#it will save them a ticket to paris!

[tommydarlings]

Vienna | s.v

pairing: dark!rbr!seb x reader

warnings: dark, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, manipulation, mentions of stalking, gun use, inappropriate usage of a gun

w/c: 2.2k

summary: After leaving your beautiful home country because of the infamous German redbull racing driver, sebastian vettel, you thought that the nightmare would finally be over — but that was just the beginning.

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Leaving your beloved country called England, was definitely something that hurt you but you had no other option.

After you’ve rejected redbull's golden boy, Sebastian Vettel, two time already — he still asks you like it’s the first time, with a smug smile and some specific kind of darkness lingering in his usually oh so bright eyes.

And every time you reject him — just because you're simply not interested, he comes crawling back… almost like you’re his addiction that he just can’t let go.

At first you thought that it wasn’t all to bad since you actually kinda liked him — as a friend — but after two times of asking you the exact same question with the exact same sinister smile on his face, you’ve lost every kind of likeness for him in a matter of days.

And now you're here, in Paris, all alone — only because of him.

It physically sickened you already how many times he texted you. Unstoppably. Even after you blocked him and reported his number, he always found a way to contact you all over again. It even got so bad that you started to get serious nightmares because of him, haunting you until the early morning hours.

But the worst part were the letters that you’ve received after you decided to throw your phone away since he just wouldn’t stop texting or calling you. The letters were basically what widened the imagination for your awful nightmares that gave you sleepless nights.

Some of those letters that you’ve got in your mailbox were filled with threats, some with lovely and sweet words and some with one single word or short sentences that made goosebumps appear your skin.

“Mine.”

“I'm always going to find you.”

“You can’t run away, little lamb.”

“Forever.”

And after receiving those letters in France as well, you left the country again. With tears in your eyes you decided to go to Russia without telling any one your friends about it. When you left England — and all of your friends behind, you told them that you’ll go to Paris but now, nobody’s knows.

Or that’s at least what you thought, but in the end you’ve realised that this assumption of yours was wrong.

You furrowed your brows as the doorbell rang, disturbing you from desperately trying to choose the cheapest flight to Russia, but you furrowed your brows even harder as the mailman handed you a package from an unknown sender, but deep down you sadly already knew who this 'unknown sender' was.

“Thank you,” you quietly mumbled to the kind mailman before you closed the front door and gently placed the surprisingly lightweight package onto your dinner table, slowly opening it.

And you almost couldn’t believe your own eyes as you saw what this 'unknown sender' sent you.

A first class airplane ticket to Russia.

You gulped before you quickly shut your curtains and continued packing you things, swiftly and slightly nervously leaving your small apartment in France behind.

- - -

“Thank you, Anastasia,” you said kindly to your neighbour as she brought you the mail that the mailman accidentally delivered to the wrong address. “No problem,” she replied with a strong Russian accent before you closed the door behind you, observing the small envelopes.

But one, rather big and light brown one, stood out.

Tears already entered your eyes as you quickly ripped it open, slowly not only growing scared by all of this, but also mad.

But this time it wasn’t only a sick 'love letter' filled with 'sweet' or threatening or possessive words — No, this time there were pictures included, pictures that made you stomach twist, almost wanting to throw up.

There were five pictures, just like his driver's number.

One where you were cooking in your panties and a short top, slightly moving around the kitchen while you were listening to some song you can’t remember anymore.

The second one was one of you doing your daily workout routine, a picture of you in the plank position, tiny frown on your sweaty face as you tried to focus.

The third one was definitely taken from the small upper window from your living room, you were able to see your figure from behind, sitting on the couch while you were watching your favourite horror movie, eating a bowl of popcorn while doing so.

The fourth made you gasp, it was a picture of you showering — obviously, completely naked, which was perfectly able to be seen on the picture, which means that he saw you naked now, that fucking pervert.

But the fifth one — the last one, probably scared you the most, even though you wouldn’t have thought that, that would be able after the last one.

It was a picture of you sleeping, but this time it wasn’t taken from a window like the other ones…it was taken from the bedroom, inside the house.

The sickening picture showed you sleeping peacefully on your left side while Sebastian's hand brushed some of your hair out of your face, fingertips only slightly touching your hot skin.

You sniffled in fear and sadness but also anger before you took all of those five pictures and ripped them in half, hastily throwing them into your trashcan before you booked your next ticket.

This time to the wonderful vienna.

- - -

“Hier, bitteschön,” Here you go, The barista told you with a smile, for a grumpy city like Vienna, she was very kind.

Since you’re living in a pretty little but modern apartment in the capital city of Austria, you learned some German. But you were still struggling a bit with the Austrian accent.

You nodded before you mumbled a quick 'danke' thank you.

Luckily, your apartment was only a few meters away from your apartment so you arrived at your new home in a matter of just a few minutes, quickly opening the door with your silver key and gently putting the pink donut and the strong coffee onto the kitchen counter.

You sighed as you picked your new nail up, hands already slightly trembling but that quickly stopped again as soon as you noticed that the mail is actually normal and not scary or psychotic.

You gulped your fear down and turned around with a tiny grin, actually genuinely happy that the creepy German doesn’t stalk you anymore.

But then you’ve noticed the small package.

With hot tears and slightly shaky hands, you picked it up and set it down onto the table, gently grabbing a sharp knife and opening it. But you were only able to furrow your brows as you’ve noticed that it’s a tape.

A small, black VHS video tape.

You sighed and took a deep breath before you quickly went over to your VHS video recorder, gently putting the tape into the black recorder before you pressed 'play' and then set yourself down onto your small couch that's facing the TV.

You gulped as you covered your mouth, tears entering your eyes all over again as you saw Sebastian entering your modern apartment back in Russia, slowly creeping through your kitchen until he reached your trashcan, pulling the destroyed pictures with a loud sigh out of the trashcan before he set the camera onto the kitchen counter, looking directly at it now with a smile.

You don’t even wanna imagine how many women he fooled with that perfect smile before.

But then his smile faded again as he gazed down at the ripped pictures of yourself.

“Can I be real honest with you, meine liebe, my love, I was really hurt when I saw this through my binoculars,” the young German formula one racer said into the camera, making you wipe some of your tears away before you sniffled in pure fear.

“I though you would like them! But I guess I was sadly wrong,” he mumbled before he smiled again as he pulled tape out of the pocket of his jeans, quickly sticking the pictures back together with a sinister dark gaze in his eyes.

After that, he got a hold of his black backpack, swiftly pulling five dark picture frames out of it, gently putting them down onto the counter before he framed — in a very gently way, all five pictures, smirking as he did so.

Then he put them into his backpack before he put it back around his back, laying the undersides of his arms onto the cold counter top before he put his cheek onto them, happily smiling at the camera,

“See you in vienna, baby.”

And then the video ended. Leaving you in nothing else than tears.

Suddenly, you felt a big hand covering your mouth from behind, other hand quickly grabbing your wrists in a rather rough manner, pressing them tightly to your body, “Hallo, mein liebling.” Hello my darling.

You gasped before you softly cried into his palm, tears streaming down your heated cheeks now as your entire body started to tremble, “Missed me? I bet you did, am I right?”

But you only shook your head as you whined into his warm palm, making him press your arms even tighter to your body,

“I said…am I right?” The German asked you again in a deeper tone, German accent strong.

This time, you agreed with his wicked statement, slowly nodding as he slowly let go of your wrists, surprisingly freeing them in a gently manner before he reached for something in his back pocket.

Swiftly, he pulled a tiny gun out of his the right pocket, making you gulp as he slowly put it in front of your face, showing it off to you like it’s a brand new phone he just got himself.

Sebastian chuckled as he saw your facial expression that showed nothing more than fear now, “She’s pretty isn’t she?” He asked as he wiggled the gun in front of your face, showing you that it’s actually loaded with bullets.

You gasped as you heard the bullets rattling in his gun, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes as the German redbull driver brushed a few strands of hair out of your face with the top of it, making you gulp.

“But clearly not as pretty as you, baby,” he muttered into your ear from behind before he slowly removed his palm from your mouth, gently placing it into the back of your head,

“S-Sebastian, please-”

“Shhh,” Sebastian immediately interrupted you, shaking his head from side to side with a tiny angry frown on his face before he went on, playing with the gun in front of your face like it’s a toy one, “Just do as I say…and none of those pretty little — but very painful, bullets will hit your delicate and oh so beautiful skin, meine liebe,” he said in a undertone with a grin on his face.

You knew that you shouldn’t have agreed like it means nothing, but you were just so unbelievably scared right now that you couldn’t risk anything, you simply couldn’t.

“O-Okay,” you nodded as tears landed onto your temple and cheeks, but Sebastian didn’t even acknowledged them, he only continued smiling like a sick and twisted fuck.

He nodded as he briefly bit his lip, “Great! Perfect!” He laughed along his sentence.

Suddenly, you felt him going on his knees, tying your hair in a rather clean makeshift ponytail and slowly bending your head backwards towards himself, making you whine,

“It’s okay, hey,” Sebastian spoke up, “If you cooperate like a good girl, I won’t hurt you, okay?”

You gulped and nodded, making you him forcefully tug on your ponytail, “Words goddammit.”

“Okay,” you answered in a quick manner, making him immediately smile down at you again, “that’s my good little girl,” he said before he ran his along your trembling lips, this time noticing your fear,

“Entspann, meine liebe, alles is okay.” Relax, my love, everything is okay.

But you were definitely far away from being relaxed, especially as soon as he spoke up again, genuinely scaring you with his words this time,

“Open your mouth.”

You choked on your breath as you felt him smiling against your cheek, fingers on the back of your head — that are still holding a neatly done makeshift ponytail — now softly stroking your scalp.

Very slowly, you opened your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt him slowly shoving the loaded gun into your mouth, roughly tasting the metal on your tongue now.

“So ein gutes mädchen.” Such a good girl.

“So brav, nur für mich, huh?” So good, only for me, huh?

Then he shoved the heavy metal gun further down your throat, forcefully choking you with it, making you gag around it.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he smiled against your wet cheek, making you cry and whine out, tears landing on top of his fingers and the gun now.

He sighed as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to not choke on the loaded gun, “Gosh, this looks and sounds way better than I imagined it, to be honest,” he whispered into you ear before he kissed your wet temple.

Suddenly, Sebastian's hand let go of your makeshift ponytail created by him and put his palm onto the back of your head, slowly forcing your head towards the gun, making you choke on it even more as you gagged around it.

“Oh god,” Sebastian spoke up in a deep and raspy tone, making you open your eyes again, “Look what you’ve done to me,” he said before he turned your head so that you could see his crotch area.

And there he was, on his knees, shoving you a loaded gun down your throat with a big boner in his jeans, happily smiling at you.

#fanfic #fanfiction #f1 #sebastian vettel #fem!reader #rbr!seb #dark #dark!seb #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel x reader #red bull sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel oneshot #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel angst #sebastian vettel imagine

[slapthebass]

EUROPE TOUR24 FROM DEPRESSION TO [mode of Withering to death & UROBOROS] - Live reports (Warsaw + Paris)

Warsaw - Progresja 19/03/24 (mode of WTD)

Travelled to Poland on the 16th, we had mixed weather during the week-end but it was luckily quite sunny (albeit cold-ish) while we queued outside the venue! My friend and I had Priority upgrades for this show so we arrived around 14:30 & waited right next to the VIP queue. Venue logistics for the queue(s) were a bit fuzzy at first* but we got our laminated passes around 16:00 (just after the VIPs got theirs + goodies) then waited for a bit after 18:00 when the VIPs entered the building. Diru/prod staff keeps a printed list of VIP/priority passes holders and distributes passes and goodies by checking the names.

*Fans were better organised with sharpies and unofficial waiting numbers :)

We went in and waited (again :) ) in the pit for 1h, behind the caution tape separating the VIP from the rest of the room. This allowed us to get some merch at the stand, then at 19:00 the security guards lifted the caution tape and we managed to get nice spots at the 2nd & 3rd rows in front of Die's mic. We waited again for another hour while the general attendance ticket holders entered the venue, then the show started around 20:20 (a bit late because of a technical issue with Die's guitar apparently, that had all their technicians running around looking stressed out), without any intro if I remember correctly, maybe because of said technical issue (but there were Diru remixes being played through the speakers during the whole time we waited inside).

I was unfortunately right next to an annoying (& bulky) man who kept pushing me & other fans around the whole time (I fought for my life the whole set and almost fell when the members entered the stage), but otherwise the show was very nice, it was great seeing them live for the first time even though it felt quite unreal! WTD is not my favourite album but it was still amazing to hear the songs live and the audience was really into it <3 I could see Die very clearly, Toshiya also came around a few times, as well as Kaoru in the end, but my view of Kyo and Shinya was a bit blocked. Die wore his usual tights with a black sleeveless top and red jacket; Shinya had a flowy white shirt as always; Kyo sported a simple black t-shirt & track pants (?) with a nice white make-up on the top half of his face; Toshiya wore the black siren dress (I almost died seeing it with my own two eyes) with thigh-high boots (not the same pair as in the 2024 Yurameki PV though, they had bulky heels instead of stilettos heels for practical reasons obviously :D), and Kaoru wore a black suit with a white shirt.

They all looked a bit jetlagged, having landed in Poland only the day before the 1st concert, and Die was breathing quite heavily during Akuro no oka in the end! The show ended quite abruptly with Akuro no oka, I was expecting Rasetsukoku as they tend to end most concerts with it but they all left the stage (Kaoru, Die and Toshiya being of course the last to leave after throwing picks everywhere).

On a personal note, I was overjoyed the finally see the brown ESP bass which is heavily featured on WTD songs <3

The setlist: https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/dir-en-grey/2024/progresja-warsaw-poland-6baa32c2.html

The show ended around 22:00, it took a while for everyone to leave the venue!

Warsaw - Progresja 20/03/24 (mode of UROBOROS)

We had VIP upgrades this time & arrived around the same time as the day before, to wait with other fans under a nice sun :) Logistics were better than for the 1st show, with barriers already in place and 3 visible queues (VIP/Priority at the front + GA at the back of the 1st two lines). We heard reports & anecdotes from the previous day's VIP meet & greet and were 'warned' that Kyo had a paper bag on his head, so that saved us some awkwardness later :').

Staff also came while we were waiting, to check the names/tickets and distribute laminated passes & VIP goodies. We got a nice cotton bag, a fan, and an enveloppe to protect the postcards distributed by the group members. This time we got both a laminated pass and a wrist bracelet, to avoid cheating with passes from the day before. Staff also warned us no to take pictures/touch them during the M&G, then we entered the venue around 18:00 as expected. People queued in the stairs then before the doors of the main room upstairs (some went directly to the merch stand while we waited here), then the doors opened and we went inside one by one in a continued file, to meet the members and get the postcards. It was all very quick, I was a bit confused because they stayed in a quite dark area and I almost didn't recognize Kaoru who was first in line, oops. We didn't really had time to speak with them so I just took the signed postcards while thanking each of them; after Kaoru was Die with big sunglasses, Kyo with a paper bag on his head, Shinya with a mask on and Toshiya with sunglasses (he was the most smiley of them all and looked really nice and patient!). They were not yet wearing their stage outfits/makeup (except maybe for Kyo under the bag I guess?), and there was a gift box right next to the table to leave stuff for them.

Then we rushed to the stage and got 1st/2nd row spots, right between Kyo's platform on the left and Die's mic on the right! We waited again for two hours while speaking with nice fans from Romania who were right next to and behind us (hi if you're reading that!).

The show started on time with a nice intro video; it started with Vinushka, which is one of my favourite songs so I was really ecstatic to hear it live **. Kyo had a nice skull make-up which was really impressive with the visuals displayed on the screen! Then everything went blurry & heavy really fast haha, Uroboros really has to be experienced live at least once! HYDRA -666- & Reiketsu Nariseba in particular were especially impressive, they put them at the end of the main set to try and kill us I think :') (I was lucky enough to record the Toshiya-Die interaction during Reiketsu!). One calmer moment was Inconvenient Ideal, during which both Kaoru & Die went AWOL for a while (Kyo seemed to be looking for them at the beginning).

Not that the encore was softer, it started deceivingly 'calmly' with Dozing Green, then it was chaos again with Stuck Man, T.D.F.F. and Eddie back to back. Akuro no oka was again the last song of the encore/show, but they all looked less tired than the day before even though the show was more intense!

The audience was enthusiastic once again and we got pushed a lot from behind, but it was an overall great show.

Kyo left the stage first as usual after saying bye-bye, then Shinya briefly went on the platform to throw his drumsticks before leaving. Kaoru, Die and Toshiya stayed for a bit, throwing picks and water, and I managed to get one of Toshiya's bass picks!

The setlist: https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/dir-en-grey/2024/progresja-warsaw-poland-6baa32c2.html

We took again a while to leave the venue, and headed to the merch stand to get more stuff (WTD/Uroboros lucky charms, stickers and postcards with cute drawings of the band members as monsters enjoying their trip to Europe <3).

Paris - Bataclan 22/03/24 (mode of WTD)

After a day of respite to travel back home, we headed to the Bataclan concert hall early in the afternoon to queue. I was a bit nervous as I'd never been to this venue before despite living in Paris, and its name was of course associated with dark memories from the 2015 terror attacks, but in the end the excitement to see Diru live again was greater than my anxiety :)

We had Priority upgrades and waited in the queue that was already in place; everything seemed quite well organised at first with three delimited lines but it ended a bit messy in the end with the VIPs moving to another line on the other side of the sidewalk, Priority upgrades members not knowing where to wait, etc. Luckily the weather was nice and sunny, and we waited more or less patiently until staff came with the laminated passes around 16:00. The VIPs got inside the venue a bit before 18:00, then the Priority upgrades; we waited again behind a caution tape inside the concert hall, which was then lifted at 19:00 and we managed to grab nice spots on the left side of the stage this time, I was at the barrier (1st row) right before Kaoru's mic and with an amazing view of Toshiya & Kyo!

There was a support artist this time, a French DJ who did his best to entertain us but I must admit we weren't really into it as we were waiting for the main set to begin. It wasn't that bad but I'd have preferred to wait with the Diru remixes like in Warsaw!

Unlike the 1st day in Warsaw, we had the intro music + video just before the band entered the stage (Die in red&white, Shinya in white, Kyo in black with a touch of eye-liner, Toshiya in the white dress and Kaoru in a steampunk-ish suit and vest **). Mode of WTD was great in Warsaw but it was wild in Paris, the audience sang everything loudly, cheered & clapped and the band seemed to really appreciate the vibe :)

It was the first time I really saw Kaoru so close (except for a few appearances on the right side of the stage in Warsaw) and it was amazing to see him play and make faces at the crowd & cameras, he really knows how to motivate people by (lovingly) yelling at them \o/

There was a funny moment during Akuro no oka in the end, when Toshiya almost began his bass solo too early with a single "klonk" and looked sheepish for a second (Kaoru was like "erm, i'm not finished yet mate" while still playing the guitar :D). I recorded the whole song but my phone mysteriously freezed right at this point so we concluded that Toshiya is actually a telepath and erased it with his preternatural powers :').

A very nice evening overall, it was the perfect combination of great songs & performances from the band + overjoyed participation from the audience! And the crowd was both enthusiastic and very chill pushing-wise on our end, so that was a nice respite from the Warsaw shows physically speaking :)

The setlist: https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/dir-en-grey/2024/le-bataclan-paris-france-3aa096f.html

Paris - Bataclan 23/03/24 (mode of UROBOROS)

THE BEST CONCERT EVER

(Sorry, this needed to be said first).

4th (and last :'( ) show of the tour for us, so we hoped it would be great and we were not disappointed!

The queue outside was incredibly chaotic: despite being more or less organised the day before, it was a mess this time and nobody really knew where to wait. In addition, the weather was atrocious and we got rain showers, a chilly wind *and* a freezing hailstorm during the afternoon, everybody ended up soaked with chattering teeth for the remainder of the waiting time... But the VIPs finally went inside around 18:00, then us (Priority upgrades again) around 20 mn later.

After the caution tape was lifted, we went to the right side of the stage and had a nice spot in front of Die's mic once again! Then the GA ticket holders went in and the room quickly got quite warm, before the support act even started. It was the same DJ as the previous evening but the audience was a bit more into it this time.

The band entered the stage around 20:25 like the other days, with intro song + video again. There was a technical issue with the projected images on the screen during at least 20 mn, the visuals for Vinushka were really blurry and we also saw a computer error message during the following songs, but it got fixed at some point and didn't stop us from enjoying the show: from Vinushka to Bugaboo, everything was already wild but the band + crowd went really insane after that until near the end of the encore: Doukoku to Sarinu, HYDRA -666-, Gaika, Reiketsu Nariseba... the end of the main set was even wilder than the first time, they left us no time to breathe and we were all screaming, headbanging and jumping everywhere. Kyo looked really satisfied and apparently parted the crowd in two at some point (this is from another live report i read), the audience went wild and the security staff had to douse us with water to avoid more faintings (they had to evacuate at least three people from the pit from what i saw). I almost didn't take pictures this time, except for a few during the calmer songs and interludes because i just couldn't move for anything else than jumping up and down :')

We were already almost dead on our feet at the end of the main set, and the encore finished us, it was as wild as the main set but we managed to find some unexpected resources within us to scream and jump some more! Akuro no oka was a welcome and moving respite at the end (no bass solo mishap this time, a certain bassist was focusing haha), I personally wouldn't have survived another song like the rest and had to sit down after the show ended to re-learn how to breathe properly :') Luckily the venue staff took pity on us and put the AC on during the encore, so we barely managed not to pass out from heat exhaustion...

Then another great time at the end when the band members stayed on the stage: Kyo left quickly as usual but Shinya stayed a second longer than the other nights and threw not only his drumsticks but also a drumskin (??) like a frisbee in the crowd, then the usual suspects Kaoru, Toshiya and Die loitered for a while, throwing picks and smiling at the crowd <3 They looked like they didn't want to leave and neither did we!

The setlist: https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/dir-en-grey/2024/le-bataclan-paris-france-1baa7d90.html

Gear

Don't think you can get out from a gear overview! For both albums/shows combined, we got:

Kaoru:

ESP D-KV 7str [Nothing]

ESP D-KV custom (blue JZH)

ESP D-KV 薰 custom (greenish/yellowish DKV - tag to be updated)

Die:

ESP D-DR 7str (lava D-DR)

ESP D-DR (red ESP)

ESP D-DR-300 (red mesh)

Morris S-custom D (acoustic black)

Toshiya:

ESP D-TR [RU-DRIVE Arch] (the brown one)

ESP D-TT [TRICK STAR] 00 (the black one)

ESP D-TT [TRICK STAR] 04 (striped blue)

Shinya:

Remo + Signia drumkit (it seems to be his default drumkit for abroad tours, maybe not to damage his usual Pearl one ?)

Sabian cymbals (probably as I didn't manage to take clear pictures of the brand)

Aaand that's it, thanks for reading all that! :)

#kaoru #toshiya #die #kyo #shinya #dir en grey #y: 2024 #s: EUROPE TOUR24 FROM DEPRESSION TO [mode of Withering to death] #s: EUROPE TOUR24 FROM DEPRESSION TO [mode of UROBOROS] #live report #for reference

[withacapitalp]

Countdown Pt 2

Follow up to this thing I wrote yesterday

People always acted funny when they saw his timer. They usually reacted in two ways- either they tried to pretend that they didn’t see it, or they said how sorry they were. 

That’s not enough time. 

Oh I wish you had more time. 

Only a few days? I’m sorry honey. 

But Steve had never been upset about it. Sure, he only had less than a week with his soulmate, but that only meant that their time was more treasured. They understood that they had to make every second count. 

Wasn’t that a good thing? 

“You’ll understand someday, Steven,” His mother had said quietly into her wine glass one night when it was just the two of them at home. She was sitting on the couch, flipping through their photo album idly, holding Steve hostage with stories about how good things used to be. How in love his parents were, once upon a time. How happy they used to be before the job, before the promotion, before the big house in Loch Nora. 

(They really mean before they had him. Not that either of his parents will ever admit that) 

“You’ll understand,” She repeated in a whisper, taking another long sip. 

“What will I understand?” Steve replied. Usually he tried to stay as still and silent as possible on nights like these, did his best to pretend like he didn’t exist, waiting for her to finally wave a hand and release him to his room. But this time he didn’t get it. 

“You’ll understand that this? This is a curse,” She spat out, holding up her right arm and showing him her timer. All zeroes. His mother’s soulmate had died when he was ten, but her timer had counted down. She had met him at some point in her life though. She knew him, but she hadn’t lived a life with him. Whoever he was, he had died alone.  

Steve had always wondered about that, always wanted to ask. If she knew who her soulmate was, why not be with them? If she had found that person, why not make every second count? 

“It’s a curse,” His mother had said, continuing when Steve didn’t say anything in response, finishing what was left in her glass, “Especially yours. I remember the first time I saw your timer. It was right after you were born. I was holding you against me, you were so little then, so sweet, and I looked down, and I saw it. Five days. What kind of God would only give my baby five days? Not a good one,”

Steve wasn’t exactly sure what kind of God was out there. If he was being fully honest, he wasn’t sure he believed in God at all. 

He believed….in the universe. He believed in something linking them all, something that knew them and wanted them to find the person that completed their lives. The Universe knew that Steve and his soulmate were strong enough to handle five days, four hours, and twenty two minutes. That unnamed unexplained universe knew that they would know what to do with that time. 

Steve had plans for his five days, four hours, and twenty two minutes. 

When he found that person, the first thing he was going to do was hold them for at least five of those minutes. Steve loved hugs, and his parents hated them, but his soulmate would love them too. He knew that for sure. 

So a five minute hug, and then he’d ask where they wanted to go. The two of them would travel to wherever his soulmate wanted. Steve had the money, he’d been saving every single birthday and Christmas check he had gotten since he was nine. By now, it was more than enough for two tickets to anywhere in the world. 

They would spend the whole plane ride talking and getting to know each other. They would laugh, probably a little too loudly, and annoy everyone else around them with how infatuated they were with each other. 

Maybe they’d go to Paris. Stroll through the city, eat pastries, stuff like that. Maybe they would end up in some remote part of the world where it felt like they were the only two people on the planet.

Maybe they’d just stay in Hawkins. Hole up in his house, listen to records, swim in the pool, or lie in bed all day. 

A hug, possibly a trip, and after that it was up to his soulmate. Steve wasn’t going to monopolize their five days with just his ideas. He had a bunch of suggestions if they didn’t know what they wanted, but those were the only two things he really cared about. 

He didn’t hug his soulmate when they finally laid eyes on each other. Steve didn’t even realize his timer had started counting down. 

He was too busy thinking about the broken bottle being held against his neck. 

By the time he and Eddie both realized that their timers had started, they were already in the thick of things. Steve had seen it while Nancy was wrapping her sweater around his waist to try and stem some of the blood coming gushing out of him from the bat bites. He had put both hands in his hair just to try and give himself some other pain to ground with, and his timer caught his eye. 

It was already on three days. 

He had only met one new person in the last two days. One new person who always hid his timer under a leather cuff around his wrist. 

Steve did go through with his plans, but it was a funhouse mirror version of them, twisted and wrong. 

They did hug, but it wasn’t something soft or intimate. Eddie had woken Steve up from a nightmare on their second to last day, and Steve had laid in his arms shaking for two of their final forty eight hours. 

They did go on a trip of sorts, if stopping the apocalypse in an alternate dimension counted as a trip. They went, but they didn’t stay together. 

God, if Steve had a chance to do it all over again, he never would have let Eddie out of his sight. 

There was no avoiding fate, no changing what The Universe had planned. Steve has always been aware of that. He’s known that as fact his entire life. But still. Maybe things would have gone the way they were supposed to if they had been together. 

Because it was supposed to be him that died. 

His entire life he had known it was going to be him. 

Steve has imagined it a thousand different ways. A random heart attack, or a freak accident, maybe even saving his soulmate’s life somehow. He had never even thought to consider it might be his soulmate saving him instead. 

It was perfect. Dustin and Eddie would be far away from the danger, and Robin and Nancy were going to be just fine. Steve had no idea when it was coming, but it was going to happen in this final fight. They would win and he would have to do something stupid to make sure they did. Something off plan that would end up killing him. 

Except, he didn’t do anything that wasn’t in the plan. 

It went off without a hitch. Well, there was a pretty scary moment where there had been vines around his neck choking him, but the rest had gone exactly as they wanted it too. He and Robin had torched the monster, and then Nancy shot him in the head. 

Vecna was dead, burning to ash on the floor in front of them. They did it. They actually fucking did it. 

The elation of that was unlike anything Steve had ever experienced. The bone deep relief of knowing everyone he loved was finally safe, that this was finally over. That he had somehow lived to get to see it all. 

He had lived. 

He…..he was still alive. 

Steve hadn’t even thought to look down at his timer. He had been so busy just reacting, being in the moment of the fight. The fight was over. They had won. Everyone was safe now. 

Steve was still alive. 

He looked at his timer. All zeroes. 

How long had it been all zeroes? 

Steve took an experimental breath, and then another. Still breathing. Still alive. He looked down at his wrist. Still all zeroes. It was like he was looking at a puzzle with only one piece left, holding that last piece in his hand, but unable to make it fit for some reason. There was just something that was so wrong. 

There were two options when it came to Timers. You died, and your timer vanished, or your timer hit zero, and your soulmate died. There were two options. 

Steve had just never considered the other one. 

And by the time he ran out of the Creel House, it was already too late. Steve knew that. He was running anyway. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw Eddie for himself. His mother’s voice filled his ears the entire time. 

“You’ll understand that this? This is a curse,” 

Steve had promised himself he would never think about his timer that way. Promised that he would never be like his mother. 

But she might have been right about this. 

#Steve harrington #Eddie munson #steddie #steddie au #steddie soulmate au #tw: major character death #tw: death #stranger things #st #st4 #stranger things 4 #stranger things soulmate au #countdown au #Steve and eddie #timer au #Steve and Eddie #Steve harringtons mother #Steve harringtons parents #Liam speaks up #Writing(withacapitalW)

[bambi-kinos]

I really enjoy your meta and look forward to more mclennon analysis. Out of curiosity, you mentioned that you think they started being physical in 1964 - is there a reason why that year specifically? Personally, I've always thought they started sleeping together in 1963, and my reasoning for that is they seem much closer in videos/photos, not to mention it was the year they "broke through", so to speak.

Would love to hear your thoughts on that!

Hmm well I guess it depends on how they, and we, define their sex life. John and Paul were sexually intimate starting since they were teenagers because John brought Paul into the group wanks. (tbh it's a miracle Paul didn't brain John with something heavy thanks to all that Winston Churchilling.) There's really no telling how it progressed from there, anything is possible with these two. Until Paul tells us the details (and I do not put it past him) then he and John could have been hooking up at literally any point in their relationship. When I think of them getting physical with each other, I'm thinking of them getting each other off with intent and purpose, and considering the style of the time this would mean penetration. Everything else can be handwaved away.

I pick 1964 because of this post: https://www.tumblr.com/got-ticket-to-ride/739464905120497664/its-the-anniversary-day-of-john-and-paul-in-paris?source=share

It's just something about it, y'know. John and Paul are in their city. They stayed up all night and well into the morning and then slept deep into the afternoon, almost evening. And then as GTTR says, "And then they emerge from their hotel room looking like a newlywed couple."

Well, there's just a certain satisfaction radiating off them isn't there?

But I do see your point: why wouldn't they be hooking up earlier? Why wouldn't it escalate physically before this? Why would they wait until Paris 1964?

I have a few reasons, they are admittedly flimsy but since we are all just making shit up then it's fine, right?

Julian was born in 1963. I've read bits and pieces of Beatles 1963 by Rees and that book is full of little chunks about John running home to see Cynthia and the baby (usually not even for a full night/day because he was so busy.) Their schedule is also packed, they are constantly on the move especially during the night because this is where they had to start being smuggled out of theaters and such. So I genuinely think that John and Paul did not have the time or the space to have sex with each other. I know I am saying this when they had time to hook up with groupies between shows but considering who John and Paul are, and what they mean to one another, I just struggle to imagine them acting that way with one another. They would want to take their time with one another and get it right. They're hopeless romantics at heart, they're both deeply enamored with the idea of "you're special, you're different" so I genuinely think they would want to take their time with each other physically and do it right. I don't think they had that time in 1963 with the way they're running all over the UK.

Then there's the Absolute State of John and Paul's relationship in 1963. Remember that the halcyon days of Paris are way in the rearview mirror at this point. In 1962 Stuart died, Cynthia got pregnant, and John had to get married to save her reputation. I can't imagine Paul reacting well to any of this though I'm sure he put his cheery stoic mask on. Then in 1963, Julian is born. Barcelona happens and John seduces Brian to get the songwriting credit that he wanted and screws Paul out of their deal. Considering this is something Paul is still angry about to this day, I can't imagine how he blew his fucking top at John when he found out that May:

I don't think Paul was in the mood for any hooking up in 1963. John has a baby with a woman, is married, then he fucks off to have a gay experience with their manager and then when he comes back he's screwed Paul's side of the business on the downlow? I would be on the fucking six o' clock news lmao, John would not have escaped my wrath. It's really no wonder Paul made a specific point of hooking up with Jane Asher isn't it? He was making a point to John specifically and John seethed about it.

However I do think that something happened in 1963 that healed the rift in the Lennon-McCartney relationship:

Paul got sick from the gastric flu and he fainted dead away in the dressing room. John was very upset and was seen pacing the room when the doctor arrived to check on Paul. This is how we know that Paul actually fainted for real, if he was just feeling feverish John would be concerned but maybe not like that. @james-winston has a pair of really fantastic posts about the aftermath of the fainting incident that I have taken as gospel and I fully apply this to any McLennon analysis I write about this period. The key point though is this:

I have a headcanon that Paul being sick caused something to happen between John and Paul that left them both feeling awkward around each other. I don't think it is was sexual, I think it was more likely that John (who thought he was cursed to have all the men he loved die on him) was afraid something might happen to Paul, and reacted emotionally to it.

This all took place in November, after the Wooler thing, after the burn from Barcelona has had a chance to soften, after they both have had time to get used to the idea that Julian exists and has a place in their lives now. I think this was enough to mend things between them. And you know what else happened the night Paul fainted? Brian secured The Beatles their spot on Ed Sullivan:

So once Brian comes back and tells them the news, John and Paul flip right back into the honeymoon phase. The wounds of the past are forgotten (for now) and they're right back in each other's pockets. I think it's around this time period that Paul was taking photos that now make up Eye of the Storm.

TBH I can imagine John and Paul hooking up at this date. If someone looked at this and said "well this looks like a prelude to sweet love making to me" then that's perfectly reasonable. There's some suggestive photos in Eye of the Storm where Paul is taking John's picture from what looks to be a bathtub while John makes faces at him. It could have been then, absolutely.

But I like the idea that Paul wanted to wait until the next year. 1963 was rough on all of them and he and John are both big on getting new starts. Wait for 1964 to roll around. Brian says we're going to Paris in February. I can wait until then.

And just this once, it was worth it.

#mclennon #anonymous asks #talktalktalk #my meta #beatles meta #this was a really fun ask anon thank you

[anastasiaskarsgard]

Could you do a fluffy one shot of Vincent de gramont and the reader trying out clothes

“This really isn’t necessary” she told him as she was surrounded by seamstresses, taking her measurements.

“Oh but it is. It’s the least I can do after you so gallantly volunteered to save the day.” The Marquis remarked, smiling slyly.

Rolling her eyes, she couldnt help but smile at his antics. She highly doubted the validity of his supposed plight, of being unable to find a date to one of the most exclusive charity balls in Paris. All the richest elites from across Europe attended, dressed to the gills in the most extravagant gowns the high fashion houses had to offer. And here she was, a simple public servant, being fitted by the house of Dior. She was giddy.

“I think a form fitting gown in a blush or ivory would be ideal.” One of the seamstresses relayed.

“As long as it’s original, I don’t care about the cost. I’m trusting you won’t let me down.” The Marquis stated.

She couldn’t help but notice the flash of fear that crossed several of the women’s faces. Pondering over what could possibly make the finest fashion house fear someone, she decided he must be richer than she thought. The only fear she could imagine is the loss of a very generous client. Her head spun with the amount of money you’d need to spend, you make them even notice you.

All rising at once and exiting without a word to her, she couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed they never spoke to her, except to tell her how to stand so they could measure her.

Too excited and frankly honored to have her own custom gown made for her, she stepped down from the platform.

“My beauty, they are only going to get some pieces for you to try.” He said halting her from exiting.

“I couldn’t possibly accept any more of your generosity…”

“Oh no no cherie! This is only so they can be sure how clothing falls on you and your preferences.” He assured her with one of his mind melting smiles.

“Oh well then that’s ok, I suppose.”

Just then 3 women returned to the fitting room with 3 racks of a wide range of selections. They all appeared to be breath taking and far out of her price range, but she wasn’t going to be difficult. Straining out a weary smile, she watched as the Marquis gave instructions to one of the girls, and exited to the viewing area.

Smiling warmly at the woman approaching her, she was surprised at the deer in the headlights look on her face. “Thank you for helping me today. I truly am honored to even be allowed to try these things on.”

Confusion passed between the women, until the one closest her, began to undress her. “You are very kind, but your beauty will do our creations a service. We should be thanking you.”

Smiling brightly, she was determined to be as polite and cooperative as possible, no matter how many things she needed to try.

Hours later, she felt how a Barbie doll must feel as she viewed the passing city in the hired car she’d been sent home in.

The Marquis was almost too good to be true. He was unbelievably handsome, polite, thoughtful and respectful. She’d had him looked into and he was active with many charities and took care of his only living realatives; two younger twin sisters, famous in the equestrian community.

His wealth came from toxic parents and investments made with an astonishing amount of revenue. He was perfect in every way, not having so much as a parking ticket, and even after several months, he never attempted to take advantage of the times they’d been alone.

She wasn’t sure that was a good thing. She had been hoping he’d kiss her tonight after dinner, but he’d only kissed her hand with those full sensual lips.

Bringing her hand to her lips, she kissed it tenderly where his lips had caressed her before. Laughing at herself, she was thankful she was alone in the car and thankful the privacy was up.

Peering out the window, she realized they had made it to her home. Thanking the driver, and making her way to her door, she nearly tripped and fell upon entering.

Feeling for the light, she flipped it on and nearly fell flat on her ass at the sight that met her eyes.

Dior packages covering every floor and every surface in her humble townhouse. It was like a fairy tale. She couldn’t help but squeal and run in place, before closing her door behind her.

Staring in disbelief, she wasn’t sure where to start. Pulling out her phone, she noticed a new message from the Marquis.

I may have lied, but it was for good reason. Forgive me?

She chuckled and thought on a witty response.

I don’t know. You’ll have to make it up to me.

Sending it before she could change her mind, she waited for his reply with great anticipation. Finally it came in.

I am yours, to do with, as you wish.

She couldn’t have stopped smiling, if someone put a gun to her head….

#bill skarsgard #marquis de gramont #the marquis #vincent de gramont #asks #answers #my writing #marquis x reader

[ijustreallylovethem]

https://www.tumblr.com/ijustreallylovethem/737804343006396416/for-christmas-mark-bought-elle-a-trip-to-europe

Can we get a blurb on them opening gifts

so everyone has one gift from everyone else, so they take turns opening one present at a time. mark makes sure elle opens the gift he got her last. she’s intrigued but she also knows mark, and know she very well may just be acting cheeky and wanting “to save the best for last.”

“okay, time for mine,” he smiles widely at her. she rolls her eyes but starts to tear the wrapping paper off the box. her eyes rows furrow when she realizes what she’s looking at.

“a printout of a map of europe?”

“we’re going to europe in june. but i want you to pick what cities you want to go to.” she gasps, lifting the paper out of the box. two plane tickets to paris sit underneath. “i figured you’d want to go there so i already bought the tickets. but you can plan what we do for the rest of the week.” elle lunges forward, knocking mark onto his back with the force behind her hug.

“i love you so much. you’re amazing.”

“i love you too, elle. my favorite girl.” she giggles, and he can feel a tear hit his neck. “you crying?”

“i’m so excited!” he chuckles and so do his parents. elle pulls away, wiping at her eyes. “i can’t wait for june.”

#raegan talks about blurbs #mark estapa #mark x elle

[coffeecities]

um, i have a snippet of day 6 of @lestappenweek? 🫣 i thought about posting this independently but then i saw this would fit right in lestappen week 😶 so here you go, i guess

EDIT: was tagged by @xiaoluclair so i’m tagging her back (and now am looking through my other wips and looking for snippets to post) + also tagging @f1-giuki​ and @fueledbyremembering to post snippets from their wips to tide us over spa this weekend 👀

“That last ace serve was incredible,” Charles said as he began talking with his hands again, “but the backhand in the second set—the one before matchpoint?—was my favourite. It was very much like Federer, non?”

And really, Max had no choice but to be smitten. And once again wonder why he never bothered keeping up with Formula 1.

“Being compared to Federer is too much high praise,” Max replied, a little shy to being compared to a legend. The media could paint him arrogant all they want (and he really was arrogant sometimes, to be quite honest), but being compared to legends—especially those that recently retired—still was too much for him to handle.

“But it’s true, yes? It was like watching Roger Federer fighting with Rafa Nadal,” Charles said as he continued to praise him, “ah, but your opponent is not too much like Nadal. Perhaps we will find out in Paris.”

“Will I see you in Paris then?”

Charles gave him a small, amused smile, and Max had to wonder if it really was time to get himself updated with Formula 1. He could hear Christian in the background conversing with Charles’s companion, and wondered if he could pull his coach and save him from embarrassment.

“I would like to,” Charles began, but Max could feel a little apprehension (disappointment?) at the tone, “unfortunately, I—we—have races on some of the dates. Perhaps if you made it to the finals?”

“I always make it to the finals,” Max joked, peacocking a little as he found himself enjoying the conversation he’s having with Charles.

“Ah, but that is true,” Charles conceded with a quiet laugh, “then perhaps I’ll get myself a ticket to the finals?”

Before Max could answer, the staff interrupted them and told them they needed a photo together for their social media. Max was quick to put his arm around Charles’s waist, blaming the redness of his face from the energy he exerted while playing. Christian was already making their goodbyes and Max was a little panicked at having their conversation cut short.

“Can I have your number?,” Max asked, surprising both himself and Charles at his bold question, “I can get you an all-access pass in Paris for the finals, of course. Just so you’re not inconvenienced.”

#this was sponsored by copious amounts of kombucha #and me replaying fed vs nadal matches because i miss them a lot???? #um pls be gentle #lestappen

[cant-get-no-worse]

'Let's all take a moment to remember the somptuous ref manipulation/acting performance given by Luis Suarez on March 2017. This guy practically gave us the Remontada as much as Neymar 🙏'

Ciene you can't just drop this and not elaborate

Took me about a month but oh but anon, I will. A year ago, I watched a short documentary of a former French ref who analyzed the Remontada (heavily criticized for its refereeing decisions, dubious penalties given or not given, etc) and the external factors that made it happen. Absolutely fascinating stuff. I'll give you a bullet point resume of the doc here, since it's exclusively in French.

So here's why La Remontada isn't only the consequence 22 players' mentality and in-game performances for 90 minutes but rather a product of a boiling setting, wrong UEFA predictions, inexperienced referees, weak communication, experienced players' social manipulation on top of 22 minds in radical different headspaces.

Practical context.

February 14th, 2017. Paris Saint-Germain beats FC Barcelona 4-0 at the Parc des Princes in the first leg of the UCL's round of 16.

March 8th, 2017. FC Barcelona receives Paris Saint-Germain in the second leg of the UCL's round of 16.

2. Emotional context.

After the absolute "desastre" (Mundo Deportivo's front page) that was February, 14th, everyone, save a few Barça players and part of the culés, consider the second leg to be already done and over with. No team has ever broken a four goal difference in a UCL knockout stage and the sheer beating taken by Barça at the Parc stands fresh in everyone's minds as a chapter closed. PSG has secured its ticket into quarter-finals. Barça has fallen deeper and deeper since their 2015 treble.

March 6, 2017. Four PSG players do an at-the-time chill, but after the facts bit of a surreal interview where they talk about the up coming game and their feelings about it. One Marco Verratti notably jokingly asks the three others if, hypothetically speaking, they'd be happy if they lost the game 5 - 1 but still scrapped by to the Quarter Finals. 2 of them say they'd be fine with it. The 2 others, Verratti included, say they'd be disgusted having conceided that many goals; "You let 5 go in, people are gonna laugh at you."

3. UEFA's wrong predicitions and choices of referees.

Refereeing a knockout UCL game is the stuff of what the UEFA calls "elite" referees, the best of the best in Europe.

Following the 4 - 0 of the first leg, the UEFA, deeming like 80% of football world the encounter to be over, decides to appoint a up-and-coming referee in what is talked about as an "easy game" within the Federation. It's still a knockout round game, so there are still the bright stage lights, but the stakes are deemed to be nul because of the 4 - 0: the perfect stage to give a referee a safe space to grow experience and for the UEFA to test him in stress-free conditions.

4. The refereeing squad of March 8th, 2017.

Deniz Aytekin is the main referee of the game. He's got a solid reputation as the 2nd best German referee at the time and destined to replace the old first one.

This is his first ever UCL knockout round to referee.

The whole refereeing team consists of 5 guys. Four of them are FIFA referees, meaning they've already referee international games. One of them, which we'll call Double B., is however only a Bundesliga referee. He's never refereed a European game in his life, never been under such bright spotlights. He's there as an Additional assistant referee (AAR), meaning he's behind the goal line to observe if any incident occurs near the penalty area.

He's the weak link of this whole refereeing team.

5. A boiling setting.

Despite the heavy 4 - 0 slapping received by the home side in the first leg, the attendance on March 8th is 96,290. The stands are jam-packed, heated by Luis Enrique's words of the previous night in press conference:

But the audience must be a cauldron, before and during. There will be no need for a break. I don't ask them anything. But we will need a Camp Nou like a volcano.

The setting in which everything happens plays a key part in how the night's going to go. The chants, jeers, shouts, whistles and protests of almost a hundred thousand people are directed at the opposite players, but also and more importantly at this team of referees thrown onto the pitch. One of which has never refereed a European game, and another one who's experimenting his first UCL's knockout round.

This isn't me waxing some poetics by the way, but a factor to take into account when analyzing this match. New Zealand's famous haka, the ceremonial dance executed by the All Blacks at the beginning of each of their rugby match, has been critized for being a tool for the team to take psychological ascend over their opponents. This debate has taken place around a one minute ceremonial dance performed by fifteen players. Now picture ninety minutes of ceaseless jeering produced by a hundred thousand people all around you, constantly, added to the twenty-two players, their coaches, their staffs and substitutes on the pitch pressing you at every decision.

That's why UCL games require "elite referees", and that's why it was the mistake of UEFA to call up inadequately prepared referees to this game that changed everything.

6. First shake (3')

Luis Suarez (Barça, n°9) scores with his head. The 4 -0 is reduced to 3 - 0 (aggreg.) not even three minutes into the match. In the referee's head this match, which should've gone rather peacefully and without surprises, is already shaping up to be something else than a mere testing game.

More importantly, as players celebrate wildly, you can see Double B., the referee in charge of checking the ball has crossed the line and can indeed count as a goal, looking at an assistant referee rather than taking the decision himself. First tip of something wrong: you got a referee who's not assured enough in his own judgment to make a call.

At such a stage, a weakness in decision-making is unforgivable. It will prove true later.

7. Key fault (23')

That's Edinson Cavani (PSG, n°9) in white. That's Gerard Piqué, local angry catalan man (Barça, n°3) in blue.

Piqué just made an uncontrolled tackle from behind. Piqué, known for protesting at every corner, walks away without saying anything when Aytekin pulls a yellow card.

That's because he knows in any other circomstance and game, this action should've been a straight red.

This will prove key in the game's unfolding, acting as a pressure point on the referee's future decisions and players' behaviour.

8. Tense situations. Luis Suarez, local Karen. (23' - 45')

The next twenty minutes are a swarm of potential-penalties situations and complaints. Neymar falls in the penalty box but isn't given a penalty. Around the 30', Cavani takes a yellow for referee contesting: knowing Piqué's first tackle deserved a red, Cavani is outraged at the lack of yellow showed by Aytekin the second time Piqué fouls him, and reclaims one is showed. He's the one that takes the card instead, sending him furious.

Most notably, at around 35', Suarez almost goes to head-to-head challenge with Meunier over some action at a corner. He then proceeds to get up Aytekin's face, protesting over what seemingly is nothing.

It is nothing, but what Suarez is doing isn't innocent. Protesting and contesting every call the ref does is a behaviour he's known for, has got the referees wary of players like him, and not only because it's annoying: because over the length of 90 minutes and within such setting, a player constantly contesting and protesting calls can get in the head of lesser-accustomed referees.

The devil works hard, but Luis Suarez, appointed contester in chief, works harder. That too will prove true later, at the tipping point of the match.

9. Half time (45')

At half-time, the socre is 2 - 0, five yellow cards and four potential-penalty situations the ref has had to deal with. Players and referee squad go back to their locker rooms to a feverish stadium. At that point, a referee is redoing the first half of the game in his head: what Aytekin, and the players & staff, are seeing, are all the accumulation of non-given cards, given cards, tense non-penalty calls and contests. This piles up in everyone's mindset and creates a serie of pressure points in the unconscious - or conscious, in case of players like Luis Suarez, used to play on such chord - of everyone on that pitch.

This is very much not what the UEFA had planned for this team of referees.

9. Turning point. (50')

At the 50', Neymar (Barça, n°11) in blue is tripped by Meunier (PSG, n°12) in white inside the penalty area.

Aytekin doesn't give the penalty. Players protest. Aytekin consults the sidelines referee. A few seconds later, he gives the penalty for Barcelona.

This precise moment is where Aytekin loses the match and what explain the Remontada.

See, when this action happens, Aytekin is there (bottom, in yellow glow):

About 14m from the action: the most well-placed to judge what happened and make a call.

Up there (top of the screen, circled in red), you got Double B., the Bundesliga ref, who's the furthest from the action, the less experimented of the referee squad, who shouldn't referee at this level. As Aytekin says nothing, players start protesting, and start swarming up Double B. :

That's Luis Suarez at the left, by the way. I know, color me surprised. Local referee's-face-lurking man, just short of hand-written protest signs but not of hand movements to express his sheer outrage at the call, how could you not call this, there is foul, see, see, there's penalty, call it, how can you not see this.

So Suarez is once again complaining - with Rafinha (Barça, n°12) - but this time not to Aytekin: he's complaining to the very much non experienced Double B. And as Aytekin hasn't announced a penalty, what's Suarez doing? What he always does, what he's been doing since minute 0, probably been contesting nurses' opinion since he was out of his mother's womb. Provokes, simulates, criticizes, contests. There, he's pointing at the penalty area. Now what's Double B. doing? Not staying in his place, that's for sure: he walks on the pitch and towards Aytekin, forcing the latter to acknowledge the opinion of his AAR by going to him. Thing is, it's not like Double B.'s opinion was 100% his: he's inexperienced, far from the action, litteraly swarmed by Barça players telling him there's foul and penalty, and under the pressure of 90 thousand people currently yelling him the same thing.

So, instead of acting like as a proper AAR - an assistant referee - and letting the main ref make the right call from where Aytekin was the most well-placed to, or staying where he was and letting Ayteking know his opinion in the privacy of their headset, Double B. publicly backs Aytekin to a wall.

Seconds later, Aytekin points to the penalty spot and, amending his previous decision, gives the penalty. Messi (Barça, n°10) transforms it.

3 - 0.

Aytekin's just lost control of his referee team, and he's just lost control of the game.

10. Getting control back. (50' - 67')

So at that point, you have on your hands a match that has completely changed, a boiling situation escalated into prime Balkans 1912, a stadium on fire, players thinking they can do about anything, and a referee squad who starts taking decisions in your place.

Aytekin isn't an idiot. He's a ref with experience, no matter how little in the UCL. He knows he has to take back the upper hand in this game, or it's going to be hell. When a ref has to tell others something, he does this through his headset: this is what Aytekin must have done after the 50' minute, following the previous incindent. He most certainly has send a message to his assistant refs and linesmen, reminding them of how it worked: they have authority in the designed zones they're astrained to, but he remains the main ref and the one to make a call elsewhere.

This reminder of hierarchy is not without incidence on the follow up.

In the following minutes, Aytekin refuses to give penalty to Neymar when he falls in the box.

At 62', Cavani scores, bringing hope to everyone on PSG's side, but also allowing the referees to breathe: this game might finally fall back on its feet. At 67', Aytekin immediately calls Suarez's bluff when he dives into the penalty box and gives him a yellow. You can visibly see Aytekin regaining confidence in his own judgments and taking back the prevalence in calls. Everything is finally resolving itself.

Is it, though?

Two issues.

we're at the 67' minute. This is the eight yellow card showed by Aytekin. Amongst referee, there's a sort of implicit accord that beyond five yellow cards, you should start putting reds, to take back control of the game. A red makes all your over-excited players stand still.

minutes pass, and soon enough we're entering the 80th. This match is a high-intensity one, both mentality as we've detailed extensively, but also physically. It's back and forth all the time for Aytekin, who's the only referee constantly running all around the pitch with the players.

Eventually, Aytekin pays this physical intensity, and this reestablishment of hierarchy within the referee squad.

11. Fucking up. (85')

Di Maria (PSG, n°11) goes back for a speedy counter-attack towards Barcelona's goals; he's fouled inside the penalty area by Mascherano (Barça, n°14).

Highlighted in yellow, the other assistant referee.

Highlighted absolutely nowhere to be seen, Aytekin.

Aytekin is too far away, he's been running around for almost ninety minutes, he's worn out. So for once, the most well-placed referee to make the call for this action is the Assistant Referee.

Slight issue there: this assistant referee is part of the squad that's been put back into place some twenty minutes ago by Aytekin over an almost point-by-point similar situation happening on the other side of the pitch. He's heard his colleagues and himself get told that in such cases, it's Aytekin who gets the final call. Problem is, it should indeed be Aytekin to make the final call, but only if Aytekin is in a position to call anything: this isn't the case here. The Assistant is utterly alone and the closest to the action. He's the one who has now a legitimate say to whether or not what he saw counts as a penalty.

He doesn't say anything. Aytekin doesn't call the action. No penalty given to PSG. This could've been the goal that would have turned the history of the match.

It doesn't. The score remains 3 - 1 on the pitch, 5 - 3 on aggreg.

12. Luis Suarez. Yes. (91')

After Neymar reduces the 5 - 3 to 5 - 4 at the 88' in a free kick that's enough to make a grown man tear up each time he recalls it, there comes this.

These images make me howl with laughter. I genuinely cannot help but laugh out loud each time I see the face of this man, giving Camp Nou an acting lesson worthy of being hidden behind a MasterClass paywall. Because spoiler alert: this bitch has not been tripped by Marquinhos (PSG, n°5).

There is a contact, but this isn't a penalty contact. There's an amplification on Suarez's behalf - no one who's been tripped falls with their hands in the hair, your first instinct dictates you to put them in front of you to soften the fall - and borderlining on simulation.

Aytekin gives a penalty and a yellow card to Marquinhos. At shis tage of the match, with these stakes, at the point where the action happened, if you're gonna call penalty and thus validate the fact that you think Marquinhos willingly fouled Suarez as he was going to the goal, this shouldn't have been yellow. This should've been straight red.

Giving a yellow highlight Aytekin's incoherence in his decision making. Confusion furthermore highlighted by what happens next.

Do you know what's the rule for penalty taking? As soon as 2 players, one of each team, have intruded the surface as the taker is taking it, the penalty has to be redone.

Do you know how many players are in the penalty area? Seven.

Aytekin doesn't make the call.

Barcelona gets its fifth goal at the 91' minute. 5 - 5 (aggreg.)

13. Match ended. (91' - 95')

Over the course of the next few minutes, Suarez manages to avoid a card once again, having trapped Aytekin in a mental game where Aytekin can't give him a yellow without giving him red, Verratti gets a yellow, the stadium cries at every opportunity. It's the tenth yellow card Aytekin has given in this match.

This is Argentina - Netherlands 2022. At this point, so many yellow cards don't mean a single thing other than the referee has well and truly lost control of the game.

At this point, Aytekin knows he's fucked up, massively so. His only redeeming grace would be for Barcelona not to pass to the Quarters. He'd go under the radar for a bit, until the UEFA use him again for another game, and his career would get out of this mess mostly fine.

Tough luck.

So the Remontada is the result of a crash fall from 4 - 0 heights, a profession of faith by a 25 old, unwavering hope of a thousands, failure of UEFA to consider UCL football as an ever-changing tide where the beaten team isn't condemned to defeat, failure of the winning team to conserve a cool head, inexperience of a referee, lack of proper communication, wrong calls, non calls, too much calls, peer pressure and one very, very decided Urugayan.

In short: I understand where the feeling is coming from (ie: obvious failures of refereeing) but I don't believe the Remontada to be rigged. I believe it is merely a splendid display of the impossible rendered possible by humans being humans, at their strength as in their complete failings, and a serie of unfortunat/fortunate events (depending on which side you're standing on) resulting from each action, decision and mindset of the involved actors. UEFA business men are humans. So are players. So are referees. It was unfair. If I was a PSG supporter, I believe I too would be calling it rigged for lack of better words. I just so happen to have been on the lucky side. It's the referee's fault, it's everyone's fault. It was avoidable. Or perhaps it wasn't. Beautiful football for some, nightmarish evening for other, at the end of the day, it just was, and that's about it.

#anon i took so much time answering i hope you didn't think i was ghosting or anything #just finding the documentary and putting it in resume ergh #doc is “Décrypté: La Remontada” by the way! #also rewatching this game's highlights made me tear up like wtf i still love that 2017 team. i love it so much. i love these people. #remontada #barça

[futurecorps3]

OK, what about Eddie dating a cinephile? Like, they meet each other in a videostore, and there're always something new, because you can't possibly watched everything... 💕

Masterlist <3

THIS IS SO SWEET AND AMAZING I LOVE IT 😭💘 (I like cinema a lot but idk if I'd call myself a cinephile so this is just fucking perfect ahhhhh hope u like it bestie <3)

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Hey Y/L/N" Steve greeted me as I once again walked into Family Video. "What ya got for me, Harrington?" I smirk, leaning over the counter, looking over the little doodles he and Robin made, tickets with addresses I'd never be able to read and some change they didn't place on the cash register. Steve pulled out an enormous pile of tapes from under the surface, all neatly wrapped in cellophane paper. Fresh tapes.

"Seriously, you could be addicted to weed or alcohol, but you choose to drown yourself in-" "Art? Yes" I interrupted, my rings jingled as I made grabby hands and directed them to the new movies they had curated for me "Gimme gimme" The paper felt soft under my fingers, and I couldn't help but sigh in relief to see I had my weekly watch list updated once again.

For about a month now, Steve and Robin had been keeping a copy of the best-reviewed films in the "art" labelled box that came in every week for me. Not that they ran out of copies, because if we're honest, no one in Hawkins watches the three-hour, black and white, European movies over the latest Police Academy, but because they chose them specifically for me and saved me the reading and researching.

And for that, I'd be eternally grateful.

"'Paris, Texas'?" "'84, it's about this homeless dude who wanders off the desert and tries to reconnect with his seven-year-old son and his wife" Steve explained, exaggerating now and then on his tone, mocking what seemed one of the worst plots ever "It's from that one dude you like, Y/N" said a raspy voice in the back, soon, Robin was walking to us with a box in her hands "Win Wenders?" "Yes, him" she nodded, dropping the package on the floor next to Steve's feet.

"It must be good then" I smiled, tapping my fingers on the tape and directing myself to the horror section "Start counting Harrington, I'm feeling hysterical tonight!" he laughed at my affirmation and jazz hands before registering the prices of the 5 movies I was taking home "On it". I dragged my feet through the carpeted floor, scanning over the endless dumb titles and humming a certain Black Sabbath song I couldn't get out of my head since yesterday.

"What the fuck is 'the fly' supposed to be about?" I asked myself, giggling audibly and continuing for my search. The rack was awfully empty this week. Shit. And then, I saw it. Almost like a vision, the lights reflected on the shiny letters; 'Friday the 13th: Jason Lives'. The cover had Jason's hockey mask illuminated from behind. 'Jason Lives' could be read on a grave. I scoffed, chuckling at the ridiculousness and the lengths people will go to keep a franchise alive.

Perfect.

I smiled to myself, noticing it was the last copy. I reached to grab it. "Hey Steve, I'm also ta-". The touch of someone else's hands stopped me mid-sentence. My eyes looked up after we both flinched, revealing a tall boy with the craziest hair I had ever seen. His lanky, pale figure framed by a t-shirt from a band I didn't recognize and black jeans.

"Shit, sorry," we both mumbled under our breaths, loud enough for the other to hear. We laughed together, a pretty one he had. "It's the only good one of this miserable bunch," I giggled, pointing awkwardly at all the others. Would it kill me to stop being so stupid and act like a normal person when hot people were around me? "Yeah, this week's selection is pretty crappy," he nodded, motioning his ring covered fingers over the complete area. "Watch it, Munson" Steve warned.

Munson. I've heard that somewhere.

"You can take it," I said, offering him a tight-lipped smile and waiting for him to take it. "No, it's okay. Take it," he answered. "Listen, I'm taking a bunch of tapes, anyway. Harrington has them on the counter now. This was just a whim." he smiled cheekily and paused for a second before taking the title.

"Let's watch it at my place"

I couldn't help but laugh quietly, blushing a little, but still a bit freaked out by the sudden request. "What makes you think I'd go to some stranger's house to watch a crappy movie?" I question, looking him dead in the eye with a curious glimpse coming from my pupils. "I mean, they say it's pretty good; A sixth part that has been attempting to keep whatever they have going on alive, pathetically, by the way, might be enough to risk your life," he smirked playfully, brushing some hair out of his face with his ring-clad fingers.

"Nice rings" "Thanks" we both stared at each other, him hoping I'd say yes and me contemplating the decision I was about to take. Would mom be proud? No, she wouldn't. This was probably a terrible idea, but in my head, Robin and Steve knew him, so I was 99% sure he wasn't a total psycho trying to kill me.

"Fine, but you gotta walk me home after" I smiled, walking before he could say anything else. A little "Yes ma'am" followed soon after and I heard steps coming behind me. "15 dollars, please and thank you," Steve grinned, packing the tapes in a plastic bag and sliding them over the counter.

"Did you not want anything from the shitty horror section?" Robin asked as the boy gave her the movie and handed her some wrinkled dollars from his black pants pockets. "Yeah, but he's paying for it" I giggled, taking the bag with my tapes and walking towards the exit. From the reflection on the store's glass, I could see Steve and Robin's perplexed expression as I waited for Munson boy by the door.

"Relax you two, the voices haven't acted up in a while now," he smirked. Robin couldn't help but burst out laughing and I did as well, after knowing for sure he was joking "Plus, Harrington here knows where I live in case I decide to kill you" he smiled sweetly at me, opening the door for me.

"Well, at least I'll look pretty while making my way through the doors of hell. Bye, guys!" I waved the wonder duo goodbye and walked outside, accompanied by my new friend, who had a little smile on his lips. "Do you live far from here?" I asked, walking as the dirt on the road got my black boots muddy. "No, it's only a couple of blocks away. Ya' know the trailer park?" "Oh yeah! So it really isn't too far from here"

A brief pause was made, cars passing by next to us, the sound of the wind being the only thing heard aside from the music they were playing on the inside. "I know you" I nodded, throughly sure I've seen this boy somewhere else. "School?" "Probably, b-but there's somewhere else I've..." "My band? 'Corroded coffin' rings any bells?" he seemed hopeful. He wanted my answer to be a yes, but I really remembered nothing related to a band.

"No. But that's one great fucking name." He nodded, laughing softly at my remark. "I know. Y-you should come see us... we play at the hideout on Tuesdays. It's pretty cool. We actually get a crowd of about... five drunks?" Munson admitted. He sounded almost embarrassed but still with a dorky smile adorning his lips "Hey that's something!".

After about five minutes, we arrived at his trailer. It was getting dark and the warm lights coming from the tall posts scattered around gave the place a mysterious atmosphere that was very much appreciated for our current situation. He struggled briefly with the keys in his hands, the lock not working properly the first time he put them in.

I got inside, cleaning my shoes on the rug rapidly and dropping the plastic bag I had been holding on the couch. Papers filled the carpeted floor, many notes and drawings sketched with black ink adorned them. They were on top of some squared sheets and maps of what seemed to be a fantasy land. "Excuse the mess. I wasn't expecting visitors." the boy quickly but with great care gathered them all, placing them on the empty table near the kitchen.

"You say that as if you weren't the one inviting me over" I said as I sat on the couch and waited for him to play the movie "Well, it's not every day you see the pretty girl you've noticed at school reaching for the last copy of the slasher movie you were pretending to check out. Sue me" he breathed, walking towards my direction and sitting on the other side of the small yet comfortable loveseat.

I felt the heat creep the way up my cheeks. Truth is, he was hard to miss. The big hair, rings, black bandana in his back pocket, chains, all black clothes. Of course, I had seen him at school before, but it seemed like a wild idea he'd noticed me as "the pretty girl" or for either of us to even acknowledge each other's existence. Hawkins was one shitty small town.

Throughout the movie, we remained silent besides from the small scoffs and maniac-like laughs we released at the silliness of the deaths on the film. I had to admit it was refreshing not to watch something that required deep analysis and my undivided attention. He made popcorn, and we placed it in the middle of the couch, him throwing single pieces at me from time to time and vice versa when we got bored.

It was nice to see a Jason movie that hadn't had just one death and some nice jokes in the horror of it. To be honest, all I've ever thought about when I'm reminded of that night is that boy's company. The little quirks he put on display when a jump-scare got him, how he'd mumble things to the characters as if they could hear him and his feet going absolutely wild when he got excited.

He was the nicest stranger I had ever met.

As promised, he walked me home. It had many advantages to it; it was dark, the walk home was about twenty minutes and I really found myself extremely intrigued about him, so I really didn't feel like the night to end right there. As we wandered to my place, he told me all about his DnD club, the band, how he learned to play guitar and the stories behind his tattoos since I pointed them out eagerly when I first noticed.

"I'm taking you to get a tattoo" he stated, more like a decree than a request "Jesus no! My parents would kill me" "Oh but they don't need to know about it" he teased with a little smirk on his face, raising his speed for just a moment and facing me soon after, walking backwards into the road. "You are a bad influence, Munson." "They don't call me 'the freak Munson' for nothing, doll" he winked.

I could feel something about the way he said that. And I just knew Jason and the team who shared a single brain cell with him must've come up with that stupid nickname "They just can't handle your coolness" "You think I'm cool?" he smiled "Duh" I said, widening my eyes with knitted eyebrows at the thought of him thinking otherwise of himself as we stepped into my front yard.

"Thanks" I nodded right after we stopped a few steps away from my door. "Hey, you potentially risked your life by coming with me. It's the least I could do" I couldn't help but giggle at his statement. "I was extremely stupid, yes. " "But did you have fun?" "I did" I smiled, walking towards my door and leaving him behind.

"And uh, by the way, the name's Eddie. I-I'm Eddie Munson," he said from the street just as I was about to close the door. "I'm Y/N" "See you tomorrow, Y/N" he smiled, waving goodbye and walking back from where we came from.

But I didn't see him on Monday. Or on Tuesday. Not even wandering the halls. Truth is, I was hoping to see him right away. It was until Wednesday when we finally spoke again. "Hey, Y/N" were the words that startled me when I was getting some stuff from my locker, I flinched before I turned to see it was him, earning a soft giggle.

"Relax, not here to murder you" he smiled. "Where have you been?" I asked, actually curious. "I could tell you I've been pretty busy with my business or I just didn't feel like coming but I've been trying to figure out how to approach you for the past two days" he barely blushed at the statement, rocking on his feet back and forth, hands in pockets.

God, is he cute.

"Is the plan coming along? Are the results fulfilling?" "I got to see you again, so yeah" now I was the one blushing like crazy, he noticed and smirked so smugly it almost made me mad. I couldn't get mad at him but I know I had given him the satisfaction of seeing me blush. "Does the pretty girl happen to be free on Friday night?" he questioned, looking at me amused "The pretty girl happens to be, yes" I nodded smiling.

"Great. Movie night?" my heart melted at the thought of repeating the whole thing again, wanting nothing but that since he left last time "What are we watching?" "I don't know, but there's plenty of tapes at Family Video. You're not about to tell me you've watched it all, are you?" he said, raising his brows at the serious matter in hand "I don't mind re-watching" I joked, getting a small smile from him too-

"Oh you got me feeling kind of special, Y/N" "You are, Eds" I closed my locker after noticing the red tints on his cheeks. "Now walk me to class," I said patting his arm and walking before he caught up.

We started dating a month after that.

To this day, I am convinced there hasn't been a more beautiful coincidence than Eddie Munson to ever happen to me.

#Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson ff #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson #St4 #stranger things #stranger things season four #stranger things x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #god i love him #Fluff ff #Eddie Munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson fanfic

[evita-shelby]

Incantatrice

Chapter 14

(Also the result of the build-a-fic game, thanks for playing)

"He looks miserable, poor soul."

Gif by @themarcspector-a

Taglist: @thegreatdragonfruta @zablife @wandawiccan60 @call-sign-shark

Luca is not the same man as before.

He is colder, cruel and craving blood, Shelby blood to be specific.

He loves her still, but he is rougher and less tolerant of her games and the way her visions disagree with him and his plans.

Audrey is an unwelcome guest in their house ---making it feel too small despite having rooms for everyone--- where she begins to make Luca heed her every word.

The witch fights her for Luca’s attention, and she just knows she’s going to kill that fucking woman one of these days.

But then, out of the blue he surprises her with a romantic getaway for two to Paris while Audrey takes care of the children.

Rosalba is nearly a year old now and Leonardo nearly five, as much as Eva cried about leaving them, she can’t let her marriage with Luca slip from her fingers.

And it is a good decision, he is different away from that wretched woman’s desire for vengeance.

Vengeance Eva knows will be the death of him and every man that goes with them.

But Luca is as if nothing had changed in Paris.

Apologizes for neglecting her as of late and lets her do as she pleases. They are somehow like before, when he agreed to her strange whims because he knew it be fucking fantastic.

Luca has been very indulgent as of late.

He is hiding something, and she knows what it is.

The witch knows he is preparing for the vendetta even if he lies to her face about it.

The Changrettas in New York, the Battaglia from his mother’s side, some Terranova cousins he has been chummy with recently and even Matteo’s in-laws were getting involved in his vendetta.

“There is no fucking way you go to England without me, mi vida.” She said holding his ticket for a first-class cabin on a different ocean linear.

“I can risk the children losing both of us, Evuccia.” He tries to take the ticket back only for her to gracefully move out of his way the moment he bends slightly to distract her with his lips.

She could taste the Averna in his breath even after moving away from him.

“But you want me to be okay with losing you.” He goes high, she goes low.

“Eva.” He begins and cannot even make a better argument about it. “I have to do this; they came for my family and they will pay for it.”

They were kept under lock and key now, always armed, men keeping watch and moving with every step they took.

Even Spinietta could feel the dark shadow looming over them.

A vendetta was to the death of the last man or until some accord was had.

But Luca needed more than Thomas, Arthur and John dead.

Audrey wants them to make the Shelbys wish they had never crawled out of the hole they came from.

To kill the children and the women and anyone carrying Shelby blood.

“Take me with you. You always do better with me in your corner.”

Luca knew Eva was not one to fuck with, and yet every time she joins the game, she leaves him shocked.

“Yes, Mrs. Macmillan, I have heard so many things about Mr. Shelby. He is not a good man; I would not wish any child to grow up with the man who killed his real father.” Eva smirks as she plays the concerned mother to a woman unaware her only grandson had not a single drop of her blood.

Grace Shelby was something.

She wanted to break the rules for Shelby and yet left boots cleaner than any shoe shiner Luca knew.

She wanted Shelby and she had gotten him only for less than three months.

The man had waited for a standard two year mourning period for a husband she or he killed, the boy was given the dead man’s name to save face even if everyone and their dog knew the man shot blanks and now, would lose the boy because of his dead wife’s desperation to be accepted by her own people.

He had lost his family, Luca had mentioned to Eva and told her this was the best time to attack.

He still has one person he would do anything for, the witch had smirked as she drank from his liquor as they plotted.

Charles Thomas Macmillian would be spared from the vendetta only because in the eyes of the law, he is not Thomas’ son.

“He will be weaker by the time we arrive, mi amor. Nothing worse than knowing your own child will never be yours again.” Eva was good, he could admit that.

But she was the mother of his children, his wife, his woman.

If they killed her like they claim they killed the late Mrs. Shelby---

No, just the thought of that was enough to make him truly afraid.

She should be safe in New York, with the children and waiting for him to clear the way for their triumph.

Instead, she is here making a phone call before they leave Paris tomorrow, proving how much he needs her on his side.

“They will come after you, vita mia, I cannot lose you.” He continued to persuade her against joining him.

“They can try all they want, but even death is afraid of me, Luca.” She argued before leaving her red lips on the rim of his glass.

Next time they drink it, it will taste like Shelby blood.

They will make Thomas Shelby and his family a footnote in their history.

The next morning, they depart together for Liverpool.

“He looks miserable, poor soul.” Eva hides her blood-red smile after Mrs. Macmillan thanks her for giving her the courage to fight for her only grandchild.

“Poor he is not, and I doubt it he has any soul. Killed my Clive and then stole his boy.” The Irish American woman spat the mention of Thomas Shelby.

Won’t recover from that, publicly. Not him nor his dead wife ---whom Eva had the displeasure of meeting and humiliating in New York three years ago--- would ever be known as anything else as the man who killed Clive Macmillan and the woman who helped him cover it up.

A very fucking dumb mistake to let everyone believe sweet Charles was Clive’s offspring.

But very fortunate for her, the witch who wants to prevent unnecessary murders in this vendetta.

“I am so sorry, what was your name, dear?” the woman asks as they part ways.

Shelby will not know what hit him.

“Eva, Eva Changretta. My husband is the one you should thank, his late brother was a victim of Mr. Shelby, you see, my late brother-in-law wanted to marry his secretary only to find out she is his mistress. Poor Grace must have been so afraid of him.” The witch lies and the woman eats it all up.

#eva smith changretta #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta x eva smith #incantatrice fic #peaky blinders fanfic

[vulpes-fennec]

Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 2)

Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Read: Masterlist | AO3

***Elain***

London’s finest—including the Archerons—arrived at Prythian’s Fantasia in a procession of stately carriages and well-mannered coachmen. The middle class bundled together in exposed horse-drawn wagons, rumbling and jostling over cobblestone, while the poor came on foot. Regardless of their mode of transport, everybody had to be dropped off at the edge of a short lawn and line up at the gate. 

Prythian’s Fantasia was nothing at all like the previous circus shows Elain attended, which were humble little events. She had first spotted the flag-tipped peaks of the circus tent cresting above buildings from across the Thames. Now, up close, it towered overhead, light pulsating under its vertical white and plum red stripes. 

“Hurry up!” Elain’s heeled slippers squished into the rain-drenched grass as she tried to keep up with Feyre. A tall gate encircled the circus, complete with swirling brassy motifs and a proud display of “Prythian’s Fantasia” over the entrance gate.  

How a traveling circus managed to erect gas lamps and a tall gate around its premises was beyond sound logic. Despite these firmly established characteristics, Prythian’s Fantasia lacked substance, as if it were a whimsical dream on the verge of waking up. Perhaps it was the faint sound of instrumental music drifting in the frigid air. Or perhaps it was the golden light and friendly murmuring beyond the gates that drew Elain in, like a moth to a flame.

A peculiar ticket booth was the last thing standing between them and the festivities. Nestled between brassy gates, the booth’s entire exterior seemed to be made of clock parts: translucent faces with Roman numerals of all sizes, burnished gold cogs and gears, onyx hands, wiry mechanisms. The surface shifted and clicked, as if the entire ticket booth was a clock. 

“Tickets, please!” If the incessant ticking and clicking bothered the young woman with twinkling teal eyes in the booth, she did not show it. 

“Yes, here they are!” Feyre excitedly handed over the crimson slips. Coppery-brown hair shifted in the light as the ticket attendant scrutinized the tickets. Feyre was holding her breath anxiously. Thankfully, the attendee ripped the “Admit One” tabs off before handing them back to Feyre. 

“Welcome!” The girl clapped her hands twice. “Enjoy your evening at Prythian’s Fantasia! Next! Tickets, please!” 

Feyre was giddy with delight as she pushed Elain through the well-oiled gates. The delicious scents of savory butter and sweet caramel hooked snagged Elain’s attention. To her left, an open air, plum-red tent housed several portable cooking apparatuses on wheels. The setup reminded Elain of the street food vendors who hawked hot buns, jellied eels, mystery soups, and sausage on London’s streets, except this outdoor cafe was spanking clean. And it sold delightful things: salted nuts, crystalline candies, treacle-drizzled apples, hot coffee, and what looked like puffy white clouds on a stick.

“Oh, I’m so hungry,” Elain exclaimed, turning towards Nesta with a silent plea in her big brown eyes. “We should have some refreshments before the show begins!” 

Nesta relented, purchasing a small bag of sweets and one of the cloud sticks. Elain and Feyre delicately pulled on the cotton material, eyes widening in amazement at its fluffy texture. “It’s sweet!” Elain gasped with delight.

“And it melts in your mouth!” Feyre added, grabbing another piece. “Nesta, you must try it!” 

“You’re right,” Nesta agreed, her gray eyes lightening as she took another bite. “Perhaps we can buy another one. They call it cotton candy.”

“Cotton candy indeed,” Elain sighed, unable to stop eating the sugary cloud. 

Cheerful orchestral music played in the distance, the catchy tune tempting Elain to dance. Folks of all classes milled about, partaking in the treats or boisterously appreciating all the fine touches of Prythian’s Fantasia. Children chased each other in little groups, delighting in the amount of open space available to play. While there were more attractions—Elain heard several circus goers babble excitedly about the optical illusion and fortune-telling tents somewhere around the corner—it was in their best interest to locate good seats.

Nesta swung open the plum red flap, revealing a colossal circus tent that lived up to the circus’s outlying grandeur. Rows of seats—actual seats, not just wooden benches—circled the massive ring, the lowest platform already filled with patrons. Thick metal beams stretched high into the air, parallel to thin ladders that led up, up, up onto small platforms. A web of ropes and bars criss-crossed just shy of the plum red and white-striped ceiling, promising of acrobatic performances to come.

“Up the stairs,” Nesta chided as Feyre and Elain stopped to gawk at how the circus ring was a shallow, matte-black tub instead of dusty dirt. The Archeron sisters settled on the seventh row up, with Nesta and Feyre sandwiching Elain protectively. The tent had five entrances, and Elain wondered how the performances would enter without a designated backstage area. 

After several minutes, the lights dimmed, cuing the audience to quiet. Click-clack, click-clack. Heeled boots strode crisply across the floor, so dark that it seemed to swallow up all light. A yellow spotlight singled out a woman at the center of the ring. Dressed in a fitted gold bodice and cream breeches tucked into knee-high black boots, the woman’s crimson-painted mouth smiled, stark against her bone white skin. 

“She’s wearing breeches?” Elain blanched slightly. No woman dared to wear breeches. 

“She’s wearing breeches,” Nesta said in amazement next to her, leaning forward with marked interest.

Clearly this woman did not care what the audience thought of her, based on the way she tossed her flowing, plum red hair over a shoulder and tilted her chin with regal air. A crimson jacket, with its hem brushing the curve of the woman’s waist, was made more feminine with a cinched waist and black lace edging the lapels and cuffs. She seemed lovely…and powerful. 

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. My name is Amarantha, and I am Prythian Fantasia’s ringmaster.” Amarantha’s lilting voice confidently amplified across the vast space, just like magic. “Are you ready for the greatest show on earth tonight?”

The crowd burst into a mixture of polite applause and raucous cheers. Elain clapped lightly, while Feyre whooped loudly in response. 

“I’m very pleased to see you as well. Without further ado, let the circus begin!” 

Music kicked up from a hidden orchestra. Lights and a gaggle of performers exploded into the ring. Acrobats in brightly colored suits walked on their hands, with legs and feet perfectly pointed in the air. Unicyclists cut tight corners, weaving between performers comically wobbling on tall stilts with striped pants artificially elongating their legs. Pairs of smiling dancers twirled streamers, stepping in precise, synchronous rhythm. 

The glorious display was simply too much to take in, as Elain’s eyes could barely focus on one act for five seconds before darting towards another. As for the matter of the lights…were the red, green, and blue beams a product of electricity? But even then, how was it possible for the lights to be so clear, so multi-colored? 

After several successive songs, the organized chaos of performers disappeared off into the sidelines. The ring darkened again, and silence fell in anticipation for the next act. The pitch-black darkness weighed heavily with the presence of hundreds of souls. She could no longer tell which way was up or down, what was in front of her or even behind her. It was a heart-pounding, sweat-inducing oppressiveness.

But then…a spark. A tiny sign of life down in the ring. Someone seemed to have struck a match.

Fire danced its way into a sparking, fizzling circle that grew larger and larger. Drums began pounding in the background, the powerful beats sending vibrations through the seats. 

A shadowed figure twirled a flame-tipped rod at high speeds, cycling the ring of fire through the air before gracefully tapping the rod on the ground. Upon contact, a circle of fire erupted, creating a wall of fire burning so hot that Elain felt heat sear her face. She gasped when three people stepped out of the flames: a woman with a bird mask, and two men—one with a fox mask, the other with a feline mask. The blazing inferno dimmed slightly, just enough to cast an orange glow over the audience. 

The two male performers lit their staffs, and began moving to the beat, effortlessly passing the staff between hands, threading it over shoulders, under arms, and between legs. Fire was contorted into multiple shapes, streaking through the air like a glowing serpent. Surely any lesser-trained performer would be scorched, but these performers danced with fire unbothered.

Elain’s eyes were drawn to the man in the fox mask, who she now just realized was shirtless. His toned body gleamed in the orange light as he reached into a basket and tossed one, two, three, four balls into the air. The fire must have added a few degrees to the room, for Elain was suddenly feeling hot at the sight of his fine muscles and braided red hair glowing like molten ore. The pounding drums became one with her heart as Elain stared, enraptured. 

The foxy man simultaneously set the four balls on fire and extinguished his staff with one final slash. Elain’s jaw dropped when he began to juggle the flaming balls with his bare hands. Surely this was impossible, she thought. Perhaps the man had covered his hands in a protective coating. 

Her attention shifted to the woman, who had exchanged her staff for two massive fans in each hand, both ablaze with blue flame. Her mouth curved sensually under her bird mask as she fluttered the fans, twirling them deftly with quick wrist movements. Her free-flowing long red hair, similar to that of the foxy man’s, did not catch fire. 

Again, the woman moved as if she was one with the flame, bending her knees and shifting her shoulders gracefully around the blue fans. She pranced around the arena, light as a deer, and lifted her hand as if she were blowing a kiss to the audience…she blew fire. A solid jet of flame that set a tall torch ablaze, then another, and another, as the lady made her way round the ring. 

Was this a lady, or a dragon who had donned pale skin and a burgundy gown? The way she breathed fire so effortlessly…surely there had to be some match up her sleeve, a sleight of hand that struck flint and sparked the torches. Elain wished the fire act was longer, but it seemed that the circle of blazing torches had set the stage for the next performance.

***Feyre***

The hour had passed in a magical blur. Trapeze artists and acrobats had just finished swinging through the air like nimble monkeys on a vine. The audience—and Feyre included—had held its breath in fear as men and women in leotard tights leapt, somersaulted, and swooped through the air, with no net available to save them should they fall. 

Feyre had been tempted to shield her face, to avert her eyes so that she would not have to bear witness to a performer splattering on the ground like an egg. She was not immune to gripping Elain’s hand like a vice whenever an acrobat seemed to soar just shy of the catch bar. Waves of relief would soothe her fears when performers not only caught the bar, but also managed to swing back up and execute somersaults mid-air. 

Now, frightened gasps broke out in waves as a massive beast prowled onto the arena. Large as a horse, with a thick, shaggy brown body and a wolfish head, it had several ladies fainting on sight. What a strange creature! Like most things in Prythian’s Fantasia, it was unlike anything Feyre had ever encountered before. 

The beast circled around the arena with feline grace, allowing the crowd to view its full glory. Surely the attendees in the first few rows were regretting their decision to sit so close as they shrank back against their seats upon the beast’s fearsome approach. When it passed by Feyre, she could make out sharp black claws scraping the ground, as well as the massive teeth poking out from its maw. Elain trembled next to her. 

Crack! Amarantha strode onto the ring, armed with a whip and cool as a summer lemonade. The beast snarled, its emerald green eyes glowering viciously at the ringmaster. With a flick of Amarantha’s wrist, the beast sat on its haunches. 

The crowd murmured in awe at how a woman could control such a dangerous animal with a simple gesture. The ringmaster did not have to wield the whip when she ordered the beast to jump through the hoops and nimbly navigate the obstacle course. Upon her cue, he would even let out a hair-raising roar that kept the audience on its toes. 

While everybody else was preoccupied by the beast’s tricks, Feyre was busy studying its features. Working out how to replicate the ripple of muscle, the fine texture of the hair, and the strange proportions of its body on paper. While others found the beast frightening to look at—Elain, for example, was covering her eyes—Feyre thought the creature was fascinating.

The beast act was relatively short; the arena falling into darkness soon after. But Feyre did not fear the dark. Right now, she could see stagehands rushing to set up the ring for the next performance, thanks to perfect night vision. In fact, she’d spent countless hours manipulating shadows to shield herself from danger in London’s shady hovels. She’d even mastered darkness into something corporeal, strong enough to open a door or swipe money off the table. 

The power of the night was what Feyre called it, not wanting to ponder too much where her capabilities came from. 

Light flashed and thunder crackled like an avalanche, causing Feyre to jump out of her seat this time. And standing in the newly lit circus ring, amidst clouds of billowing violet smoke, was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. 

A magician, judging from the looks of his black top hat and his fitted black suit with silver threading. He gallantly bowed. And upon straightening his back, the man’s uniquely blue eyes seemed to pick her face out amongst the sea of people. His mouth quirked into a feline smile, sending an electric jolt down Feyre’s spine.

Feyre blushed, though she had no reason to. Everybody else was fixated on him. So why did he find it particularly satisfying that she was staring?

He could not be any older than thirty, but his expression seemed to carry the weight of a man who had lived countless lifetimes. The circus seemed to employ performers from all over the world, yet Feyre was most intrigued by this man’s origins. With his black hair carefully slicked back and his warm brown skin, it was clear this man was not English. 

The magician swept his top hat off his head, turning in a circle to show the audience its empty contents. Because out came a sizable hand-held mirror, a lush bouquet of roses, a broadsword, a silk blanket, and finally, a rush of pure gold coins pouring into a seemingly endless waterfall. 

The crowd clapped appreciatively as he placed the mirror, roses, and sword back into the hat. As for the pile of coins on the ground, the magician threw the silk blanket and waved his hands with flourish. Feyre watched the lumps under the cloth and the ground carefully, wondering if she could catch his sleight of hand. 

But when the magician plucked the silk blanket off the floor, the coins had completely disappeared. It was as if those objects had been squirreled away into a pocket between worlds. He tucked the blanket back into his hat with a smug smile.

“For my next set, I require a volunteer from the audience.” His voice was deep and sensual, with a slight rolling accent. 

Feyre’s hand shot up like lightning. Oh please, please, please, she begged silently. There were so many other volunteers in the audience, but this was her one chance to get closer to him. 

“Put your hand down,” Nesta hissed. The magician glanced towards her again, but to Feyre’s immense disappointment, he selected a young man and an older woman at random. 

After briefly allowing the volunteers to introduce themselves to the audience, the magician gave both a deck of cards. 

“Thank you for your participation. Please check the cards to ensure a complete deck, and affirm to the audience.” The magician smirked. “Wouldn’t want anybody to accuse me of foul play.” The deck must have been arranged by suit and number, for both volunteers affirmed loudly that the decks they held were regular playing cards.

“Now, both of you shall shuffle your cards, and then fan them out. Like so.” He adjusted the older woman’s cards by maneuvering her hands, causing Feyre to suddenly feel a pang of jealousy. The woman, old enough to be her mother, looked ready to swoon at the handsome magician’s gloved touch. 

Upon his instruction, the volunteers picked a card at random from each other’s deck. “Examine the card you’ve selected, and then show the audience. I shall close my eyes, of course.” The magician enunciated clearly as he strode around the volunteers slowly. 

The magician placed his hands behind his back and closed his eyes, patiently waiting for the volunteers to display their card. The man held a nine of spades, the lady held an ace of diamonds. 

“Excellent. You, sir, have selected a nine of spades. And you, madam, have selected an ace of diamonds.” Both of the volunteers’ eyes widened in shock, for the magician was several yards away and his eyes were still closed. The audience clapped appreciatively. 

“Before we can move onto the next act, we must set the cards free.” Confusion was written across the volunteers’ faces. The magician raised an eyebrow in response. “What, never had to release your playing cards? Well, all you have to do is toss them into the air.” 

Feeling somewhat foolish, the volunteers reluctantly cast their deck of cards into the air. In a blink of an eye, the numbers and suits fluttering to the ground were replaced by a small colony of brown bats, squeaking and flapping their wings as they took to greater heights. 

“Impossible,” Nesta said in disbelief as the audience roared with delight. “Those were a standard deck of playing cards! Bats?” Feyre watched the bats as they settled on the tightrope wires. From the way they hung upside down, still chittering, the bats were very real indeed. She could have sworn the magician was looking at her again, seconds before he turned to the volunteers. 

“Please step onto our magic carpet, so I may transport you to a delightful world.” He smoothly set out the silk blanket from his hat. “Fantastic. Close your eyes, and on the count of three, you may open them again. One…”

Shadowy mist began to appear out of thin air, roiling over the magic carpet. Feyre jolted up in her seat. 

“Two…” Feyre’s heart thundered in her chest, recognizing the unnatural movement of shadows. The magician had the same capabilities as her. 

“Three.” The volunteers opened their eyes and looked around them with a renewed expression of wonder. 

“Such lovely flowers,” the lady gushed. “Oh, the butterflies are magnificent! This grass…such a vibrant green and freshly trimmed…” She bent down and seemed to pick something up from the ground. 

Meanwhile, the man walked with a swaggering step, as if the ground was shifting underneath him. “Oh hoh, finally on the high seas!” he crowed. “Give me your looking glass, mate! We must search for treasure on the endless horizon!” 

Feyre was vaguely aware of the audience clapping and shouting more questions at the volunteers, who answered them happily. She barely registered the volunteers waking up and thanking the magician profusely for such a life-like illusion. Hell, the magician had continued to perform a slew of magical feats, each more impossible than the last, yet she could only sit stunned.

She was not naive to think magicians had actual powers. Parlor “tricks” followed a specific set of steps that, when coupled with proper showmanship, created the impression of magic. Perhaps the volunteers had been strategically placed actors, all in cahoots with him.

The whole night had been surreal, though. Feyre would have chalked it up to the thrill of going to a circus show until she recognized the magician’s shadow magic as her own. Oh, Prythian’s Fantasia definitely carried otherworldly power under the guise of pure talent. If the magician possessed such remarkable magic, then ringmaster Amarantha’s power was surely leagues above the performers. 

Realizing the rumors of Amarantha were legitimate was like striking gold in a riverbed. Feyre’s heart soared like the trapeze artists: hope existed for her mother, for her family!     

The magician had one last illusion up his sleeve: he threw a handful of glittering dust. Light dropped away to reveal the night sky above, as if the circus tent’s canopy had been lifted away. A multitude of stars twinkled in the backdrop of eternity, the moon’s crescent sliver an exact copy of the one that waited for circus goers outside. 

The night sky had always comforted Feyre, and despite all her efforts, she could not quite capture its magnificence on canvas. And now the magician had replicated it effortlessly.

The golden lights gradually returned, but the magic lingered in the air like a suspended cloud of stardust. A standing ovation, thunderous drumming of feet on the floor, cheers and whistles filled the air. Feyre didn’t want to leave just yet, but Nesta and Elain were urging her to move along.

It was raining again by the time the Archeron sisters found their family carriage, cold droplets splashing down onto Feyre’s shoulders. Their carriage was just as frigid, and Elain clung to Nesta for warmth. 

“That was such a delightful show!” Elain exclaimed. “Please send Isaac my thanks when you see him again, Feyre.” 

“Of course,” Feyre murmured as she peered out past the rivulets of water streaking down the window. The distorted lights of Prythian’s Fantasia grew more distant with each step the horses took. Once they faded from view, Feyre closed her eyes and smiled quietly at the thought of the magician’s charismatic eyes. Questions were lingering on the tip of her tongue, and she would see that they were answered.

✨

Tags: @velidewrites @reverie-tales @highladysith @shadowsxgwynriel @foxwithagoldeye @sunshinebingo @jealousveronya @corcracrow

#feysand #nessian #elucien #acotar #acotar fanfic #feysand fanfic #nessian fanfic #elucien fanfic #Prythian's Fantasia

[fizzycherrycola]

PrUK / FrUK Historical Fluff [PART 8]

As a gift from France, England receives a pair of tickets to a spectacular exhibition in Paris. He decides to bring Canada along to the event and they explore the wonderous inventions amidst the backdrop of the Industrial Revolution.

Click Here to Read from the Beginning

Industry and Grandeur - Chapter 8

England’s brass timepiece ticks softly, and yet, the page before him is still bare.

By now, a report to Queen Victoria detailing the day’s events should have been completed, or at least drafted. Instead, the pen and inkwell sit untouched.

Darkness hangs gently around the soft edges of the apartment’s lamps. They hiss quietly, expending their gas for pale, sleepy light. England’s head rests upon the writing desk. Its mahogany wood has grown warm against his temple, so he shifts, rolling his head to the other side and finding a cooler spot to soothe his skull. His eyes scan the room in a vain attempt at distraction.

Crown moulding and embellished panels decorate the walls, accented by long, flowing drapes and elegant, upholstered furniture. This hotel room is much more luxurious than the coaching inns and taverns which once populated the city. Dwindling family-run businesses cannot compete with four-storeyed arcade towers, private bathrooms, high windows, and elaborate carpets. This, too, is another sign of progress – an exemplar of the ever-changing future.

England grimaces.

A vision of that blasted lipstick smudge appears in his mind’s eye. Must they discuss it? Canada has been alive for centuries and based on tonight’s events, he obviously knows how courtship works. If England broached the subject, what would they possibly talk about? Christ, he would rather not. It would save them both the embarrassment. And were things to progress towards their... natural conclusion... there would be no consequences beyond a petty scandal anyway. Besides, with their kind, fathering children is impossible. No, damn the lipstick; that is not the real concern!

The crux of the matter is... adulthood.

England shuts his eyes. Head throbbing, his mind drifts to the early months of 1813, when American raids harassed communities along the St. Lawrence River. It was just after a war meeting; while the men filed out into the cold, Canada lingered behind, wearing a sour expression on his pimpled, boyish face. England was prepared for another mild disagreement, because he had initially forbidden the boy from fighting. Their quarrel happened as expected, but instead of backing down, Canada insisted, saying: ‘This is my home. These are my people. Let me defend them.’

Noticeably, he did not say ‘our people’, and that simple change made all the difference in the world. A rare spark of something burst from behind Canada’s passive demeanour that day. He stood, straight-backed with a steady fire behind his young eyes and England could not find the words to make that spirit disappear. So, he relented, putting one of his spare uniforms on the boy’s shoulders and a rifle in his hands.

As Canada was an inch or two shorter than England then, the jacket hung loose on his smaller frame, but even so, he gave his thanks. England should have recognised those actions for what they were, but he did not. Maybe it was the plethora of stressors plaguing his mind at the time, from Napoleon to America, or some other unconscious snare. Regardless of what ailed him, he later dismissed Canada’s attitude as a rare ill temper, when of course, it was not.

It was a declaration of identity, maturity, and self-reliance. Underneath his kindly demeanour, Canada was already a grown man.

“Your people,” England murmurs to the empty room. He sits up, joints creaking from the erosion of centuries, and sighs, dragging his hands over his face.

Presently, it is the spring of 1844 – just shy of seventy-one years since everything fell apart with his former ward, America. England registers a familiar cramp in his stomach and fails to shut it out of his mind.

Through the gaps in his fingers, his eyes drift to the page. Never mind the Queen; he will write to her later. Firstly, he must sort out this neglected thing with Canada, because England cannot get anything else done until he does. What to say, though? Every book that covers respectable letter-writing offers similar advice: to speak from the heart and with only the best intentions. But what the best intentions are, England cannot often deduce, and from the twisting knot in his abdomen, he can almost feel any good will being strangled by apprehension. What if Canada turns out the same as his brother? What if everything crumbles all over again?

England has no idea how others do it. How on earth can one be laissez-faire about such things? Recalling Prussia, England remembers his words:

‘I haven’t made any plans at all!’ he declared today, followed by: ‘This is different from a campaign. I’m raising a young man!’

Is it not better to have a strict plan? One that instils good morals, loyalty, and obedience? But... if that were the proper method, England would still be on speaking terms with America. Proper speaking terms, and not the low-contact charade they have going, where discussions are sapped of emotion and only occur out of necessity. Their last correspondence involved settling a trade dispute, and letters were addressed with cold formality. ‘To whom it concerns’ is how America begins most messages he now sends across the Atlantic.

No, the old methods will only yield old results. England sighs. He takes his pen, dips it in the inkwell, and brings it to the paper.

With no memories of his mother and paltry examples from his brothers, how can he be a proper guardian without any role models to imitate? Only briefly did he ever catch snippets of family life from the humans he knew. The parents and keepers were never perfect, but plenty far exceeded others. Successful households seemed happy, close-knit, and loyal to one another.

‘I suppose... I’m striving to let him grow up – to keep him happy and healthy.’ Prussia was beaming when he said that.

England hesitates, heart wavering behind his ribs. Then, he starts writing. The words come slowly at first, trickling out of him like a thawing river on the edge of spring. Then they build momentum, flowing steadily; he writes and the pen scratches away. His brass timepiece ticks, interrupted occasionally by whispers of the world around him. Low murmurs of conversation in the room below. A footstep or two from the apartment above.

Beyond that, there is little else. Outside, the world has begun to quiet and his hotel windows that overlook the Tuileries Garden vanish. The universe shrinks down to his singular hotel room and the ink characters that carve emotion out of pulp.

It is near midnight when he finishes the statement and checks it over. It reads less like a speech and more like a letter. Perhaps that is preferable. With a flick of his wrist, he signs it as such and considers slipping it under Canada’s door. However, that would be quite cowardly.

He gets up and drags the chair aside, wood scraping against wood, and winces at the sound. Then he exits his hotel room to invade the narrow hallway space in front of Canada’s door, pausing before it. Deliberately, England smooths his frown into something normal and placid, clamping down on his final doubts. When ready, he finally knocks and waits for an answer.

For a while, there is nothing.

England’s loose fist hesitates in mid-air. Should he knock again? Perhaps Canada is asleep. Yes, that is probably a reasonable assumption. Throat dry, England swallows. It would not be terrible to have this discussion another time; after all, he has written down his thoughts, so the hardest work is done. Still....

Then, the creaking floorboards come to life, and a latch clicks open.

“Um... hello,” Canada mumbles, peeking his blonde head through the door.

England coughs. “Canada, I was hoping... erm.... Might I have a word?”

Canada slouches and his gaze slips to the ground. Silently, he steps aside and opens the door further. England enters, fingers fidgeting with the pages and pointedly avoiding eye contact.

“Um,” Canada says. “Are you upset with me?”

England halts. Then, he turns and gapes at his ward.

“Whatever for?”

Canada shrugs. “For trying to hide the truth? About the actress?”

“Ah, right. That.” England sighs. “No, I’m not cross.”

“Really?”

“Really. Just don’t let it happen again.”

Canada's neck droops lower, making him look very much like a scolded dog. England blinks, realising his awful phrasing. “Omitting the truth, I mean! Not the other thing. Don’t tell half-lies, of course. Be sure you don’t do that. But as for meeting with the actress, that’s... well, it doesn’t need to be explained in detail. Just be sure you.... Erm.”

He stops talking. Screwing his eyes shut, England mentally curses himself with every colourful phrase he can imagine. Which, after centuries of living with his brothers, is quite a multitude. He takes a steady breath, exhaling slowly, and opens his eyes. “It’s fine.”

Canada is staring, wide-eyed and owlish. “Okay.”

“Shall we have a seat?” England strains, gesturing to the small yet posh sitting area.

They shuffle to the sofas and sit opposite one another, and England finds the patterned cushions to be much stiffer than they appear. He thumbs through the pages in his lap. “You’re not in any trouble,” he manages, “but I’ve written something down that I think you should hear. And after I’ve read it, we can... have a chat about it. Is that all right?”

Canada arches an eyebrow, but he leans in, the tension melting from his frame. He nods.

“Okay.”

England sighs and glances over his handwriting once more. Iron weights burden his shoulders and lead settles in his shoes. This is about as comfortable an atmosphere as he can hope for. All that is left is to push through to the end, come what may.

He clears his throat and silently promises himself that he will not murmur or mumble his next words.

~~~

Author’s Notes

Before modern hotels, it was common for travellers to stay at coaching inns. These were small establishments with fewer rooms where you could sleep overnight while lodging your horses. They fell out of style in the 1800’s as the luxurious yet accessible hotels replaced them. Our characters are meant to be staying at Le Meurice, a hotel built in 1835 which overlooked the Tuileries Garden.

During the War of 1812, Britain’s attention was divided between fighting Napoleon’s armies in Europe and defending its North American territories.

As mentioned in my notes on Chapter 2, the War of 1812 was very important in forming the Canadian identity, including the idea that civilian soldiers were largely responsible for repelling the American invaders.

While it’s true that trade resumed between the USA and Britain after the American Revolution, the relationship was rocky for a long time, flipping between tepid and disruptive depending on numerous factors. Examples include: The Jay Treaty (1793), the War of 1812, the Caroline affair (1837), and several territorial disputes.

Many guides about proper letter writing were published in Victorian times. Often, they’d simultaneously advise to write with absolute feeling and be cautious about saying too much, or saying the wrong things. It was a difficult balancing act, to be sure.

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#aph england #aph canada #hws england #hws canada #historical hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #matthew williams #arthur kirkland #my writing

[p96822]

After Tucker deactivates the dream helmets, Danny, Jazz, and Marinette return to Fenton Works.

Marinette and Danny went to bed and had good dreams about them together on a date. Marinette's dream was them on a hill while watching the sunset. Danny's dream was for them to go dancing and have fun at the Eiffel tower.

The next day Danny and Marinette woke up ready to start the day. Marinette thought of something that she and Danny were going to do today.

"Good morning, mon chevalier," Marinette greeted her boyfriend with a smile.

'Good morning Mari," Danny greeted back.

Marinette went next to him and kissed him on the cheek. Danny blushed at this show of affection.

"Was that a good morning kiss?" Danny asked.

"Do you like it?" Marinette asked.

"Well yeah," Danny smiled at her.

The two stared at each other before Jack and Maddie came out of their room and saw this moment.

"Aw, look at that, Jack. They look at each other like you, and I did when we were in College and even now," Maddie cooed as she placed her head on Jack's chest.

"You got that right, sweet cheeks. I see that loving stare that Danny is giving Marinette, just like I give you," Jack smiled at the moment.

Marinette and Danny saw them teasing them and decided to go to the bathroom and get washed up.

After getting washed up, they went to their room to get dressed and then headed downstairs to eat breakfast.

"So, Marinette, what do you want to do today?" Danny asked his girlfriend.

"Maybe we can go see a movie or something?" Marinette suggested.

"Yeah, that sounds pretty good," Danny said as he looked at his phone for any movies they could see.

Danny found a movie that he showed Marinette that surprised her. It was the Ladybug and Chat Noir Movie that was being showcased in Amity Park's Theather.

"I didn't know Ladybug and Chat Noir Movie came to America?" Marinette said.

"I guess it was popular enough to come here of all places," Danny said.

"So you want to go see your superhero crush's movie?" Marinette teased him.

Danny nodded with a blush, and after finishing their breakfast, they went to the movie theater to buy their tickets.

As they were walking to the movie theater, Danny had to ask this question to Marinette. "So you met the guy who made this movie?" Danny asked her.

"Yes, I did, and you knew that macaroon I was about to give Adrien gave him an allergic reaction after he accidentally ate it," Marinette said.

"I didn't know about that part of him eating the macaroon by accident," Danny said.

"He got akumatized that day, but Ladybug and Chat Noir was able to save the day," Marinette had a small smile on her face.

After they finish talking about Marinette meeting the director of the movie, the two make it to the theater and buy their tickets to the Ladybug and Chat Noir Movie.

They got their popcorn and drinks and went to their seats to see the movie. There were only a few people besides students from Casper High who were fans of Ladybug, Chat Noir, or both. Danny thought he saw Star and Kwan in the movie.

As they watched the movie, Danny felt slightly jealous of Chat Noir being paired with Ladybug.

"I hope that ladybug can be paired up with phantom next time," Danny joke.

"Well, Danny, if you want phantom to be in the next movie, come to Paris more often," Marinette said. "Also, Ladybug might be grateful for having another partner to help her out and chat noir." she put her head on his shoulder.

Danny blushed as they were about to kiss before his ghost sense went off.

"Oh, come on! Who is ruining this moment for us?" Danny muttered

"I'm the Box Ghost, and beware!" the Box Ghost said.

The audience ran for their lives after the Box Ghost showed up. Danny grumbled, dealing with the Box Ghost for the two millionth time.

"Hey, Boxy, can you beat it? I'm in the middle of something!" Danny said, annoyed with the interruption.

"What do you mean?" the Box ghost asked.

Danny facepalmed and transformed into Phantom to deal with this annoyance.

He phased the Box Ghost out of the movie theater and started to beat up the Box Ghost and trap him in the Fenton Thermos. He phased back into his seat and transformed back into Fenton.

"Wow, that was quick," Marinette said, impressed by how Danny dealt with the Box Ghost.

"Yeah, Boxy is annoying, but I can easily take him down," Danny smirked.

After the movie, Danny and Marinette were going to head back to Fenton works until They saw a poster about a carnival. So they decided to check it out.

They headed to the carnival and which was free for couples.

"Well, that was convenient," Danny said.

The two went on rides like roller coasters, bumper cars, and the Ferris wheel, where they saw the sunset. Both of them said it was beautiful before Danny said, "just as beautiful as you," they kissed after they left, and Danny's ghost sense went off, and it was Ember. She was hypnotizing people with her song.

"I guess the teen rocker wannabe is the back," Danny quipped.

"Can you fill me in on who she is?" Marinette asked.

"Evil rocker chick who uses her music to hypnotize people so she can rule the world," Danny explained.

"Alright, got it. Do you need any help taking Ember down?" Marinette asked.

"I can normally handle her on my own, but if you insisted on helping me, then be my guess," He told her.

They found a private place to transform, and they nodded at each other.

"I'm going ghost!" Danny cried out.

"Tikki, Spots on!" Marinette cried out.

As Ember continues to sing, she stops by her microphone being taken away by a yo-yo.

"Who decided to ruin my concert?" Ember asks.

Ember saw Danny Phantom with a girl she didn't know right next to him.

"Hey, baby Pop, who is the girl with spots?" Ember asks.

"I'm Ladybug, and you're interrupting our date," Ladybug said.

"Your baby pop's girl. Sorry, but you don't look like dipstick's type," Ember said...

Marinette looked offended to hear that.

"What are you saying that I'm not his type? Are you saying you're the type of girl he likes?" Ladybug said.

"What?! No way!..."Ember said, but she sounded forced.

Ladybug did not care as she kept speaking.

"I'll admit, even if I'm not the type that Danny normally goes for...at least he is choosing to spend the day with me. I guess he likes girls with good natures over girls with egos and megalomanic tendencies..."She said.

Ember heard this and frowned. She got angry at that remark and felt some jealousy, though she refused to see it that way.

"Someone has to crush this bug..."The villainess thought.

"You sound all smug, bug girl. I wonder just how smug you'll stay if I...just for kicks...steal your date..."Ember said, smirking.

"Wait...what?!..."Danny exclaimed.

Ember smirked and aimed her guitar at the ghost boy.

"Time for a love song!..."She shouted as she fired.

"Oh no, not again!..."Danny shouted.

"No!..."Ladybug shouted as she pushed Danny out of the blast's way.

And ended up getting hit instead.

Danny saw this and panicked once he realized what had just happened.

"Ladybug?!..." He exclaimed in worry.

#danny phantom #dannette #danny fenton x marinette #ladybug x danny phantom #miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #dannyxmarinette #first date

[mcheang]

Marinette and the chocolate factory

Willy Wonka is finally opening his factory, allowing only 5 children from Paris to enter.

By using a large chunk of her savings to buy several crates, Alya gets to go to the factory and record it for her blog…until she reads the terms and conditions that forbid her taking photos or videos.

Adrien was the next lucky winner…until his father refused to allow him to enter the domain of a recluse candy maker where Adrien will no doubt try to wreck his model diet. So he gives the ticket to Lila instead, who is thrilled about her interview.

Chloe gets her ticket after her father buys a large chunk of chocolate bars and orders all his staff to unwrap them.

Surprisingly, Felix is the next winner. He had calculated which chocolate bar the next ticket could be found in and proceeded to buy it.

Marinette got the ticket on the last day, much to her conflicted emotions since she doesn’t want to spend the day with any of these kids! While Alya is not openly antagonistic, there is a rift between these former friends after Marinette warned Alya to actually fact check and to stop trying to reveal pieces of Ladybug’s personal life’s.

Still, it is a once in a lifetime opportunity…and Tikki wants to go anyway.

At the factory, the children enter the doors alone, with no adult but Willy to supervise them.

Knowing Willy’s distaste for spies and thieves, Lila paints Marinette as a potential thief, unaware that Willy Wonka did his research to test each potential heir. He knows Lila is a liar and that Chloe was the one to steal Marinette’s hat design.

As Willy tells the kids to go ahead and eat their first location, Alya falls into the chocolate river trying to get a souvenir for Nino, ignoring Willy’s warning not to touch his river with her ungloved hands.

Willy was internally relieved as he had qualms about letting this so-called reporter into his private factory.

At the inventing room, Lila chews the gum meal before Willy can finish his sentence, interrupting his speech. She stops at pumpkin pie and begins to swell up, her skin turning orange.

Willy: well, at least I will get to finish my speeches

At a honeycomb room, Chloe asks to buy his specially trained honeybees but he refuses.

Offended, Chloe throws a tantrum and stays behind when they move on, attempting to steal a few bees behind Willy’s back. Except the bees end up swarming her. Blinded by the golden insects, Chloe accidentally stumbles into the garbage chute.

Willy: how in the world did she end up a recurring hero?

At the television room, Felix tries to learn the secrets of this teleportation device and messes with the switches and dials, accidentally sending himself inside the TV.

Willy: and this is what happens when little boys play with things they don’t understand!

When Marinette was the only one left, Willy Wonka congratulated her and declared his intention to name her his heir.

Marinette protests, stating she is too busy with her own design commissions and helping out at her family bakery.

Willy Wonka: even if my factory gives you the privacy you need to conduct your transformation potions?

Marinette: what?!

Willy: oh, if I could discover Oompa-Loompas, I can discover an ancient order protecting magical jewellery. They need more candy in their lives. Those poor trainees looked so unhappy.

Marinette: but how did you find out about my secret identity.

Willy: I did my research on each of the lucky finders of my golden tickets.

Marinette: I’m not sure…

Willy: well if you’re not sure, how about Tikki? I’m sure the kwami of creation will have good ideas for my business, especially if she has a sweet tooth as I hear.

Tikki: yes!

So while Marinette was named Willy’s heir in name, the other ticket holders emerged covered in chocolate, orange, covered in garbage and stretched painfully thin respectively.

Alya was disappointed she missed the rest of the tour. And her phone had been ruined!

Lila was going to get fired from Gavriel! There was no way to return to her original skin tone.

Chloe was already calling her father to sue Willy Wonka except Willy already sent footage of her behavior to the mayor and warned the mayor that he won’t go down without a fight. And Chloe is not very popular with the Parisians.

Felix was wishing for an akuma to turn his body back to normal!

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #karma

[myhairfeelsnice]

I have nothing to fill my life. I won’t be working again for a while. I start school in a few more weeks. I’ve just been looking for a new housemate which is heartbreaking because he was going to move in with me. I don’t want to live with another stranger. I don’t want to go through that whole shit show again. I don’t want to take my chances on living with someone I know nothing about, but I have to. I just wanted a home I felt safe in. I wanted a life I felt safe in. I don’t understand anything. Im not even aware of what I should be doing. I’m hurt but I knew it had to be done. I couldn’t leave the feeling to linger any longer. I can’t lean on anyone, all my friends are on holiday and I’m only really close to one of them, but still, it doesn’t feel like I really have anyone. I can’t drop everything and go back to the UK and stay at someone’s house because no one would be able to babysit Blue and Fifi, and I wouldn’t be able to afford a ticket home let alone to put them in kennels. Sure having pets at 23 isn’t an amazing idea but I also think there is a slim chance I’d still be kicking if I didn’t have pets to whip me into shape. The tears come in waves. I knew he wanted to leave this city. I knew it before he knew himself. I’m not attached to Paris but I just want to finish school and then I don’t care which country I am in. He had a home though, he has something to go back to, I don’t. And who knows if it even is the right decision for him. Maybe if he’d have listened to my plea and gotten a therapist, he would be thinking about this differently. I just don’t want to be so alone. Having him meant I could finally be someone. I had love and support. Our lives weren’t unnecessarily intertwined nor did we have any issues in the relationship, it’s just that I know he doesn’t want to stay here. But then I wonder, am I not enough for you to stay ? Does it matter so much that you don’t feel at home ? Will home ever really feel like home somewhere else ? I don’t have the luxury of having a feeling of home. I wonder why he can’t just do things how I do them, just take a place for what it is. It’s never the place anyway, it’s the people, that’s what I think. I don’t know. I’m afraid this time he won’t talk to me, i told him since I have no friends he needs to help me gently work through this. He said of course he would still talk to me. I told him I loved him. He told me ‘You know I love you too’, but is it really about love ? No. It’s more that he can’t make a decision to save his life and I’m left suffering because of it. He goes home next week anyway and can be cradled in the love of his family whilst I sit in my mouldy apartment with a housemate that never makes me feel comfortable. I think of how incessantly he told me he was going to marry me, how we would have kids. He referred to me, blue, fifi and him as his ‘family’. I don’t feel I have a family so this was just intense to hear and even more intense to lose. Sure I’m young and I don’t expect anybody to settle down with me at this age, but i was convinced that someone did want to. This would all be manageable if I had some sort of support system, and my therapist seems to be on holiday all of the time. It’s not enough to try to make friends when I am already so low. I wonder whether I could ever manage. I started to fall in love with my life with him, and now, will it all leave me ? Im not a whole person when im on my own, I know this, im too fragile without support, but then again who wouldn’t be ? I’ve been awake since 7am and no one really seems to have to time to talk to me. All my friends in Paris are on holiday. All my friends in the UK are at work. Blue remains by my side but he’s just a dog. I remember telling him last night « How are we supposed to explain this to Blue ? » and he said « oh fuck. » and we laughed. He loves my dog in a very beautiful way. Is it too much to ask for someone to just be there for me ? Just to have people I know won’t leave ? I get it, I have learnt I can be loved and love in return, but can I keep it ? Or is it just for show ?

[formulinos]

Hyperfixation Corner | On the Grid: 2022 French Grand Prix

Yes, the rumours are true. I went to a Formula 1 race for the first time and nothing like the (possibly) last French Grand Prix, at Circuit Paul Ricard, to pop my cherry. Naturally, I had to write a whole ass essay for this Experiénce™ to give you guys a bit of insight about my first time, so if you want to partake in my three day vacation at the south of France, featuring a bit of sightseeing and a lot of car-watching, join me after the cut! 

prologue: how did i land at paul ricard

friday: free practicing my tourist skills

saturday: fan forum of hell

sunday: scenes at the race

epilogue: a few final thots

prologue: how did i land at paul ricard

First of all, to put things into context, I wanted to tell you a bit about the chain of events that led me to the GP. I left my home country (BRASIL PENTACAMPEÃO 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷 🇧🇷) last year to study in Paris, where I will be until 2023. It's been definitely one of the times of my life and I try to stay positive and look at the opportunities I get to have here. In all these years I have been a F1 fan, I have never been able to afford tickets to Interlagos, and I'm not kidding. It's not that my family is broke, but we're also completely unable to afford three tickets, accomodation, plane tickets and other expenses in a way that will see us last the weekend alive. And if I look at it from a solo perspective, I never had the company to go with me besides my family and, to be fair, I'd love to go with them since they never went either, they taught me everything I know about the sport and they dream of attending one day. 

note: luckily I have two homegirls now who would love to go to a GP with me, so maybe in 2023 I'll tag along with them! still hope to drag mom and aunt with me tho :)

Anyway, the point is that being in Europe, I have the money to spare from the savings we had for me to come here + the internship I've been doing for the past months. Plus, I'm alone here and will be for a good while, so I only account for myself and I'm not sucking money out of my family's finances. Another advantage is that travelling between countries here manages to be easier than travelling inside Brazil, so it doesn't really matter what was the destination as long as I could manage to land some tickets.... so of course I bought tickets for Monza in the first available opportunity.

I had looked up tickets for both France and Monaco before, but both of those started selling before I got the internship and were in theory sold out, while Monza started selling after I had the internship. Actually, scratch that, France had an offer going on for a one-day ticket + train from Paris to the circuit combo that sounded absurd from the point of view of someone who suffers from fibromyalgia and expensive from the point of view of a foreign student, so I tapped out of that one. However, imagine my surprise when I received an email from the organisers, offering me a lifeline in the form of a lanky french driver that looks like that one character from that one cartoon movie I forgot. The one where they go down the drain. You know the one.

Esteban Ocon, I wish I could kiss you. In fact, I probably could have if I had stayed later on Saturday, but more on that later. Point is I never pulled my wallet so fast and typed the wacky numbers in my card online since that one time I really wanted to get the Rose Gold Princess Peach skin on Mario Kart Online - and I didn't get it. But I did get the tickets, paid in 3x because no way I could do it all in one go. It was the end of the month after all.

Anyway, from that point onwards, I started planning the logistics. I had gotten tickets for Saturday and Sunday only, since I can't get full vacations at the moment as an intern, I would only be allowed 2 days off for each month I work. I booked those so that I could arrive on Friday at wherever I would stay, get my stuff ready for the GP, and go back home on Monday without much of a hurry to work. 

Once that was established, I needed to know where I would stay, and there were a few options of cities to stay with buses/trains to the circuit, like Marseille, Toulon and La Ciotat, but I landed in Aix-En-Provence. Lovely place, I chose it there because I had been there before last November and so I already knew how the town worked and how to get there. Therefore, I booked myself both train tickets to Aix and the Express GP bus tickets that took me from the bus station to the circuit and vice-versa. From this, I booked myself an AirBnb just 5 minutes away from the station so that I didn't have to walk much longer after getting back late at night if it was the case and voilà! All good to go, it was time to race.

friday: free practicing my tourist skills

There is something I didn't tell you about the Provence, but that you might have heard about. They have big fuckoff lavender fields you have only dreamt of. It's some White Girl Pinterest Aesthetic Moodboard shit. Since I discovered the benefits of essential oil aromatherapy in 2020, I became a certified lavender lover, and even got a few friends hooked on it as well, so visiting the fields became something to check off my list in France. 

As the slogan for the Grand Prix said, it was Le Summer Race after all, specifically at the time where the lavenders bloom - they usually are the pretty lilac flowers we know between June and August, when they get harvested. After that the fields get all cut up and the process of growth starts again. While Aix-En-Provence isn't the hot spot for them, since the big fields are in like, Luberon and Valensole Plateau, they have a lot of lavender products available in their shops and, as I discovered online, a small field in a Maison de Lavande called Terre Ugo. Since I couldn't possibly take a day tour to Luberon as I had to get ready for the GP, I decided to reschedule my tickets for 6 am (ha) so that I could visit the Maison in the morning before shopping for groceries and checking in the Airbeebee. Great plan.

I took my ass to the Gare de Lyon, a railway station in Paris where I'd take a 3-hour high speed train to Aix-En-Provence. Left the house in black pitch darkness at 5:00 am after zero sleep (I had a rough week) but I enjoyed the way. I really think Paris is at it's best when there are no Parisians out. We're safe <3

A bit of Gare de Lyon and the time I left. So extra lmao.

The trip went super well, I managed to get an hour of sleep without getting my contact lenses stuck in my eyes, so I call it a W. The way was super pretty as well as I got to see the morning rise and some cute sunflower fields.

The Aix-En-Provence train station is actually roughly 13 km away from downtown, so I took a bus to get to Aix properly. By that point it was already over 28 ºC, but I'm from Rio so of course I spent 30 minutes waiting for another bus, this time the one that would take me to the lavenders and boy..... was I satisfied.

The place smelled SO FUCKING GOOD. Aromatherapists were right, I just took some breath in and I felt the anxiety coming out. The place was pretty nicely set up, as you took a stroll there were plaques explaining the importance of the bugs that you would see around and a bit of the history of lavender, and they kept some chairs and pillows around in case you want to sit down and maybe even have a picnic! Since I had a bit of time to spare, I got myself under a tent and just took the beauty in. A friend of mine said that they weren't in full bloom and it was probably because of the extra heat in summer this year that didn't allow them to grow properly, so I think Seb is right in being annoying about climate change. 

Right after that, I got back downtown to eat literally any-fucking-where that had an AC on (something rare here in France). Ate a salad because it was too hot to even consider something else, had a very nice, very cold Coca-Cola and then forced myself to have milkshake for dessert just so I could kill another half hour. Once that was done, I went to a supermarket to buy myself some water and food for the GP the next days since I wasn't feeling like spending my time in long queues for those items. Also took a chance and bought a sharpie just in case I managed to get some autographs. More on that later, also.

Cool. Checked in the Airbnb and I'm still not sure whether it was a good place or not. It was super well located and the sofa-bed was comfy, the kitchen was brand new, but the bathroom smelled of mold, the elevator wasn't working and there was no wi-fi, which would have been acceptable if the 4G worked there. But a highlight goes to the nearly broken toilet with THIS lid:

Of course, my first visit to the supermarket was a flop because I actually bought surprisingly little food, and it was only after a nice conversation with @baku2017​ that I realised I had to get myself some proper sandwiches, so I bolted to the closest supermarket before it closed to get that and some more water. In my defence, I was completely full after eating and it was super hot, so I couldn't even consider what would hungry me be like. Food obtained, it was time to sleep and get ready for an early rise.

saturday: fan forum of hell

Not sleeping the day before ended up being great for me because I slept like a lamb drunk on beer from Friday to Saturday and I legit felt like an anime princess when I woke up. My process for both Saturday and Sunday were the same: I had the bags practically setup (only missing the water that was on the refrigerator and the fruits and sandwiches I got wrapped in the morning) and my clothes for the day were also set aside, so I'd literally just wake up, get the food done, have breakfast, shower, put clothes on, put the packages inside the bag and head to the bus station that was just 5 min away from my place. Well, I did wake up an extra half an hour early on Saturday to get my makeup ready 🤡 🤡 🤡 

i really thought Mick would sweep me away from my feet right then and there smh

Now, I have to be honest with you: I don't do traffic. I just can't, not ever since I peed my pants on the way to the beach because we were 4 hours completely stopped. It's not like there were bushes anywhere close, if I went out to pee everyone would have seen, so it got to a point where it hurt so bad my body overwrote my power of will and I pissed myself inside my godfather's car. I am firmly determined to never go through that again so I had to make sure I would get on the first bus available of the day to go to the circuit, which meant being at the station 6:30am to leave 7am.

French organisation said there would be one depart every 5 minutes from 7 to 10. In reality, what they meant was one every half an hour from 7 to 9:30 am, except on Sunday, which is when you really need the buses. In this case, it would be one every half an hour from 7:30 to 9 am. Didn't matter much to me since I was there from the get go for the first bus, but I imagine how pissed some people must have been. Bus tickets were 25 euros per day (round trip), which is cheaper than a taxi or uber there and much more guaranteed not to be in traffic, so I felt confident in my bladder to make it dry to the GP. Besides that, the seats were super comfy and there were plug outlets for phone charging and AC, which in Saturday's weather (hottest day of the weekend) was very appreciated.

bus stop, bus and the view to the gp. not a bad way to spend early morning!

After a little over an hour and no peeing, I got to the Circuit! The gate where the bus stopped at was at the same side of both my tribune and the Fan Zone, which made my walking much better. Here's a very blurry picture of the path I drew to my friends from the shitty map that was in the ticket pdf (red zone behind the main straight was the fan zone and the grey area is the bus stop). Overall, I think it took me like 15 minutes to go from one point to the other. Oh, and my tribune was in the orange zone (Virage du Pont ftw!)

As I walked to the Fan Zone, I saw a lot of stands selling team merch and food/beverages. Some of the food choices were very bold, like a whole stand of fried stuff is really for those who trust their digestive system and that don't suffer from reflux. I shuddered. But the real interesting stuff, I thought, was Village Sud, that tried to emulate the charm of the cute streets of the Provence. Tried.

clown of the year award goes to the guy who came up with the idea to add an army enlistment booth to the village. 

these were some papier maché heads that are a tradition in the carnivals of the south of france. they did some of the drivers which were creepy but the intention was nice. i still don't know if the first head is supposed to be charles or lando.

My goal for the day was to try and get a few autographs for both me and my friends in the Fan Forum. I personally wanted Seb, Fernando, Mick, Charles and Carlos, while the laid ease wanted Zhou, Yuki, Lance and Daniel. So, I knew it was key to get there as early as possible so I could stay the closest to the rail and hope for the best. Of course it wasn't enough as some lunatics were there since 7 am, but I was still close enough to try. At the very least, close enough to look at them.

The original schedule had two Fan Forums, one in the morning (9h30 to 10h30) and one after quali (19h to 20h). So, naturally, they did two in the morning (10h10 and 11h40) and another after quali (19h to 19h30). This probably had to do with the fact that Haas and Ferrari, which were slotted for post-quali appearances ended up actually being the first teams to show up. So, our lineup for the morning was: Haas, Ferrari, Mercedes, Red Bull, W*lliams, McLaren and Alpine. A girl grabbed my hat to try to get some autographs, but it was practically impossible with all the front row competition, so I honestly just considered it fun to be there, listen to the drivers and feel the ambiance (great mood all around in spite of the heat!). Here are some screenshots of the videos I made:

sir lewis (george came right after, they did their interviews separated somehow), mick (kmag was there, just a bad angle), SCUDERIA FERRARI, red bull, alpine and mclaren

My personal highlights are: 

- Haas: Mick hearing the french crowd scream "PARLEZ FRANÇAIS" and then doing a good chunk of his interview in french just for us. Crowd went wild, panties went wet - Ferrari: EVERYTHING. Crowd went crazy everytime Charles talked and cheered him like insane, people started cheering Carlos up when he said he felt Saturday wouldn't be as nice for him because of the penalty and that he'd have to try a bit more on Sunday - Lewis: I honestly fell in love with the guy. I don't know what he has but it's something. Super fit and the way he talks is just like, I know he says that to everyone but he makes you believe you are indeed the best crowd he has ever seen. Lovely smile and he always makes a point of talking not just about himself but to include either the team or the fans. Guy trains his ego in the gym every morning to keep it in check probably. Still haven't forgiven him for 2008 but I'm glad I called the truce in 2020. - Red Bull: THE MESS HAHAHAH. Checo looked out of it IMO, like he waved and thanked the guys who were there for him but a bit dismissively. I can say many things about Super Max and I will if you ask me, but he looked more engaged in the conversation and tried to give nice answers, so he gets a few points for that. Funniest thing was that after they were over, they didn't come down the center to do autographs for people, which was such a dick move because the Team Checo guys were RIGHT THERE and from my side there were three guys waving Max's helmet replica and merch for him to sign. Crowd began booing (which wasn't hard because actually apparently people really don't like Max there? I thought people would love him more considering he is the reining champion) so Ariana Bravo had to say "hey we don't do this here!" which led to more booing because how dare you tell the French what to do. I didn't get too mad because I think if I was Max and I knew only three people liked me I would leave too. - Alpine: Felt really, really good to see Ocon being so well received. Gasly is still the apple of the French's eyes but Ocon was cheered as a hero, which makes sense when you consider he is now a Grand Prix winner with THE French team, but when you see the media's portrayal of him as a bit of a black sheep in contrast with Gasly being the ignored Crown Prince, it just felt great to see him being hit with the love. Alonso was in a great mood too and did his whole interview in French, which drove people wild. If Ocon is a hero there, then Alonso is the greatest of them all, as 2-times champion with Renault. People will never forget that and I'm sure Fernando just LOVES it, as he should and he deserves! Also I confess that it was here the only time I was like "wow, he really is short" because even when you consider that anyone looks short close to Ocon, Fernando seems smaller than in his pics.  - McLaren: Lando has a weird sense of humour that led him to say he hoped to specifically beat Alpine in this race and people *almost* booed before they started laughing and everyone realised it was a joke hahaha. Daniel honestly has some sort of attention span issue because he tried to answer his questions but he would just go like "hey I can say anything in French and make the crowd go wild watch this". At some point he just Pierre......... GASLY! two times in a row. I just wanted to hear him say some actual words lmao - W*lliams: when they left.

Fan Forum I done, I headed back to the Tribune Esteban Ocon, located at the Virage du Pont, aka turn 15, last of the circuit. It's there where cars enter the pit lane and speed down before starting a fast lap in quali, amongst others. While it's not usual to see overtakes there, you can see them get ready to attack and activate DRS. Overall, while you can't see the entire circuit, you can see the cars, which is not bad at all for the first time. You can also see a bit of the pit lane and the motorhomes!

some of the pictures might have chromatic aberration because of the zoom lenses I was using attached to my phone. don't mind me! not in the motorhome picture, but I could also see Mercedes' motorhome to the right of Red Bull's

Important to note: If you ask me anything about what the racing was like, objectively, I have no clue. FP3 came and went and it was just a vibe seeing the cars go in and out and do their cheeky laps. Honestly couldn't tell if Red Bull had good pace or if Aston Martin were going to flop again, I was just like. "Car go Brr" 

see what I told you about the pit lane? so cool! (FP3)

I think FP3 might have been my favourite session out of the three. While I usually just vibe with it when I'm at home, in there it felt like qualifying but without the stakes, which was much more enjoyable. People were cheering whenever their favourite driver passed in front of them and even more when they improved their lap times. It was completely insane to cheer for the fastest lap in a practice section yet that was exactly what was happening. It was like the driving equivalent of the guy skating while drinking juice and singing along to Dreams tiktok

W Series.... I don't want to talk about it much, but well. The cars are really freaking slow, to the point where they really stand out from the F1 and F2 races that are held on the same weekend. Fair, I suppose, as they are supposedly F3 cars, but I also don't watch F3 for the same reason. I feel that since most of the W Series drivers have a lot of experience they could do with better cars, which sucks because they end up looking amateur, even more when they have race incidents (in fact, there were two safety cars in a 30 min race). There is still a lot to be made to properly encourage race growth, and a few suggestion I have are: age limit to maximise chances of the girls going ahead to F3/F2 posts and the champion prize should be enough to fund them into an F3 team as well; they should also consider having the same champion rule as F2 that the winner doesn't get to remain in it for the next season - kinda sucks for Chadwick since she didn't manage to get a seat in another Formula series but it's probably the third championship for her in a road, so it's time to go, really; Maybe an investment that could be made is a team with woman drivers in both F3 and F2. Might never win it but it could be nice to showcase young talents. That being said I don't grieve any of the W Series drivers or organisers and if anything they are all doing what people kept them from doing for years. Good for them!!!

Quali came and it was ELECTRIFYING. I usually dread qualis because I just don't have it in me not to be anxious ever and the time constraint and high stakes just get me, but I was in the mood! I was sincerely happy! Again, don't ask me what actually happened during it, I had no clue Carlos had given Charles a tow because I was just like "GO CHAAAAAARLEEEEES GOOOOOOOOO" screaming like a mad woman. I was just thankful we got the pole and it was so, so FUCKING COOL how you could feel the whole place shaking because France is rooting for le Monegasque.

sorry for the shaky gifs but here is Charles on a mega fast run in Q3!

Overall, it was a trip. Gasly's shit quali was def a mood killer and the whole crowd was super sad, but they kept sending good vibes to make sure Pierre knew he was supported! Same thing for Ocon in Q2. People were also in suspense when Mick was fighting Race Control over the track limits, fair imo as Race Control this year has been even worse than last year and that's saying something. Crowd also went wild for Alonso in Q3 as he was Renault's rep. Lots of love for Sir Lulu as well! I, personally, made sure I was as annoying as possible whenever Seb was out hahahahaha. Once quali was done, I quickly hurried back to the Fan Zone in an attempt to get #RailedForSeb. And man... I'll need to talk about the following events in therapy.

When I left there hadn't even been the post-quali interviews yet, Charles had barely re-entered the pit lane. And while in the morning I didn't exactly bolt to the Fan Zone, this time I really almost ran. AND YET THERE WERE ALREADY TWO LINES OF PEOPLE THERE AGAIN. I sincerely think that some of them didn't even watch FP3 or quali so that they could stay in the rail and maximise their chances. I suppose (and hope) that it wasn't their first Grand Prix so they wouldn't miss it too much.

Team Vettel stayed strong!

I decided to stay in their entrance to the stage since there was a bigger chance of him autographing stuff there than in the center, where he would only be once. Quali ended around 17h30 if i'm not mistaken, so it would be roughly an hour and a half that I would have to stand up with a heavy backpack on my shoulders in the scorching heat. Easy. Feasible. I didn't know, however, that in less than 10 minutes a little kid would show up and be an Omen of how much of a mess the rest of the day would be. In fact, I'll call the kid Damien just to make it easier to illustrate.

accurate photo of Little Damien

Damien was right at my side with his folks a little behind him, and he only had a notebook and a dream: to get all of the drivers' autographs. He hadn't been there in the morning so he hoped the evening would be a hit. There was only an issue: he wasn't right behind the rail and the spot he had chosen was occupied by a couple of older fans.

Now, Damien had a few possibilities to choose from: he could have moved somewhere else he could sneak in better. In fact, his mom said that his greatest advantage was that he was a tiny little kid, so he could easily slowly make his way to the rail without taking a lot of space from people. But he didn't want that. He could have also asked nicely to the people in front of him if they could hold his notebook and get autographs for him, but he wanted full control as well. So, instead of being ok with the place he was at and trying to position himself as well as possible, Damien decided to bitch and moan as audibly as everyone in a 10 m radius could hear for a WHOLE HOUR AND A HALF. 

First, he spend half an hour just screaming "THERE IS NO SPACE!!! THERE IS NO SPACE!!!!". Then, he turned to his mom a few couple of times and said, I swear to God, "there are these two old people in front of me and they are there just to watch! I want my autographs!". I was GOOPED at the audacity of this three year old to be that bitchy when the guys were right behind him and could perfectly understand French, what the fuck! Like, what makes you so entitled to think you are more worthy of an experience than all the other fans that are there for the same reason as you are? Is there an hierarchy of fans I haven't heard of?

the couple pretending they weren't understanding what the kid was saying

At that point, it was only getting hotter and hotter. And as people were coming in, they started to push each other closer and closer to the rail, which meant that I was now just one row behind it instead of the original two. Space was getting smaller and smaller, there wasn't much room to drink water and people were starting to be in a bit of a mood with anticipation and such. I started feeling bad because I looked back and I realised I couldn't actually leave anymore, there was no way to get out without being stepped over by people. So I started feeling nervous. Luckily, some staff came with bottles of water to people, which calmed a bit the nerves, but available space kept getting smaller and smaller.

It was during the water moment that Damien managed to get a bit closer as well, but still behind the aged couple. A guy who was there to take some pictures for his daughter had no choice but to let Damien in, and said so himself. Damien kept being foolish and running his mouth, so we all kind of decided, collectively, not to let him pass any further and block him hahahahaha. Maybe if his parents did a good job of keeping him quiet we would have been nicer but kid was a dick and suffered, so far, no consequence of it.

The hosts came in and announced that the first team would be Alpha Tauri, which led everyone to bolt forwards to get to Gasly when he would come in. I was being crushed from all sides and hanging on to my sticker album for my dear life, so I genuinely considered crying out for help. However, I look around and security is placed obviously for the drivers, not for the fans, and there are no firemen/paramedics in sight. That means that not only I had truly no way out, but also if I fainted or anything happened, no one would know until the whole thing was over and I dropped dead after people loosened up. I went survival mode and focused all my strengths in just making it to the end of the interviews, I was legit close to tears.

Now, remember the couple in front of Damien? I had asked them earlier before Damien came in if they would mind handing my album for Seb to sign or if I put my arm between them, literally anything. The lady told me they had stuff for him to sign too (so they weren't there just for the banter as Damien thought), so I thanked them and said "no worries"). As people started pushing, I also apologised to the people around me and said it was out of my control. BECAUSE I WAS POLITE, the lady actually changed her mind and offered to take my sticker album while her husband would hold the book they had - it was a compilation of Paul-Henri and Bernard Cahier photos of champions, and there was one with Seb in it. Lovely book btw. Too bad what happened next changed the course of humanity and trauma bonded all of us there.

Gasly came in and all hell broke loose. I got pushed forwards to the point my feet didn't touch the ground anymore, while tons of arms showed up over me holding caps, posters and French flags. My hat was about to fall off, but someone decided to use my head as a support point to lean forwards, so I didn't lose it. I just sort of looked at the little of sky I could see on top of me and raised my hands up in the hopes someone would rescue me - which didn't happen.

exclusive image of me hanging on to my dear life

Pierre signs tons of autographs for the French who are, at this point, equally shouting "GASLY" with whatever lungs they have available after their years of chain smoking and fighting each other over the lack of space. Yuki shows up too and more screaming is had until they get to the stage. A little bit of schadenfreude powers me as little Damien starts crying and somehow escapes because he failed to get autographs and it was clear this wasn't gonna happen to him in this GP. Served him right.

Yuki shows up too and I manage to get a little bit of air while they do their interviews. I actually saw that people shared the "only thing that Yuki hasn't tried yet is a French girl" anedocte that Gasly said, but they missed out on the most important part that was the entire audience just being like "CHILL PIERRE, CHILL" and laughing out of nervousness. I could feel Tsunoda getting red and I was only able to see his back!

Alpha Tauri come out and the moment of truth arrives as Aston Martin joins us. AGAIN, everyone lunges because of Seb and this time, so do I, fuck it. I had saved my last 1% of strength for this moment and started yelling for him to look over. Britta and Lance's PR person walk in the front handing signed photocards, so I start yelling for her instead while Seb's further back. I swear to God, she actually came in my direction, looked at me in the eye, I said "hi Britta!" and she smiled back..... and she handed the photocards to people right beside me. I yelled for her to come back but it was too late. My jaw dropped for like... a whole minute. What was the reason, Britta?????? I do recognise it was hilarious and a great story to tell though.

Seb told people in front of him to calm down as he would try to sign as many autographs as possible, and he did. In fact, besides Red Bull's ordeal, all of them spent quite a good time making an effort at reaching out to as many fans as they could get, and they were genuinely nice while at it. I mean, Alpha Tauri, Aston Martin and Alfa Romeo all had lowkey disastrous qualifying sessions, Gasly the worst I think, and they still smiled and tried to engage as much as they could. While they're all more or less PR trained, they're not actors and you can feel who is more or less distant, which makes the whole thing even more astonishing because practically none of them really were, even the more reserved ones. You could feel the effort.

But unfortunately, it doesn't matter exactly where you're placed as it is a bit of a Russian Roulette and Seb never managed to sign my sticker album. He stayed before and after. Again, to be fair, he spent a lot of time there and there were tons of Seb fans around with helmet replicas and AM merch and even Ferrari/Red Bull fans that were there for The Legacy, but he genuinely had to go. He even kind of shrugged in an apologetic way before leaving. A guy that was in front of me handed me a photocard and said "hey, you couldn't do better than this!" all happy because he thought he had snagged me a Seb card, but when I told him it was Lance's, he said "oh, merde!". For me it was great though, as my Lance stan friend was super happy when I sent her the pic.

I stuck around until the end of the Alfa Romeo interviews as I had no choice and I also managed to see Zhou Guanyu sign the Seb page of my sticker album HAHAHA. He actually looked super pleased as well, it was so endearing. Also managed to see Bottas and yeah.... I would. I totally would, why lie for the tl. Overall, I managed to get two signatures in my Seb page, which I think are Yuki and Zhou's. The whole concept of Oppa Seb is so funny and the guys were so nice I can't even be mad!

I could have stayed a little longer to watch the after concert (that apparently was on the track and super cool!) and also see Esteban pass in front of our tribune, but I chose to go home instead because I legit needed a breather. Took a shower, some Tylenol and went to sleep.

sunday: scenes at the race

Rinse and repeat, woke up early, showered, got dressed, food, go. I had to snuck in the bus because people decided to queue while I was sat and there were people at the queue who were there for way less longer than I was. Didn't give a single shit, I am used to it in Brazil anyway.

Got there around 8h50, decided I actually wanted to eat a bit more of substantial food when I saw there was little queue on the pasta stand and that they were actually wrapping the food to go, so I bought myself a pseudo carbonara for lunch. I was super excited as I would actually have the opportunity to watch Formula 2 for the day and I knew Drugo had snagged a podium after Pourchaire's penalty the day before. I didn't know, however, that French support truly extended to the junior drivers and Pourchaire was received as a fucking hero (Novalak received a lot of love too).

While everyone cheered for Pourchaire, I took the role of being Drugo's sole cheerleader on the tribune, literally shouting VAI DRUGO every single lap. My throat is suffering from it to this day. Again, you couldn't tell me whether the race was good or bad, but I was THRILLED. I think Drugo had a bad race start and then picked up at the end? P4 seemed fair considering it all. Plus, Logan Sargeant's DNF made me happy, ngl. But overall, the star truly was Pourchaire, who landed a podium and was received as a champion. Iwasa, having led French-based DAMS to victory, was also given a standing ovation.

French flags for Theo!

After the F2 race, I ate my fauxbonara while Porsche Supercup was on and drank lots and lots of water. There were still animations with some random cheerleaders on the stands and some flag waving, but the real stars were the track marshals that hyped the crowd before the drivers' parade. They made us clap, they sang and danced like a bunch of fools, they made some waves, anything to keep us hyped before the drivers got to our turn, and it did work! Here are a few gifs from the video I took (I actually shot all the drivers but footage is shaky so I'll only share the ones that you could see a bit better).

I was surprised to see the Paddock Club ticket holders on a few trucks after the drivers btw. I kind of understand the glamour of taking part in the Parade, but it feels like it would be much more interesting to watch the Parade than to be in it. But then again, they probably saw the drivers way more close than I did the entire weekend, so yeah, it is what it is.

I set my phone aside during the race so there are no pictures of it, sorry :/ I had made an effort to register as much as I could during the entire weekend and I really wanted to be able to take in everything of the main event itself. I have to say, it was one of the most unforgettable moments of my life to experience the thrill of the formation lap and race start. The anticipation, the fear, the hope, it's like, everything all at once because the cars are so... concrete, you know? Maybe the best part about attending a race is truly the breaking of the fourth wall that allows you to realise these guys are actually there and it's not just an abstract creation of your imagination. There is a completely rupture of the distancing you have when you watch it from home which is a complete mindfuck and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Unfortunately, the race graphics just don't work live and are completely unreadable unless you have binoculars, so I didn't know what was the exact time interval between the cars, which is a shame because you can clearly see the gap getting smaller or bigger, so I would have loved to be able to correlate distance and timing. However, it was fucking lunatic to see the first few laps with Charles holding on Max from the perspective of the last turn. Sometimes, it looked like Max could legit lung while turning, sometimes it looked like Charles was under control, and once the gap looked big enough and they said Max was out of DRS range the whole crowd came down cheering. Everyone wanted Charles to win...

Which made the more heartbreaking when he crashed. We just saw the yellow flag signs getting lit up and then the safety car sign coming out before we knew it was Charles. I nearly cried but my tears dried out because of the shock of his radio message that was broadcast for all of us to hear. When his heavy, quick breathing played, everyone was quiet because we were all scared he was hurt. I even thought he had broken something. Instead, his scream echoed through the entire circuit and everyone just sighed with a mix of relief for his physical integrity and sadness for his own heartbreak. It was truly awful and personally, I didn't even have the time to recover from it before the shitty Carlos pit release.

To make matters worse, since Charles crashed close to my tribune, both him and his car passed right in front of us. You know what truly fucking sucked? You could tell he was devastated, his shoulders were completely down and he still made sure to wave us all, in something I feel was a mix of appreciation for the support as everyone was cheering anyway (I personally made sure to scream "thank you for everything" and "I love you") and apologies for having made a mistake. I did whip my phone out of the bag to take a picture of La Rossonera, and the saddest part is that it looked not that bad at all. 

Now, I had to move on and focus on the rest of the race, since there were still a Ferrari on track and tons of other drivers I had always dreamt of seeing. Carlos' track progression was my focus, and I repeat myself but I had the time of my life seeing him catch up to the cars in front of him race lap after lap until he showed up ahead. His overtake of Checo was right in front of me since I could see that part of the main straight, so I jumped and screamed like a maniac, only stopping when Checo tried to strike back and failed. Imagine my fucking surprise when he goes in the pit. The amount of cursing I did while the guys in front of me were like "typical Ferrari".... this is so HUMILIATIIIING.

I was also rooting for something that didn't happen (Max DNF) but overall, even with the results I was more than satisfied with the race weekend I had. If we had a better ending, I might have considered rewatching it on F1TV, but honestly I don't care enough to put myself through that ordeal again hahah, I'll take the L and keep the good memories. Since I had a crippling headache from the heat - Sunday was less warm but worse because the air was more dense - I left the track early and got home with time to spare, enough to get my things packed, call my folks and tell them about my weekend and to have some celebratory Mickey Ds.

epilogue: a few final thots

While on the bus heading back home, I had a bit of time to think about what the weekend represented to me. The first major point is that it completely changed my outlook on the drivers themselves. I have never like, dehumanised them and I try to keep my idolatry in check so that I'm able to call them out if necessary, but I did idolise my faves and loathed the ones I dislike. Seeing them interact with the fan base live was a 180º flip because like... they're just people. Some of them are smaller than you would think, some of them are taller than you think, but they truly just want to drive the cars, you know? But then you're standing there besides a random person who literally just went there to see them, literally just one of them, you hear the cries and it's scary, it truly is, to consider the psychological weight of the burden that they carry.

Because it's like, on one side they have to be concerned with living up to the expectations of the sport, the team, the championship and of their own talent, which is already the standard agony that every athlete goes through in their entire career and that feeds their fears and regrets after retirement. But on the other side, they need to go out and be paraded like shiny objects to a bunch of people who are shouting their names and staring at them almost like Cujo, drooling and wide eyed, but it's out of love. How do you even manage to be normal after going through all of this at least once, let alone repeated times during the years? You have to change, but at the same time you can't change who you really are, which is just a person. You are elevated to the status quo, the highest of pedestals, but you are still just a random person. You're not a hack per se, you deserve to be there as a fruit of your path and your life's work, but fundamentally the pedestal shouldn't exist. It's so much to consider and yet they all go out there, perform at the highest level they can psychologically and still find the time to try to please their worshippers. Unhinged. 

The other point I'd make is that it was truly a blessing to be able to go to the race. I know I was probably there at Charles' 2018 Germany moment but still my heart grew from Saturday to Sunday because it was just a lifelong dream becoming reality. Once you go there, you need to face with maturity the fact you can't control the sport and that's the fun of it. Whatever you spent, whatever you did, it doesn't matter because it's all in control of the people on the track and the pit lane. If it's not the championship decision, you can be frustrated but ultimately you don't get to be upset over something you knew was a possibility. And the fact is, if you do, you have to consider to distance yourself from the sport a bit.

I'm saying this because from first hand, Ferrari is frustrating year in year out. It has always been like this and not even the Golden Michael Years were peaceful. I have already spoken here my thoughts on the supreme bottling that has been made and in theory, as a fan, I had every right to curse Charles and Ferrari for the disasterclass of Sunday. But you know what, Ferrari doesn't have the right to ruin my love of them and of Formula 1, not even in the most important moment of my life as a fan so far. The team can grieve the result as they should, because we're further and further away from the lead and the strategy errors have led us to rely too much on driver performance which makes individual mistakes even more serious. Charles can grieve the result because he truly screwed up an easy win and he can even resent the team for not backing him up when he needed to. But these are burdens that it's their job to carry, I'm a fan pro bono and I can't let a result that is always a possibility put a damp in a big, happy moment for me, the same way I can't let it get through my head and ruin my entire week from home. And that's equally valid for any driver and any team, we all have to know our places, rights and duties in our parasocial relationships. I have been keeping up with my part of the deal, which is to slag them off when necessary but still offer support no matter what. I'll never stop being a Ferrari fan even when everything disappoints me because my love for them is larger than life, so why will I let current Ferrari ruin everything that me and the red car have had together over the years and will have in the future? Nah hah, fuck off, I will remain steady and look at the glass half full. This weekend was bitching and I wouldn't change a thing.

Well, I would. But I accept that I can't change it and I'm happy with what I had.

If you managed to read this all the way, I hope you enjoyed reliving with me the French Grand Prix. Next time we see each other, hopefully it's for the proper HC I've been writing. Slow and steady wins the race! As always, thank you for reading and screw you guys, I'm going home.

PS: Seriously, F1 administration, I know you guys are reading this. Find a way of keeping the Fan Forums because the interviews are nice, but bring back the autograph sessions. Someone is going to be trampled over one day. Cheers! 

#hyperfixation corner #2022 french gp