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druidx · 1 year

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Directors commentary for havens ember

Hey Ray!

I am assuming you want commentary for the overarching series and not, like, something about all 21 completed fics within it 😅️ (Though having said that, I think you might be getting a bit of an essay anyway).

My Modern, No Powers, Everyone Lives AU, aka Haven's Ember series, came about while I was in the middle of having a crisis about My Blade for Thee, Your Son to Be (Martin is a Blade AU) and how much work that silly little idea was going to be.

@mishkakagehishka posted that she was craving some "Martin Lives" AU fic, so I - because I needed a distraction - said I would have a go. But, you know, the end of Oblivion is pretty definite. I couldn't see a way around it, so boom - we now have a Modern/ No Powers AU, because Martin is then saved by modern medicine and is not turned into a Godly avatar. Then @arcane-elder-scrolls requested some Bodyguard fluff be tucked in, so that became the basis for The Birthday Party.

In My Blade for Thee, the Prisoner wasn't going to feature much - that story was due to end as soon as Uriel took his last breath. Which meant that they could be recycled. Since I'm incapable of turning my brain off, I already had a good idea that this Prisoner would be young, chirpy but troublesome, and working for the Grey Fox.

When the Modern HoK first turned up, it was jumping out of a black Land Rover with the name Sophie Williams. The first The Birthday Party turned directly into angst, which was not the prompt, so it was scrapped. When I started re-writing The Birthday Party, the HoK was inexplicably called Aderyn Griffiths, but they were the same person: slender, auburn hair, devil-may-care attitude and, well, spoke like I do on the casual. I thought it would be interesting for this HoK to have a legal name and a preferred name that was completely different, so it stuck.

Why did you start writing the Main Quest line? Because I can't turn my brain off. After finishing The Birthday Party, I kept thinking about the final scene in Oblivion, and how it would translate into the Haven's Ember world. And, obviously, I couldn't just write the end and leave it at that. No, no. I had to write the whole damned lead-up to it as well, which has become The Ruby Falls. But I will say I had shove to do it from the above two, and @strosmkai-rum, otherwise I might not have attempted it.

Didn't The Ruby Falls start off called Haven's Ember? Yes, it did. To start with, the Main Quest story (that bastarding (affectionate) thing which is currently pushing 190K words) was called Haven's Ember, and for a very brief while the series was called Ruby Falls. But I was never happy with them like that. "Haven's Ember" is too cosy for a story about tragedy, and "Ruby Falls" sounds cataclysmic, right? So I swapped them over and now I think they're both spot on.

Why is Haven's Ember set in Great Britain and the EU? Because it's where I live. I thought about Americanising it, but it would have been the United States you get in the movies - Genericsville, IL/NY/CA/WTF. I know the UK; I do not know the States.

Why is it 'modern' as in Earth modern, not Nirn modern? *Cries in 'I didn't know it was an option'*. By the time I realised that was a possibility, I was already knee-deep in worldbuilding for The Ruby Falls and it was either commit or die. So I committed.

If it's set in GB, why is Baurus still American? I'm sorry, have you not heard Michael Mack's voice? One doesn't mess with perfection, darling.

If Baurus is American, why isn't Martin? Again, have you not heard Sean Bean? He's from Yorkshire; thus too is Martin, and this is a hill I will die on.

And why is Belisarius Bulgarian? Because @strosmkai-rum asked nicely. She also asked for someone to be Greek, but I never got that far down the list of Blades. Maybe it's Cyrus, IDK yet.

What sexualities have you got going on in this? Martin is bi, Baurus is gay, Caroline is lesbian, Aderyn is ace, Arcturus and Cyrus are queerplatonic. I think that's it off the top of my head.

What did you do with the Thieves Guild? They became GreyFox Securities (GFS), a digital and physical security firm. The Grey Fox is still called the Grey Fox (a la security personnel not giving their real names) and he still wears the hood. Aderyn is a Physical Penetration Tester, which is someone who put's a building's security through its paces and then reports back what needs to be changed. I have had so much fun researching this.

What's the most fun toy you've found that you want to give yourself Aderyn? Earrings that let you unlock handcuffs. There's also a bracelet that contains micro-lockpicking tools. And a kit that lets you scan RFID cards... Honestly, I shouldn't be let loose on TeamRed's webstore without supervision.

... I think I'm out of stuff to add. I, uh, hope that answers your ask? 😅️ Thank you so much for the opportunity to ramble about an AU that has been occupying my brain since 2020. I'm more than happy to carry on if you've got anything specific you want to know.

🫖️🌿️

#meta writing #TESFic #oblivion fanfiction #oblivion fanfic #tes oblivion #The Elder Scrolls #modern oblivion au #haven's ember series #wip 'the ruby falls'#oc aderyn griffiths #hero of kvatch #martin septim #baurus #The Blades #answered ask #spiteswallow #I didn't know what details you wanted so you got e v e r y t h i n g #meta wandering words

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yaboyspodcastpalace · 2 years

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"Canon elias is so much funnier than fandom elias" bro they're both boring. Elias is by far thee most boring character of the entire podcast

#like how do you make a character be present since the first episode and yet be so underwhelming and Nothing that i dont notice him til s3?#hes B O R I N G #the only times he's interesting is when he's right next to martin but other than that i hate him just by virtue of being dull as fuck #statement ends #sry having a hater moment #imagine you're me and you go from wolf359 to tma. underwhelming in every possible way ESPECIALLY in villains #except maybe prentiss cuz she's cool

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ofdollz · 1 year

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tag drop ♡

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hamthezombie · 3 months

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I still find it extremely funny that George R. R. Martin did some writing and worldbuilding for Elden Ring, and every single important character in the game has a name starting with G, R, or M.

#elden ring #honestly? power move

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winterofherdiscontent · 8 months

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. the kinslayer prince

‘old gods or new, it makes no matter, no man is so accursed as the kinslayer’ - a storm of swords, g. r. r. martin

[ a painting i've been slowly working on now complete of my new favorite character, Aemond Targaryen ]

#my art #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #digital painting #hotd art

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loveesiren · 5 months

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𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗎𝗌𝗍 - 𝖢.𝖲. (𝗉𝗍. 1)

Author's Note: First series about Chris & Y/n! I have a lot of ideas for them so I hope you enjoy part one! I was inspired to write this by the song Martin & Gina by Polo G 🫶🏼 This chapter is in Chris's POV but it will go back & forth!

Synopsis: (Chris's POV) Chris would do absolutely anything to keep his best friend safe and happy.

Warnings: Language, small use of the word r*pe (nothing happens), alcohol/over drinking, fluff

Word Count: 2k+

Chris’s POV

My eyes were locked on her. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the way she moved her body on the dancefloor. She was so effortlessly beautiful. She always had been.

I was fascinated by her the second I met her at nine years old. It was the first time I ever felt any type of feeling for a girl. The way she smiled and waved at me from across the street as she helped her parents carry boxes inside. I couldn’t help but smile back. And when my mom insisted me and my brothers go help our new neighbors, I got choked up in her presence.

But that’s a story I’ll reminisce about another day. Right now my job as her best friend was to protect her at all costs. Y/n had a lot of ups and downs in her life and I was by her side for every single one of them. But now that we were in our 20’s living in LA, free from the confines of our parents and hometown, she really loved to let loose and forget everything that ever happened to her. I loved watching her have fun but she wasn’t always the most graceful drunk. And if I’ve learned anything from the guys that frequent the sleazy bars and clubs downtown, it’s that they have no respect for women, which made my drunk and vulnerable best friend an easy target.

So yeah, while my brothers and friends were also letting loose, I always had an eye on Y/n and remained close enough to her to rescue her if she needed me but not too close that I was hovering like an overprotective dog.

Me and Matt both threw back a shot of whiskey at the bar. I checked my phone, it was 11:34 pm. Taking me all of two, maybe three seconds tops. I glanced back over to where I had last seen Y/n and Madi dancing but now Y/n was missing. I make my way through the sea of people towards Madi.

“Where’s Y/n?!” I yell over the music.

Madi looks around. “I don’t know! She was just here!”

I could feel my stomach tighten as I looked around the room. She couldn’t have gone far, I only looked away for two seconds. My eyes landed on her new gold dress, she was barely able to walk, leaning on some random guy for support as he led her towards the exit of the club.

“Y/n!” I yelled, pushing past people to get to her as quickly as I could. I reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face me. “Y/n! Are you okay?!”

“Chrisssyyyyy!” She beamed and fell into me, wrapping her arms loosely around my neck. “I’m drunkkkk!”

“Yo, do you mind? I’m tryna get some tail!” The skeezy fuck that had his dirty hands on her said to me.

“Uh, yeah, I fucking mind!” I snapped back at him, pulling Y/n to my side. “Back the fuck up, homie!”

“What’s going on?!” Nick asked as he approached with Matt and Madi.

I handed Y/n off to Madi. “This fucking sleaze bag was about to take Y/n home and fucking rape her!”

“I wasn’t gonna rape her, man! She said she was down!” He replied.

“Does she look like she’s in any state to consent?!” Nick shot back at him.

I could feel a heat rising in my chest as he eyed Y/n again.

“Looks like she takes it all the time!” The guy laughed and it triggered an immediate reaction in me.

Before I even knew what was happening, my fist crashed against his jaw, knocking it out of place. He attempted to swing back but I was already two steps ahead of him, laying into him with everything I had.

“Chris!” Matt and Nick yelled simultaneously, grabbing my arms and pulling me away as a few other people dragged the guys limp body away from me.

“Say it again, homie! See what fucking happens!” I was screaming at him. “Oh what’s that?! Can’t talk with a busted ass jaw?!”

“You three, out!” The bouncer yelled, grabbing me, Nick, and Matt and throwing us out the front door. “Get out of here before the cops show up, kid.” He said to me.

“I’m not leaving without Y/n.” I told him.

“We’re coming…” Madi said, guiding Y/n out of the club.

I took her into my arms once again and tilted her chin up to look at me. “Y/n, sweetheart. Look at me.” I said to her, it took a moment for her eyes to focus but once they did she smiled. “You okay?”

“Mhmm,” She giggled. “I missed you!” She had no recollection of what just happened.

I was annoyed with the events that just took place but her honey soaked voice always made me smile. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Mmmmkay…” She agreed. “

“Is she okay?” Matt asked.

“She’ll be fine. I’m taking her home.” I told them. “You guys can stay out if you want.”

“You sure you don’t need any help?” Nick asked.

“I got her. Go have fun. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” I said, crouching down slightly. “Get on my back, sweetheart.” I said to Y/n.

She sloppily threw herself against me, wrapping her arms around my neck and I helped her onto my back. She was minutes away from passing out and since home was right up the street, I didn’t mind carrying her.

“Alright…text us when you’re home.” Matt said. I gave him a mock salute and made my way towards my house.

“Y/n, wake up!” I whispered to her softly as I let her down. “We’re home.”

“Hmm?” She hummed.

“We’re home. Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

“Chris, I don’t feel good…” She said.

“Are you gonna be si-” I was quickly cut off with the answer to my question as she threw up all over her new dress. “Fuck, sweetheart, come here.” I shifted her to the side so that she was aiming for the bushes as I held her hair back. “Just let it out.” She puked for a full minute before finally being able to catch her breath.

“I might have drank too much…” She said softly. Her voice was hoarse.

She seemed so weak and pitiful. It broke my heart. I hated seeing her like this. “It’s okay, let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Can you walk?”

She nodded. I led her into the house and helped her downstairs to my room. I turned on the shower and grabbed her some towels. “I’ll grab you some clothes to wear. Do you want me to wash your dress?”

“Yes please…” She said softly.

“I’ll be right back,” I said as I closed the bathroom door, allowing her to strip out of her dress and heels. I went to my dresser and grabbed my favorite t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. I also grabbed her a bottle of water. She already had her own drawer in my bathroom with all of her basic necessities. She stayed over all the time so I wanted to be sure she had everything she needed. I went over and knocked on the door. She swung it open, a towel draped around her body and mascara running down her cheeks.

“Y/n, what’s wrong? Do you feel sick again?” I asked.

“No. I’m just…I’m sorry…” She mumbled.

“Hey!” I said, taking her chin between my thumb and index finger, forcing her to look up at me. “Don’t be sorry. Everything is fine, alright?” She sniffled softly and I pulled her in for a hug, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Take your time, get cleaned up, okay? I’ll make you something to eat and then we can go to bed, yeah?”

She nodded in agreement and I smiled at her. “Here’s some clean clothes and water. Give me your dress, I’ll throw it in the wash. She handed me her dress and I moved to close the door. “Yell if you need me, okay?”

She smiled in agreement and with that, I left her alone to gather herself. I headed upstairs and threw her dress in the washer. I looked at all the cycle options with confusion, trying to decide how exactly this machine worked. I picked up my phone and texted Matt.

Chris: How do I work the washer?

Matt: What are you washing?

Chris: Y/n’s dress. She got sick.

Matt: Just put a little bit of detergent in, turn it to delicate and press start.

Chris: Thx bro

I put my phone down and sighed. I went to the freezer and grabbed a pizza, throwing it in the oven before I thought back on the events of the night. I couldn’t fucking believe how shitty some people were. What if I hadn’t caught Y/n in time? What if she ended up in that dude's car and he took her home to do God knows what? It made me sick just thinking about it. I looked down at my hand and noticed the dried blood on my knuckles. I didn’t notice it until now but the second I realized I had split one open I began to feel the pain.

I went over to the sink to scrub my hands, hissing as the water ran over the gash on my knuckle, proving to be a lot larger than I had originally thought. I opened the cabinet above the microwave where Nick had dedicated a space to cures for any ailment. I pulled out the first aid kit and wrapped a bandage around my hand, using my teeth to tear the cloth.

The oven went off and I pulled the pizza out, cutting it and throwing a few slices onto a plate. It was a regular cheese pizza but I knew it would help sober Y/n up a bit so she could hopefully sleep peacefully tonight.

I grabbed a Pepsi and water from the fridge and made my way downstairs. When I got to my room, Y/n was still in the shower. I put her pizza and water on her side of the bed and grabbed the remote, flipping through the channels to find something decent to watch at this hour. I finally landed on Spongebob and thought that would be a good option to fall asleep to.

I heard the shower shut off and I scrolled my phone as I waited for Y/n to join me in bed. It was another 20 minutes before she finally emerged from the bathroom.

“Hey! How’re you feeling?” I ask her as I pulled the covers back for her to get into bed. She looked so cute with her braided hair and bare face with my t-shirt draped over her like a dress.

“A little better,” She shrugged. “Less drunk.”

“Good. Let’s get some sleep, sweetheart.”

“I don’t even remember what happened tonight. I completely blacked out.” She said as she sat in bed and hugged her knees to her chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, pulling her into me. “Everything is fine. You’re here and you’re safe, okay?” She nodded and rested her head on my shoulder. She felt so weak and fragile. “Do you want some food? I made pizza if you want it.”

“Maybe in a bit,” She sniffles. “Can we just cuddle first?”

“Of course, come here.” I leaned back and Y/n rested her head on my chest. I dragged my fingers softly over her back, willing her to sleep while she had an arm and leg draped over me.

In less than ten minutes I could hear soft snores escape her lips and I smiled. I felt like such a dick for losing sight of her. I had to keep reminding myself that she was here with me and safe. Nothing could hurt her now.

She was an adult and she could do as she pleased. But I so badly just wanted to spend eternity with her here in my room where I knew I could protect her from all the evil of the world. She didn’t deserve the shit life has thrown at her and watching her drink her pain away broke my heart. I wish I knew how to help her…

Tags: @strniohoeee @daisysturniolo. @justangelheree @flowerxbunnie @recklesssturniolo @lustfulslxt @mangosrar @bluesturniolo333 @christinarowie332 @kenzieiskoolaid @sturniolopepsi @mattenthusiast @ilovecrazymen @sturnphilia @poopydroopt

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x reader #stardust #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo series #Spotify

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drivestraight · 9 days

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Obv no pressure!!!!!!!!! And sorry if it comes off that way ❤️❤️ I was just wondering if u would ever consider posting the 4fic?? Just on tumblr even

i keep forgetting OMG but here is part 1 (4.2k)

THE SET-UP

They don’t do this very often anymore. Hang out, just the four of them.

George, Alex, Lando, and Charles.

To get closer to the truth, it’s not like the four of them ever properly hung out at any point in time, in the strictest sense of the phrase. They’d stream together on Twitch during COVID, yes, and they get on well in the paddock. But that doesn’t exactly count, when George thinks about it. Not even in 2019 did the four of them ever really hang out willingly, outside of work, not even just George, Alex, and Lando, no matter how much media they were shoved into together throughout the year. These past four years, they’ve just all been too busy. Besides, Charles and Lando have their own friend circles. Charles prefers his hometown Monegasque friends. Lando has Max F and Max V and Martin G and Daniel R and Quadrant and—whatever the fuck ever, really.

George and Alex, well. Different case. Not the point.

Even closer to the truth: they had more time and less fame before Formula 1, and they would hang out outside of races. Underage pub crawls, house parties with friends from secondary, even during their F2 season. Which George won, by the way.

So.

Formula 2.

George, Alex, and Lando were close back then despite being competitors. They were the weirdos. No one liked Lando because his dad was rich and bought him a spot in McLaren’s junior academy; no one liked Alex because he was a Red Bull junior and Asian, but not Asian enough; and no one liked George because—he was George.

Jokes on everyone else. They were the winners. They’re the ones who made it to F1.

All this to say: the three of them were close back then, but they’re not as close anymore. Still, good times. They had many good times.

One memory George holds quite dear to his heart is Alex accidentally knocking Lando into a bush that George puked on. Yes, George is quite fond of that night.

But then, that three-way friendship didn’t exactly include Charles at all. All of them were friends and friendly with Charles even in karting, but those days, Charles wasn’t exactly part of their little group. It was just George and Alex and Lando. Or George and Alex.

Which is probably why they’re here, in Charles’ teeny tiny flat.

They were in Spa, the four of them chatting before free practice. Alex had offhandedly asked why they haven’t gone on their little drunken adventures like they used to. Then, Charles made a shocked noise, small and offended, and demanded to be included.

Demanded is probably a strong word. His eyes went wide and curious. He tilted his head to the side and pouted at Alex, then Alex spluttered and said, Of course, you should come!

As if they had tangible plans.

However, they ended up making plans, and it was a miracle that they all had a weekend free in Monaco before Alex fucked off with Lily to Majorca.

And it’s not like George doesn’t like Charles.

He likes Charles a lot, actually.

It’s just, sometimes—

All the time.

It’s hard to tell what his humor is. George’ll say something, try to crack a joke, and Charles will look at him with these big, round, open eyes. Not understanding, or worse, understanding, and choosing not to play along.

Not in a, like, malicious way. But in a why did you say that? sort of way. Which is probably worse. He’s always very nice about it, very earnest. But his sincerity knocks George off-guard. Sometimes, George wishes Charles was more like Alex, laughing at everything and playing everything off like a joke just to maintain an ounce of control. Twist things the way he wants them to be twisted.

Right, yes. Charles.

It’s easier with him online. Voice chat. That way, George doesn’t have to see his microexpressions and feel self-conscious, analyzing each of their conversations.

Charles has a very expressive face.

Alex gets on with him a lot better.

He makes Charles laugh, a lot. A lot. And while George has made Charles laugh plenty of times, it’s never actually been on purpose. It is more like—George saying something unintentionally funny, and Charles slowly bursting into giggles, or Lando and Alex making George the butt of the joke and Charles laughing along just because he wants to fit in.

Ah. George needs to be more charitable.

Returning to Charles’ teeny tiny flat:

They’ve just gotten back from Jimmy’z. Honestly, George was having a great time: Alex was all giggly on his shoulder sipping on a fruity cocktail and Lando had been up by the DJ stage and Charles was off at the bar chatting with some girl. But then Charles sprinted to them and tugged on George’s arm and said, We need to leave.

So they left.

They found Lando first, of course, floundering as he tried to get this girl’s number. They dragged him out of the club, the four of them squeezed into an Uber, tried to be as polite as possible to the driver, and here they are now:

Charles’ teeny tiny flat. On the floor circled around the coffee table in the sitting room. Lando took the couch because—of course he did.

“So?” Lando demands, frowning. His cheeks are flushed, his curls a mess. “Why’d we leave? I thought the point was to get pissed, and I’m not even.”

George would disagree. But, well.

Charles huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I saw someone that I did not want to talk to.”

Alex snorts. He flushes this lovely color of pink whenever he’s drunk, George has noticed. Quite lovely. Very lovely. “Who? An ex-girlfriend?”

Charles kicks lightly at Alex’s thigh. They’re deep into summer, hot, sticky. Alex is wearing these little shorts. Not so little, really, but right now, George can see the meat of his underthigh, muscle hidden.

“Ex-boyfriend,” Charles corrects.

Alex dyed his hair to this auburn shade of brown the other month. George likes it better, like this, if he’s being honest. Obviously, Alex looked amazing as a blond—Alex looks amazing no matter what, but he looks softer like this, not a blond bombshell, alien and out of reach, grabbing everyone’s attention. Instead, just George’s best friend.

“Which one?” Alex asks, propped up on his hands, flat to the ground behind him. His shin hairs tickle George’s. Under the table, George only now realizes, they’re touching.

“Jean,” Charles answers.

“Oh,” Alex says, brows furrowing. Overdramatic. Alex likes being dramatic like that. He looks a little goofy right now. Silly, maybe. “I never liked that guy.”

Charles sighs. “It has been a while, but our breakup was…” He turns to Alex. “How do you say it…”

“A shit show?” Alex supplies, grinning warmly. George feels so warm.

Charles laughs, shoulders coming up to his ears. “Yes, a shit show,” he repeats, the syllables odd and unfamiliar on his tongue, mouth curling emphatically. “He—”

He.

Charles keeps talking.

But George:

“Wait, wait, wait. Your what?”

Charles turns his head to George. Blinks. Slowly. Tilts his head to the side. Confused.

“My ex-boyfriend,” he repeats, like this isn’t earth-shattering information.

George gawks. Mouth open. Jaw unhinged. Eyes bug-wide. The full mile. He glances over at Alex, who looks just as confused as Charles, then Lando, who’s looking down at his phone, disinterested.

Charles blinks again, seeming to understand George’s confusion. “Oh, you don’t…?”

“I don’t what?” George snaps, feeling like he’s just had the rug pulled out from under him. Feeling like the odd one out. For the first time in their little quartet, George feels like the outsider.

“I am gay, George,” Charles deadpans. “Did I never tell you this?”

“Uh,” George says, wincing at how his voice cracks, “no?”

“Oh,” Charles replies, blinking. His mouth parts into a small circle. He bats his eyelashes, demure, and George feels something ugly twist in his belly. “Well. Sorry, I think I forgot.”

George suddenly feels very sober.

“But you—your girlfriend—”

Charles shrugs. “She is a good friend. It is always good to have a public girlfriend.”

Well. This explains a lot.

“Lando,” George starts, head whipping toward him, “did you—?”

“Mmh. I didn’t like Jean either,” Lando replies, still not looking up from his phone.

George makes a noise. “How do you guys know this Jean?”

Alex snorts and rolls his eyes. “George, you know Jean. F2?”

Jean. Jean Jean Jean. George thinks and thinks and—

“Oh,” George says, Jean’s face materializing in his head. George never really talked to him; they ran in different circles and drove for different teams, but George vaguely remembers narrowly missing out on a win because Jean wouldn’t get out of the fucking way when George was trying to lap him. He lost the win by three seconds. To Lando. That’s about all he remembers of the guy. “Wow.”

Charles… dated him.

Suddenly self-conscious about how he’s coming off about this whole thing, George stumbles to clarify, “I mean, mate, obviously I don’t care. It’s not a problem. Like, of course I don’t have a problem, I’m just shocked, mate. I would’ve—”

“Oh, calm down, George,” Alex says, grinning beatifically. “Yes, yes. You’re an ally. You’re teammates with Lewis Hamilton. Love is love. We know. You don’t need to give us a little speech.”

“Sod off,” George mutters, kicking Alex under the table. “Why did no one tell me this?”

“Not my fault you have a stick up your arse when it comes to sex,” Alex jibes, kicking George back. “I think talking about gay sex would’ve given you a heart attack.”

George huffs, cheeks warming. Like, fine. George is self-aware enough to know that he gets a bit dodgy when it comes to sex. But that’s the way he thinks it should be, anyway. “Doesn’t have to be about gay sex, does it?”

“You should try it,” Alex says. “It’s fun. Quite different.”

Charles hums carefully, eyes big and curious, assessing. George feels like he’s being taken apart. “Yes, George. I think it would loosen you up,” Charles says, too sincerely.

From the couch, Lando snickers, chewing on his hoodie drawstring.

Charles frowns and glares at him. “What?”

Ah. Charles hadn’t even caught the double entendre.

Wait.

His head whips to Alex. “You have?” Had sex. With a man. George can’t get any of the words out.

“Oh, c’mon,” Alex says, easy and casual like George’s whole world isn’t falling apart. “You know I like blokes.”

Well, sure. George did know that. He knows everything about Alex. Alex is his best mate, after all. But Alex’s sexuality was an irrelevant, inconsequential little fact that George’d merely hold in the back of his mind. His best mate happened to be bisexual. That didn’t change anything.

“Yeah, I guess,” George admits, “but—Lily?”

“Again,” Alex says, “you know we have an open relationship.”

George laughs nervously. Yes, right. He’d forgotten about that.

He’d honestly—

He doesn’t know. He hadn’t actually thought Alex and Lily were acting on that.

“You’ve never thought about it?” Alex asks. “A little hanky-panky with the lads? Never?”

George chokes. “The lads? Plural?”

Alex waves his hand. “Hyperbole.”

Lando, hoodie drawstring still in his mouth, asks, “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“Hyperbowl,” Lando butchers. George isn’t sure how he made it past primary.

“Like,” Alex says, “when you tell your girls on Raya you have an eight inch dick. Hyperbole.”

The drawstring falls out of Lando’s mouth. He sits straight up, inflamed. “I do not tell them I have a—”

“Lando, you have an eight inch dick?” Charles asks, suddenly very interested in the conversation.

Alex snickers. “The point is that he doesn’t.”

Tomato-red, Lando bumbles, “Oh, bugger off. It’s not like you’d know.”

“Anways, George?”

George scratches the back of his head. Is it hot in here? Is it just him or the shitty insulation in Charles’ flat?

He thinks back to the original question and replies, “I cannot say I have thought about it.” He swallows. Because honestly, he hasn’t. He’s, like, twenty-five now. That’s far too old to be having sexuality crises anyway. Still, drunk, and a little too honest for his own good, he starts to ramble, “Like, I don’t think I. I mean. Haha. I am very happy with, er. Women.”

Not like George has been getting much lately, not after his less than ideal breakup with Carmen at the start of the season. And he isn’t like Lando either: going on apps or picking up a girl at the club is, like, his worst fucking nightmare. Rock fucking bottom. He’d rather go celibate than go on Tinder.

“So, like. You know. Men don’t.” God, why is George still talking? “I have my own, er. Likes. And I don’t think that—”

“Oh,” Alex sighs, exasperated, “don’t be such a prude, Georgie. Here—”

Fireworks. Butterflies. Violins.

No, none of that, actually. Just Alex’s mouth. George wouldn’t trade it for the world.

It has been so long since George kissed someone. Since George was kissed by someone.

Alex has a hand cupping his cheek—so tender and gentle that George shivers beneath him. Yes, beneath him. George isn’t on his back, but it’s taking all of his core muscle strength to keep himself somewhat upright with Alex half on top of him and half in his lap, kissing him. Alex, Alexander, Alexander Albon is kissing him.

His tongue runs along the seam of George’s mouth, and with a gasp, George parts his lips, mouth going slack, finally realizing that Alex is kissing him, and he isn’t kissing him back. He’s a bloody idiot, that’s what he is, he thinks, as he surges forward to return the kiss, and—

Ah.

Alex sitting back on his heels, eyes a little wild, mouth pink and slick.

Anticlamactic.

George makes a soft noise, feeling like he’s just been taken apart, disemboweled, ribs in all the wrong places.

It feels like—

Feels like the comedown after Brazil 2022. He got a taste of a win, and now he’ll spend the rest of his life knowing what it feels like to stand on the top of the podium.

Now, he’ll spend the rest of his life knowing what Alex’s lips feel like against his.

It’s not like it was a fantastic kiss, or anything. George has had better. Loads better. This wasn’t even a proper kiss. George hadn’t even managed to kiss back. And it wasn’t like it meant anything either.

It was just Alex.

“Hey,” Charles whines, sounding like he’s pouting. Only sounding like it—George couldn’t possibly know what Charles looks like right now. He isn’t looking anywhere but at Alex. It just isn’t possible for him to take his eyes away. “Why do you kiss George and not me?”

Lazily, Alex throws his head to the side, looking at Charles. In the meantime George stares at the lovely column of his throat. “Been there done that, Charlie.”

George sucks in a breath.

“Don’t look so jealous,” Alex says, chuckling, his gaze returning to George. George doesn’t even want to imagine what he looks like right now—what Alex sees. “It’s not like you were up for grabs.”

“Ah,” George says, shuddering. It’s just—the way Alex’s voice sounds, the way he’s looking at him—

“Oi, oi,” Lando sounds, swinging upright so that his shoes are finally off the couch and on the ground. “This is getting a bit too gay for me. I’m calling a Lyft.”

“Lando,” Alex laughs, “you are quite literally dating a man.”

Lando, ever prey-like and anxious when it doesn’t matter, blushes and says, “Oh, fuck off. Me and Max aren’t dating. We’re just, um…”

He reminds George of a snapping turtle, in a way: hard-shelled, prickly, and goes through puberty late.

At Lando’s words, Charles’ head rises, which is rather striking, George reckons, since he hasn’t said a word this whole conversation. His face scrunches up, brows furrowed, almost irritated. He’s frowning when he asks, “Lando, you are with Max?”

“Fewtrell,” Alex clarifies.

“Oh,” Charles exhales, tension releasing from his shoulders as Lando blushes an even brighter red and blubbers incoherently.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Lando says, flustered and bitchy. “I’m not with Max. Fewtrell or Charles’ Max—”

“Um,” Charles says, looking a little furious, “he’s not my—”

“Whatever,” Lando says, waving his hand vaguely. “Anyway, I’m leaving—mmph!”

Oh, alright then, George thinks, watching as Charles yanks on Lando’s wrist and pulls him down to the floor for a kiss.

Lando yanks himself away, and in the process, bangs his knee on the underside of the coffee table and hisses as he falls onto his back. Clearly still very drunk. Charles is laughing at him. So is Alex, honking and boisterous. George feels too shocked to find the humor in this.

Scrubbing his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he stammers, “What was that for?”

Charles shrugs. His face is pink and filled with glee, eyes sparkling. “Alex wouldn’t kiss me.”

“That’s the only reason why?” Lando asks, lifting a brow.

Charles giggles. “I like you, Lando,” Charles says, like it’s nothing, like Charles Leclerc liking someone means nothing. George wonders what that is like, to be able to say something like that without shame or anxiety. To be able to throw things into the air like that. I like you with the self-assurance to know that it will be well-received. That your attraction will be reciprocated.

“I think you are very cute,” Charles finishes, swaying a little.

“Not cute,” Lando huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, which strangely, George reckons, makes him look cuter. “I’m sexy.”

“Yes,” Charles says, giggling harder, his shoulders rising to his ears, “you are very sexy, Lando.”

“You’ll say anything to anyone,” Alex snorts, watching them with curiosity.

Charles keeps his eyes on Lando when he says, “When I want them in bed, yes.” Lando’s throat bobs, a mouse caught in the trap. Yes, George thinks, that’s what it’s like being looked at by Charles: caught in a trap. “Is that something you would like, Lando?”

“Uh,” Lando squeaks.

“Or will your Max get mad at me?”

Instantly, Lando shakes his head, a bit like a dog coming out of the bath. Doesn’t even make a snippy comment about your Max.

Charles kisses him again.

It isn’t anything like the last kiss, abrupt and awkward. It isn’t anything like when Alex kissed George either. This one is—

George has to look away, face hot.

“Oh, don’t do that,” he hears from the side.

“What?” George asks, his insides feeling gooey.

“Look,” Alex says, then his hand is on George’s burning cheek, turning it to face Charles and Lando. Lando, who is sitting in Charles’ lap. Charles, who has his hands firmly on Lando’s waist.

George swallows. The room is far too small and the only sounds are the slick-wet sounds of kissing, and heavy breathing. Now that George is looking, he can’t look away no matter how much he wants to. Like a car crash, he thinks absently. Sweat drips down the side of his neck, where Alex’s hand is placed now. George’s whole body feels on fire.

Alex isn’t saying anything. They only—watch. Watch as Charles slides a careful hand under the seam of Lando’s shirt, snaking along his lower back. Lando squeaks and pulls back from the kiss, panting against Charles’ mouth. Desperate, George thinks. They both look a little desperate right now.

More than a little. Faces flushed, clothes wrinkled, making out on the fucking floor in front of a fucking audience.

“It’s kind of late,” Lando mutters, so quietly that George can barely hear him over the sound of his own breathing.

“Yes, ah,” Charles says. Lando crawls off of him, uncoordinated; whatever spell the both of them were under seems to be broken. Charles turns toward George and Alex, his lips swollen, looking thoroughly kissed. His shirt is riding up. Lower: a massive tent in his jeans. George forces his eyes to drift back up to Charles’ face, settling on his mouth. “Maybe everyone should go.” After a beat, he adds, “I am very drunk.”

Lando is avoiding eye contact, playing with his fingers, hands positioned conspicuously over his crotch, inhibitions remembered.

George swallows, his voice hoarse when he says, “We can tell.”

Alex collects Lando off the floor, and George and Charles follow them to the door, silently.

“I’ll get these two home safe,” Alex promises, clasping a hand on both George’s and Lando’s shoulder. Lando bats his hand away.

Leaning against the wall, Charles smirks and says, “You owe me a kiss, Alexander.”

Alex smiles back at Charles. George stiffens at the reminder that Charles has Alex wrapped around his fucking finger, even now. “I’ll pay you back with interest next time, Charlie.”

After that, they start to shuffle out the door, but then Lando, still inside the flat, says, “Charles.”

George and Alex turn around.

Head tilted, Charles asks, “What is it?”

And that’s all he’s able to get out before Lando is grabbing his face and kissing him. Hungrily. Charles makes a shocked noise as he’s backed up against the wall, melting.

It’s a chaste kiss, all things considered. After only a moment, Lando pulls away with a smug smile, and Charles looks—dazed. Kiss-stupid and slack-jawed. George wonders if that’s how he gets when he isn’t in control.

“We should,” Charles starts, throat bobbing as he stares at the three of them in the hall. He licks his lips, cheeks red like his car, and scans each of them with his eyes. “All of us. Again.”

All of us, George thinks. Not just Lando, not just Alex. All of them. All four of them.

“I mean. Only if you all want.”

Charles, George registers, is looking at George. That’s where his gaze has settled. And George realizes that, yes, he is the limiting factor here. Because apparently, a-fucking-pparently, Charles has a history with Alex, and George’s more than half sure that if Charles and Lando were only marginally less drunk than they are, they would have fucked tonight.

Alex and Lando are looking at him too.

What’s the harm if George says no?

No, no. Wrong question.

What’s the harm if George says yes?

He doesn’t want to be the odd one out. What he wants is—

He turns to look at Alex, looking at him with curious eyes. George’s gaze drifts and drifts—Alex’s pink mouth, the shape of it, remembering the feel of it against his own.

George made his decision a long time ago. Charles and Lando—they’re just the implications.

Shuddering, he turns back to Charles, and nods his head.

Monaco is small enough that practically everything is just a walk away. Lando’s flat is the closest one to Charles’; George and Alex drop him off. On the way, surprisingly, they don’t chat about what happened back at Charles’ place. Instead, they grill Lando about whatever’s going on between him and Fewtrell, only to get absolutely nothing.

George’s flat is the closest to Lando’s, so Alex walks him back. And they don’t talk at all, at least until they’re outside the front door and George is about to walk in.

“Hey, um,” Alex says, biting his lip. “Tonight was a lot.”

“Yeah,” George admits, finding no use in pretending otherwise.

“So,” Alex starts. “Are you, like, sure? About—getting all together again? I feel kinda bad that like—I dunno. It was kinda like, we were ganging up on you. If you feel pressured in any way, I couldn’t live with myself, so, uh—”

Alex rambles. He’s a rambler. George knows this about him. Alex is a horrible storyteller, always telling the punchline first, then filling in all the gaps. Even then, he always forgets important parts, tells it all non-linearly and it never makes sense to anyone but him.

The truth is, as much as Alex’s blithe, carefree nature obscures, beneath that persona, he does just as much overthinking that George does.

And George—

Perhaps he isn’t as sober as he thought he was, but he feels clear. For the first time tonight, he feels in control. Brave.

He does what he wanted to do earlier, back in Charles’ flat, when Alex pulled away and George surged forward.

He kisses Alex. Mid-sentence, mid-word, mid-apology.

It’s just a peck, really. George thinks that if he properly kissed Alex right now, he might do something absolutely stupid, like drop to his knees and try to blow Alex under the cameras of his building. Even if he’s never done that before, he thinks he’d do that for Alex.

If Alex asked. If Alex wanted. He’s too afraid to ask if that’s what Alex would want.

Alex is smiling at him—and it’s one of his soft smiles. George feels so dizzy and stupid. “Not so straight then, are you?”

Heart hammering, George remembers to be brave. “Probably not.”

Alex licks over his mouth. George wants.

“Alright then,” Alex says, pupils wide. “We’ll talk in the morning? All of us?”

Yes, George thinks. They will.

And, against all odds, they do.

#4fic #the fic is called “the anatomy of a joke”#i still don't love it but...#my writing #there's like 3k more in the doc but none of it is coherent

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