pretty. “You tease me,” you say meekly. Charles covers a cough with a chuckle and adjusts his position on the seat.

Later, after Lewis comes back in (“Long call, eh? It was about Roscoe.” Bullshit again) and you all get to order drinks, and you’ve departed in your private car, pressing an air kiss to Lewis and waving goodbye to Charles, he turns to the Mercedes driver and hums.

“Next time you have one of these”—he points to the restaurant, gestures to the front door—“dinners, let me know, okay?”

“Ah.” Lewis winks, smirking. “I’ll be sure to.”

—

Understandably, your schedules never seem to mesh well together. Lewis ends up giving Charles your number as compensation.

He stares at the contact longer than he’d like to admit, when he’s marinating in the sweltering heat of Austin. He’s finished much of his work for this half of the day so he’s mostly watching the engineers work on the last bits of modification for Sunday; he cherishest the free time and drafts, reads, and rereads texts, scours Google and Instagram for pictures of, and anything related to, you.

There’s a few new articles about buying a new car (a Benz, much to Charles’ chagrin) and new photoshoots intermittently scattered across Europe, with all sorts of brands. He sees a picture you’ve posted of yourself smiling at the camera and thinks of how pretty it would look as his lockscreen. 

Am I seeing you soon? He texts finally. He hopes it’s enough to let you know who he is.

Hopefully is the reply. He smiles the whole day.

—

You’ve been texting and calling almost everyday, conversations stretching continents. He only sees you next in Mexico, Friday night, at a club Lewis has rented out for a crazy price that will no doubt be replenished in days anyway. He’s dropped to second here, but the thrill riding in him makes up for his disappointment. The place is so crowded—everyone and their mums seem to have been invited here—room blinking purple and blue, each step vibrating with the heavy bass of EDM. He catches you right as you exit the washroom area, and you look pleasantly surprised to see him.

He saw you earlier, when you were doing shots of tequila and chatting with with Bella and Lewis, but just as quickly as he spotted you, you’d dipped back into the sea of people. Now is better, he thinks. You two are alone.

“Charles, hi,” you say casually. You’re wearing a tight top and a short skirt that, despite Charles’ best efforts, always cast his gaze downward. He wonders what’s underneath, hungers to get his hands there. But he’s nothing if he’s not patient, willing to play the long game.

He takes a step forward, his gaze steady on you. Charles isn’t the tallest driver, but he’s got a big presence. You swallow, taking a step back to accommodate him. He smirks. “You look pretty.” 

“You flatter me,” you say thickly, smiling, inviting him closer. The air is hot around the both of you—when your eyes flit around, they see nobody. You’re alone together. His eyes pierce into yours so deep you feel like breaking eye contact, exhaling as you take another step back—evidently, you’re distracted, because you stumble.

His arm circles around your waist, and once you steady, the hand moves down to your hip. It stays, a reminder of what you might be getting soon. You smile curtly, wondering what this might look like to a bystander, a stranger. Somebody might want to piss and walk in to see the strongest world champion contender’s hand on Chanel’s poster girl’s waist.

“Is this okay?” He asks softly against your ear.

“More than.” You say, breath shaky. “It’s more than okay.”

He chuckles. “Good. I’d hate if we couldn’t fuck before Abu Dhabi.”

Your finger traces down and wraps around the belt loop of his jeans. “Who said anything about fucking?”

Charles exhales a laugh, his lips curling upward into an amused smile. “Ah? I can’t fuck you, then?”

“I’ll let you fuck me when you’re holding up the world champion trophy,” you say sweetly, tugging him closer. “That’s okay, right?” You stare up at him, blinking, pouty. He wonders, is this how you might look with your lips wrapped around his—

“That’s about a month away.” His composure barely wavers, his hand traveling lower, blunt nails digging into your ass. Your breath hitches. 

“I’m aware,” you say lowly. So be it, Charles thinks—he’s got thirty-six condoms for a reason.

“Define fuck,” he says, voice rough.

“Penetration.” You’re quick with it, cocking your head to the side. You lean back confidently, testin him, eyes batting flirtatiously. 

It’s time he get a little creative.

—

Daytime weather is hot and the paddock is swarming with people, but Charles has his sights set on somebody sitting in the Mercedes hospitality. He manages to get out of morning meetings earlier, wedging himself out of the room and passing by a mirror to fix his hair with admirable concentration. He’s in the middle of combing through it when a force tugs at the hem of his polo, causing him to stumble backwards.

“Uh—Carlos? What the hell?” He asks, brow raised defensively. Facing him are Carlos, Joris, and Pierre, arms crossed over their torsos and amused expressions on their faces.

“What are you doing?” Asks Pierre, cocking his head to the side.

“Fixing my hair.” 

“Pussy appointment?” Joris interjects; the vulgarity of his statement earns him a poke on the side from Carlos, who clicks his tongue.

“Wh—I don’t—”

“You are shit at lying, mate,” says Pierre, his lips curled into a devious smile. “Who is it?”

“It’s nobody,” he lies.

“Charles,” says Lewis suddenly from behind them, waving his arms to get the former’s attention, “are you going to go over and say hi?”

Hook, line, and sinker. He’s been caught. “Well, well, well,” Carlos starts, mischievous.

“Guys—” Charles says, attempting to make an excuse.

“Looks like your vow of celibacy isn’t so far off after all,” Pierre adds. “That one over at Mercedes is going to break it, eh?”

“Yeah.” Joris says, smirking.  “Lucky George, huh.”

The three face him, incredulous. “I was kidding,” he fibs, once he realizes his epiphany is wrong. “Kidding.”

Charles walks off, and ends up seeing you right where he expected you, sitting beside Lewis in a tiny dress with your hair pinned up into a bun. Almost naturally, your words fall into the flirtatious back-and-forth you’d started at the dinner, hyperaware of the cameras snapping your pictures. At some point, the Brit excuses himself to “take a call” (again, bullshit) and leaves the two of you alone.

“See anything nice on the paddock?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with a teasing smile, head cocking to the side to gauge his reaction. He chuckles.

“Did you get a picture with Max?”

“Only a ton.” You pause. “And Daniel, too.”

“Ah, you’re just crushing on the whole paddock, now are you?” He pokes his tongue into his cheek, leans forward.” Uh, Checo?”

“Pass,” you say with a nose scrunch. You’re so fucking pretty.

“Lewis.”

“God, pass. He’s not ugly, but he’s my brother at this point.”

“Pierre.”

“Horribly French, but… smash.”

“Are you not into the French?” He smiles. “Good to know. Hmm—Carlos.”

“I’d be stupid to say anything other than smash.” You narrow your eyes, licking over your lips. “I’m into the Ferrari guys, is the thing.” His gaze travels to your crossed legs, long and disappearing into the hem of your dress.

He smirks. “Are you?”

“I really am,” you hum.

“Are you staying long? All weekend?”

“Yeah, I’m free from work for now,” you say casually. “Any recommendations on what fun things I can do here?”

“I can think of…” he says, smirking a little. “A few.”

—

Stupid places to have sex, number one: a motorhome.

Still, Charles is crowding you up against the wall of the room, swallowing the whimper that leaves your mouth with his own. And still, this isn’t sex. At least not the kind he wants the most. He mentally praises Carlos for being able to decipher the typo-laden text he’d sent out on the way here, one hand around your waist, the other barely capable of typing with how fast his brain ran. Clesr the fuckng room npw now npw it read. Thank God.

Your mouth tastes like champagne, and everywhere else smells divine. Your hands roam impatiently over his shoulders and you make muted noises of frustration at your inability to pull his shirt off. You settle for letting your hands crawl underneath it, stroking over his abs.

“D’you remember what I told you,” you pant, his lips insistent on your neck, “at the club?”

“Yeah,” he says, grunting at the memory.

“Okay.” You breathe. “Let me suck you off.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “Jesus. Okay. Fuck.”

You giggle, and he watches intently as you drop onto your knees, looking up at him through thick lashes. You’re insistent, pulling the zip of his jeans down and tugging his cock out. It’s pretty, thick like the rest of him, already hard. 

He’s at his limit, having you here like this, on you knees and stretching your lips around the tip of his dick. Your eyes barely leave his, fluttering as they tear up when you take him in your throat.

He throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, lets a hand unpin your bun and thread itself into the untangled hair. If he looks at you, he’ll see your head bobbing up and down on his cock, and he genuinely needs to hold off the orgasm first.

He rocks forward into your mouth and feels your throat close up around him. That’s enough to weaken his resolve, send grunts out of his throat that he can’t keep quiet.

“Oh, shit,” he says, feeling every part of your mouth and throat around him, warm and tense. He can’t help but thrust harder, steady but not too rough, growing more aroused with every sound of you choking on him.

His gaze flickers toward you. You’re teary-eyed, lips dotted with spit, choking yourself on his cock. Just for him, here in public. You pull off, blinking tears away from your face and looking up at him smilingly.

He laughs, guiding his cock back into your mouth, watching the way your brows knit together, pleading, almost. You're at his mercy, he thinks, thrusting harder, listening to your coughs. He loves seeing you like this, innocent face messy and slick with spit and precum, eyes big and needy.

“You like that?” He grunts. “Look at me.”

You nod the best you can. Yes, you want to say. Give me more, I love it.

“Yeaaah, fuck. I know you do,” he says through his teeth, staving off his orgasm the best he can before he releases all over you. The image alone of streaking you with his cum, claiming you all over-eyelashes, tits, cheeks splashed with cum-is enough to send him closer to the edge. “Gonna cum,” he grunts.

You moan around him, the vibrations causing his eyelids to flutter. You shake your head, pulling off and wrapping your hand around his dick, stroking slower. “Not yet,” you say sweetly, watching him throw his head back in pleasure and frustration. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, exhales shakily.

“Shit.” He whines. “Come on, baby. Make me cum.” He cups your jaw, stares down at you.

You stroke him faster, lip between your teeth. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “Cum for me, Charles.”

He stops staving himself off, falls into the pleasure and relief of your hand around his cock until he’s tense all over, knitting his hand into your hair and pushing you backwards so he can press his tip on the flat expanse of your tongue and let his cum shoot there. It drips from your tongue and lips onto your chin and you giggle, swallowing it, scooping up the rest to push into your mouth.

You stand, licking your lips slowly. “I owe you,” he pants, zipping himself up. Already he’s thinking about what he can do to you in return. Tease you, like you did him, bend you over his lap or sit you on it and make you whine and writhe and wait and cum. 

“I’ll hold you to that, champion,” you murmur, kissing his cheek and slipping back outside.

—

Ferrari’s advice is shit and despite his good mood and quick-witted driving, Charles finishes in fifth—not too shabby, but disastrous for his overall standings.

He suffers through a horrible debrief where attempts to defend his honor go unheard, his mood wilting and wilting until he’s at the media pen and ushered in front of some network he hasn’t heard of. They’ve probably paid to get a good seat here.

He’s in a shit mood, he hasn’t seen Joris or Pierre or you in hours, and has only faced red-faced frustrated superiors and now, wide-eyed journalists with loose mouths. The media’s done the mandatory speculation between the two of you, so he already expects questions of that variety, but it’s still hot and angry when he does.

Are you banging the Marc Jacobs model? The Irish reporter asks with a wink, so very unprofessional and not at all belonging to reputable media. The hot leggy one who has fuck me eyes?

Charles clenches his jaw, rolls his eyes, says fuck off mate and shoves him backward a little, then walks away and readjusts his cap. The clip makes Twitter and he feels even worse with the amount of troll accounts telling him to Jeez, take a joke.

After the ordeal, in your hotel room, you sigh softly and run your hands through his still shampoo-smelling hair. “You didn’t need to do that,” you say, a bit strictly. He knows you’re grateful, though, and a bit proud.

“I wanted to,” he insists softly. He forgets to leave before morning; when he does, he forgets his official Ferrari shirt hanging on the seat, leaving in a spare one instead. It’s got his number across the back. You don’t tell him.

—

In between Mexico and Sao Paulo, he manages to catch a flight to New York to peek into one of your photoshoots. It’s for Chanel and he’s half-sure he’s taken more pictures of you than the official photographer did. At this point your vague relationship status has caught onto headlines everywhere, and he doesn’t miss the curious murmurs from paparazzo that follow him as he enters your apartment later to greet you.

You’re in a pair of shorts and a tank top when you open the door, greeting him with a tight hug and leading him inside with a loose grip.

“Wine?”

“Please.” He eyes the wide area, the big floor-to-ceiling windows and the art on the walls. “Hungry?”

“Mmm.” You hum, sliding a glass toward him. “Starving.”

“Pizza?”

“Something else.” You smile. He tears his eyes away from your tits, poking out of the thin cotton, and coughs.

The both of you end up on the couch, your legs draped over his as you talk about racing.

He’s ranting about how he’s neck to neck with Max now, and the final verdict will likely be decided at Abu Dhabi, a fact that sends nerves all through him. You’re listening, you really are, but it’s difficult to keep listening because his hand, big and rough, is stroking your bare calf as he talks absentmindedly. 

You offer the occasional mmm-hmm and uh-huh and even the oh really to sell it, but he doesn’t seem to be conscious of how many sparks are coursing through you because of his hand on your leg. He just talks and talks, accent curving into curse words elicited by the competition.

And his voice, rough and deeper when he slides into Italian phrases, gets in your head, reminds you of the way he’d moaned when you had his dick in your mouth. You like that? he’d said, panting, heavy, hot. His hand remained in your hair, controlling you the same way you did him. Fuck.

When you blink, he’s stopped talking, and has likely noticed your wandering imagination if his teasing smile is anything to go by. You cough, clear your throat, adjust your thighs. You’re thinking—you can’t stop thinking—about what happened in Mexico, not just in the motorhome but in the club where he’d let his hand sprawl over your ass and stay there, possessive.

The tension rises. I owe you. He really does. You reach over and grab your phone from the coffee table, snap a few pictures of him. “—Hey!” He protests, scrabbling to grab it from you while balancing his half-full glass. “I look god awful.”

You stand up, review the picture. He looks so impossibly handsome. “You’re right, you do,” you say, pouting. 

He reaches over again, chuckling, and you avoid him. “Foul play!”

“Tch. At least show it to me,” he says defeatedly, so you do: presenting your screen to him.

Quickly, he makes a grab for it, but you just escape his grip, ending up right in front of him and leaning over. You’re losing your balance, digging your toes into your carpet to maintain stance. He spares a glance at your shorts, riding low on your hips, showing a bit of thin lace.

Charles tugs you forward by the hem of your top and then takes your wrist into his grip—the force of his grab makes your tits shake underneath your flimsy tank top. It’s dragged down so far your tits are spilling out. His eyes flicker down to them, dark, and a pretty smile spreads across his face.

“Come on, give it,” he challenges, eyes narrowing a little. You bite your lip, inwardly liking this a little too much—being at his mercy, trapped in his strong grip. You’re flustered and it shows.

He wrestles you onto his lap with ease, his arms steady around you. You stare downwards, dark eyes meeting his, hand on his broad shoulder for leverage. He’s so pretty, you think, so hot and handsome and you need him right now. Through his jeans you can feel how thick he is, his dick growing, getting hard and huge under you. It feels big even through a few layers—you can’t help but imagine how it might feel inside you.

Your phone clatters to the carpet behind the couch. “I win,” you say breathlessly.

He grabs your hips and jerks his upward, letting his stiff dick press up even more against your shorts.

“I think I’m the winner here,” he says gruffly, hands feeling you up all over. He thumbs at your chest, rubbing over your tits. You shiver—it feels good having him on you like this, your mind turning to mush.

“Shut up,” you laugh, shakily. A hand wanders in between your thighs, another coming to squeeze your barely-covered ass. You can’t focus on much, just his hands roaming everywhere and his hard dick pressing against your core. He shoves your hips downward again, his cock hard and perfectly against your pussy.

“You feel that?” He asks; it leaves him in one low breath.  

“Yeah,” you say, whimpering. “I want it.”

He grinds up against you again, his thumb teasing the hem of your shorts. Closer to where you want it. “Don’t think you could even take it, baby.”

“I hate you,” you say. “You know I can.”

He laughs. “We’ll see, yeah?” You find a rhythm of grinding down against his cock, nestled right against your ass. He’s everywhere and you can’t handle it anymore, finding yourself craving him more and more.

You moan against his neck—and then come to your senses. “No.”

He smirks when you pull away. “Tempted, were you?”

“Not…” You pause. You’re sweaty, flushed all over, and your panties are sticking to you from how wet you’ve grown. “Not very.”

—

Abu Dhabi is a son of a bitch.

It comes with meetings, meetings, debriefs, calls, meetings. Everything is riding on the night’s race, the flurry of social media a welcome source of anxiety for him as he watches the hours whiz by. You’d missed seeing him, understood he was busy; you send a selfie to compensate and it gets him calm enough to last the pre-race buzz.

Time speeds by with lunch, coaching, drills, talks with Carlos and Mattia and even Max, who displays support as strongly as competitiveness. Before he even realizes it, he blinks and he’s in his suit, adjusting his balaclava, inhaling, exhaling. Everything is just the way he likes—needs—it to be.

He drives himself to P2 behind Max, eyes shut.

All else seeps into him, natural method, natural routine. He flexes his thumbs. Through the team radio his engineer goes good luck, and Charles’ practice bleeds into his subconscious. The air is heavy, with tension and excitement, the division of blue and red. Everyone’s eager to see who claims the title. 

The lights go off and everything is left to skill, blurring into noise and turns and expletives yelled into the team radio. He can’t even feel himself think, turning with dexterity and overtaking with the kind of vengeance he hasn’t let out in a while. 

For all his trying, Max keeps up just the same, keeping a neck and neck level for the relative entirety of the race. They’re milking out the last few laps together, and Charles feels every fibre of his being work toward this, just this, nothing but this right now. Nothing but the finish line.

You got this, Charles, says the engineer, voice heightening. Maiden world championship.

He nods to himself, trusts his instincts and when he catches sight of the finish line, he thinks: he’s the best driver on the grid.

So he revs faster, and the rest descends into—

Absolute fucking chaos.

—

He’s smiling when he approaches the reporter, who’s already holding the mic with wonder. He asks for a message in Italian, then reminds him—and the crowd—that, in case he forgot, he’s world champion. Charles thinks he genuinely can’t ever.

“What are you doing to celebrate?” He asks then, smiling.

Sweaty, with damp hair and shiny skin, he smirks and leans closer. “Someone, I hope.”

—

“Hey there, champ.”

You’re already leaning against his hotel room door when he gets there, after the chore of wrestling himself free from the rest of the team pressuring him to get drinks. Carlos helps out, babbles something or other about Charles being “busy with something else”—which isn't wrong, not at all. He offers a smooth wink, bending down to kiss you.

Your mouths meet, softly first then increasingly messy as he pins you against the door. You push away, breathing heavy. “I don’t know what you’re into, but I don't want the top floor of this hotel seeing us fucking.”

“I wasn’t into that, but now that you brought it up…” You swat his arm and he laughs, unlocking the door and pulling you inside. You’re clinging onto him—his arms, his chest, anything, kissing up his neck and jaw. He groans at how needy you are. All for him, he thinks. Probably soaked through your panties and it’s all because of him.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says gently, voice low as he leads you to the bed. He catches sight of your shirt and a brow raises. “Did you buy that?”

“Hmm?” You look down, following his gaze and blinking. The shirt you’re wearing is loose, hanging off your shoulders and hastily tucked into your miniskirt so it looks like you actually have trousers on. “Oh. No, this is yours.”

“Mine.” He smiles a little. “You look so good in it, princess.” His hands mindlessly grope at you, hungry, sneaking underneath your skirt to feel at the lace there. 

In retaliation, you lean forward, unbutton his jeans and tug at it.

“You left it at one of my”—you gasp, feeling his finger sneak its way beneath your panties—“my hotel rooms.”

“Pretty girl, pretty shirt, pretty lace, yeah?” He tugs, lets the garter of the skirt loosen and fall off your hips on its own. “Red.”

“You take too long,” you groan.

“You’re just eager,” he laughs, thumbing at your clothed cunt.

You’re so wet, evident even in the lazy circles he rubs over your entrance. You’re aching, desperate, begging almost. So he gives you what you want, maneuvers you onto his lap and pushes your (his) shirt up to stuff your mouth with it.

It won���t work for long, but it’s enough. He pushes your panties to the side and pulls his hard dick out. You’re sitting against it now, leaking slick onto it, at his mercy, branding his name and his number across your back. It’s hot. 

He stares at the way you rock softly against him, hungry eyes meeting yours. “You’re so pretty, baby. Ruined.”

“Fuck me already,” you say, voice throaty, innocent.

“Can you take it?” He asks, teasing you, slapping his dick against your clit softly. You whine.

“Please,” you insist. “I want it. Make it fit.”

He’s a massive tease with it, his breath fanning against your skin, hands sticky on where they’ve hiked your shirt up. He lowers you, slower, against the tip of his dick and he watches your eyes flutter when you sink onto it. After ages of waiting. Your grip’s like iron on his shoulders, moans leaving you in quiet bursts of pleasure. 

You’re far away, dumb from the feeling, you barely register the way he shoves the shirt back into your mouth to keep you quiet. “So fucking tight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. It’s muffled, barely intelligible. “For you.”

You’re only able to take it because you’re so wet, so turned on, face and brain filled with nothing but pleasure. He can’t take it.

“Mmmfh,” you say, muffled by the bite of cotton in your mouth. You’re sweaty, flushed, overstimulated—you don’t know where to focus. On his lips against your jaw, his hand on your neck, the way your pussy swallows his aching dick. “It’s so big, I—”

“You okay?” He asks, breathily. Smiling. He’s in control, but still he sounds whiny—almost, if not as desperate as you. “You’ll take it all for me, won’t you?” 

“Oh god,” is all you muster, letting him stretch you out even more, gushing all over his cock. “I, I—”

He moans, his grip tight against your waist, watching his dick bury itself in you. “You’re getting me so full,” you whine. “So deep, I feel it—” you taper off into a moan again when he presses hs thumb to your clit, distracting you from the stretch as he finally, finally bottoms out.

“Good?”

You nod. So good, give me more.

You grind against him, let the shirt fall out of your mouth. “You’re getting my dick so wet,” he comments, breathless. “So pretty for me, too.”

Growing antsy, he attempts to move, but you whine. Your turn to tease, you think, after he was a dick to you just now. “Not yet,” you say, lip caught between your teeth. His hands are tight around your waist. Desperate.

You squeeze around him, watch his brows knit together, a grunt leave him in a frustrated exhale. “You wanna fuck me?” You tease against his neck, blinking innocently.

“Yes,” he replies, not missing a beat. You pout, like you’re empathizing with the problem you’re causing; you grind slowly against him and he lets out a guttural fuuuuck. He’s so big, so hard—you can feel every inch of him inside you.

“Tell me again, Charles,” you say with a giggle. You’re so hot like this, face flushed and timid, hips moving slowly. He could cum just from the way you bite your lip, the way a whimper slips out of you when he hits the right spot.

“—Yeah,” he says, sweetly. “I want to—please, let me fuck you. C’mon, baby, can I?”

“Aww,” you tease. 

“Can I?” He asks again, voice deep and thin with the need to fuck you, thrust up into you and make you the dumb one. His face is flushed and desperate. “Can I move, baby? Let me, please.”

You’re not stupid. You know—if his flushed, pleading face and big green puppy eyes are anything to go by—that he’s going crazy, growing antsy. But you’re not complaining.

“Hmm,” you say, feigning genuine thought. “I don’t know, Charles. Feels good just like this. And you want to make me feel good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Yeah.” You repeat, staring into his dark eyes. He’s frustrated, desperate, flushed all over and sweaty. His fingers dig into your hips. “I’ll make you feel really good, baby, if you let me.”

“Go ahead,” you say softly, “fuck me, please.” And he’s thrusting upwards to meet you halfway. It’s knocking you out, almost, the pleasure of it, the dizzy onslaught of euphoria. He’s stretching you out so well, whining softly into your neck and yeah, you two have waited far too long to have this. You 

“Fuck,” he grunts, lids squeezed shut and head rolled onto your shoulder. “Go on, baby, ride it, make me cum.” He cups your jaw, reaches his thumb into your mouth. It’s too much, all of it. He makes you suck on it while thrusting up, dizzying you with his cock.

He grabs handfuls of your ass, teases his thumb at your tighter asshole just to watch your eyes flutter, feel your cunt grow wetter. “I’ll fuck you even fuller next time,” he says; the implication gets you hot.

You bounce harder, chasing release as his thumb teases over your ass, the tip of it just thrusting in enough to elicit strings of moans out of you. “Come on, ride me,” he goads. “So good for me.”

“Fuck,” you pant, “cum in me, please.”

You cum first, writhing around him and riding your orgasm out in lazy grinds over his hard cock. You want to see him cum, see his eyebrows knit and his mouth release pretty whines, feel him claim you inside, hands hot and heavy on your ass. He does, with a guttural fuuuuck, shoving his dick up in you to the base and spurting all his cum in you.

He thrusts, watches his cum leak out of you, fucks it back in, in a vicious cycle. You shiver, blinking coquettishly and watching along—and then you’re both crumpling over each other on the bed behind you. You pant heavily against his chest.

“Hey.” He muses out loud, drumming against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“I have thirty-six condoms we need to go through. Wanna go on a date?”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

[tinygarbage]

December

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x f!reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: simon has been in a foul mood all of december and you think he hates you

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, implied trauma, american reader lol, mentions of alcohol (reader is slightly buzzed), implications of familial trauma, no use of y/n, no physical description, not edited fully bc i am last minute on this (again), military inaccuracies bc im just a silly girl on a silly app :p, lmk if I missed anything :)

au: lol there’s not really a plot to this but i plan on building on this little friendship so if u like it lmk :) just something silly i wrote bc the holidays are a little tough for me :)

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

The two sargents and the captain of the one-four-one find themselves tasked with a new objective when December rolls around. Keep you from being alone with Ghost. Even stretching far enough to keep you away from situations that might cause an outburst from the broad Brit.

It all started one morning in the kitchen. You and Soap having your morning coffee. You being American and him being Scottish, you two were the outcasts. The only coffee drinkers.

      "We outta finish these quickly." Soap speaks, looking over a report meant to be turned into Price by noon.

     "Why's that?" You ask, completely oblivious to why you have to gulp down your steaming mug of coffee so early in the morning.

      "LT," Soap says as if it's an obvious thing.

      "What about him? He deals with it every other morning." You say with a shrug, sitting up in your chair as your boots are tied perfectly tight. Leaving it impossible for the laces to come undone during training.

       Soap looks at you as you take your first sip, wincing at how hot it was. You glance back at him, feeling his wide eyed stare. "What?" You ask, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

     "You're new. That's right." Soap says, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

      "Not that new. I've been here for 10 months already." You say defensively. You had just escaped their teasing nicknames and comments about how green you were. To the team, that was. Which, to be clear, never messed with their trust for your skill. They knew you were an important asset to the team. But what's friendship without a little teasing?

      "Yeah, but you're new to LT and December." Soap chuckles, gulping more of his coffee.

       "It's just another month," you say with a shrug.

      "Just finish your coffee, hen." Soap says, shaking his head as he finishes his own up. Rinsing it and the pot out in the sink.

The rest of the month is similar. The team still shielding you from Ghost. You see him obviously. While on the training grounds, during morning roll call, passing through the common room. But you hardly talk to him. Instead, overhearing stories about his mood towards new recruits being much worse than normal. Which was astonishing to hear because his mood towards them was typically foul.

You knew why the team was creating a barrier as soon as you heard about his mood. It's because to Ghost, you're just a new recruit. No matter how many times you cover him on a mission, or prove yourself and your strength time and time again. You're green. A baby deer stumbling to walk. And it drives him nuts. He constantly ignores your looks of admiration. Brushing aside your words of praise as you hold out your fist for a fist bump. A tradition strong among the rest of the guys and you.

Instead, he gives you disapproving stares. Degrading lectures in front of the new recruits when your golden retriever attitude gets too bubbly. Scoffs when you suggest strategies or try and help during mission briefings. Shoving shoulders when you stand in his way. And your least favorite, the mumbling. Little remarks and insults spoken under his breath. Hardly hidden from behind the mask. His harsh words still fall on your exceptional hearing, causing your nostrils to flare as you see red.

You'd spent nearly 10 months trying to prove yourself to him. And you nearly got him. His walls slowly coming down, brick by brick. He'd start making small jokes about the new recruits to you when partnered together. Pat your back firmly after a good shot. Acknowledge your presence when you both were in the kitchen or the common area.

Until bloody December rolls around. Again, you're thankful to the team for shielding you from his horrendous mood. But you're frustrated that you can't keep trying to weasel your way into getting him to like you. That all of your efforts have been thrown away and you'd have to restart as soon as you have full access to his side again.

It isn't until the end of December that you're alone with him for the first time in a month. It's late, just past midnight. He's sitting in the common room, a steaming cup of tea in front of him. You walk in late from a night out at the pub after gaining Price's approval to go out. You were just catching up with a couple friends who were studying abroad. Your heart feeling twice it's size after seeing a little piece of home.

It's dark. The only thing lighting up the room is the glow of his phone screen and the light from the door outside the common room. Which you held open as you stared at him like a deer in headlights. Not knowing what to say. Or do.

Slowly, you close the door. Making your way across the common room slowly. Your converse tapping the tile of the floor with each step. Vision slightly blurred from the pints you indulged in. You're almost past him, completely avoiding eye contact as you quietly walk past the couch he's spread out on.

"It's a bit late," He speaks up. His deep, gruff voice sending a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps forming on your skins despite your warm hoodie and worn jeans.

"Captain gave me a pass. For the Holidays." You speak carefully, eyes finally meeting his form in the dark.

The pale moonlight from the window across from him gives her a better view. His phone screen lighting up his face. He's wearing a black surgical mask, covering the lower half of his face. A black hoodie covers his upper half, the hood up to create a perfect shadow over what the mask wasn't covering. The only thing really visible to the eye was his eyes. His dark chocolate irises that scan over your casual appearance. Taking in the sight of you outside of uniform or athletic clothes. Instead seeing you in the dark jeans that hung from your hips. Hoodie and jacket baggy on your upper half.

      You look past him, seeing the time on the clock above the door way. The green electronic letters reading 00:13. It's now officially Christmas. Your eyes shift back to him, catching his intense stare. The air seems to run cold as he glared, his demeanor clearly bothered by your existence. You can't stop the small shiver that runs down your spine as you stare back. Blinking slowly as you try and keep your brain working.

     "Merry Christmas, Riley." You finally say, eyes dropping down to your scuffed converse.

     His head turns and he checks the clock. He turns back, "Merry Christmas." He says. His voice sounds...different. Tired? No...defeated...maybe.

      You smile politely, your sneaker twisting against the tile of the common room. You should walk away. Leave him to his own thoughts. Get into bed and sleep off the couple pints you threw down with friends. But you don't. Instead you stand awkwardly near the exit of the common rooms. Your brain busy with contradicting thoughts. Say something. Go to bed. Ask him about his mood. Shut up and go to bed. Sit next to him. Scream at him for always being an asshole. But you do nothing. Standing as still as a statue. Not daring to move, your muscles completely stone.

      "Don't break yourself, kid." He retorts, a small chuckle at his own humor.

      "Huh?" You ask absentmindedly, before it clicks in your head that you were standing still like an idiot. Thinking so loudly that Russia was probably disturbed. You awkwardly blurt out a response, "Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

     He raises a brow. Clearly unimpressed with your inability to act normal around him. "You want to say something?"

     "It's late," you say sheepishly, "Why are you still up?"

      His eyes drop down to his tea. You watch as he shifts slightly, revealing more of himself in the moonlight. He's wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, fitting tight against his thighs as he manspreads on the leather couch. Taking up space with his huge, muscular body.

      "Cant sleep." He says shortly. In his typical, gruff manner.

      "Something keeping you up?" You ask without thinking.

     You brace yourself for a snotty comment, or a silent glare as he pushes past you. Instead, you hear a huff of laughter. Or what was supposed to be laughter. You can never tell with the Lieutenant. "Isn't it always something?"

     "In our line of work, typically," You shrug, fingers tingling in the pockets of your jacket. "Do you," you pause, clearing your throat to sound more sure of yourself, "Do you need to talk about it?"

      His eyes meet yours. He says nothing for a few seconds. Letting your words hang in the air. "I just don't fancy the holidays."

     You nod, somehow smart enough in your tipsy state to realize exactly what he meant. It was more than the military. It was his life. "I get it." You say softly, "Do you mind if I sit with you? I need to gather myself before I try and stay quiet."

    "Go ahead.”

    Easier than you thought. You cross the common room carefully, sitting at the other end of the love seat. Immediately drawing your knees into your chest. Your arms wrap around your legs as you press them into your chest. Gaze falling to the window to see the brick building across the way. You're not exactly sure what to say, drawing in controlled breaths as you sit in silence. Fighting the urge to ask a million and one questions as your buzzed brain runs wild.

    "You've been avoiding me." He says suddenly. Ripping through the silence.

      You turn your head, chewing the inside of your cheek as you look at him. From this angle, you see the rest of his face. His dark scar poking through the surgical mask. His other scar curved above his thick eyebrow. His usual eye black is nowhere to be seen. Just dark circles formed under his eyes from exhaustion.  His dark eyes darting around. He seems..uneasy. Which is unlike him.

     "I haven't been," you say quickly. Both of you let the lie sit for a second before you eventually come clean. His intense eyes sending you straight into confession mode. "Ok, maybe I have been."

     "Why?"

     "Aren't you happy I'm not up your ass anymore?" You can't help but ask.

     "At first."

    "What changed?"

    "Maybe I don't mind having you around," he shrugs.

       You stare at him for a minute. Waiting for him to say he's just playing, and actually wants you to get out of his face. But the words never come. Instead, you look at the man next to you. His usual determined expression is no where to be seen. Replaced with a sheepish gaze as his eyes dart around everywhere but on you. He wasn't joking around. He liked your company.

      "The guys said to keep my distance," you reply. Figuring there was no reason to lie about it.

      "Because December." He finishes.

      "Pretty much," you say with a shaky exhale. Not exactly fond of the route this good take.

       "You didn't have too. I wouldn't have snapped at you," he says, voice soft. "I just don't do well around the holidays."

       "You don't have to explain yourself." You reply with an empathetic tone. "I'm sorry for avoiding you."

        He turns to you, finally making eye contact with you. Shifting slightly under your gaze. "Thank you."

       You smile, "You don't need to thank me. We all have our own shit. Just know I've got your back if you ever need me."

     His eyes soften in the moonlight, "And I've got yours."

    You smile, turning your head back forward. Knowing that if you continue to look at him you'll lose the small sense of control over your buzzed emotions. As you sit in a comfortable silence, you quickly realize you can't stay in the room any longer. His lingering cologne and his kind words creating a pool of fluttering butterflies in a cage. Locked right between your ribs.

    Carefully, you drop your legs. Your converse plant on the ground and you push yourself up, the room shaking as you regain full balance. With your hands stuffed back into your pockets, you walk towards the hallway filled with the small rooms the team occupies. Before you leave, you turn on your heel. Staring at him for a second as you try and form words. A lump of complicated feelings lodged in your throat. So instead of saying anything of importance. Or stating why you are fleeing the scene at a rapid pace after he said his first genuine non-work related thing. You give him a tight lipped smile.

    "Merry Christmas, Simon."

    "Merry Christmas, kid."

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

part two :)

there u are :)) it’s small and uneventful but sometimes i really enjoy writing small moments like these :)

thank u for reading <3 happy holidays !

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod x reader #christmas

[imaginaryf1shots]

My Girls | Step back

WC: 1.5K

Driver!oc x Max Verstappen

Summery: When Esteban crashes into Cecilia and blames her, Max won’t stand for it.

Warnings: Cursing, crashing, fighting

A.N: Could be read as a stand alone or part of the series.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It’s race day, Cecila was starting P4 Max P3. The weather was good, no rain and it wasn't too hot. There was the possibility of a safety car but the team wasn't holding on to that. Following the team strategy for the week seemed like a good thing. Cecilia was feeling good about the race, and her pace. She had good control of the car and everything was running smoothly, some would say too smoothly. This should’ve been the sign that something will happen.

On lap 48 of 53 she was about to finish P2 just passing the pitlane exit when a car came out of the pitlane fast, this made her try and swerve away so they wouldn't crash but that caused both cars to get off the track. Cecilia cursed as she lost control of the car for a second before she got it under control and the car stopped.

Cecilia

Who the fuck is that? What the hell?

RE

That's Ocon

Cecilia

Seriously what's wrong with him

It's not the first time the frenchman crashed into Cecilia, thankfully he barely touched her car this time and from the looks of it his car sustained damage, Cecilia was able to get back on the track but she had lost her place and was down to P11 he made her loose all the points and any progress she made throughout the race.

Obviously by the end of the race she couldn't make up the positions she lost. Finishing p 9. Cecilia was angry and disappointed. Rightfully so.

She parked the car and got out walking down the pitlane to get weighted and go do her media duty. She didn't bother taking her helmet off until she was off the lane. An fia person was talking to her, they gave Ocon a penalty for going over the speed exiting pit lane and forcing her off track.

They were barely out of the public view when an angry voice called Cecilia. The female was surprised to see that it's Ocon. He had no reason to be angry with her; she literally did nothing.

"What the fuck Cecilia!"

"What are you on about?" She asked him back, her voice angry.

"You just cost me the race." Esteban shouted, moving his hand around, the much taller male was now in arms reach of Cecilia, the FIA person stepped back to let the drivers scream their hearts out at each other.

"I cost YOU the race? you cost me the podium!" She was beyond confused why he was shouting at her for, he's clearly in the wrong.

"You still got points, I came in last!"

"How in the world is that my fault, you better check yourself Ocon because this isn't the first time you've crashed into me." She pointed at him before she crossed her arms feeling defensive, the Frenchman wasn't backing down, in fact he was moving closer.

"Hey, hey calm down mate." Carlos came up behind Cecilia, he stood facing the two fighting drivers, their voices were carrying all over the area.

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down, my race is ruined, I got no points and I'm being investigated!"

"None of this is my fault and what you thought coming here to fight me will do what? Huh? What the fuck do you want?" Cecilia was really trying to calm down, but he wasn't helping. "It’s not my fault you can't drive!"

"What the fuck did you just say to -" Carlos placed his hand on Estaban’s shoulder to stop him from coming any closer, but Cecilia didn't take a step back, this irritated Estaban more. He tried to push Carlos off him but the Spaniard was holding him back. Suddenly they were joined with Lewis, the Mercedes driver stood next to his teammate quickly assessing the situation. "You shouldn't even be driving in an F1 car! Only got here because of daddy's money-"

"Woah, woah mate come on it's just one race." Now Lewis tried to stop him. Estaban then switched to French, he was shouting and Cecilia to her credit stopped talking when she saw that nothing was going through to him.

"Stupid fucking spoild brat, ccouldn't even keep it in your pants and-“

"I swear to god Estban shut the fuck up-

“Step back,mate.” Lewis said but it was like he was talking to himself.

"What's the truth!”

"That doesn't have to do with anything, stop being pitty.” Cecilia tried to reason, while also controlling her own anger.

“I'm not pity it's facts, You slu-“

Estaban almost fell on his back, a body was in front of you blocking his view to you, Estaban stumbled back. Since Carlos was holding him back he managed to help him balance himself before he fell. Looking up at who pushed him, he expected Lewis but he saw Max.

And Max is mad, he's pissed. He heard Esteban before he heard your voice and he knew enough French and heard what happened on track quickly from one of the Mercedes engineers that were around to congratulate Lewis on his podium.

"If you can’t drive, it’s your fucking fault, you don’t go around blaming people for your own wrong doings, you crashed into her, not the other way around.” Max spat the words out, he was breathing heavily, and when Cecilia tried to move to his side, Max just moved in front of her again. Lewis shook his head at her, this is now Max’s fight, no man would see another man yelling at his significant other and just stand by. Yes she can hold her own and can protect herself but it’s not about that. Max is dominant by nature and very protective, Cecilia is his and he’s not about to let someone disrespect her like that.

“You’re just saying that because you fuck her.” Once the words left his mouth, Carlos pushed Esteban back, before him and Lewis held Max back, and if they didn’t he would’ve broken his jaw.

“Max! Max, come on, it's not worth it.” Cecilia shouted trying to get her boyfriend to calm down but to no avail, in what felt like ages but in fact under a minute, more people were around breaking the two men away from each other, there was a lot of shouting cursing, Esteban and Max wouldn’t back down. It took Esteban being pulled away by his team to get Max to calm down just enough for him to start hearing what was being said to him. Cecilia held his bicep and placed a hand on his chest, he was heaving, his eyes looking at where Esteban went. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

“Okay, I think we can all get back to work now!” Christian who appeared mid-fight, called for everyone, the crowd started to disperse, Toto who was also present told the female to come find him after she’s done. Christian patted Max’s back and whispered something in his ear before he looked at Cecilia, with a reassuring nod, he left the couple. She can handle Max.

“You okay?” She asked him softly, Max still wouldn’t look at her, placing her hand on his cheek, he finally looked at her.

“Am I okay? Are you okay?” Max’s tone did a 180, this is her Max, the Max only she gets to see.

“Yeah, he hasn’t said anything new, and he’s wrong.” Cecilia shrugged, she’s not friends with Esteban, they don’t really have common friends, but she liked to believe that she’s on good terms with everyone on the grip, but apparently not.

“Still doesn’t make it okay.” Max pushes her hair out of her face, it’s out of the braid and flowing down her back.

“Never said it does, but you know, some men have fragile egos.” Cecilia said with a smile, her hands were on his chest, they were standing very close.

“Yeah, and they better stay away from you.” Max muttered bitterly. “Fuck, I still want to punch him.”

“That makes the two of us, BUT we have a daughter to set an example for so we’ll take the high ground.” Cecilia knew that once she brought the Nathalie card Max would cave, and he knew she knew that, Cecilia giggled at the look he gave her. “Thank you for standing up for me.”

“It’s my job.” Max kissed her forehead and pulled the female in for a hug, they were both sweaty and Max still had champagne all over him but they both needed that hug. They stood there for a few minutes, before they pulled back, they had obligations to do, and both will have to talk to their teams about what happened and the FIA would have to hear about it as well. So a lot of work for both of them.

“I love you.” Cecilia said as they rounded the corner for the media pen.

“I love you too.” Max kissed the back of her hand that was laced in his before they pulled away from each other and were joined by their own team’s PR managers to go into the media pen.

TAGLIST:

@luciaexcorvus . @vellicora . @tpwkstiles . @belennasif . @eugene-emt-roe . @fanboyluvr . @fangirl125reader . @christianpulisic10 . @belennasif . @itsjustkhaos . @crashingwavesofeuphoria . @mynameisangeloflife . @mirrorball-6 . @skynel09 . @barcelonaloverf1life . @lilipiggytails . @rebelatbay . @christianpulisic10 . @ironmaiden1313 . @dark-night-sky-99 . @amalialeclerc . @bborra . @allsouls-emma . @buckybarns4life . @distancedss . @xoscar03 . @aquangxl .

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 scenario #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #my girls #max verstappen x oc #max x oc #max one shot #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1

[marvelseries19]

THE ONLY MEMORY IS US KISSING IN THE MOONLIGHT

Pairing: Mary Earps x reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: All of your memories are lost after a concussion... All but one.

A/N: First, it was meant to be a one-shot but, it turned out to be a bit too long for my liking so, in the next few days I should be able to post the second part if you want it. Despite studying to be a nurse, I have no idea how a concussion works, so, don't quote me on anything. Also, I used to play football like a hundred years ago, so, again, don't quote me on anything. I hoped to post this on Valentine's Day, but life happened, and I ended up driving my sister to get a few things, which set me back a lot. I hope you like it and I'm open to reading your feedback and your ideas if you want. I did not proofread it so, if you see a misspelled word or something... no you didn't.

Warnings: Mention of injuries mostly.

Word count: 1.4k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours]

Part one

Manchester United vs. Manchester City 

It was Derby match day, and as such, you were all nervous about it. Everyone was very determined to get another win for the team. But there was no one more determined than your fiance. Mary tended to take it very hard whenever someone got the ball past her, especially on a Derby match, and you more than anyone knew how much it affected her, having witnessed Mary's dedication and passion for the game countless times before. Her commitment to the team was unwavering, and she always gave it her all on the field. The pressure of this match only fueled her determination further, making her even more focused on stopping every shot that came her way. It was also the reason you were so committed to ensuring she could, hopefully, maintain a clean sheet.

Traveling to the stadium proceeded as usual. Before heading outside to do the field inspection, you went to the changing rooms and put away your gear. Following one of your pre-match traditions, you went hand in hand, talking about some ideas and your hopes while also giving each other sweet, supportive words.

After you were done with the inspection, everyone headed toward the changing room to start getting ready to go out for the warm-up. "Baby…" Mary came to sit next to you in your cubby, holding the physio tape out for you to take. Another one of your traditions was for you to tape her fingers before every game. You kissed each of her fingers as you taped it, taking care to get it exactly how she wanted it. "All done, baby." You leaned in to kiss her cheek before she moved to tie your boots. When you first made it a tradition, your teammates made sure to tease you relentlessly about it, but after time passed, they realized how important it was for both of you and decided to just silently admire the dedication and love each of you put into the task.

It felt like you blinked when you suddenly had to get out to the tunnel to make your entrance, but not before sharing a sweet kiss with your soon-to-be wife.

The next hour passed like a blur. Each team left it all out on the field in the first half, both being very physical about their game. By this point, the goalkeepers were the only players who had not been taken down by another player. Leaving the first time 0–0 didn't help either to calm their playing strategies.

Halftime goes as expected. The pressure of the derby weighs heavily on everyone, especially on the defensive line and Mary, since the opposite team managed to break it a few times, creating dangerous opportunities that your girlfriend was successfully able to save.

Going to the second leg of the game, you were even more determined to help Mary get a clean sheet, so when the other team got a corner kick, you were inside the penalty box to make sure that the ball didn't get past the blond's hands.

Your heart was racing while you waited for the city player to take the corner, fighting to maintain the mark on your player. All that was on your mind was keeping that ball away from the danger zone, so when the ball was finally in the air, you, along with the other players, jumped to head the ball.

That is the last thing you get to see, as your head not only collides with the other footballer's head, but since you were near the post, your head ended up hitting it too. Mary got a hold of the ball, but before she could send it far, she noticed your unmoving body. Ella, who was near you, leaned down to make sure you were okay, but if the blood on your forehead wasn't enough to scare her, your lack of response was.

The medics are rushed to the playground, worried that head injuries can become bad really fast. Mary is stuck in place, not able to do anything more than call out for you in hopes that you open your eyes.

"Baby, please just open your eyes." A nudge from Zelem takes her out of her shock, finally making her way toward you.

"We need to take her to the hospital; she's not waking up." One of the physios said as they called in the paramedics on standby at each game.

"I need to go with her," Mary said to her captain. "Go, I'll talk to the coach." With a pat on the goalkeeper's shoulder, she sent her on her way. "Let me know what happens!"

—

Mary is left in the waiting area, concerned about your condition, while you are hurried into the hospital for some scans to determine the extent of the injuries. She understands that injuries are inevitable in such a physically demanding sport, but it breaks her heart to watch the person she loves so much lying on the ground, unable to open her eyes. The blonde was struggling mightily with her tears, trying not to think of the worst-case scenario because she knew it would not help.

The remainder of the squad started to move toward the waiting room an hour later. Even though Mary wasn't crying just yet, her expression made it obvious that she was frightened about your condition, and they were all rather concerned about it.

They didn't have to wait much longer for a status report. The doctor appears through the door of the waiting room. "Y/n Y/l/n's family?"

Mary shot up from her seat. "Yes, I'm her fiance."

"I have some news; there are no signs of intracranial bleeding, which was our main concern, but she does have a pretty serious concussion, so I must warn you. She may present some loss of memory, but it will be temporary, and there is no way of knowing how much time it will take for her to recover it or how much of it she'll lose if she does at all."

"So, she's going to be okay, right?" Mary said, her voice filled with concern.

"Yes, she will need to rest a lot and take it easy for a while, but she's going to be okay." Everyone could feel the tension leave their shoulders. "Would you like to see her?"

"Yes, please." The doctor was quick to direct the blonde to your room. Mary wanted to cry at the sight of you, so small on the hospital bed and with a big bandage on your head.

"Remember that she might not know who you are just yet; just be gentle with her." The keeper could only nod to the doctor. "I'll leave you with her; if you need anything, just press the button on the side of her bed."

Mary walked next to you and held your hand in one of hers; with the other, she very gently caressed your cheek, not wanting to disturb you in any way. She was scared out of her mind. You were about to get married; you were supposed to enjoy this chapter of your life, and now you might not even remember who she was.

The first few hours were the easiest for her. The more time that passed, the more she worried. What was taking so long? The doctor had said that you would be okay; it was just a concussion.

Your teammates had tried in vain to lift her spirits, but at least they'd succeeded in getting the blonde to change out of her still-fitting team kit and take a shower.

The shower, the strong emotions of the day, and the game you had played tired her out. She fell asleep with her head resting next to your body on the bed while holding your hand for dear life.

—

Your eyelids flickered open and then shut again as soon as you noticed the room's brightness; this made the pounding sensation in your head worse. You tried moving your hand to cover your face when you felt a weight on top of it. The movement stirred Mary up, who took a second to understand what was happening.

"Baby, you're awake," Mary whispered with a mixture of relief and concern in her voice. She gently moved her head from your body and sat up, allowing you to adjust to the light. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her eyes filled with worry.

"Who are you?"

To be continued…

#Mary Earps #mary earps imagine #mary earps x reader #Manchester united wfc #mary earps x reader fluff #woso fanfic #reader insert #woso imagine #engwnt #woso fanfics

[velteris]

I’ve seen a fair amount of posts complaining about this arc in Frieren and… we are all entitled to our own opinions etc which is why I will be launching into a Defense of Frieren’s Exam Arc :) Keeping it manga spoiler free since it seems like most of these complaints are from anime-only viewers.

For me the main draw of this arc is the world building. We’ve spent all this time with Frieren and Fern as our main perspectives on magic. Because it’s Frieren, the magics we’ve been hearing about have mostly been a little silly and sweet. But now we’re finding out that 1) “mage” is largely still a combat designation, and 2) Frieren and Fern are actually incredibly jack-of-all-trades when it comes to their magic repertoire. The “magic is visualisation” part is starting to be really leant into and we’re seeing more humans as well who seem to specialise in one magic (steel flowers, rocks, clones, ice and water…) It’s cool!! It’s objectively cool! I love being able to see this range that we wouldn’t have had otherwise! Also it’s fucking fantastic to see how much of a BEAST Fern really is when compared to other human mages. And she doesn’t even seem that aware of it.

Coupled with that is being able to see different people’s philosophies toward magic. I think a lot of viewers are kind of down about the sudden huge influx of side characters who they don’t really care about. But these philosophies—Land’s maximum wait-and-watch, Wirbel and Ubel’s vastly different approaches to killing—keep expanding the world and highlighting Frieren and Fern’s own perspectives. It’s soooo good seeing them react to situations not of their own making and people not of their own kind.

We get to see human society that isn’t a village in the middle of nowhere! We get to see Frieren being forced to socialise! We get to see Fern away from her emotional support elf! We get to see how society has changed since the demon king was defeated! I love that Himmel and co ushered in an era of peace, which it is, and yet the world is still full of conflicts. Truly the story continues after the hero is finished.

To address a few specific complaints I’ve seen brought up:

Frieren isn’t about all these nonstop shounen fights.

Agreed! Which is why it’s cool as hell that Frieren’s main badass shounen strategy is “sit very still for 10 hours”. That aside? There actually hasn’t been much actual fighting. You could probably count up the minutes in which actual spells are being cast and it’ll be something like 2 minutes max in the latest ep20. And that’s because it’s not about who beats who, it’s about the philosophies, the worldbuilding, the ways of thinking about magic. This is not a power-measuring contest, much as Genau would like to make it. And the random lucky draw-ness of the Stilles only plays further into that. It is possible to pass this exam without coming into conflict with others, and certainly without battles to the death. It hasn’t ever been about the shounen fights.

The good part of the show was about the delicate melancholy and that’s totally missing here.

I agree that it’s one of the strong points. But the thing with the melancholy is that it only works when juxtaposed against other moments. A story that’s composed of a bunch of unlinked wistful slice-of-life episodes will eventually fall apart because it has no momentum, no driving force. And ten years to Ende is too long to go without at least some conflict. Also, again, ten-hour bird meditation session?

Anyway, there’s melancholy, but how sad it would be if there was nothing but introspection and wistfulness. Frieren is bringing the memories of Himmel forward with her into the future. That means she has to be moving forward, forging new relationships with unrelated people, going into situations that she hasn’t been in before. A Frieren stuck in the past would be against the themes of the show, of remembering and yet moving on.

Why should I care about them spending ages trying to catch a bird?

You don’t like Stille? 🐤 fweet?

Actually I care lots about this funky thing. Indestructible and goes supersonic fast. That’s fucking hilarious. Bird that simply cannot be contained. Genau is a dick for setting up this kind of exam when, Your Honour, my client Stille does not deserve to be imprisoned.

Too many irrelevant side characters who it’s hard to care about, and they’re gonna be thrown away at the end anyway.

Again, it’s the worldbuilding. And also, mild spoilers for stuff that won’t be covered in the anime, but at least one of these side characters does come back and we get more delicious main character development as a result. Though frankly many of these characters are deeply compelling and interesting to me so I don’t rly get this complaint. Give me more Lawine.

Where’s Himmel? What do these exams have to do with the hero party? Frieren is good because of the links to the past.

Frieren is good because of the links to the past, which affect how Frieren responds to the present. The whole point of Frieren is that Frieren’s life continues. And through her new experiences, she comes to understand and reconnect to the emotions she didn’t realise she felt about her past. I don’t care what Himmel would think of the mage exams, I care what Frieren thinks of them now. And the answer is that she doesn’t really give a damn but she’s in here anyway because Fern strongarmed her into it, and then she was forced to adopt two more kids along the way, and all of that is something she never would have done if she was still hermiting in the Central Lands. Somehow we are still getting Himmel flashbacks anyway? So? He’s still haunting the narrative guys. Just because Frieren isn’t saying “that’s what Hero Himmel would do” out loud in these circumstances doesn’t mean his ghost isn’t here.

Even so, Frieren clearly recognises the name Serie. Do not fear. There is going to be more about links to the past.

I miss Stark.

Fair enough. It’s okay, he’s just on vacation rn. Having an appy juice.

It’s taking too long. The arc is too slow.

It’s only been three episodes… I’ve seen people going “it’s already been three episodes!” but what? Really? Is that considered an excessive amount of time now?? Given the amount of story covered I think it’s quite reasonable? There’s still 8 episodes to go in which we cover the remaining exam stages. Have some patience like Frieren. The payoffs are being set up; they’ll resolve before the end of the mage exam arc. In the meantime, let’s enjoy theorising about the soft magic system and hollering for full auto Fern.

#frieren #sousou no frieren

[reasonsforhope]

Is it true some parts will be under water in 2025? I'm kinda of worried cause someone told me about it bc it was on the news

Eh, not really. Like, technically, but that's a very dramatic way to put it.

What that person told you about was probably this prediction, which says that some roads on some of the Florida Keys might be underwater by 2025.

Does that suck? Yes. But it's also pretty limited in scope.

(And by the way, that's probably not "underwater all the time." There will probably be a number of years of "the roads will be underwater at high tide specifically." I can't currently find a source on this, but that's how tides work, and the Florida Keys article does specifically mention them as a main problem.)

The areas in danger first are pretty universally small, very low islands. Actually, a dozen or so small islands have already gone underwater in the Pacific Ocean, but very importantly, none of those islands were inhabited.

They were mostly small reef islands (that is, the entire island is exposed coral reef detritus) and other uninhabited shoals. Mostly, they were so small scientists had to check old satellite images to even figure out that they disappeared. Literally, we're talking about chunks of land that are just 100 square meters/300 square feet. Again, not great, but still very limited in scope.

As this Live Science article thankfully explains, it's pretty unlikely that any countries at all will disappear before 2100.

Also, just because land is below sea level doesn't mean it will be underwater, and there are very real steps we can take to defend a lot of endangered cities/islands.

For example:

Much of the Netherlands is already below sea level, but the country isn't disappearing, because the Dutch have put a lot of work into building and maintaining coastal defenses.

Multiple surveys (including the one that found the missing islands in Micronesia) also found that not all low-lying islands are vulnerable to erosion and flooding. This is because many islands are protected by mangrove forests, lagoons, or both

Mangrove reforestation in particular is genuinely a super effective anti-flooding strategy that is being deployed pretty widely, and is expected to increase a lot in the coming years. Mangroves are effective at not only preventing short-term flooding, but also mitigating sea-level increases (in part by preventing erosion)

Some islands, esp Pacific Islands, have actually grown during the past couple decades, not shrunk. It really depends on what the island is made up of. Not all land is automatically doomed

You can read more about how sinking countries are fighting back here, and the lessons we can learn from them:

-via Time, June 13, 2019

And finally, and this is good news for reasons I'll explain in a second:

Some of the largest and wealthiest cities in the world are at the top of the danger list. (Note: the predictions at that link are based on some fairly severe warming predictions. They do NOT necessarily reflect what's going to happen or when.)

The cities that are going to be in danger the soonest (still away btw) include New York, London, San Francisco, Tokyo, and Dubai. Lots of very rich people in those cities! Who would really like to not have to move (any of their ten different homes lol)

So, flooding aside, we're going to (by necessity) get a lot better at figuring out the quickest, cheapest, most scalable, and most effective types of coastal defenses real fast.

Are rich countries going to be way more able to get strong coastal defense systems up quickly? Yes. Does that suck? Sure fucking does!! But these solutions don't all require a lot of money or tech to implement, even at a large scale, especially when it's local communities driving the effort.

And, importantly, when rich countries pour a ton of money into figuring this out, that will hugely expand our understanding of what techniques work best, why, and how best to deploy them in different situations. Unlike physical structures, that's valuable knowledge that can be shared very, very widely.

And any technology that comes out of this is going to work like solar panels and other green energy: as more people use it, it will get cheaper and cheaper. Probably really quickly.

So, all told, no one's going to be swallowed up in the next few years. We have time to work on this and a lot of people are already doing so.

Mostly, experts predict that the first wave of large-scale issues will be happening around 2050.

Three decades doesn't sound like enough time, in the face of something like this. But you know what? Responses to climate change are speeding up exponentially, and different types of responses are multiplying and magnifying each other.

We went from inventing flight to landing on the moon in just 66 years.

I wouldn't count us out of the climate change fight yet.

(...I wouldn't count on retiring to Florida either, though)

#Anonymous #sea level rise #ocean #micronesia #pacific islander #mangrove #flood #flood mitigation #ask #me #hope #it does suck but I also really do think there is hope #this post was supposed to be like 2-3 paragraphs how did it turn into an entire essay #I have too many words disease #too much nuance #hope yall appreciate the extra context lol

[sainz]

Lando's interview with Dazn Spain (and his inability to hold back his smile when talking about Carlos).

Translation:

I: Lando, congratulations for that podium! Fighting for the victory and playing those games with the DRS. Tell me, how did that go?

L: It was a tricky race. We knew it was going to be hard but we race perfectly. We did a great pitstop, we got ahead of Charles which was the first work he was to do. Then the strategy against the Mercedes after their pitstop… on paper a better strategy but then we had to overtake. I think I did a pretty good defense so they couldn’t pass me and Carlos helped me. That DRS helped me to stay ahead of George. His best race (?) was to help me and my best option was to help Carlos.

It was a good race, another podium and I’m really happy for the team, overall because of the upgrades, we tried to take a step further and that’s exactly what we did today. So really happy with the result.

I: I’m so happy for you but also for Carlos. And you saw it because you were behind him. You saw the race perfectly.

L: He did what he needed to do. He controlled the race perfectly. Sometimes he was driving really slow but again, he did what he needed to do. He was really clever and tactical. At the end I had better pace than him but not enough to overtake him because George was also 5-6 tenths faster than me, so he could have overtaken me. I was definitely not going to overtake Carlos because I was only a tenth faster than him. Carlos did a great race, I’m really happy for him, he’s been doing a great job lately: Monza, here and the last months. So congrats to him!

I: Now to celebrate. Congrats, Lando!

#carlos sainz jr #lando norris #carlando #otp: the bestest of friends

[jazzyblusnowflake]

What's your interpretation of a NuzVi fight scene?

Where all three are in a relationship, and how that would influence their strategies in combat

At first i couldnt tell if you meant like... fighting against eachother in a sparring manner or fighting against something else as a team-

but anyway uwu

In a fight scenario- V would be the main head on fighter- she has a powerful drive and focus and oddly enough has a lot of body strength put into her attacks too, giving her blows extra weigh to it- as much as shes a pretty good shot, she prefers hands on fights with claws and blades- often times Uzi and N can be the distractions for her to sneak up on enemies too- she has done this alot before in the past- sneaking up on Thad, Doll, and solver Uzi- she isnt into defense much which almost costs her several times since she keeps continuously fighting back rather than being tactful about it or retreat which may be her biggest flaw and why she needs N.

N is more into defending his teammates and long range attacks for support, hes an excellent shot if he doesnt get distracted and very quick and decisive to act immediately for protecting others. tho usually this is at the cost of his own safty so sometimes V and Uzi worry for him. he doesnt like using his claws much and usually even in sparring its hard to ask of him to use his full power on anyone cuz he doesnt want to risk actually hurting anybody. Hes a pacifist that would prefer to defend and keep an eye on the others or act as a diversion and support the others any way he can rather that being in the main fight head on unless he absolutely has to.

Uzi is a wildcard, jack of all trades, master of none, shes new to this, she gets scared easily, and her fear sometimes pushes her to a breaking point where the solver takes over. but even then, the solver goes based off her AI, shes the most tactful of the 3, shes smart and could use words just as much as fists and teeth, her aim is impeccable and she likes messing with her foes mind and scaring/threatning them just as much as fighting them. she fills up any lacking spaces that the other two may leave, if shes needed for defense, attack, support or anything else- she is quick to come up with something to make things go smoothly- she wants to keep herself and her partners safe, and might sometimes act emotionally but never impulsively.

Nobody gets to hurt their family a second time.

hope this made sense uwu

#snow rambles #murder drones #nuzi #vuzi #envuzi #biscuitbites #violetviolence #violentbitingbiscuits #snowballflo #envy #murder drones envy #goldenmemories

[silvervioletvalentine]

❣️Only love could hurt like this❣️

Pairing: max verstappenXCherrie. Word count:14k

Warnings:angst.cherries fathers death.serious miscommunication. But happy ending:))

Cherrie tried to walk away from the meeting room as fast as she possibly could without making it obvious that she was trying to run away from him, although she was sure that the unpleasant look on her face and the way that she had completely blanked him the whole time during the meeting, might have possibly gave herself away.

Hearing her assistant and close friend, Amy, whisper underneath her breath 'keep calm. Don't react please.' To her almost pleadingly as she got stopped by one of the team members before she could chase after her and make sure that Cherrie didn't cause a fight literally minutes after signing her contract.

Unfortunately for Amy, it meant that she was unable to stop Max from barging out of the room with a look of thunder on his face, quickly pacing after Cherrie , clearly ready to pick an argument with the bane of his existence.

He had spent the majority of the meeting glaring at her like he wanted to jump across the table and throttle her for even being there .

All the time she had just avoided his eyes and mainly kept quiet , humming along and nodding whenever someone spoke to her. Refusing to even look at max, even when he had stared her down the whole time with a scowl on his face.

She knew better than to fight him in front of her new team principal and team. She wasn't that stupid.

No. Instead she waited until they were far enough from everybody else, alone in a random corridor bedore abruptly stopping in her stride and spinning around on her heel to face him with a equally as pissed off glare .

"You should take a fucking picture max! Am I that irresistible that you just can't look away from me?!" She snapped at him sarcastically, crossing her arms across her chest confrontationally .

Broadening her shoulders and straightening her back as much as she could to look more intimidating, but by the twitching of his lips as he eyed her defensive posture, she could tell it didn't do much in the way of scaring him off.

It didn't help that she literally had to look up at him, max glaring down his nose at her judgmentally while she tried to remind herself to take some deep calming breaths.

That she could not attack him. That was wrong... really wrong but..

Max scoffed at her hatefully "you're such a fucking hypocrite! What happened to your unfading loyalty to ferrari? Or should we add liar along to your list of traits now too?" He spat at her, utterly furious by the way his life had just been completely turned upside down so quickly .

He had known that there had been rumours of Cherrie transferring to A different time seeing as her contract with Ferrari was up, but with the way that she had spent years driving for her fathers team, determine to win with the reds just like her dad did, max had genuinely been convinced that she would have taken the extended contract that Ferrari had practically begged her to sign.

She had been their number one driver after all and they couldn't really afford to lose her. Even with their shitty failure and terrible strategies, she had been bringing points to them.

Usually when she refused to listen to her team radio and instead did whatever she felt was right on the track instead . That was how she usually won, by ignoring them and doing her own strategy instead . Just like her legendary father had too.

Cherrie felt anger rush through her like hot lava, glaring back at him hatefully .

"Things change Max! This wasn't a decision that I just took over night. I'm just doing what's best for myself. You should understand that!" She threw back at him . Abruptly turning back around to continue getting as far away from him as possible .

Fighting back a loud groan of misery when she heard his hurried steps to catch up with her, his shoulder brushing hers as he scowled down at her , not finished with their argument yet.

Cherrie was convinced that no matter what she did or what she said, max would never leave her alone. He always had an opinion on what she did, always had to tell her it too. As though it was just impossible for him to just leave her the fuck alone instead .

She had expected this reaction from him of course, she wasn't naive. She knew that he wasn't going to be happy when he found out that she had signed a contract to become redbull's new driver. It was mostly likely a living nightmare for him.

Because it was no secret to anybody that the two of them didn't get along in the slightest. It had started from a very earlier age during karting, it had been a nasty rivalry in the making for the both of them.

It had started simply because Cherrie was dominating him in every race , with her fathers knowledge and winning practically in her blood, she was destined to become a racing champion.

She wouldn't stop until she did. It was expected of her , she had the whole legacy of her father waiting for her and there was no way in hell that she was going to step aside for anybody , definitely not max.

The two of them had spent years fighting for the title, going up in ranks and nearly matching points the whole time . Until Cherrie had finally did it, she won f2 and immediately she was signed onto Ferrari as a rookie when she was eighteen , becoming the first ever rookie to win world championship with them too.

She had been on top of the world and max didn't like it, the pressure from his father to be the best and become the champion falling heavy on his shoulders with each race that she won and had over him.

Then he had finally started to get close to beating her when redbull had given him a better car.

He was faster , he was determined and he wasn't going to let Cherrie beat him again. He just couldn’t.

Unfortunately while he was so determined to win, so locked in his own head that it was almost like he wasn't racing against any other drivers , he didn't care about them, he just wanted to beat Cherrie .

Which had led to him making some unforgivable mistakes and errors of judgment on his part, ones that he would never admit out loud that he regretted.

So lost in his own cloud of winning, so stubborn and determine not to let Cherrie beat him again, so sick of seeing the look of disgust and disappointment on his fathers face when she passed him over the finish line again and again, even with her shitty car.

Knowing that he had the power behind him to win , he had a better engine and a better team. Yet for some reason , Cherrie just seemed to pass him Each time like it was as easy as breathing to.

He had gotten frustrated and angry, more so at himself and the pressure that was being put on him to become the greatest. To beat her. That he had let the anger and resentment cloud his judgment and his morals.

The day that max had sent her spinning off the track , refusing to let her pass him on a sharp corner of the Spanish Grand Prix , had done nothing but make their animosity and hatred of each other get worse .

The look on her face when she finally pulled herself out of her car at the same time he did, the two of them glaring at each other with nothing but hatred in their eyes. Was the day that any hopes of the two ever being friendly went to absolute shit.

The battle had then become between the two of them instead .

They went wheel to wheel , both of them refusing to let the other one pass them which resulted in them crashing more than a couple of times. Because max would rather that they both lose than let her win him again.

So sick of hearing the ridicule and disbelief that was aimed at him when she stood first on the podium with a proud smirk on her face , a sea of red below her chanting her second name proudly .

The two had clashed so badly that their team had taken to making sure that the both of them were separated from each other as much as possible, only it was a pretty difficult thing to achieve when they both had to go to the cooling room together and then they both got podium .

That was also the first time that the world got to witness the bitterness between the two of them and how bad it really was.

It was also the first time that Cherrie had punched him on live tv. And It was also the first time that they got to hear max call her a conceited , narasstic , evil bitch to her face too.

Safe to say that they had both been given a hefty fine and forced to take anger mamnegmnt classes with a therapist for a couple of weeks.

It hadn't done much for their fury towards each other. Cause the a couple of weeks after that alteration , they had been caught screaming at each-other in the paddock again. Both of them refusing to admit which one was wrong after colliding again on the tracks.

It had gotten to the point where seeing the two top drivers verbally assaulting each other was just another day for everyone around them. Their teams having given up on trying to keep them separated and telling them to behave.

Instead they just sighed and muttered at them not to take it to a blood bath instead.

So yes. The two were not friends .

So the news of her being his new teammate , the same woman that did nothing but get underneath his skin and make him so fucking angry that he couldn't think straight, was now the woman that he was going to race side by side with, in the same fuckimg car, as a team?!

Yes, he was a little pissed.

He couldn't believe his luck at all. She had spent years beating him but the one thing that max always held onto to make himself feel better was the fact that he had the better car. Had the better team around him now.

And now she had to take that from him too?

"You have spent years trash talking redbull and now you're joining us?! Why not Mercedes?! I know they wanted you too!" It was true. In fact, every team wanted her, she was one of the best. Besides him of course.

So why did she have to chose redbull? Was she trying to ruin his life even more than she already did?!

Cherrie rolled her eyes, pulling a destained face at him. "No. I spent years trash talking you. Not your car! And I don't have to explain myself to you. I did what I had to do. End of!" She snapped at him before shoving past him, making sure she pettily bashed her shoulder against his arm roughly as she did so.

Max wasn't having it.

Scoffing loudly as he paced beside her , easily catching up as she stomped over to the nearest exit door possible.

"This is unbelievable." He stated more to himself disbelievingly . Wondering if he was really that evil in his past life to deserve this.

She lived rent free in his fucking mind when she was on a completely different team. How the hell was he supposed to cope as her teammate?

Feeling both anger and uneasiness fill his chest, knowing that only one of them would come out on top. They both couldn't be redbull's number one .

And statistically it was shown that out of the two of them, Cherrie was the winning one between them.

He blamed the fact that her father was literally a legend in formula one.

The man has been a sixth time world champion , dominating the sport like it was as easy as breathing to him. And the only reason why he still wasn't champion of the world was because life had cruelly took him away during a accident on the track .

But before he had died he had spent years teaching his little daughter , his only child, every single thing he knew making sure that she would grow up and continue to proudly bare his legacy and make their name stay legendary.

Her future had been destined . She had known what she was going to be since the moment she could walk and talk and be out into that kart .

And what did max have? A father that never believed in him. A father that had never told him that he could be world champion. One that only ever wanted anything to do with him when he was winning.

If he didn't bring home a tital or a win, then in his fathers eyes, he didn't deserve to even speak to him, he was a disappointment.

It only furthered to fuel his misguided anger towards Cherrie.

She had everything. She always had. She always came first and had everything that he ever wanted.

It wasn't fair.

Then he thought of her last teammate who was no doubt utterly heartbroken at her move and scoffed even louder.

Scrunching up his face bitterly "and I bet your human backpack is crying his heart out somewhere over the news. I doubt he's taking this well." Max sniped , taking a jab at their constant closeness to one another.

Another thing that he just couldn't stand. While max had to do this alone, barely making any friends and without anyone by his side to celebrate his wins.

Cherrie had everyone on her side. Because everybody loved her. She was the daughter of a racing legend , she was adored by all.

Every driver loved her. Max couldn't go a day without hearing someone gush about her and he had unfollowed her teammate on all socials the minute he started posting pictures of the two of them doing everything together . Holidays . Cooking videos. Cute little selfies in a hot tub together .

He decided then that he hated him too. It just wasn't fair at all.

How could he have been stuck with the shortest straw like this?

Cherrie looked over at him blankly , confusion taking away the need to kill him for a moment as she blurted out a "huh?" Wondering what the hell he was talking about.

Human backpack? What the fuck?

Max just smirked at her coldly , shaking his head as though he thought she was playing stupid.

There was no way that she didn't know who he was referring too. In fact, max was surprised that he wasn't right there beside her glued to her side while they argued too.

"I'm just saying . Charles can't be very happy with you leaving him on his own. Who is he going to cling to now?" He muttered bitterly , looking away from her striking eyes for a moment when her glare became too much for him to hold his gaze with.

Cherrie immediately shoved at his shoulder at his insult towards Charles , face darkening .

"Don't fucking talk about him like that. He has nothing to do with this." She spat at him.

Protective of the Ferrari driver that she had been lucky enough to grow close to over the years. They had become best friends and Cherrie had become incredibly protective over him.

And honestly one of the only reasons to why she had stayed clinging onto ferrari for so long was because she didn't want to leave him on his own to deal with all the shit that came along with their team.

He wasn't as mentally strong as she was. He was a people pleaser and didn't like to upset people, which meant he often let people upset him instead , not saying a word about his own feelings , not wanting to cause a scene.

That was where Cherrie had come in and where the two of them had become a good team. Because Cherrie wasn't afraid of opening her mouth and putting people in their rightful place . She didn't care who she had to upset .

If someone fucked her over then she made sure that her wrath was known. And over the years she had made sure that the team knew that if they fucked over Charles too, she would have their heads on a fucking flag pole, waving it at any other asshole who dared to piss her off again.

So yes, she was worried about Charles being on his own to defend himself now.

And she felt guilty about her sudden move to the 'dark side' but she had to be selfish for once . She wasn't going to keep winning if she stayed with Ferrari and she wasn't going to let her father down.

If he was looking down at her , she wanted to make him proud. And she knew that he would want her to do the right thing and Cherrie knew that this was it.

Ferrari had left her no other choice but to leave.

"And anyways, he's been very supportive . Because he's a good guy who wants whats best for me." She added on defensively . Not liking the way max was looking at her at her like she was a liar.

He couldn't have rolled his eyes any harder if he tried . Shaking his head in disbelief "yeah fucking right. Who's going to have your little boyfriends back now? I'm fact, I'm surprised that he's not begging for a contract with redbull too. Seeing as he never fucking leaves your side!" He exclaimed looking over at her judgmentally .

Because he was certain that the two of them were not 'just friends'. They were too close and too familiar with each other.

Max had seen the way that Charles lit up just at the sight of her . Hell, they even spent Christmas with his family! He had seen the cozy pictures of the two of them in matching pjs in front of a Christmas tree, hugging each other's side with matching smiles on their faces.

It was ridiculous. And every time that max saw the two of them giggling together, seemingly in their own little bubble where no one else existed, he wanted to be sick.

Because once again. It wasn't fair at all!

Cherrie wanted to strangle him.

Taking in a deep breath to calm the urge to go absolutely mental at him.

Instead she strided out into the parking lot and tried not to imagine hitting him with her car.

"He's not my boyfriend." Was all she muttered , absolutely done with his shit as she dug her car keys out of her pocket . Looking around the spaces as she tried to remember where she had parked her car.

Max got his own out of his pocket two, not even thinking about it as he gave her a little shove on her back to get her to walk in the direction of where her Ferrari was parked. Right next to his.

"You'd think you'd have better memory dipshit. And there is one thing that you and your boyfriend have in common ... you can't park for shit!" He insulted her, glancing pointedly at her car that was parked sideways over the white line, taking up two spots instead of one.

Cherrie looked at her parking and tongued her cheek , unable to disagree with him. Despite how much she wanted too.

He was right . Parking was not her strong suit, which was ironic considering her job.

Instead she just muttered a moody "shut up." And got into her car.

There was a long moment where they both just looked at eachother as she turned on her engine , bedore she slid some sunglasses over her eyes and looked away.

Max cleared his throat bedore forcing his eyes away from her, feeling uncomfortable as he opened the door to his car quickly and quickly got in.

Rolling Down his window so she could hear him , pushing away the strange feeling they came over him, instead he took on a bored tone .

And told her "don't forget the conference on Friday. We're not Ferrari. So don't show up late otherwise you'll make us all look bad." He condescendingly snided. Referring to her inability to arrive on time to any meeting ever.

Immediately all her distain for him came rushing back as she scoffed angrily at him.

Reviving her engine loudly "I will not be late asshole!" Was all she spat before quickly reversing out of her spot carelessly , almost crashing into a trash can bedore she sped out of there , her wheels screeching .

Leaving max to shake his head with a small chuckle to himself as he carefully put out his car , reversing perfectly .

"Can’t park and can't reverse either. Surprised she can actually drive a car." He muttered to himself in amusement bedore driving away.

Hoping that his new teammate and himself didn't kill eachother before the season ended.

Cherrie showed up late to the press conference. Because of course she did.

She sheepishly walked into the room, the cameras clicking as she avoided Max's smug expression , not looking at any of them as she slid carefully into her seat beside him.

Nodding at the press reluctantly , putting her bottle of water on the table. Smiling a little to herself as she glanced down at the vinyl picture of her and Charles on it that a fan had given her .

Had she brought it with her to spite max a little after his comments about Charles and her being too close?

Maybe.

Did she care? No.

Had she been warned not to provoke or start any shit up with max for her own entertainment? Also Yes.

Was she going to listen?

Absolutely not.

"Sorry I'm late . I didn't want to come." She spoke into the small microphone stand in front of her, grinning at them to let them know that she was just joking.

A little bit.

Her media manager, in charge of making sure she didn't do or saying anything wrong to the press that could get her into trouble , face palmed . Already knowing that Cherrie was not about to do as she was told at all.

Max eyed her water bottle with a grimace , crossing his arms over his chest and silently shaking his head to himself . Deciding to be the better behaved one out of the two.

To prove they he was the more mature one out of them, he smiled over at her deliberately knowing that it would piss her off.

"Nice to see you finally arrive. You look good in blue." He slyly said as he eyed her blue redbull shirt that she was wearing . Before looking at her head and realising that she was missing something.

He picked up his own hat that had number 1 written across it. From him winning world champion last year . Only by a single point between the two of them, something that max liked to smugly remind her of.

He reached over and placed his redbull champions cap ontop of her head, winding her up.

"Can't forget the hat. We'll have to get a runners up one for you." He smirked . Ignoring his own team sharing exasperated looks between each other .

"Not even a minute in and they're already starting." Amy sighed to Max's assistant, not surprised at all.

Cherrie picked the hat off her head and threw it at him , hard. Watching it bounce off his head and onto the floor with a little satisfaction.

But not enough.

Max only laughed and picked his hat back up, placing it back on his head smugly .

"Fuck off you twat!" She snapped at him before she could stop herself. Using the new swear word that lando had taught her over the summer .

She liked it. She thought that it was a name that she could call max regularly now.

Then she heard the clicking of cameras and both amused and shocked muttering of the press in front of them, swiftly reminding her of where she was.

Slowly turning her head to look at them. Clearing her throat a little guiltily , she leaned back into her chair and smiled as innocently as possible.

"Sorry. What were you saying?" She directed her question over to the man with the microphone who had been trying to ask her a question before max distracted her.

The man looked between the two of them warily. Everyone seeing the way that max was smirking over at her , clearly amused with how easy it was to wind her up. While Cherrie was trying to ignore him all together.

If I don't look at him, then he isn't there. Cherrie told herself over and over again.

"I was saying... that it has come as a big surprise to everyone when redbull announced you as their new driver . With people expecting you to extend your contract with Ferrari. It's said that they even offered you twice as much for you to stay on with them and that you turned it down. Is that true?" He asked her , camera's filming her steadily .

Cherrie fiddled with her water bottle , slowly nodding her head yes.

She knew that she was going to be getting a lot of backlash for her sudden move from the team that her father had won his last championship with. She knew that people expected her to stay with them out of loyalty and legacy.

But she just couldn't do it anymore. So people would just have to get used to it.

She didn't care what anyone thought of her move , she was doing what was right for her in the long run.

You had to be selfish If you wanted to win. Loyalty to a team that was rapidly falling apart wouldn't get her the championship.

"They did. And I said no. No amount of money could make me want to continue to drive a car that is no longer suited to me ." She confirmed to them simply , glancing over at her press officer to see her nodding her head at her , telling her that she had said the right thing.

The man looked surprised "your father spent ten years with Ferrari. And won all of his world championships with them too. Do you not want to follow in his footsteps? Some would say that Ferrari was literally in your blood. Your destiny-"

Cherrie cut him off before he could say anything more about her father and her destiny in the same sentence.

"My destiny is to win." She corrected him shortly , lacing her fingers together and reminding herself to be calm. "And I can't win in a car that isn't fast enough and isn't powerful enough for me to pass the finish line with. The Ferrari just wasn't what I needed anymore." She told them honestly, not feeling a need to lie.

It was a secret to no one that she hadn't been very happy with her car for a long time. She had told her team so and told the press too on multiple occasions that it wasn't up to her standard anymore .

It had literally been falling apart on the track and Cherrie simply couldn't take it anymore.

Because while her father had won in a Ferrari , they seemed to forget that he also died in one too.

She didn't want to repeat history that way. And when she had to drag herself out of her car when her engine had caught fire last year without warning, she had made her decision there and then.

She wanted to be like her dad, but she didn't want to go out like him either.

Max was silently nodding along to what she was saying , understanding where she was coming from.

He hated to admit it but she was right.

The reporter was frowning "the team principal did say that they were working on improving the Ferrari and making sure that there wasn't a repeat of last years failures . Was that not enough reassurance to convince you to stay?" He followed up with , everyone silent as they waited for her answer.

Cherrie just looked at him blankly , shaking her head.

"No it wasn't. I told them before last year that they either got their shit together and fixed the car and gave me something good to drive ... or i wasn't driving it at all. I gave them the data, I gave them my advice and my options. I told them what to do and they couldn't do it." She bluntly answered, done sugarcoating how much shit she had to deal with while driving for the red team.

She wasn't going to beat around the bush anymore , Ferrari had done this to themselves. She was done.

She took a sip of her water and swallowed before continuing . "- and ya know, it doesn't matter how good of a driver you are. If you've been given a shit

Box that it literally falling apart and you have a team that are giving you soft tires instead of hard and giving you strategy's that make no sense.." she sighed in annoyance "well, you can't win at all."

Max smiled a little , looking over at her in slight amusement .

"So you tried to blackmail them into giving you a better car?" He mused .

Cherrie just nodded her head , barely glancing at him.

"Yeah. And it didn't work so.." she just shrugged , nothing more to say.

The reporter nodded and moved on, looking over to max instead .

"And how about you max? How are you feeling about having Cherrie as your new teammate this year? It's no secret that there's a bit of rocky history between you two..." he voiced the obvious .

Looking between the two of them curiously , wondering how a partnership between the two rivals could possibly work.

Max took a moment to think about his answer , knowing that telling him that 'this was the worse thing to ever happen to him' wouldn't help the tension at all.

He decided to be strategic about his reply , clearing his throat and sitting straighter in his seat again, keeping a calm facade .

"There is. We have always fought against each other on the track ..." he agreed bedore adding "but she is also a good driver and a former champion.." he couldn't help the little dig at his dethroning of her title .

Cherrie subtly rolling her eyes at him.

"But maybe we will be able to work together to keep others away. And bringing another win home to redbull. We are rivals second but a team first now. And I'm sure that we can remain professional and do what's best for the team." He simply answered. Doubting his own words even as he said them.

Cherrie nodded along in agreement .

"Yeah.. it's not me that you have to worry about."

She couldn't help but mutter, side eyeing him.

Max frowned at her "I'm not the problem either. Who-"

The man quickly butted in before they could start bickering about who the one with the issues was.

"And do you think that you two can put your differences aside and become reliable teammates? Do you trust max to have your back Cherrie?"

She just pursed her lips and picked up her water bottle with her and Charles on it, then she casually reached her arm out and knocked his redbull water bottle off the table.

Placing hers in its place instead.

All the while smiling innocently "if he looks out for me then I will do the same. If he doesn't give me the support then he will not receive it from me either." She told them simply, looking over at max pointedly , meaning it too.

She didn't want to have a teammate that was an enemy. But she wasn't going to trust him without any evidence of him wanting the same thing.

"Time will just have to tell I suppose.." was all she ended with when max didn't say anything else in return.

Merely clenching his jaw and glaring down at the picture of her and Charles on her bottle in front of him.

Reaching down to pick up his own bottle that only had his name written across it. Nothing personal at all.

It wasn't fair. Was all he could keep thinking.

Looking away from the picture of the the former teammates and best friends , swallowing the sudden ball he felt rising in his throat.

When was he going to get someone to support him like that?

Why couldn't he have what she had? What more did he have to do to prove himself?

The next two months we're spent with nothing but tension and avoidance . The two teammates not eager to get along as their history threatened to tear them apart before they even began.

Cherrie struggled to let max pass her when he was clearly able to push more than she was, and max just couldn't let her pass him without a fight either.

Both of the drivers ignoring their team radios instructions to let the other through, instead taking it upon themselves to see which one of them would pass the waving flag first.

Wheel to wheel and risking all their hard work for Petty rivalry , bickering between each other on the podium and refusing to give in and start again.

Things were tense and max was struggling to contain his overwhelming emotions as he crossed the line, pursing his lips beneath his helmet as he swallowed thickly .

She had won. Again.

Easily overtaking him on the last lap, he had fought and fought to take back his place and was unable to do so no matter how much he tried.

Pulling up in front of the p2 sign, he switched off his engine and just sat there for a moment. Silently watching as Cherrie pulled herself up out of the car and jumped into the arms of their celebrating team, all of them so happy and proud of her as she brought them more points again.

She had won every single race so far. Max always just half a second behind her. Just like when they were kids.

He wanted to scream.

Instead he blinked back the tears in his eyes , already knowing that his dad would have left the moment that Cherrie overtook him and it became clear who was going to win, again.

He was on his own.

He took in a deep breath and lifted the wheel, pulling himself out of the car and onto the ground.

Being immediately patted on the back by their team, he merely nodded his head absentmindedly , still watching Cherrie as she jumped up and down in excitement , laughing happily at yet another win.

He felt some of his anger fade as he watched her look around the crowd, clearly overwhelmed with the way the fans were all screaming her name. Even the Ferrari fans were clapping, proud of her.

He pulled off his gloves and looked away, ready to walk off to the go to the cooling room alone.

Only for his eyes to widened in shock as she looked over to him, waving her hand for her him to wait up as she jogged over to him while pulling off her helmet , max doing the same cautiously.

Wondering if they were about to have another argument about the way they had fought it out on the track yet again.

Only to be surprised and frozen in shock as he watched her lips tilt up and smile at him happily.

"That was a good race! That overtake you did on Hamilton was just -" she made a chefs kiss with her fingers . Too filled with adrenaline to see how he shocked he was at her suddenly talking to him.

Usually she just ignored him and ran over to Charles to celebrate. But not this time.

Max felt pressure in his chest, clearly his throat and looking away from her for a moment.

Flushing a little at the amazed look on her face as she rambled on about his manoeuvre , his shock only growing when she casually walked alongside him to the cooling room.

"Er thank you." He muttered not knowing what else to say to her sudden compliment. Wondering if he was dreaming.

He wiped his face down with a towel and took a sip of his drink, looking at the screens that replayed the moments between them in the track.

Watching a replay of the way she had gone wide at the corner and smoothly passed him without even coming close to him, he sighed and had to give it to her.

"You raced good.that was a smart move that you did out there. I didn't even notice you behind me , I just blinked and you passed me." He mumbled a little quietly . Not used to talking to her like this.

He was so used to them arguing and insulting eachother that he wasn't sure how to be normal around her.

It made him feel uneasy and he felt his stomach flip as she looked over at him with another easy smile, patting him on the back happily as she reached over him to grab the first place cap from the table and putting it on top of her sweaty head proudly.

"I know right?" She laughed a little, still out of breath as she tried to calm down.

Seeing their team motion for them to get to the podium , shaking hands with Lewis on the way who came third place behind max.

Max just nodded at him respectfully , jogging over to catch up with Cherrie so that they were side by side , he looked down at her quietly. Still not knowing how to take her sudden niceness towards him.

His words were hesitant as he muttered "are you- are you going to the party after this? We got 2 for 2 so I'm sure it'll be quite a big one ." He wasn't even sure why he was mentioning it to her.

He was reminded quickly of why he didn't usually even bother asking her if she was coming along as she shook her head with a smile, her eyes no longer looking at him , instead she was searching the crowd below them for someone else.

Max watched her whole face light up as she spotted Charles waving up at her with a proud smile on his face despite not getting podium himself, feeling his mood crash down again.

"I always celebrate with Charles . We're gonna get some dinner and then hang out with the rest of our friends at the hotel . Do you-" she was about to turn back to him and ask him if he wanted to come along but she was cut off before she could even try.

Max scoffed and moved away from her quickly , not looking at her as he shook his head .

"Typical. Putting your little boyfriend over your team. You're still Ferrari." He snapped at her bitterly , his anger overtaking him before he could even notice the way she had been about to invite him along with a hopeful smile.

Her face dropped, any niceness Quickly dissipating as she glared at him , shoving away the sting she felt at his reaction. Suddenly glad that she hadn't gotten the chance to invite him along If this was his reaction .

"Forget it max. I was just trying to be nice." She mutteeed , looking away from him with a upset frown.

Max felt the pressure in his chest almost crush him, unable to look at her anymore. Convinced that he would never get his chance.

"Well don't be. I don't need you to pretend to be nice to me. I'm not your friend. So fuck off." He snapped at her, walking away bedore he could see the hurt that crossed her face and the way she pursed her lips to stop them from trembling.

Fine. She thought to herself meeting Charles concerned eyes and plastering a fake smile onto her face. Giving him a thumbs up to assure him that she was okay.

Fuck him. She thought angrily . He didn't deserve her kindness anyways .

Unable to believe that for a moment she had actually wanted to be his friend .

When the Monaco race rolled around, there was a somber yet determined mood taking over Cherrie as she solemnly walked the track that had taken her fathers life so many years ago.

Everyone else knew to leave her alone to her silent grief, everybody but Charles who knew just what she was feeling as they both slowly came to a stop at the sharp corner , both glancing over to the gate that had fresh flowers tied to it. It was covered in them and covered in sweet messages that the fans had left too.

She sighed softly , leaning her head against Charles arm as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

Both of them quiet as he rested his head against the sides of hers , reflecting. His hand rubbing soothing circles over her back , waiting for her to speak patiently . Knowing that she would when she was ready.

Finally she spoke up, voice hardly above a whisper , familiar pain filling her voice .

"I miss him." She simply admitted , kneeling down to the gate and picking up one of the pictures that had been left beside some flowers.

Feeling herself choke up as she stared tearfully down at the picture of her father and herself at only eight years old, him holding her on his shoulders on the podium with the biggest of smiles on their faces.

The last race that he ever won.

She remembered the day she lost him like it was yesterday . Remembered the way her father had confidently told her that he was going to win their home race without any problems , taking her over to his car and letting her sit inside of it as he knelt down beside her proudly.

She had been eight years old and the light of her fathers life . His future .

He had gently stroked her hair away from her eyes and told her proudly .

"You're going to win this race too someday. In fact, you're going to win them all. Just like me." He had said it so matter of factly.

Believing in her so strongly that even being so young then, she believed his words too.

"I'm gonna be like you daddy. Do you think that we can win together? Then we can both be on the podium!" She had exclaimed excitedly , beaming up at him. Thrilled at the mere thought of being able to race alongside her own father someday.

He had always told her that he wouldn't retire until he was forced too. He was still in the prime of his life with no future of stopping.

Her dad had smiled fondly at her, lifting her out of the car and holding her in his arms.

He had kissed her still chubby cheeks and promised her.

"I'm going to be right there beside you. Every step of the way. Cause I love you . No matter what you do and what you achieve. You're always going to be my star okay?" He had said it with so much love and conviction , smiling down at her with care.

Cherrie had been passed over to his assistant as the crew surrounded him, watching him with wide eyes so full of amazement and awe as he pulled on his helmet and pulled himself inside the Ferrari .

He had gave her a thumbs up , clutching the wheel in his steady hands. Taking a deep breath and looking at her one last time .

"I love you daddy! You're going to win!" She had giggled at him unknowingly , waving her hands excitedly as she watched the car be pushed out the garage and over to the line.

Then she had been lead back with the crew and been seated on a chair in front of all the screens that showed the race happening, headphones put over her ears so she could hear everything. So fascinated by everything that surrounded her.

Then she had watched , at just eight years old as her fathers teammate tried to overtake him at the sharp corner where it was only big enough for one car to come through.

Their wheels had made contact and she had watched with tears in her eyes as her fathers car flew into the air , spinning and spinning bedore crashing into the barrier , immediately crushed into pieces as everything fell ontop of the remains of the Ferrari.

There had been shocked and horrified silence as she had listened to her fathers engineer repeatedly asked him if he was okay over the radio. Everyone watching with tears in there eyes as the minutes passed by and he didn't get out .

Her father didn't answer the radio , there was nothing but static silence as she had started to cry hysterically as she watched the medics pull out her fathers unmoving body, shaking their heads sorrowfully as they placed him on a stretcher and covered him with a sheet.

She never saw her father again.

He didn't win the race.

He didn't make it out of Monaco Alive.

He was gone. Just like that.

For years she has lived with his words of belief in her head, encouraging her to make him proud. To carry on her fathers legacy.

"I'm going to win this race. I'm going to win for him just like he told me I could." She breathed out to Charles determinedly . This meaning so much to her .

She had to win. For him.

Charles smiled at her softly , squeezing her close as he gently kissed the side of her head proudly .

"And you will. You can do anything you want to do Cherrie. I believe in you." He told her with a heartfelt smile, meaning every word.

Both of them unaware of the cameras filming them and her teammate watching them on the large screen with his chest tightening as he watched Cherrie wrapped her arms around cherries and kiss his cheeks, smiling up at him with softness written across her face as they whispered to each other .

To him it looked like a lovers embrace . Like two people that were so in love that they couldn't help but show the world .

He felt sick. He felt angry. He felt so frustrated that he turned away from the screen with a scowl, fingers tightening into fists as he stormed away to get ready for the race .

All sense of rationality leaving him as he saw red. All he could picture in his mind was Cherrie and Charles embracing each other , smiling at each other like they were each other's whole world.

He felt bitter determination fill him, anger fuelling his steps. He was going to win this race and prove her wrong.

He didn't care. He didn't need her as his teammate. He could win all on his own.

Her winning steak was over.

Cherrie could feel her heart racing as she flew down the straight , sparks flying from her wheels as the laps seemed to pass her by. Minutes feeling like mere seconds as she clutched onto her wheel tightly, blocking out every single distraction possible as she focused on keeping her place.

She was neck to with max, Lewis and charles not too far behind her as they all fought to pass each other, Cherrie managing to keep her corners tight as she clung to the back of her teammate in front of her.

Hearing her team come over her radio as the laps narrowed down quickly , only a few more left to go.

She felt adrenaline fill her as she heard their strategist speak, a certain pride filling his voice , everyone knowing that this was her moment to win.

This was her home race. This was the moment that she could make her father proud.

Everybody was holding their breaths and praying as they watched her close the gap between herself and max quickly , easily gaining on him.

"We've told max to let you past . He can defend and keep the Mercedes from your back. You can push- just two more laps-" he told her bedore pausing .

Cherrie heard multiple voices of her team, sounding confused and angry as they muttered between themselves . Sounding unhappy .

"What's going on? I can push! I am faster! I can do it!" She breathed out bedore inhaling sharply and only managing to avoid a Collasion between herself and max as he suddenly went wide, blocking her from getting through.

She felt anger light her up, panic also filling her too as her front wheel grew closer and closer to his.

"What is he doing?! I can win! I need to -" she gasped , heart pounding in her chest as she rapidly flickered her eyes between Max's car and the sharp corner that was quickly approaching them at the end of the track.

The same corner where her father had lost his life.

She felt her heart sink to her stomach as her engineer came over the radio, sounding both angry and upset as he informed her of what was happening.

"He's refusing to let you past Cherrie . He's ignoring team orders. I'm so sorry but you need to pull back to avoid-" he apologetic voice only enraged her further.

"No!no! No!" She shouted upset . Shaking her head and ignoring him telling her to pull back

"This is -" she choked in her words , both panic and rage filling her.

"I have to win this! My dad-" she couldn't even finish her pleading . Too upset to think straight .

She needed to win this race. She was so close - she just had to get passed max. She could do this without him.

If he wasn't going to let her past then she would make him.

She couldn't lose this race. She couldn't-

So with nothing but anger and grief filling her , she Ignored her frantic team over her radio and pressed full throttle as they came around the corner .

"Please max!" She shouted over the radio knowing that he couldn’t hear her. Expecting him to pull aside and let her pass.

He knew how much this meant to her. He knew what had happened here in monaco. He knew!

She could only watch in what felt like slow motion as max jolted his steering wheel . But instead of pulling away from her, he took the inside of the corner , giving her no time to pull away as their front wheels collided , sparks flying in the air.

Then she was flying.

Her car spinning off the track and turning around and around , clutching her fists to her chest as she gasped and cried out , her body rattling around from the sheer force as her car crashed into the exact gate that her father had crashed into all those years ago.

She saw the flower of memorials raining down onto of her car , petals falling all around her as the car finally came to a horrifying stop.

Then there was stillness .

She felt absolutely nothing but numbness as she glanced down at the picture that she had taped beside her wheel . The same picture that had been left with the flowers of her and her father , the last photo she had of them together on the podium.

She had taped it there for good luck.

As she looked at her fathers smiling face looking back at her, she swallowed.

Hearing the frantic calls of her team over the radio begging her to be okay.

The race hosts gasping in disbelief as they bellowed

"This is unbelievable! Serious de ja vu as Cherrie has been forced off the track by her own teammate! Crashing into the corner in the exact same spot where her fathers tragic accident took place! This hurts to watch- I hope she's okay!"

She inhaled deeply as she cut off her engine. Blankly looking at the photo of her dad one last time before looking away.

Exhaling shakily as she finally responded to their desperate calls.

"Are you okay Cherrie?! Please tell us that you're okay! Medics are on the way!"

She glanced over to the other crashed redbull that had spun off to the opposite side of the track, watching as max pulled himself out quickly.

His helmet covered head quickly turning in her direction , she swallowed , tears clouding her vision.

"I lost." Was all she could breath out in misery as the realisation that she was out of the one race that she needed to win.

She couldn't make her father proud.

She had lost.

Because of max.

There was a loud sigh of relief "that doesn't matter right now Cherrie. We are so happy that you're okay! Can you get out of the car?" He rushed out worriedly, everybody getting horrific flashbacks to her father dying in that very same spot.

Cherrie didn't answer.

Instead she just exhaled shakily, not even looking up as a shadow came over her.

Max heavy breathing heard as he knelt beside her car hurriedly , desperation filling his voice as he felt panic take over him.

"Are you okay?!" He rushed out in panic . Overcome with guilt as it finally crashed down on him what he had just done .

Swallowing down the lump in his throat as he looked at all the broken up flowers that surrounded her, before his eyes settled on the picture of her and her father taped beside her wheel.

Remorse making him feel sick to his stomach as he reached out his hands for her to grab so that he could pull her out.

"Cherrie please-"

She slapped his hands away violently and pulled herself out without his help. Unable to even look at him as anger finally took its rightful place.

"Don't fucking touch me." She spat at him.

Shoving at his shoulders roughly sending him a few steps back as he quickly lifted up his visor so he could see her, his own eyes pooling with tears as he saw the heartbreak in her eyes as she looked over to her crashed car.

"I'm so sorry. I am so fucking sorry! I wasn't thinking and I just - I-" he stammered to explain his stupid actions.

Not knowing how to admit that he had been so fucking upset and angry at never coming first. At never having anyone by his side.

That jealously had overcome him as soon as he saw her and Charles cosied up to each other on the track together when he had been just about to head out to find her and make sure that she was okay.

Wanting to be the one to comfort her. Wanting to be there for her . Wanting to apologise for the way he had been behaving because he was bitter and jealous and she had everything he wanted including herself .

But his anger had gotten the best of him and he was forced to face the consequences of his careless actions again.

Only this time it was worse, he didn't think that she would forgive him for this.

He didn't think that he could forgive himself either.

"I just wanted to make him proud." Was all she muttered , chewing on the inside of her cheek as she wrapped her arms around herself . Feeling like she was heading into a state of shock.

Max exhaled shakily , taking another step towards her and feeling his own heart crack as she took another away from him. Still not looking at him.

"You have - this isn't your fault. I shouldn't have - I didn't mean to! God Cherrie! I am so fucking sorry! You have to believe me-!" He was babbling away barely making any sense as he started to cry, the guilt nearly killing him.

Cherrie just shook her head and finally glanced his way, and the way she looked at him made him freeze in his spot as medics rushed over to them.

There was nothing but hatred in her eyes as she told him calmly , voice void of any emotion.

"I hate you." Before she was pulled away by the medics .

Leaving him to stand there with his heart at his feet, sobbing into his helmet as it all came crashing down around him.

She meant it. He felt it.

And he loved her.

Yet he had let his own insecurities and anger ruin it again.

She hated him.

But he hated himself more then.

Cherrie didn't look at him for a month straight .

She Didn't speak to him unless it was absolutely necessary.

Max had tried almost everyday to apologise to her , to speak to her to try and fix everything. The guilt making him unable to sleep at night, flashes of their crash replaying in his mind.

Everybody hated him for it. He knew they did.

He had almost killed her. He had crashed into her the same way her father had lost his life by his own teammate so long ago.

He couldn't forgive himself. He didn't want to.

He just wanted her to look at him again. Even if it was just to shout at him, to scream at him- to hit him and hurt him.

To do anything . As long as she looked at him again he didn't care what she did to him.

He finally got his chance to speak to her on his own birthday .

He was spending it alone, declining the persistent texts from his friends and from the team to go out and have some fun with them.

He told them that he had a headache . That he wasn't in the mood but to have a drink on him.

Then he shut off his phone and curled up in his bed , blankly staring up at the ceiling of the hotel room as he felt the numbness sink deep in his chest.

He was alone and it was all his fault .

Then as the sky's darkened and he finally managed to pull himself up in the bed , he heard rapid knocking at his door. It didn't stop even when he shouted at them to go away.

Then he froze as he heard her annoyed voice echo loudly through the door.

"Open the fucking door max before I kick it down!" She threatened him impatiently , balancing two bags between her arms with a huff.

Max hurried over to the door and quickly swung it open, looking down at her with wide eyes, shocked at the sight of her .

"Cherrie?" He gasped . Looking at her in amazement , wondering if he was dreaming .

She just rolled her eyes at him and pushed past him into the room. Huffing at him unhappily.

"What are you doing?" She demanded to know as she glanced around at his pity party. Seeing multiple empty plates and empty cans of red bull stacked up on the bedside tables.

His room was a mess. She took a glance back at his tried eyes and down turned lips . Dark circles underneath his upset eyes as he kept his gaze down to his sock clad feet as though he was too scared to even look at her.

She felt her own heart sink.

She had a lot of time to think about what had happened and what had been happening between them for a long time now.

Having sat down and talked to Charles about how she and max have always been pitted against each other their whole careers , the rivalry having been practically spoon fed to them the minute they arrived on track.

She had seen the way that max would silently walk away whenever she won a race, while she would have a team of people and friends gathering her in their arms to celebrate her win.

Max went home alone.

It was as though unless he won, his own father didn't want anything to do with him. And Cherrie had noticed the way that max tried so hard to prove his worth to him, the way he looked up to him and only wanted to make him proud.

Just like she did with her own father. Only her dad had believed in her and had been supportive , had been kind and gentle with his encouragement.

He had told her that if she wanted to be champion of the world , then she would be. As simple as that.

Max's dad had never told him such a thing and she only realised now with a sour taste in her mouth that perhaps his anger towards her over these years , was more so anger towards himself for not achieving what he thought he should . And anger at his dad for never being there unless he won.

She felt guilty as she thought back to all those times over the years when she had seen max looking over at her celebrating . The way he seemed to watch every thing she did with wonder , clearly wanting to do the same as she did.

Because despite his 'hatred' of her, she had seen the way that he had looked at her with pride when she won her first ever championship , with tears in her eyes as she pointed her finger to the sky, she had caught Max's eyes in the crowd below her and he had  smiled.

She wished that she would have spoken to him then. Wished that she wouldn't have let her own pettiness and stubbornness stop them from being friends.

He was hurting. She could see that now.

Perhaps it was never just as simple as on track rivalry.

Because if max truly hated her and wanted her gone, then why did he look so heartbroken? Why did he look so desperate and afraid when he had rushed over to her crashed car after spinning her off the track?

Max fiddled with his fingers nervously , slowly walking over to his bed and taking a seat at the end of the mattress.

"What do you mean?" He murmured. Still shocked that she was there, in his room, willingly speaking to him.

Glancing up to see her stood in front of him with a frown, worry written across her face as she carefully placed the bags in her hands down onto the floor instead .

"It's your birthday." She stated the obvious "why aren't you celebrating?"

Max looked at her like she was insane , scoffing. "I'm not really in the mood to have fun Cherrie. I almost killed you a few weeks ago. Or have you forgotten?" He snapped at her without meaning to, so overcome with guilt and anger at himself that he could barely think straight .

Cherrie didn't react other than a small raising of her brow , making him look away from her when she just continued to look at him , unimpressed with him snapping at her.

"I haven't forgotten." She finally said after a long, tense silence . Before letting out a long sigh and kneeling down in front of him on the soft carpet .

Max looked at her with wide eyes "what are you doing?!" He exclaimed.

Warily eyeing her kneeling between his legs and wondering if he had accidentally taken some drug instead of his vitamins before she arrived.

She just rolled her eyes at him and pulled one of the bags over to her.

"It's your birthday." She repeated casually "and I got you a present." She then proceeded to pull out a familiar helmet for him to see.

Max frowned, looking between the colourful helmet that she had worn when she had crashed. When he had made her crash and almost killed her, and back down to her in disbelief .

His stomach dropping in unease "is this a joke? Cause it's not funny Cherrie. I know that I fucked up, I don't need a painful reminder of how much-"

Cherrie didn't let him finish his upset rant. Instead she just placed the helmet in his lap and nodded down to it calmly .

"Look inside it." She simply instructed him, watching his face carefully .

He gave her one last look before carefully holding her helmet , his fingers tracing over the pretty design that hardly had a dent despite the awful impact it had taken.

Then he turned the helmet over and lifted the visor, his fingers freezing as he read the words that were written messily inside of it. Swallowing audibly as he read the small words of her handwriting over and over again.

Believe in yourself like I believe in you. It read.

He exhaled shakily and glanced up at her unsurely , his lips parting yet not knowing what to say.

Cherrie just smiled a little and told him "it's what my dad always told me when I was younger . To believe in myself like he believed in me. How can you reach for the stars if there's no one to help you there? Success is nothing but a empty room if there's no one there to share it with." Her voice was quiet and reflective.

Having spent the last few weeks really thinking about how wrong she had been. How differently she wished that she had acted .

Max just looked at her silently , his heart racing in his chest as he watched her face soften towards him.

She had never looked at him like that before. No matter how many times he had wished for her to, he had only ever seen her smile at Charles like that.

He cleared his throat "why- why are you giving me this? What-" what does it mean? Went unsaid.

Luckily Cherrie understood and simply shrugged her shoulders , sighing .

"Well that helmet saved my life . And those words did too. I thought that it's only right for you to have it. And maybe - maybe it can help you to? I don't know - it's stupid-" it was her time to be unsure as she nervously glanced away from him.

Not knowing how to say that she was sorry. For everything .

Simply saying it didn't seem like enough .

Max quickly shook his head "no! No! It's not stupid- it's really - it's really thoughtful actually . I-" he inhaled shakily , clutching onto the helmet tightly with trembling fingers .

"I wish that I had words like that to carry around with me. Maybe I would have been less of an asshole." He muttered still angry with himself for all that he had done.

Cherrie reached up and grabbed one of his hands in her own making him glance back down at her in shock, his eyes widening as she gently squeezed the palm of his hand .

Smiling up at him sheepishly "well, I know it's not- it probably doesn't mean anything coming from me but-" she laughed a little nervously "maybe they can be your words too?"

Max felt like he couldn't breath. His eyes locked down to her hand in his with building hope.

"What do you mean? I almost killed you cherrie! I was so stupid and-"

She shook her head at him gently "I forgive you max. I know that it wasn't on purpose and I know that you regret it. I should have let you apologise because honestly-" she inhaled deeply , gathering her own courage.

"I'm sorry too." She told him honestly .

He frowned at her, confused . "What? What are you sorry for? You have every right to hate me after everything I've done!" His voice rose incredulously, his flickering between her own desperately, heart pounding in his chest.

Cherrie just squeezed his hand again, swallowing thickly as she saw the guilt and self hatred written across his face .

"No. I don't hate you max." She told him firmly needing him to know how she really felt.

"And I'm sorry for never giving you a chance. You- I think I may have taken things wrongly. Ya know like that time when we were sixteen and you came over to me and said 'you take the corners like a devil'" she recalled that particular memory with a wince.

Max also grimacing as he remembered how he had gathered all of his courage just to go over to her after another race between them, having wanted to be her friend.

Only it had all gone to absolute shit when he blurted out that she was a devil instead.

"I meant that as a compliment. That you were really fast and fearless on the corners.." he mumbled , embarrassed by how he just couldn't hold his tongue around her.

He had been accidentally insulting her since day one , when really all he wanted to do was tell her how amazing he thought she was.

How much he wanted to be like her , learn from her...

Instead he had become her enemy Instead. Talk about putting his foot in his mouth...

Cherrie groaned in misery , letting go of his hand so that she could cover her face in embarrassment at how hot headed she had always been.

This was her fault too. If she had just given him a chance ...

"God! I just thought you were saying that I drove dangerously or something! I'm sorry! I just- we were also put against each other and everyone always expected us to be rivals and.. it's always between just us.." she trailed off , feeling terrible for what could have been.

So influenced by others and the need for success that she had forgotten to listen to herself and what she knew best.

Max laughed a little , carefully setting aside the helmet on the bed. He planned to put it in his front room with the other two helmets he had of hers.

He told her so with a small , sheepish grin. "You know that I still have two of your helmets. I'm gonna put this one right in the middle of them."

Cherrie paused , eyeing him in confusion . "Two of them?" She couldn't remember ever giving him two.

Max nodded his head, chuckling as he scratched the side of his neck nervously.

"Yeah. The first one was when we swapped helmets when we were eighteen... well, we were forced to. You practically threw it at me." He reminded her in amusement . It was a pink helmet with flowers all over it and her name written across it in big letters.

Cherrie went pink like the helmet was. Grimacing guilty as the memory came back to her.

It was a rare race where he had beaten her and she hadn't been very happy at all. He had handed her his helmet with a smile, telling her congratulations and that it was a good race.

Cherrie had thought he was mocking her.

So she had told him to fuck off and then proceeded to practically throw her helmet at him before childishly stomping off to sulk.

She groaned again "oh god. Max I'm so sorry-"

He just waved off her guilt with a laugh, the pressure slowly lifting from his chest piece by piece as he looked down at her.

Feeling his heart lighten at the guilty little smile on her pretty face , her eyes pleading for him to forgive her for being such a hot headed woman. Unable to believe that perhaps everything had just been a series of misunderstandings between them all along .

"No, no. It's okay." He laughed "honestly maybe I should be saying sorry to you because I also.." he hesitated to admit it, his cheeks flushing red .

Cherrie eyed him warily "oh god what did you do?" The amused tone of her voice made him admit it.

"I stole your helmet in silverstone. I saw Charles give you his and we had both been on the podium together and I wanted to be the one to swap helmets with you but-" he rushed out covering his bright red face with his hands. Muffling his words.

Cherrie gasped out a laugh. Leaning forward on her knees and placed her hands on his thighs as she pushed herself up, slapping at his arm in amusement .

"Max! I can't believe it was you! I was so confused when I turned around and my helmet was gone! Oh my god!" She couldn't stop giggling at him.

Max slowly uncovered his face and gazed down at her pretty smile , her eyes crinkled at the corners as she laughed at him. Feeling his heart flutter at the way he had done that, he had made her laugh. Nobody else. Him.

He chuckled "you're not mad?" His breathed out in relief . Still Scanning her still smiling face in awe.

She was so beautiful that he found it hard to breathe. He always had done. She made him do and say stupid things. It was ridiculous the way he couldn't just behave normally around her . To nervous to think straight . She made him into a giant mess. Cherrie just shook her head at him, sighing loudly as she looked down at his flustered face softly.

"No max I'm not mad. I just wish you would have talked to me . All this time I've wasted being angry at you and -" she struggled to even explain what she was feeling . Upset with herself for always thinking the worse of him.

He gently took ahold of her arms and made her look at him again, smiling softly at her.

"There was times I deserved it though. I did deliberately wind you up and push you to snap back at me ." He admitted quietly , gently stroking the soft skin of her arms .

She frowned "why though? Why pick at me like that when you know how easy I snap back?" She asked him curiously .

Max pursed his lips , avoiding her eyes for a moment as his shoulders sagged in defeat. He couldn't keep lying to himself or to Cherrie any longer.

If he had been honest right from the start then maybe none of this drama would have ever taken place . Maybe things would have been easier. Maybe he wouldn't have had to do this alone.

"Because that was the only way I could get your attention. It's was stupid and childish. I just wanted you to see me because-" he looked at her , ashamed.

"Because I've always seen you. I have- you've always been somebody that I've looked up to and wanted to be like. You've always achieved everything first , always beat me and I was jealous." He admitted to her quietly .

"I wanted to be your friend when we were kids . But I could never say the right thing. I didn't know how to get you to like me." He muttered, his hands sliding down her arms to grab at her hands instead , fiddling with her fingers anxiously.

Cherrie just interlaced their fingers and listened to him quietly . Her face open and soft .

He inhaled deeply and continued on while he still had the courage to look her in her eyes and tell her the truth.

"And then we grew older and I still wanted to be you but I wanted to be with you even more so. But then you became so close with Charles and I got even more jealous because that was all I wanted. I don't even know how .. or when it happened." He sighed quietly . His eyes filling with tears again.

He shook his head at himself , sniffling. "I just - one day I looked at you and all I saw was who I wanted to be. And I saw you smile at Charles and i just wanted you to look at me like that- I wanted you to see me-" his voice broke before he could even finish.

Cherrie leaned forward and took him in her arms, cradling his head into her neck as she tangled her hand into his hair, her other hand stroking circles into his back as he started to cry. Clutching onto her tightly , she felt her eyes own pool with tears as he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight, like he was afraid to let go in case she ran away.

"Shhh max. It's okay. It's okay- I did see you . I have always seen you!" She rushed to tell him , pulling back enough so that she could take ahold of his cheeks on her hands, caressing his face gently.

His eyes searching her desperately, clutching onto her waist with his hands .

"I have always thought of you max. You drove me crazy! And every time I walked into a room the first person I looked for has always been you. Even when we were fighting- even when we were at each other's throat- I always looked for you-"

He cried in relief , heart feeling like it was trying to beat right out of his chest. Overwhelmed with his feelings that he had tried for so long to push away.

"Oh my god. You feel it too?" He breathed out in disbelief .

Letting out a breathless laugh, letting go of her waist and clutching at her beautiful face instead , his thumbs quickly wiping away the tears that pooled between her lashes .

Both of them smiling in disbelief , in relief and joy.

She let out a shocked laugh "I do! I just- I thought you hated me and -"

Max's eyes were wild , shaking his head rapidly in denial.

"No. No! Never hated you! Never!" He pushed her hair behind her ears , grinning at her in awe.

Then he breathed out and whispered "I love you. I'm in love with you. I love you so fucking much-"

Cherrie couldn't believe it. Laughing breathlessly, she just shook her head in disbelief at how stupid the both of them had been.

All this time ...Then she surged forward and kissed him like she should have been kissing him all this time.

No more wasting time. She promised herself silently as she felt him moan against her mouth in relief , his hands clutching at her like he was afraid to let go.

The kiss was messy and frantic . Teeth clashing and tongues exploring each other's mouths as she pushed him onto his back on the bed, her helmet right beside them proudly .

“I love you max. Fuck.." she breathed out giggling as she pulled away enough to kiss all over his face, beaming down at him in disbelief .

Similar emotions written across his face as he gaped up at her , heart pounding in his chest. She looked at the words written on the helmet and smiled , shaking her head.

"And I'm so proud of you. Every win- I'm gonna be there. Because I love you and I believe in you. Because we're- we're teammates now remember? We have each other's back. I'm never gonna not be there for you again okay?" She promised him seriously , kissing him again.

Max choked on a cry, laughing and crying at the same time as he clutched her body to him . Looking up at her like she was his god.

That was all he had ever wanted to hear . It was all he had ever dreamed of.

She loved him. And she was proud of him. Finally , somebody was proud of him.

Max's smile took over his whole face , their teeth knocking together as they both giggled into the kiss . Happiness filling their hearts, their heads and their lungs as they both gasped for breath.

"And I'm gonna be there for you too Cherrie. Because I love you and I'm gonna continue loving you for as long as you let me. You're my girl." He told her , overcome with love.

Cherrie just smiled and kissed him again.

"you're gonna be loving me a long time then. Because I want you forever." She whispered against his lips.

Max just sighed contently, pulling away to gaze into her eyes and seeing his future there.

"I'm gonna love you in every life. I'm gonna be your best friend and your lover too ." He promised her.

He was going to make sure that they never made the same mistakes again. All those years arguing. All the miscommunication and jealously ... he was going to spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

She was going to win the race but he was going to win her trust , and her heart.

'Believe in yourself like I believe in you'

Her father always had been right .

He was never going to doubt himself again. He had her love and that was more than enough for him.

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #max verstappen oneshot #formula one imagine

[moonstruckme]

Steve x Wednesday!reader and the gang really didn’t expect Steve to end up w someone so different from all his exs but also low-key think she’s way out of his league??? Found your fics and your writing is sick 😋😋😋😋

Thanks for your request sweetheart! I haven't written wednesday!reader before so idk if this was too much? Or too little? Anyway, I hope you like it, mwah <3

Steve Harrington x Wednesday!reader ♡ 698 words

You hadn't been at all nervous to meet Steve's friends. Really, they probably should have been more nervous about meeting you.

You could be a bit off-putting at first, with your impassive stare and clipped, to-the-point manner of speaking. The few other girlfriends Steve had introduced to his friends had greeted them with smiles and nervous laughter, and Steve had caught Dustin and Mike whispering about just that when you'd gone to the bathroom.

Overall, though, Steve thinks this is going pretty well. Nancy had liked your giant combat boots, Eddie loved that you had the same taste in music, and when the kids found out how much you knew about mages and battle strategy, they'd grilled you for a solid twenty minutes before Steve had called them off, complaining that he was going to dream about their nerd jargon that night if they didn't shut up.

Now, Eddie and the boys are discussing the edition of their nerd game they'll be playing next week (how it even changes from week to week, Steve can never figure out), and you seem to be listening with mild interest when you turn towards him suddenly.

"I have to go home," you say, in your matter-of-fact way. "I left a potion on the stove, and its six hours are almost up."

Steve blinks at you. He should be used to this by now, but sometimes your hobbies still take him by surprise. "Alright," he says after a moment. "What's the potion for?"

Impossibly, your expression darkens. "Something ate my venus fly traps, and I intend to find out what."

Steve declines to ask what you plan to do when you do find them, or how whatever you're brewing will accomplish that. "Okay," he stands, looking for where he left his keys. "I'll drive."

"No, you can stay," you say, as if it makes no difference to you. "I want to cut through the woods to find some belladonna on my way."

He's not going to ask what you want with the poisonous berries, either. "You sure, honey?" You nod, and Steve sits back down. He knows better than to bother arguing with you once you've made up your mind. "Okay, be safe, alright? Text me when you're home."

He tilts his chin up, and you lean down to peck him on the lips, a brief, chaste thing compared to what you prefer behind closed doors.

"Bye, Y/N!" Eddie calls, and a chorus of goodbyes follow you out. As soon as the door closes behind you, every eye in the room turns on Steve.

"Steve, what the hell? She's so cool." Dustin says, sounding almost shocked.

"Yeah," Eddie chimes in. "Where the hell have you been hiding her, Harrington?"

Steve grins proudly. He known they liked you, but it doesn't hurt to hear it out loud. "Yeah?"

"Um, yeah," Max says. "She's hilarious."

Robin nods enthusiastically. "She is! She's so funny, and smart, too. Honestly, Steve, it's a good thing you're nice, because she's, like, way out of your league."

Steve blinks. Okay, ouch. This compliment session seems to be taking an unexpected turn. Up until today, no one was out of Steve Harrington's league. "You really think so?"

"Duh." Robin looks around for support, but only Dustin is nodding, everyone else having fallen unusually silent. "Oh, you guys are cowards. She's gorgeous."

"I know that," Steve says defensively.

"She does have better hair than you," Nancy says, somewhat apologetically, "and that's kind of your thing, so."

Steve blows out an exasperated breath, slouching back in his seat. He thinks you have better hair than him, but he didn't know everyone else would think that. And of course you're far too good for him, but aren't these supposed to be his friends? Any modicum of loyalty they'd had between them seems to have vanished.

"Whatever," Steve says. "You guys are just jealous."

Eddie sighs, his eyes sparkling with exaggerated infatuation. "I know I am. Don't let her get away from you, Harrington, or I might take her for myself."

Steve rolls his eyes. As if he'd be dumb enough to let that happen. He's happy to be your charity case forever.

#steve harrington #steve harringon x reader #steve harrington x wednesday!reader #steve harrinton x fem!reader #stranger things

[mariacallous]

Anyone who wants to understand Russian history should ignore Russian President Vladimir Putin. But anyone who wants to understand Putin’s strategic aims should pay close attention to his reading of history. The Russian president’s long lectures and essays on Kyivan Rus and World War II are not random tangents but rather the centerpieces driving his regime’s aggression against Ukraine. The Kremlin’s efforts to impose its reading of history on Ukrainians living under occupation reveal the driving motives of this war, as well as its continued objectives.

Against the backdrop of the uncounted—and uncountable—civilian deaths, mass deportations, and domicide across the occupied territories of Ukraine, it might seem trivial to focus on historical memory. But while it is difficult to take one’s eyes off the satellite images of mass graves in Mariupol, if we fail to grasp the broader grammar of Russia’s war against Ukraine, then we will also fail to recognize the broader ambition of Russia’s war efforts: the deliberate annihilation of Ukrainian identity.

Russia’s strategic deployment of historical propaganda in occupied Ukraine involves a comprehensive effort to “Russify” the local populace, leveraging educational, cultural, and military instruments to erase narratives of Ukrainian history and culture.

Those who resist this erasure are themselves destroyed, often physically. In all of the occupied territories, Russian forces arrived with a list of reportedly patriotic individuals to be captured; tortured; and, if they did not break, executed. From the very beginning, as Putin made clear in a June 2021 essay titled “On the Historical Unity of Russians and Ukrainians,” Russia’s full-scale invasion was intended as a genocidal war.

Genocide aims at the annihilation of the identity and existence of a specific group—in this case, Ukrainians. The crucial aspect of identifying genocide is the intent behind these actions, which distinguishes it from other forms of violence. Evidence of the Kremlin’s destructive intent is overwhelming. And it is overwhelmingly delivered in the language of history.

Upon taking control of the Kherson and Zaporizhzhia regions in 2022, Russia launched an aggressive cultural propaganda campaign characterized by the declaration of annexation anniversaries as national holidays, the standardization of cultural practices to align with Russian norms, the establishment of historical propaganda museums, and the re-Sovietization of street names and monuments. These endeavors were aimed at rapidly embedding the occupied territories within the broader Russian cultural and legal fabric, a strategy reminiscent of Russia’s annexation of Crimea and unlike the more fragmented methods employed in the so-called Republics of Donetsk and Luhansk in eastern Ukraine after 2014.

In regions where local resistance is more robust, such as Melitopol and Berdyansk, there is an intensified effort toward cultural and educational Russification. The formation of militarized youth groups—including the Yunarmiya (Young Army), a military-patriotic movement for children and youth initiated by Russian Defense Minister Sergei Shoigu in 2016, and Eaglets of Russia—is widespread, but the scale and visibility of such programs vary in accordance with the strategic military value of each region to Russia. The nature and intensity of the propaganda varies as well, with a pronounced emphasis on Soviet-era narratives in Donetsk and Luhansk, which were likely deliberately crafted to align with the region’s recent historical narratives and multicultural identities.

While the techniques to suppress Ukrainian identity may adapt, the core objectives of Russian informational campaigns are constant. These efforts relentlessly accentuate the regions’ shared historical and cultural roots with Russia, praising Soviet accomplishments and East Slavic heritage.

The Kremlin’s agenda aims to replace Ukrainian identity with something different—something localized—that can then be subsumed into a broader pan-Russian narrative. To do so, it uses culture and education as weapons of war. This strategy includes mobile libraries, guarded by armed militias, that distribute Russian books and educational resources while destroying Ukrainian books.

Amid this evident historical manipulation and cultural destruction, Russian propaganda distributed in the occupied territories positions the Kremlin as a protector of historical truth, using this stance to propagate narratives conducive to its political and ideological ends. It paints Western and Ukrainian histories as distortions that were deliberately aimed at destroying Russian identity—which the Kremlin argues is the true identity of Ukrainians.

The Khersonshchyna cultural project in the occupied Kherson region, for example, claims to expose Ukrainian history as a series of lies and promotes militaristic Russian myths with the aim of “restoring historical justice” and “curbing the spread of lies.”

Through the adoption of Russian curricular materials, educators, and syllabi prioritizing Russian over Ukrainian heritage, occupation authorities seek to transform residents’ identities, downplaying Ukrainian heritage in favor of a Russian outlook. Russian academics have created an Orwellian 98-page glossary of new correct cultural, historical and social terminology to be enforced in Ukrainian schools on the occupied territories. In the Donbas, organizations such as the Russian Center have produced pseudo-historical doctrines to justify Russia’s occupation. The center, which is funded by the Russian World Foundation, has held a number of festivals centered around the idea that the Donbas is Russia and that Russian culture is inherent to the Donbas.

A common thread in the historical propaganda is the idea that an injustice (Russia’s separation from the lands of what it calls the Donbas and Novorossiya—meaning “New Russia”) has been resolved by the invasion. In September 2023, on the anniversary of the pseudo-referendums held in four newly occupied territories in eastern Ukraine, schools in the Zaporizhzhia region held events to celebrate “reunification with the Russian Federation,” which was referred to as a “restoration of historical justice.” In his state of the nation speech in February 2023, Putin declared the “revival” of the cultural sphere in the occupied territories to be a priority for reestablishing peace. He emphasized the importance of restoring cultural objects to forge a connection across time, asserting that this effort would integrate the local population into the “centuries-old and great Russia.”

In addition to promoting claims of historical restoration and Russian greatness, the occupying forces are systematically undermining Ukraine’s historical legacy. Their strategies extend beyond suppression to the outright destruction and appropriation of Ukrainian heritage. In 2022, the Russian government introduced legislation to legitimize the seizure of items related to Ukrainian cultural heritage. This law permits the inclusion of historical artifacts from occupied regions in the Russian Federation’s registry, effectively erasing their Ukrainian provenance.

The scope of this cultural plunder is vast, with the Ukrainian government reporting that more than 15,000 artifacts have been removed from Kherson alone. Other significant looting pertains to Scythian gold dating back to the 4th century B.C., which was stolen from the Melitopol Museum of Local Lore. That museum and the A. I. Kuindzhi Art Museum were also stripped of their valuable collections. A so-called Ministry of Culture of the Kherson Region has facilitated what the Russian occupiers term the “evacuation” of these items to the Crimean city of Sevastopol, disguising acts of looting as preservation. Their actions and justifications draw obvious parallels with previous examples of imperial looting, such as the British plunder of African artifacts, also carried out under the guise of “evacuation.” Ukrainian archives have also been targeted, with significant portions of the holdings at the regional State Archive of Kherson confiscated.

At least 14 memorials commemorating the victims of the Holodomor—a devastating famine lasting from 1932-33 that was induced by Soviet policies and used to pacify Ukrainian national identity—were dismantled in the communities of Oleshky and Ivanivka in Kherson Oblast. The destruction of these monuments is a further illustration of the erasure of Ukrainian history, especially given that this particular historical episode reveals an ongoing pattern of genocide.

The first deputy chairman of the Kherson Regional Council confirmed these reports, but the occupation administration dismissed the memorials as “tools of manipulation” that were fostering hatred toward Russia.

As they obliterate Ukrainian historical memory, Russian forces are actively reinstalling Soviet-era monuments which were previously removed in Ukraine’s decommunization efforts, especially statues of Lenin. In so doing, the Kremlin is trying to restore a (mis)imagined past of Soviet-Russian greatness and ownership over Ukraine. It is a past that nobody asked them to bring back, but one that will have grave consequences for Russia and Ukraine’s future, given that the indoctrination efforts are most targeted at children.

When Izyum came under occupation in 2022, the establishment of children’s education and cultural centers was prioritized, and such institutions were up and running within weeks. Leveraging educational reforms, patriotic education, and youth organizations, the occupation authorities worked quickly and efficiently to instill a sense of Russian identity among young Ukrainians.

These actions are not only aimed at reshaping the cultural landscape, but also at securing future generations’ allegiance to Russia, often with a clearly militarized agenda, as seen in educational initiatives such as the “Lessons of Courage,” special classes held as part of the school curriculum that glorify the military achievements of the Soviet Union and Russia. These programs include interactions with Russian veterans and encourage expressions of support for current soldiers, further integrating military values into the educational experience.

The establishment of cadet schools in the occupied territories, facilitated through agreements with Russian educational and military authorities, has formalized the militarization of youth, preparing them for possible involvement in future conflicts.

Patriotic education extends beyond the classroom and into extracurricular youth movements and thematic events. Since 2022, in the occupied territories of southern Ukraine, branches of national Russian youth organizations such as Yunarmiya have been established alongside regional military patriotic movements such as the Youth of the South.

Participants receive professional military training, supported by veterans of the Russian Armed Forces and members of the military veterans’ organization Combat Brotherhood. The training includes instruction in weaponry and military tactics. Upon completion, Yunarmiya members are often recruited into the Russian military. According to Andrey Orlov, the exiled Ukrainian director of the Center for Strategic Development of Territories, enrollment in this organization is compulsory in the temporarily occupied territories, with special services personnel frequently visiting educational institutions to engage children in military-themed games. The so-called Warrior Club in occupied Zaporizhzhia, which focuses on military indoctrination and preparation for young men nearing conscription age, highlights the extent of Russia’s commitment to this cause.

There is a grisly strategy behind Russia’s militaristic engagement with children in the occupied territories: to indoctrinate them into forsaking their national identity and to groom them to die for their new supposed motherland.

Despite Moscow’s extensive indoctrination efforts, there has been resistance. Officials from the temporarily occupied Luhansk region have reported recruitment difficulties to the Kremlin, noting a significant shortage of teachers in Russian language, literature, and history.

As Ukrainian teachers refuse to teach these subjects, educators are brought in from Russia, often housed in apartments confiscated from local residents. This considerable influx of Russian educators tasked with instilling a Russian-centric curriculum should also be seen as part of Russian demographic engineering efforts, deporting Ukrainians to Siberia and further, while bringing in Russian citizens to take their place.

Still, in the face of penalties and home raids, a notable segment of the population steadfastly refuses to enroll their children in Russian-administered schools, instead opting for home-schooling. The rejection of Russian educational mandates underscores the enduring spirit of Ukrainian identity and a widespread collective desire to preserve national consciousness. This resilience is also demonstrated by the hundreds of students who, despite the risks of retaliation, use VPNs to pursue their studies with Ukrainian universities and schools online, sustaining vital community ties.

Moreover, Ukrainians are countering attempts to expunge their cultural memory. Last November, residents in occupied areas followed the Ukrainian tradition of lighting candles in their windows to commemorate the Holodomor. Despite the perils, with Russian forces actively dismantling Holodomor memorials, many courageously shared images of these acts of remembrance via Telegram, in commitment to their history and identity.

The Kremlin’s Russification, historical falsification, youth indoctrination, militarization, and cultural manipulation reveal Russia’s true agenda. In keeping with Putin’s rhetoric since 2022, it is clear that Russia’s ongoing war on Ukraine is aimed not only at territorial control, but also at the eradication of Ukrainian national identity.

Faced with conquerors that view their national existence as a threat, the cultural resistance of Ukrainians in the occupied territories is not only a refusal to submit to Kremlin propaganda—it is an essential part of Ukraine’s survival.

[suhnshinehaos]

move fast, keep quiet : profiles 01

synopsis : everyone's wondering who has captured the heart of one racing's brightest stars, yn ln. is it their very own race engineer? their teammate? their biggest rival? how will the world react when it's actually their rival's race engineer, a former driver that's fallen from grace? ....well, it might be best they don't find out. pairing : yoon jeonghan x gn!reader genre/s : smau, racer/f1 au, fluff, angst

next  ➤  profiles 02 move fast, keep quiet  ➤  masterlist

starring… ( under the cut )

energy drinkers aka redbull racing

yn : you, the main lead. second in the drivers championship in the previous season. known for insane defensive drives and always caught up in dating rumors.

seungcheol : your teammate at rbr, current world champion. has a reputation for being unrelenting and aggressive on track, but his off track behavior is the exact opposite.

wonwoo : your race engineer / strategist. team orders are the only thing stopping him from making sure you end the season in first place.

minghao : seungcheol’s race engineer / strategist. one of the most sought after strategists, rbr had to increase his salary so he stays with the team. praised for his quick thinking and calmness under pressure.

that red team aka scuderia ferrari

jeonghan : former f3 champion, everyone was certain that he’d end up in f1 in no time. however, he claims he’s found a better calling as an engineer and strategist as he works alongside childhood friend, joshua hong. known for unorthodox, but effective strategy calls.

joshua : yn and jeonghan’s childhood friend as all three of them got into karting at the same time. was behind yn in the driver’s championship in the previous season.

seokmin : joshua’s teammate at ferrari, known for his clean racing and bright smile.

jihoon : seokmin’s race engineer / strategist. his and seokmin’s interactions on the radio are iconic amongst fans because they “bicker like an old married couple”

from reese, with love <3 first batch of profiles are now here !! they will essentially be our main characters for these series but i’ll be showing what the other sebongs are up to in the next one hehe anyways just remembered that one carat that tweeted ‘as long as they release bangers idc who they’re banging’… remembered it so suddenly hmmmm but good thing to keep in mind ;) anyways, thank you for reading !

#🏁 — move fast keep quiet! #seventeen x reader #jeonghan x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen smau #seventeen fluff #svt x reader #svt imagines #seventeen series #svt fanfic #svt smau #seventeen sm aus #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan smau

[probablyasocialecologist]

The U.S. political right wing does not have an answer to climate change. Neither does the technocratic and centrist net-zero discourse, which has failed to achieve adequate reductions, as will become increasingly apparent within just a few years. With no one else driving the agenda, the left needs to offer an alternative, sector-by-sector roadmap for decarbonization. We need to fill the voids in leadership, analysis, planning, organizing, and coalition-building. Rather than focusing on particular technologies, we need to be setting objectives for the areas in which these technologies could be used. If we put forward both best-use cases for CCS and alternatives to CCS, we are more likely to avoid bad CCS projects—and we can play a leading role rather than a defensive one. 

[...]

It’s true that we need a robust climate movement to block truly harmful projects that would lock in new fossil fuel infrastructure or violate Indigenous sovereignty, and it is critical to support communities in this work. But it would be a mistake to narrowly focus climate organizing on reenacting successful infrastructure-blocking tactics in ways that fail to discern useful industrial carbon projects from bad ones.  Such an approach puts the climate movement into a reactive role just when climate advocates need to be the ones who plan the energy transition. Taking a wider-strategy approach to CCS will take patience. It will require building broader coalitions and organizing in rural areas where a lot of decarbonization needs to happen. It will be challenging—but the cost of being absorbed by the CCS distraction is not one that the movement can afford.

#climate change #carbon capture #geoengineering #Carbon removal #Holly Jean Buck