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#sochi flashbacks
eksperigifs · 9 months
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carlando back together in top3~
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icecoldtires · 7 months
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zandvoort weather is giving mood swings fr
even worse than mine
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forelsketparadise · 2 years
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I was not watching the race because for some reason I am still traumatized by Imola so i can't watch quali or race. So I slept instead. Woke up to find Charles got P4 and Pierre P11. I see that Ferrari messed up with Charles’s pit stop call messing his race. Did’nt something like that happened in Sochi last year too? and Alpha Tauri gave Pierre two very slow pitstops. I know they are slow but taking more than 6 and 12 seconds for a stop is very slow even for them. They cost Pierre points today because he drove a perfect race on his part. 
Literally so upset about it. Both of them deserved better. The only white lining I am choosing to focus on so that I don’t feel even more upset and mad is that Charles finally got to finish a race in Monaco and be in points and Pierre wasn’t stucked at P17. 
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arom-antix · 10 months
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Why Yuuri (before 2017) should not be allowed to write an autobiography
Okay, to those who might not follow figure skating as closely, I just need to point out that Yuuri, despite what he insists (unreliable narrator), did not do badly in the Sochi GPF.
We know from the flashback in episode 5 that Yuuri during his free skate fell on at least two of his jumps and touched down on one and it can be assumed he didn't do too well on his others. He says in episode 4 that he falls on jumps and makes up the gap with Program Component Scores (how artistic it was) which can also be seen on the protocol from his short program where his PCS is higher than his Technical Element Score (how technically sound it was). This is not how those scores usually relate except in certain cases (see Jason Brown, also known for his high PCS and (relatively) low TES though this is by choice).
This is Yuuri's short program protocol. If you don't know how to read this then all you need to know is that his total score was 82.80, 40.42 of that being TES and 42.38 being PCS.
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Now, to relate that to the real world, in the 2015 Grand Prix Final, Daisuke Murakami scored a total of 235.49, scoring 83.47 in his short program and 152.02 in his free skate and placing 6th. As we can see, that's pretty darn close to Yuuri's score (82.80 in the short, 149.79 in the free, 232.59 total) and I would not be surprised if they were inspired by his scores since they're also PCS centric.
Sidenote: Looking at Yuuri's PCS here and comparing them to Murakami's, Yuuri's are higher, not having anything lower than 8.00. Based on the fact that he was likely very off-kilter, I'd say this is still a very respectable score (duh, Yuuri just can't accept that he's good). Boyang Jin who took 3rd in the short, 5th overall in the 2015 GPF had way lower PCS scores.
Anyway, here's Murakami's free skate protocol.
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Murakami has 8 jumping passes in his free, 7 of which he lands with a two-footed landing on one and a stepout on another. He only falls ass on ice like Yuuri does once on his second quadruple salchow (which was supposed to be a combination. The << and REP are explained at the bottom of the protocol). He does not touch down at any point. Otherwise his jumps look fine to me, most of them barely having any ice spray and only his 3Lz+1Lo+2S combination getting a warning for an unclear edge.
If you don't know, falling is (kind of) the worst mistake you can make on a jump and the judges are required to both give a certain negative GEO (grade of execution) and a deduction of 1 point. Other mess-ups just give negative GEOs.
Murakami's FS score is 73.26 TES and 79.76 PCS which would mean Yuuri's scores are likely very similar. But he fell on two jumps, not one meaning his PCS would likely have been higher to make up the difference.
And if Yuuri's insinuation that he flubbed all his jumps in some manner is true (which I find highly unlikely, have some confidence) and he missed elements by either popping (opening too early which costs rotations but saves you from a fall) or just not doing them, his PCS would have needed to be even higher to make up for that.
Missing elements, like popping a double, triple or quadruple axel into a single (at least one double is required), results in that element not being counted at all. Zero. Zip. Nada. You get nothing for it if you can't make up for it later in the program. Even falling on a jump is better because that's at least a few points. So if that happened, he'd have a big gap to make up with his PCS.
To sum up: with everything that could have gone wrong for Yuuri, this is still a very good score, even on the international scene. And to highlight that, Murakami is happy when he finishes, even fist pumping.
And yes, there was still that 103.17 point gap between Yuuri and Viktor which is the same (okay, 94.95) for Murakami and Yuzuru Hanyu who took gold in the 2015 GPF. But, and I cannot stress this enough, Hanyu broke 3 world records with that score meaning Viktor likely did as well. No wait, scratch that, I know he did because Hanyu's score was 330.43 which Viktor beat by 5.33 points. Of course it's not going to be even close, are you kidding me?
Looking at the World Championships in 2016, Yuuri would, with that 232.59 score, still have taken 11th place. He'd have taken 16th in 2023 and that's with a single quad (I don't trust his quad salchow yet) in the age of quads (and that quad being the one with the lowest base value). I'm positive he'd have been able to do a Jason Brown whose PC scores are so good that he in 2023 placed 5th without a single quad and would have placed 3rd in 2016. Now, take that and throw Yuuri's quad toe loop and some confidence in there and you've got a Worlds podium finish before the series even starts.
And then in the season the show is in, he has his quad toe loop, quad salchow and quad flip. He might even have gotten the quad loop down in the 3.5 months between the Barcelona GFP and Worlds. I definitely see a world champion on the next level (if they'd give us it >:[ )
And scores always get higher over time, the world record having gone from Hanyu's 330.46 in 2015 to Nathan Chen's 335.30 in 2019 still standing in 2023 which is still less than Viktor's Sochi GFP score (335.76) (yes, the system has changed since 2015 but it's close enough that it doesn't really matter in this context. Viktor is OP no matter what).
Really, the fact that Yuuri's in the GFP at all should be all we need to know that he's insanely good. It might not technically be Worlds but my stars, Yuuri, it does basically make you 6th in the world.
BE. PROUD.
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niicoli · 11 months
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Into the abyss
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Part two of I loved you at on point
Love,love is beautiful thing and the source of many people’s happiness until it turns it’s back on you and abandons you in the dark. Leaving you bleeding and crying for a helping soul, and just as you finally start to go numb the silence washes over you like a blanket but not one of comfort.
To the point where the gods themselves try and lend their wisdom and strength to try and bring you up from drowning in the silence of your own.
And if that is to be true then why have the gods forsaken you, as you find yourself in the same hell where it all began and with the same people who made you feel worthless and numb.
You don’t know how they got you here or how they convinced you to allow them to bring your son with you, but you’ve always been weak to their sweet words.
No their demands of you and how they could always seem to find a way to bend you and pull you In every direction they wanted you to go in but you were still stuck in the silence.
So as you look around the hell you once knew you see that it’s void of your touch and existence like you were never there in the first place, but hasn’t it always been that way?
Even when you were in their grasp, The home was void of your memories or pictures you honestly don’t know how you couldn’t see it from the start, maybe because you were so stuck in a delusion of sweet nothings and passion you didn’t have your head screwed on tight.
But this time was different from then as when you arrived they had their other victim at the door waiting to greet them.
When the poor soul saw them they smiled at them like you use to when you were of delusion what was the saying again “ love is blind “ yeah that was it but not for you , not anymore well at least you hoped.
No matter how many times you have to tell yourself and try and convince yourself that you mean it you snap back to the reality of they still got you in this hellhole anyway.
As the silence walked with us and we finally sat down they told their victim to leave so they can talk to me, she silently looked at me curiously before excusing herself. So I guess this is when the integration begins…
“ so y/n how have you been ,fine I presume “ gojo says as he looks me up and down I always hated when he looked at me that way, like he he could see all my sins and wrong doings.
“ cut the crap what do you want from me this time” I bite back with as much venom in my words as possible but then again I hear that god awful chuckle and bile starts to rise in my throat. “Now , now y/n sato was just asking a question is that any way to talk to lovers .. or in the presence of our child”.
“Lovers, we were never lovers I was simply a puppet to you. Lovers wouldn’t do what you did and act like everything is okay and leave Sochi out of this you weren’t there “ I was able to get out before being cut off again,” ha not there, you didn’t tells us and don’t act like we didn’t have so much fun together mochi” gojo said with as much venom and bite in his words as mine from earlier.
Then the silence set back in place almost like it was the mediator of the situation “so did you fuck him” gojo sneered at you as if he had any right to accuse you with how fast they moved on,” and what if I did “ I said with no emotions I could see the glare in their eyes as all they tried do was look at my face for answers.
“ Then you’re more of a slut than I imagined “ gojo let out a chuckle with a smirk “ did you let him fuck you like we use to, oh and let’s not forget that dirty little trick with your tongue we taught you tch y/n your breaking our hearts “ geto continued to degenerate you and it was starting to get to you.
All the flashbacks of when you were here were starting to come back even the ones you tried to bury , all the accusations of when you would just talk to someone and they would tell you , you were flirting with them being a teasing little whore and bitch at you only for them to turn around and do the same.
But most of all the anxiety that was getting worse and worse as you sat here, the panic was starting to take over and soon the ringing was going to appear, but then you felt movement in your lap and glanced down noticing Sochi asleep in your arms and as to not disturb him you tried to stop shaking.
Shaking when did I start to shake?, but who cares I can calm down in the car but we’re did I put the key’s again oh god please not again not now, not in-front of them.
“ I think it’s time for me to go “ I say as I go to stand but I don’t know why my brain can’t comprehend my brain signals almost like my body is locked up almost as if I’m paralyzed.
But why, I didn’t have anything to drink or eat I was careful when touching anything so why can’t I move, god please I just want to leave “ now mochi what’s the rush besides we’re just spending time together since it’s been so long “ gojo says as he bounces Sochi up and down in his arms, but wait when did he grab him, when did he touch my baby I think as full on dread washes over me.
“ Now then love even though we are angry that you hid our beautiful son from us we can give you the benefit of the doubt, you we’re just confused and upset isn’t that right sato?” Geto says and gojo nods with him
But why couldn’t I say anything and when did suguru get so close, was I really just upset no I had a good reason right?
“ Now then let’s be a family again and everything will be just fine besides every family needs a mother and father “ geto grins as he picks you up in his arms “ and don’t worry about Nanami or your things we already informed Nanami that your not coming back” gojo says as he walks behind you and geto.
But the whole time you can’t seem to process their words as they carry you off deeper into the abyss and you can’t seem to process the blood on the floor of their victim as you finally drift off in the silence.
“Welcome home y/n we’ve truly missed you “.
End
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f1-birb · 7 months
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also he was told he was "faster" than the inter runners... quite literally being passed by those inter runners 😭😭 i would be apoplectic on the radio jfc lmao
I mean he kinda was 😭 but tbf he was probably having Sochi flashbacks 😭😭😭
"what the fuck?! .... are you fucking stupid man"
except I don't think he meant to hold down the button still there 😅
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landopics · 7 months
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Lando and p7 reunited.
Should have been a podium. Bad strat call from Mclaren! When your driver wants to pit for inters Please do it!
Had major sochi flashbacks as did lando no doubt
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welld0nebaku · 2 years
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Daniel Ricciardo masterlist 
18+ unless specified otherwise :)
FULL-LENGTH FICS
Karting
→The local kart track is home to good memories
Trouble ft. George Russell
→Sochi treats you much better than it does your older brother
Austin ft. George Russell (part II of Trouble)
→Your arrival in Austin has tensions (and heartrates) rising again
Christmas
→the classic friends-to-lovers, but make it sorta festive
Indifference
→flashbacks in the supermarket
BLURBS
Hands
Airbnb
TAGGED POSTS
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standbyric · 1 year
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[PART I]
06: Red Bull 1-2
Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Female!Driver OC x Pierre Gasly Premise: Formula One, Female Racing Driver Rating: 18+; Mature themes (explicit language, death, trauma innuendos, motorsport accident, mentions of sex) Timeline: Back and forth Word Count: 6.3k Sum: But was she guilty? Ogling her eyes out for Pierre Gasly, yet keeping Daniel close? Trigger warning: Mentions of period and female genitals.
⬅️ Chapter 05 | MASTERLIST | Chapter 07➡️
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Sochi Autodrom, Russia, 2014. Flashback to Zea’s debut race.
She felt grim.
Bleak.
Her insides churned like the wheels kneading milk to butter; only the bitterness—not the savoury—tanged her tongue.
She’d qualify at 13th for tomorrow’s race, her debut race. Not ideal, but enough to give her a shot at fighting for points.
She sat herself beside Max Chilton, Jules’ former teammate, now hers. The chatters around the spacious conference room had long been on mute as her mind replayed Jules’ radio, over and over again, like a reeled-back tape, when the accident swallowed him not even a week ago.
She was a witness.
Yet another helpless bystander.
The muffled scream, the static afterwards, and the pitter-patter of the rain. The echo of his engine as it delved into the crane at 92Gs, the immediate silence. And then, she was face-to-face with the barely recognisable chassis—or whatever was left of the car.
It had been doing things to her mind. Weird things.
One moment she was working on the car with the other Marussia mechanics. The other instant, she was lost, momentarily placing herself in the late Frenchman’s position, thinking how unfair it had been for his family.
At the same time, an understanding of her father registered. Clearer. Almost like an awakening. The realisation that came faster than a bolt of lightning—the realisation that papa must’ve had it worse.
That was when Charlie Whiting took the centre chair on the dais, opening the briefing session, snapping her back to reality.
Nothing more than a greenhorn, fresher than a daisy. 
Zea understood that better than everyone else.
The fact that even her teammate hadn’t exactly shown interest in chewing the rags with her, and most of the other drivers not even approaching her, dismissing her like a ghost, was enough indication that she was less than a cursory visitor.
Hopefully, it wasn’t because she had ‘stolen’ Jules’ seat.
Because although her heart had been mourning gravely for him, she wasn’t going to be the hypocrite, refusing to exploit this opportunity. Jules was nothing short of sweet to her. Never giving her a side look, respecting her like he would every other driver on the grid. Wouldn’t then dedicating her performance to him be the rightful courtesy he deserved?
But right now, it stood that she was nothing more than a greenhorn. 
Which has a professional translation as sit still and shut your yap because your opinion is not welcomed. Yet all this back and forth on better cockpit safety triggered her knowledge.
She’d shake her feet, restlessly biting the bottom of her lips to prevent words from accidentally slipping out. 
Because the answer had been hanging in front of them this whole time, cordially saying ‘hello’. 
Yet in the name of preserving the ‘danger element’ and Formula One being the epitome of open-wheel racing itself had long dictated no to closed cockpits. But Zea claimed this was no time to be bothered about that. At least not her. Jules’ casualty only extended her reasons.
“Listen, Zea…? Was it?” Zea nodded politely to Charlie. Clearly losing the battle against the temptation of staying still. Her raised hand betrayed her muscles, and her voice cheated her mind as her degree-backed opinions poured fluently off her mouth when the thirty-minute debate kept going around in circles. And she couldn’t take it anymore. Why everyone was surprised as if her mask would impair her ability to talk baffled her somehow.
“Bianchi’s accident was unfortunate, but a closed cockpit is not an option. We dismissed that long ago because then it’d be more difficult for drivers to get out in case of fatal accidents.” And to that statement, most drivers nodded in agreement, presuming her so-called ‘advice’ to be outdated. 
Zea stifled a sigh. “No, sir, I never said closed cockpit. I said, a structure that could almost hover above the cockpit, acting like a barrier. Still an open cockpit.”
“Then you will need three legs for it to ‘hover’. One must be right in front of the driver, which will disrupt their vision. You’re only increasing the probability of accidents,” said the FIA chap whose name and position Zea forgot—assumed important since he was sitting next to Charlie on the dais.
What followed was sneers, not covert enough for her to dismiss. Or maybe that was the intention. And Max Chilton nudging her arm, reminding her not to get into any argument.
Zea glanced at the section where each team’s head engineers were seated. They were silent, eyebrows crooked, slightly nodding like bobblehead dolls. Must be because they knew she wasn’t spewing nonsense, yet too prided in admitting. Her calm and composed tone perhaps made the idea even more unfriendly, no matter how fitting it could be.
“I reckon it’d be an excellent investment if we start exploring the idea. You said it was crucial for us to find the solution. And besides, on the issue of peripheral vision—“
“—I’ve taken enough notes.” Zea bit her lips behind her mask as Charlie cut her off. The eerie glances from the entire room made her nauseous. As if her audacity was undue. 
“Right. Of course.”
Felipe Massa was the only one who offered some form of support after the pack was dismissed. Tapping her shoulder and affirming her opinion was not less valid. Perhaps from the sense of shared-flag sentiments. Or perhaps from hands-on experience, having encountered flying debris over his head, cockpit safety issues became more prominent to him.
But she’d gladly take it—the sentiment, she meant.
Not that she needed the assurance that the grid accepted her, but she was still keen to take any form of goodwill. 
So when she’d finished fourth on the Sunday race, relief rushed over her.
Yes, she had benefited from inheriting positions over well-timed undercuts, but it didn’t mean her chiselled driving was absent from the fight. But more than anything, she hoped it was enough to pay her respect to Jules.
Almost instinctive, as soon as she lifted her helmet, she went down to check the flooring of her car. The rattling had been bothering her the whole cool-down lap, almost like a game of daredevil of who was going to combust first—the car; or her anxiety of combusting in a car that combusted. And the prospect of dying there and then wasn’t so appealing. 
Came Sebastian Vettel in the navy Red Bull suit. 
He stood there, confused. Angling his head at the bizarreness of whatever was taking place. Because his intention was simple: to congratulate the rookie who started from thirteenth, dropped to fifteenth, and then shot up to fourth. In a Marussia. Everyone knew the only race that car could par in was one with Koala bears. Hell, even  Koala bears were quick on the ground.
But when everyone else was busy completing their parc ferme, well-done wishes exchanged, the rookie girl in front of him was going down on her car. Literally.
“Um, hello…? Excuse me?”
Her little head popped up over the body of the car. Eyes wide open at Sebastian, hands seemed to struggle to pull something from underneath her car. “…Are you talking to me?” she said in between grunts.
Took Sebastian a couple of seconds of silence before replying. “…What are you doing?”
She stopped her pulling. Faltering as she immediately stood up, brushing herself off. “Right! Sorry! This was—is—was? This is part of my job back in the garage, sorry! Am I—am I not supposed to do that here? Oh God—I’m not supposed to, am I—?!“
Sebastian’s laugh cut her off. Why she had to say sorry while stumbling over her words was confusing in a funny way to him. 
“It’s okay, I’m not a blabbermouth, I won’t tell the stewards. And besides, I just want to say congratulations on finishing fourth in your debut race.”
Silence. And Sebastian couldn’t even make her expression because of the mask. Fearing his light joke might’ve somehow offended her, he shuffled his feet. 
“…Oh! Thank you!” Her gratefulness freed him from that thought. “Oh, and trust me, I’m smiling right now.” Perhaps that was her means of soothing the German driver when she noticed his perplexed look. That was enough to gauge the smile back on Sebastian.
“Thank you,” Zea reaffirmed her gratitude as she took off her gloves.  Her tone was warm and hospitable. “You’re about the only person who’s talked to me this weekend—I mean, except Massa and Chilton, obviously. Thank you.”
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Sepang International Circuit, Selangor, Malaysia, 2016. Back to the Present.
What a weird day to remember Sochi, Zea thought.
Mainly because the two circuits were fundamentally different. But maybe, because Seb’s interview was being broadcasted on the big screen, and the Ferrari driver said he was looking forward to seeing her make-up positions from the back of the pack.
Which she was, too. Honestly. Having to shoulder a pit-lane penalty for her new power unit. 
And that bit of nostalgia was something she needed, too, to distract herself from her conniving mind, which, for the past 30 minutes or so, had been busily entangling itself from the many loose ends of delusion that would probably be the rope she’d hang herself with.
Because if the Malaysia sun was murder on her skin, the fiery pit of hell wouldn’t be a good thing.
 He was not a prostitute, she reminded herself, trying to stop any further dirty thoughts—or actions—her brain was beyond willing to conjure up. 
Maybe blame the hormone and the shit Elijah declared before she was due to jump in the car. When Pierre kept licking his lips—seductively, or perhaps that was just her indecent thoughts, she was having difficulty differentiating—chatting with Antonio as they walked past the Audi garage about how terribly hot Malaysia had been. Clearly, he was referring to the country’s temperature.
“Oooh… I wonder what else that tongue can do.”
Zea had gasped, pausing to fully express her horror at Elijah’s statement. But the arse smirked like the devil he was, focusing instead on prepping her neck muscles before the race.
Well, fuck her mind because now she couldn’t stop thinking (thirsting) about it. 
And as far as reasons go, the stars must’ve been perfectly aligned for Irza and Elijah because those two were fated to co-own hell. Which made all the more sense now, considering we’d established the twin sister would be a resident of that very hell.
Because, while it was perfectly normal to find the man irresistible—she was positive there were enough women and men alike affected to guarantee a support hotline—she should be feeling friendship. Camaraderie. Nakama. Shit like that. Getting all hot and bothered was not helpful or conducive, especially considering that on his side of the road, all he felt was probably nothing. And especially considering she had a race due.
“That fucker.” Zea’s murmur startled Vishal, who was adjusting her belt. “Did you just curse at me?” her mechanic staggered backwards. 
“Wh—No!” Her objection was quick. “I—I was talking to myself….” Perhaps now was about the right time to pick up the shovel and dig deeper into the hole, bury herself or something.
Only after some miracle and serious slap on both cheeks to brush off the remnants of Elijah’s hypnosis could she force herself to gear the race-ready Ace.
Because you don’t have time for that.
That became her mantra for the day. 
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Already two Virtual Safety Cars (VSC) were launched within the first ten laps of the Malaysian Grand Prix. Vettel retired after the first, and the second wave was Gutierrez squeezing Magnussen against the inside kerb—and Kvyat hitting the back of the Renault.
The midfield came to be disturbed, picking its way through the carnage, allowing Ocon a route through to tenth ahead of Alonso, and for Zea to have somehow shimmied her way to twelfth from the back row, her instincts, as ever, uncanny as she took the wide outside line past the traffic jam on the inside, then jinked through the Vettel mess.
Red Bull had a dilemma of its own to solve mid-race. It looked like the earlier VSC gamble—Max pitting while Daniel stayed out—would play in Max’s favour.
But Daniel had a knack for these Pirellis. In tune with their messages, could coordinate his throttle and steering inputs accordingly and tease stint lengths from them without slowing as much as the others.
Lap forty-four, and Hamilton’s engine blew!
No warning, nothing, just poof, clouded in a foggy smoke. And Hamilton was forced to relinquish his lead to Ricciardo, which the Brit didn’t handle with much appreciation as he brought his Mercedes to a halt, ushered by his roaring rage over the radio, triggering another VSC.
The final sprint was a prompted Bulls’ fight at the front line.
Verstappen supposedly had the lady luck with him in a fresher set of softs than his teammate Ricciardo. If only he could get to within the DRS range… Instead, he locked up his fronts slightly on turn 15 and lit up the rears in wheel spin.
That was all it took.
Ricciardo was home free, Verstappen accepted second, Rosberg fought for third, and Raikkonen a riled-up fourth. Stevens, in fifth, beating his Audi teammate, did a superb job of making his one-stop work, defeating Alonso and Hulkenberg. And Zea’s eighth was a fantastic result from the back of the grid, harvesting good points for the team.
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“P8, Zea! Shame? Or brilliant? What do you say?”
The mess of sweat smothered her vision as she attempted to even her breath. “Um, considering I started from the pit lane, brilliant? I guess? Good points for the team.”
“It must’ve been very challenging, yes? All the other drivers said it was boiling in the car. Must’ve been tough to concentrate?”
“Nah, I wouldn’t say it was difficult to concentrate—it’s the other way around for me. ‘Cause I’m actually on my period right now, so all that extra heat in the car helped numb the pain. I’d say the heat actually helped me focus better.”
“…Period…?” 
Zea mimicked the reporter as he twisted his head, too confused to follow up. “Yes, darling. Period. Bleeding. From my vagina?”
A harsh sigh escaped Margareth, landing her hand on her forehead upon hearing Zea’s elucidation. Her driver even pointed brazenly to her crotch area.
She swiftly yanked Zea’s shoulder, a preppy smile on her face to dismiss the interview. Fortunately, the man had enough faculty to end her session without slipping into awkwardness. 
“Really? Period? Vagina?” Marge’s exasperation was met with Zea’s huge grin. 
And Daniel almost choked on his drink when he passed the Audis as they shuffled turns in the media pen. He threw Anne, his PR manager, a surprised look. “Did she just say… Vagina?”
Anne chuckled as she shook her head. “A handful, that one. I honestly feel bad for Margareth. You better behave.”
A muffled laugh from Daniel as he tuned in to Zea protesting.
“—No, ‘cause what on earth confused him? And why was he so surprised? It’s a biological cycle that literally happens every month. This is not even my first race being on my period. Or was I supposed to say oh, I’m in that part of the female mammal’s menstrual cycle where I bleed like a waterfall from my vagina, so I crave heat?”
He meant to be discreet, but his chortle at her graphic description slipstreamed right off his mouth. 
Right. Why had it slipped his mind at all? She’d been a woman this entire time. He even remembered vividly how his sister would be every time Aunt Flo came around, which begs the question—how the fuck did she race in that condition?!
“What? Are you begging to be congratulated for winning?” She met his eyes, crossing her arms. “Well, congratulations, P1.” 
“Hi, P5.” His cocky grin made two dimples pop on his cheeks. And Zea gasped.
“What?” Her hand daintily rested on her chest while an adequate amount of shock flashed across her face. And Anne nudged Daniel by the shoulder. “Stevens finished fifth. Zea eighth.” 
“Oh shi—“
“—You totally did that on purpose.” 
Daniel tried to deny it with all of his body. His head wiped around so fast Zea was surprised it didn’t pop or something. His eyes wide from shock. Or joy. It was a coin toss. But either way, the milk had been spilt. Or, in their case, oil? Because the Red Bull boy seemed to revel in playing with fire. 
Because while Zea dismissed it with a broad smiley face, her insides were burning. Didn’t matter if he wasn’t actually deliberate; Mr Wide Grin didn’t need to rub it on her face like birthday cake now because she’d rather have popcorn.
She still managed to throw a chuckle, taking the ‘joke’ like a big girl, before walking away with P1’s I-really-didn’t-know shout bellowing in the background.
Now that only added to her annoyance. Because him really not knowing only meant their gap was bigger than the Atlantic Ocean.
Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration.
But in between pain screaming in her lower back and knots massing in her head, his little jab did nothing to improve her mood. Not that he was obliged to, anyway. 
“Period and vagina, huh?” Katey Ash slipped her arm around Zea. “How scandalous.”
“Kitty!” Relief flowed through Zea with Katey’s belated appearance. “I thought you were with Adrian.”
“Oh, I left him. There’s no way I’m staying there, smiling like his accessory while he talks business.”
Zea chuckled, shaking her head. “You know he’d never think of you that way.”
“Him, no. The journos behind the lens with an acute disease of believing their own press? Yes.” Being in love with Adrian was one thing, but other than that, Katey had absolutely no interest in his family business and all the bullshit that stemmed from that. It was as straightforward as the long straights in Baku to Zea. Especially ever since her best friend fell victim to media slander, her double titles downplayed simply for dating a hotshot of the business world. 
Life of women in sports where equilibrium is heavy on the testosterone side.
“Now real talk: was that even allowed?”
Zea shrugged leaning to Katey. “It’s my mouth. I can say whatever I want?” And Marge glared at Zea, hoping her subliminal messages of please-act-normal were through. Which probably didn’t because Zea sported another grin.
Marge sighed. “Briefing in 30 minutes,  now I will assume Katey you’re the more normal out of the two, so make sure she’s not late. And make sure she’s on her best behaviour.”
Oh, how wrong she was. 
“Of course, Marge,” Katey elbowed Zea softly when she noticed her friend’s real struggle to suppress a laugh. “You have nothing to worry about. She’ll be there in thirty minutes. Tip-top shape.” And when Marge left the two alone for her meeting, Zea’s laugh ruptured. “You? The more normal one?”
“Come on, girlfriend. Normal has a broad definition.”
Zea’s laugh got louder.
Of course. Just about right with Katey. The girl responsible for ‘tainting’ Zea with the otherworldly version of ‘normal’.
Zea’s giggling came to a halt when she felt someone tap her shoulder. 
“What a march.” Pierre slipped his shades down the bridge of his nose, peeking over the lenses. And every single muscle of Zea’s body seized at the sound of his voice. 
Do not look at his lips.
Not his chest, either. 
Sweet baby Jesus. Malaysia was hot enough. Pierre had no business challenging that. 
“Heyyyy, hot stuff.” She was hoping she didn’t salivate more than one of Pavlov’s dogs. 
“Hey, Princess.”
But the man was killing her. 
Killing her. With somersaults in her tummy might as well help her cross the ocean. But maybe that was just her period pain. 
Their game wasn’t new. This whole charade was her idea—or supposedly—ever since Hungary, and he was just playing along. At least, that was what she had deluded herself with—denying the possibility that maybe Mr Hot Stuff had the steering wheel all along.
 “You were driving like a madman. How many positions was that?”
Oh, him and his compliments. 
“Psh, I know. I am great, amazing, magnífica.” If only she were a stranger with his habit of throwing compliments like Hallmark threw out Christmas cards, she would’ve swooned—not that she didn’t either way. Besides, she liked his little ayayay that followed every time she big-headed after his compliments. Like he just did. “Still better than your P11. Did Antonio take the win?”
Pierre tsk in faux annoyance. “What a bad habit, princess. Is that how you return a favour? ”
“Heyy, you know that’s not what I mean. I mean, it’s okay for you to chillax a little; there is still one more race. You haven’t lost yet; you can still win the championship.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, wasn’t really feeling the car today.”
“Exactly. It’s just one of those days. And besides, you are still recovering. How are you feeling, by the way?” Now her concerns were real. Pierre was still recovering from spinal injury since Silverstone, a road accident that unfortunately left his mom in the hospital.
“Well, as you can see, I’m still good-looking. Still the hot stuff.”
“Oh my God.” Zea punched him lightly, ignoring how the sturdiness felt good on her fist. But at least that meant he was much better if he could joke about it.
“So, to what exactly do I owe your imminent visit, then? Are you just here to help me inflate my ego? Make me feel better?” Because if he were, then thank you. After a certain someone—whether intentionally or not—decided today was a good day to smoulder her morale, Pierre was doing a good job doing the opposite. 
“Actually, yes.” He rummaged for something from his pocket while Zea’s eyes widened, didn’t think Pierre was taking her joke seriously. “Here. They’re warm now.”
Imagine Zea’s surprise as Pierre casually took her hand and placed the familiar items there. “Are these heat packs?”
Pierre shrugged. 
Zea gasped, exchanging looks with Katey as she put them on top of her stomach area. “You’re being sweet…” Warmth spread through her chest.
“I am sweet. What’s with that look.”
“You’re beginning to make me think you want something from me. Alright. Spill it, hot stuff. What do you want?”
His chuckle rumbled as his hand landed on her head, shuffling her hair. “Stop being so cynical about my intention. I gotta run back to the garage. See you around?”
“…Yeah.” Fortunately, Zea had enough consciousness left to return him a fist bump. And the hot stuff left.
“Shut. Up.” Zea gave Katey an ultimatum even before she had the chance to say anything. The billiard girl was gasping, fanning her face and whimpering in one breath it was a miracle she had enough air. 
“You were flirting.”
“I was thanking and cheering him up.”
“You know he’s interested.” Katey’s voice lowered, and Zea wasn’t sure if she was being discreet or about to activate her nosy DNA.
“I have boobs and a pulse, Kitty. Of course he’s interested.” Zea rolled her eyes, her distrust of men whose 9-to-5 was driving cars that could cost ordinary people arms and legs—literally, even—around in circles poking through her nose. 
“But he is your type. I know your type.”
“My womb is in pain. I just finished in eighth. Dead tired. And a certain arse totally rubbed that on my face. Can we focus on that instead?”
Katey snickered. “Okay. We can elaborate on hot stuff later.”
“Wh—No!” Zea almost had a conniption at Katey’s suggestion. “No later. This is done. The end.”
The two ladies’ laughter sounded bittersweet in Daniel’s ears, who had inadvertently bore witness to an upcoming rom-com series. Or was it a tragic love story between a princess and her hot stuff? Nah, the latter smelled more like an insect called spite. And he wondered, since when had his hearing been this good?
One thing was for sure; he messed up—albeit unintentionally. He’d genuinely thought Zea’s car was the higher-sitting Audi because that was how it usually was. It was wrong of him to assume. 
He’d pissed her off, and now making it up to her was at the top of his list. And he knew with her current mood-flow, she wasn’t going to let him off easy. But how? He didn’t know. Yet. 
But letting her pissed-off door close with Pierre being the one who lifted her spirit back up didn’t sit right with him. Because it had to be him. Talk about taking responsibility, right?
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“Stop staring at it.”
While Pierre’s heat pack bribery—yeah, she was going to call it that to shamelessly flatter herself—was one thing, Daniel’s flannel shirt was another thing. The only thing they had in common was the degree of headache they cause Zea. 
Night had fallen in Malaysia. But alas, the cool wind from the open balcony of her suite did nothing to cool her head.
The scattered papers over the table, the graphs on her laptop, namely her second means of distraction—the first being attempted mind control, which unsurprisingly didn’t work—in the form of comparative analysis between the top five teams on the grid was equally futile. 
Not when the flannel shirt hung neatly across, and the out-of-commission heat packs stacked next to her laptop had the willpower of three hundred spartans pulling her focus away. 
“You have no power here.” King Theoden’s tone when he reacted to Gandalf’s futile attempt at undoing the mind-control spell that Grima had casted on him spilled out of Zea as her index pointed alternatively to the red flannel and the stack of bribes. 
She was double positive she’d lost her mind. 
She was about to return to typing furiously when her hotel room was knocked. And after checking briefly from the keyhole, her fingers fumbled quickly to open the door.
Fuck the three hundred spartans. The Grima Wormtongue to her mind control stood with Irza’s arm slung over his shoulder. While her twin carolled his sorry attempt at Mariah Carey’s Christmas hit, Grima Ricciardo smiled, raising both eyebrows to greet her, oblivious to his own magic spells.
And the smell of alcohol slapped her like the salty breeze of the ocean, only this one unpleasant.
So she slid back without a word, letting Daniel carry the sluggish limbs of her twin inside, a look of shock painted still on her face. Irza had excused himself to join the Bulls in celebrating their long-overdue 1-2, but it seemed like he over-partied himself. Where was the surprise, though? 
She stared at her sprawled-over womb-sharer on the bed, crossing her arms. “What the fuck did he booze himself with? Moonshine?”
Daniel chuckled, pushing himself off the bed to join Zea scrutinising the wasted Irza after carefully tossing him onto the soft mattress. 
“He needs to learn self-control, I swear to God. Look at him, he’s toasted—“ Irza’s loud burp cut her off.
Daniel’s laugh roared.
Zea pinched the empty space between her brows. Embarrassed and disgusted at the same time. 
“Oh, he’s disgusting. I am so sorry you have to see and smell that.” 
“Come on, woman, it’s fine.”
“And I bet he sang the whole journey here.” 
Daniel giggled lightly. “I—well, I sang along.”
Zea looked over at him. Horrified.
“We’re best buddies now.”
“Oh, trust me, I can tell—“
“—Z! I know you’re there!” Irza’s sudden yell was almost as if he had a third eye for people talking shit about him.
“I’m here. What do you want.”
“Good. Take me somewhere. I wanna puke.” How he was still able to deliver proper sentences impressed Zea. His eagerness to move, not. He rolled from the bed, not giving enough time for the two drivers to catch him when he fell and hit the ground face-first. The groan was next; Zea and Daniel froze in place like they’d been hit by Hermione’s stupefying charm.
“Thank you. I’ll puke now.”
“Wh—NO! You’re not somewhere yet—IRZA!”
It was a disaster in the making.
Zea wished she had boosts up her arms, yet Daniel was the one with quick thinking, uncannily moving like he was accustomed to the situation. “Phew, his puking timing is exactly like Michael,” he chuckled after sliding an empty tray, so Irza’s puke didn’t sully the carpet flooring. 
“N-nice save!” The relief on Zea’s face was genuine. Her reflex was thankfully quick enough to hold Irza’s head, preventing her twin from duking into the pool of puke. “And I’m sorry to ask, but can you please put him back on the bed? While I clean that and get him a change of clothes.” 
“Got it.” Daniel shot Zea a wink, hoping to give her the assurance that he didn’t mind. She mumbled her thanks. 
Quickly, Zea flushed the barf off, mulling her gratefulness that Daniel was there to help with Irza’s shenanigan. Really, that boy needed to learn self-control. 
When she came back with spare clothes, Daniel was already unlacing Irza’s shoes while her twin snore his shamelessness away. 
“Geez, thanks. You didn’t have to.”
Daniel shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. Come on, make a man feel useful.” He pouted for the extra points. Zea’s eyes narrowed before bursting into a delicious giggle. 
“Thank you.” She was so appreciative that the warmth it gave shook his whole body. Maybe it was guilt? Because clearly, she wasn’t happy with him during the day. 
“I’m sorry,” he blurted without thinking. “I didn’t mean to piss you off. I really thought you were—“ Zea’s laugh swallowed the rest of his sentence.
“Whaaaat?” her voice hitch was back. “Oh, please, stop! I’m not that petty—okay, maybe I could be, but not for that. You did piss me off, but not enough for me to hold it against you.”
Daniel scratched his head. He couldn’t read her. Her downplaying could mean he was insignificant and she didn’t want to waste her avenue thinking about it. That bothered him even more.
“Don’t say that. You were in pain everywhere, and your hormones must’ve been spiralling out of control. I really should’ve been more careful.”
Zea stared at him. “Hormo—how did you know? How did you know I’m in my…”
“Jesus, woman. You literally broadcasted your period to the whole world.”
The realisation hit her like hot water. “Oh, right—OH SHIT.” Because she hadn’t exactly talked to her team principal after the broadcast, and from Marge’s body language after getting his call, pleased wasn’t what Alby felt. “Alby is gonna kill me.” It was a declaration to acquiesce her wrongdoing. 
“Anyway.” She tapped his shoulder, deciding Alby’s wrath was a given whether she thought about it or not. “I have forgiven thee,” Zea said with a faux British accent, her little giggle making Daniel laugh in response. 
“Why don’t you stay a bit? I’ll make some matcha tea. It’s good for hangover.”
And Daniel froze.
Between Irza’s amplified snore and his heartbeat tap-dancing its way out of his chest, it was difficult to make out who was going to win the war of being louder.
Zea had leaned closer to sniff all over him, her nose dangerously close to his lips. “I can smell it from you, too, you know. The smell of tomorrow morning’s hangover.”
She’s just extending her gratitude, he reminded himself. But it was difficult to brush off the cajole of being seduced when she smirked at him like that. 
So he shook his head, shutting down whatever adrenaline rushing to write unnecessary scenarios in his head like maybe she was hinting a green light? On that note, he wasn’t a very good writer either, although his efforts of keeping his manners and not launching himself to her deserve a medal of valour. 
And while Daniel decided Malaysia’s night breeze could probably cool the hot mess down south, Zea shot herself to the kitchen. Her relief when she realised Daniel didn’t follow was probably bigger than she intended. 
“Have some integrity, young lady,” she snapped her finger to herself while waiting for the water to boil. Maybe, she should stop her habit of sniffing things. At least not to people. Because their lips were so close, all she had to do was reach up and kiss him, consequences to be thought of later. And while she was tempted to do so, her rationality attacked her like the Colossal Titan wreaked havoc on Wall Maria. 
Now she had to brace herself and pretend that the intensity they’d just shared was nothing more than her imagination. Because hey, wasn’t being an actress her retirement plan?
Zea placed the cup of perfectly brewed matcha on the small table next to where Daniel was standing. He was leaning on the balcony, the moonlight illuminating his sculpted jawline, making him a contender for a place in an art gallery. If Pierre was unripened fruit hot, then Daniel was the ripe hot, in all its sweet and juicy glory. About time she admitted that. 
But clearly, whatever fervour had taken place a couple of minutes ago had no effect on him whatsoever, or so Zea thought.
“Taste.” The equivocality of her word was obvious even to her. She mentally slapped herself.
Get ahold of yourself, hormones.
Sure. Blame the hormones.
She tipped the cup of liquid greenery toward him. “The secret is to pour the water before it hits boiling point.”
“Wow, that is really good.” His tongue seductively slid across his lips, collecting the remnants. “And yeah, that’s different from the one in Maccas.”
“Mmm.” Zea took a sip from her own glass. Not sure if her moan was because her tea was good, or because Daniel enjoyed it, so it came out automatically. In her defence, it was 2 AM, and maybe the doctor association should do research if intoxication was infectious. Or maybe it was a twin thing. 
“And please,” she collected herself. “That’s like comparing a pair of Adidas with Christian Louboutin. Yeah, sure, both are meant to be worn on your feet, but one is handy while the other one is a work of art.”
He laughed. “Well, I don’t think Christian Louboutin has my size, so…” 
No, maybe she should start the research on her own and then present it to the doctor association. How his voice sounded euphoric, like his mouth was made of endorphins, might be one piece of evidence. 
“You’re right. This is really good for hangovers. And it gives me the edge.” He drank all of it, placing the cup back on the small table. He didn’t specify what edge he meant, or why he was looking at her so intently, so Zea cleared her throat.
“M-mom’s know-how. She loves matcha. And I just, you know, am really thankful you didn’t ditch Irza somewhere in the bushes and took your time to bring him back here, sang along with him. I mean, you were supposed to be enjoying your party but—“
Oh. My. God.
The rest of the sentence, she swallowed as his lips crashed hers, his tongue teasing against her mouth as she stood there, cup on hand, unable to move.
It was a runaway train she had no chance of stopping; her elbow instinctively taking control, clocking him right in the gut.
Spills of hot matcha poured on his chest. Thank goodness he moved quickly enough to prevent himself from being completely showered.
Her lips tingled from the residue of his lips, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes widened. 
“Fuck.” He laughed as he pulled away. “That didn’t go how I’d planned it.” He shook the matcha spilled off his hand.
“I didn’t expect you to kiss me,” Zea huffed out, her lungs feeling like they needed to re-learn how to regulate air. 
She was horrified.
Completely disgusted.
Not that he’d kissed her. Please, if Zeus would have given herself half a chance she’d have threaded her hands through his hair and fused her lips to his mouth. But he’d taken her by surprise, and her martial arts reflexes must’ve been ingrained deeper in her than she thought, completely screwing herself out of the opportunity.
Shit.
“Yeah, I guess the element of surprise didn’t go so well.” He chuckled, rubbing his gut lightly. “I just, didn’t want you to go out of your way to thank me so much.”
Zea shook her head. “I’m sorry, I was just surprised.”
Guilt, and maybe a hint of regret, laced her voice. He was definitely never again going to get any closer without cladding himself in a hockey mask and a chest protector. And honestly, who would blame him? It’s not every day you kiss a girl and get an elbow strike as your reward. Thank Jesus, or the Viking Gods, whichever was present first, he hadn’t done the deal in the living room where she had access to her spiky purse. It was as much a statement of fashion as it was a weapon. She’d have probably maimed him and left the poor guy partially immobile.
Hey, the world was never a friendly place for women to stroll alone. Especially in the middle of the night.
“I should—we should call it a day. I should probably leave. And uh, thanks for the matcha.”
“I—I’ll call you…?” Zea’s lips twitched as she waited for Daniel to answer. 
But he didn’t say anything. He threw her a simple smile and wished her goodnight before disappearing from the front door.
And she sagged against the wall. Her breathing yet to regain its composure, the taste of his lips lingered.
Which brought her to the realisation that she hadn’t even had his number. 
Perfect. 
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⬅️ Chapter 05 | MASTERLIST | Chapter 07 ➡️
Okay so, I actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I hope it translates to the writings! Do share, like, reblog, whichever you prefer. I appreciate it so much! I don't have a beta reader so everything I write is never proofread HAHA. I'm sorry for any mistakes.
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Tag list: @scotlynaurora @squidwardsluverxx @aisharmi
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vettely · 6 months
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different anon but – the difference in reaction i think is probably due to the perceived frequency of these moments.
lando's had a fairly widely accepted reputation as a guy who isn't mistake prone, and is good at picking his battles to ensure the best outcome for his own race. it's been generally noted that his mistakes, like sochi 21, have been few and far between and generally recoverable (e.g. imola 21 track limits in quali -> podium in the race).
george over the past few years has had a fairly littered record of "moments" where he's not put his best foot forward – that said, they all would've been more noticeable at least for the beginning of this year and in 2022, where he's had a car which is running more towards the front and gets more screen-time than lando has in the midfield in that same period (but lando's 2022 season really was fantastic, and it was a shame he was stuck in such a bad car for it).
it's the public perception of whether it's a "pattern" or just "an off weekend" – but when these guys are pushing so hard on the ragged edge and pushing for the unattainable goal that it P1 vs. RB and VER rn, it's difficult to not make mistakes. if you pay enough attention to any of these guys you could probably accuse them all of cracking under pressure a little.
all i'll say of my own opinion is that i prefer these guys to get these high pressure "wobbles" out of the way while they're in a good, but not championship contending, car – all good preparation for when it'll really matter.
thank you anon for this little analysis, i really enjoyed reading it! you made some really good points and i do agree, all of these drivers tend to crack under pressure , some more, some less, but it did happen to everyone at one point. and as you said, those mistakes that happen as the result of stress and pressure are 'forgiveable' as long as they're not made while fighting for the championship (war flashbacks to seb's 2018 german gp crash 😭)
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ineffectualdemon · 1 year
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Hi again...I'm the anon that ask before.....My first ask is about Yuri on Ice....Who are your top 3 or top 5 fav characters from that fandom and why do you love them? What are your top 5 fav moments from the series? Feel free if you want to pick either or answer all the questions....Thanks if you want to answer....
These questions are a lot of fun!
My top 3 characters are the main three. I'm very much a basic bitch with that but!
5. Minami: I just love a good day of sunshine character and I love that he's Yuuri's fanboy
6. Phichit: he is such a wonderful breath of fresh air and such a joy to have on screen as well as Captain of the ship Victuuri
3. Yurio: I was a very angry teen back when I was one so I can empathize with Yurio. I also really like his character arc. The funniest thing for me is I hated him in the first episode but the moment he saw the tiger sweatshirt in Hasetsu and was all "awesome fashion" I decided I loved him and he was my adopted fictional son.
2. Victor: how can anyone not love Victor and how he can be serious and charming one second and a gigantic dork the next? He's such a goof and I love that about him. Plus he's so serious about trying to be a good coach
1. Yuuri: he's my pal, my homeboy, my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese, my good time boy.
Though seriously I just identify SO strongly with Yuuri and his insecurities and self confidence issues and anxiety. He also reads (in retrospect) very autistic to me so I project onto him even harder. He's such a grounded and realistic character to me. Plus his ambiguous relationship with gender is something I also really needed when I started watching it
As for top 5 moments....that's tougher....
Hmmm
I will admit it's been a little bit since I've watched the series (need to break out the dvd)
But! ...I need more then 5
6.. The beach scene were Yuri confesses his fears and asks Victor to be Victor. It's very touching and just such an important turning point
5. The carpark scene in China when Victor fucks up. Because we don't usually see him so out of his depth and panicked and it's a great (and rare) insight into his mind
4 Yuuri telling Victor to leave him at the competition to be with his dog. Even though he knows he'll struggle he wants what's best for Victor and it's a really nice moment
3. The kiss. It was such a shocking (in a great way!) moment because up to that point everyone thought it was probably just queer baiting us and BAM an actual kiss! Even though it was censored it a huge deal at the time
2. The proposal! We were all joking about it being rings but we're convinced it was talking about medals but then we get the rings! The fandom at that point lost our shit! It's really incredible and unlike a kiss they make it clear it's an engagement with "we'll get married when he wins gold
1. The reveal/flashback of Sochi where we learn about Yuuri getting drunk and that he asked Victor to be his coach and just how it reframed the entire series! It's still one of the best twists in media. It changes the context of everything and it's so beautifully done
Honourable mention: the Zombie Hug scene. It's just so fucking funny
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jamminvroomvroom · 2 years
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there’s no way lando put it in the wall on purpose bc i just know mans was having sochi flashbacks.
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blackidyll · 2 years
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖
thank you for the ask, anon! this was super hard to narrow down even though i got to choose five fics ahhhh okay here they are (i tried to pick from different fandoms; also sorry in advance for the absolute word-spew that follows):
1) Freefall (Craig!James Bond films; 00Q, post-Spectre fic with 00Q stranded on a desert island)
this was such a difficult choice (i like a lot of my 00Q aus/canon divergence fics) but i keep coming back to Freefall - for the unique desert setting, the layers to the story (surviving the wilderness, the Spectre subplot, the mystery of Bond's return to MI6, the 00Q relationship) and getting to write such wonderful dynamics between Q and so many other characters (Swann, Tanner, Moneypenny). This fic also challenged me as a writer - it was my longest chaptered fic at the time, and i had to juggle the flashback scenes together with the current storyline. i truly feel i grew a lot as a writer creating this story, so in that sense this really was a milestone fic for me!
2) A Myriad of Possibilities (Yuri on Ice!!!; Victuuri, canon-divergence with Yuuri temporarily coaching Minami while he considers his options after the Sochi GPF).
i can ramble a lot about the story (i love all the coach!Yuuri content out there, and I adore Yuuri and Minami's growing friendship in the anime, and i love the significance of Yuuri's friends and family in his journey, and of course the Victuuri relationship, and most of all i love Yuuri's personal growth and how he handled grief and failure - basically, i wrote this fic expanding on a lot of things i love in the anime) but more personally, i associate this story with one of healing. i was going through a lot in real life when i wrote this fic (health related things), and... Yuuri and Victor both go through a lot in the story as well. it was cathartic to make Yuuri and Victor experience such lows in their respective lives - and then give them all the opportunities and hope and support to climb their way back up. when i was in pain and feeling scared i'd pour a lot of those emotions into this fic - and getting all the wonderful feedback from my readers meant so much to me during that time. i have a lot of feelings about this story on its own merit, but also for its personal significance to me.
3) drown with these perfect lines (The World Ends With You; Joshua/Neku, post-original DS game focusing on the emotional aftermath of the Long Game)
i think anyone who has heard me rambling about TWEWY knows my favourite character is Joshua, and hence it's no surprise that one of my favourite fics focuses on him and giving him the resolution he needs after the events of the original DS game. i find Joshua an absolutely fascinating character, and so much of my love for him went into this fic - i think it took me over two years to slowly piece together how things would unfold, the realization and choices that Joshua would make, and constantly rereading the game script to make sure i stayed true to his characterization. i've yet to meet Joshua in Neo TWEWY so i'm not sure how his "canon" future self would match up to the Joshua that exists in my head... but this fic definitely encompasses all my love and hopes for him, and i doubt the sequel would change that. also please read the companion fic a revelation in the light of day because this story needs Neku's version to truly have maximum impact
4) Daybreak (Kimetsu no Yaiba; GiyuuTan, canon ficlet)
i love my hurt/comfort but there's already so much hurt in the canon storyline that i went all in with the comfort in this fic. it's rare for me to wrap up a fic in less than 2K words, and i wrote this based on the most beautiful GiyuuTan fanart (linked to in the fic). i just - Giyuu and Tanjirou deserve all the softness in the world, and i was glad to give them such a moment here.
5) Rallying Point (Mob Psycho 100; gen fic, post-REIGEN manga, Reigen gets kidnapped goes missing and the Spirits and Such crew go looking for him)
i just -- i am having a blast with this fic. i love the entire MP100 cast and although it's super challenging writing in so many povs, it's also a ton of fun using different voices and writing styles because the way each of them think is so unique. i really enjoy getting to play with language here, because the characters lend themselves to such wordplay. like how "Reigen is a jack of all trades, and master of none. except that is not quite true, is it? he's master to at least one, the way Mob calls out shishou forever and always." i didn't look at my fic to rewrite that - it was one of those lines that popped in my head and it's such a Reigen thing to say and notice... this is one of my wips that i'm working hard to try to start writing again - i just need to find the time and energy to do so!
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blamemma · 2 years
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sad that grill the grid didn't include landos answer for wet vs dry tyres I would have liked to experience the flashbacks of sochi on his face
#:)
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deercharles · 2 years
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Ngl I’m having Sochi flashback and hopefully Ferrari has their priority right this time.
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gxtzeizm · 10 months
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*war flashbacks sochi 2021* 🫠🫠
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