#THE WAY BONO AND MICK ARE LAUGHING

[acrosstobear]

mercedesamgf1 Getting the dream team back together. 🙏

#mick schumacher #bono #angela cullen #mercedes #f1 #formula 1 #ARE YOU KIDDING ME #THE WAY ANG FIXES HIS SUIT #THE WAY BONO AND MICK ARE LAUGHING #IM NEVER RECOVERING EVER

[lucyrose191]

Hey could you do fic for Toto Wolff with wife reader where she's been feeling unwell but insists she's coming to the track and he's worried about her. Long short story, their son (Jack) with her and she felt like she's going to go faint and she tell Jack to find Toto for her and Toto's being her knight in shining armor,rescued her. Just fluff and comfort. Tag me later. Thanks! :))

TAKE IT EASY| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Toto Wolff x Wife!reader

Summary; Your stubbornness to admit you may be feeling unwell might just be your downfall one day but your husband will always be there to catch you, as will your son.

Warnings; none

F1 Master List

You could feel the worried gaze of your husband from where he was standing in the en-suite getting dressed, he had woken up before you this morning which was his first notification that something was wrong but once he saw your flushed cheeks and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead he knew you certainly weren’t well.

He had tried to convince you to go back to bed but you refused, you were here to support him and Jack was so excited to attend a race again and whilst Toto was more than capable of looking after him, it was just easier for you to take care of Jack and entertain him because Toto still had work to do, a toddler didn’t just want to sit in the garage and wait for their father to finish a bunch of things before having fun.

So you insisted that you were fine and were adamant on going to the track, ignoring the churning of your stomach, fogginess in your mind and how weak your body felt.

Toto wasn’t happy with your decision at all, your health was so much more important to him than any race that he had brought up not going himself but you had shot down that idea before he could even finish his sentence.

So he relented.

You were now on your way to the track, the car wasn’t doing anything good for your stomach, leaving you to lean your head against the window with your eyes closed as you took deep breaths through your nose.

What was meant to be the comforting touch of your husband rubbing his hand back and forth across your thigh wasn’t helping with the nausea you felt either because all you could think about was how similar the touch was to him rubbing his hand up and down your back as you threw up.

Jack was in the back babbling nonstop about how excited he was to see Lewis again and hopefully sit in the car and you loved your son so much but your head was so fuzzy that everything he was saying you were hearing three times and you couldn’t think straight.

"Mama?" His small voice called out and you could perfectly hear the undertone of excitement.

"Yeah, darling?" You slowly turned around in your seat so you could look at him, mustering up the biggest smile you could for him.

"Can we see Charles and Carlos, today?" He asked, face filled with hope.

"We can do whatever you want to do but remember they’ll be very busy preparing for the race so they might not have time to speak with you."

"Okay, and can we see Bono?" He asked.

"Yes," you smiled weakly.

"And Mick?"

"If you want to, yes."

"And Lando and Oscar too?"

"We’ll do whatever you want to do Jack."

"Well I want food before we see Lando," he said strong cause you to laugh.

"Yeah, we mustn’t forget about that," you agreed before turning back in your seat. Of all the days for your son to be riddled with energy, today was not really ideal but you suppose that’s what comes with being a parent.

You rested your head back against the window, looking out at the streets you passed, reaching out blindly your clasped your hand with Toto’s that hadn’t removed from its position on your leg, hoping his touch could help you feel even the slightest bit better.

Toto released a deep breath as he turned off the car and turned to look at you. You hadn’t even registered that you had arrived at the track, still staring out the window in a daze. "It’s not too late to turn around and go back to the hotel, we can go back to bed." He spoke up quietly, not wanting to startle her.

You shook your head and turned to him with a smile, "I’ll be fine, come on, jack’s getting antsy," you responded, hearing your son trying and failing to unfasten his seatbelt.

Your husband huffed in defeat and reluctantly got out the car, opening the door behind his to let Jack out, you heard him entertain his childish rambling and as soon as the door shut you took a second to take a deep breath before getting out yourself.

"Mummy’s not feeling today so it’s up to you to take care of her okay?" Toto whispered to his son, who was resting on his hip, so you couldn’t hear.

Jack frowned and looked to his father in concern for you. "She’s poorly?"

Toto nodded "She’s doesn’t feel well, are you going to keep an eye on her for me?" Jack nodded with a determined look on his face before wriggling for Toto to put him down.

"Mummy!" He ran around the car as soon as his feet his the ground so he could get to you.

"Yeah, baby?" You crouched down, surprised when he wrapped his arms around your neck in a hug.

"I don’t want to see Charles, Carlos or Lando today, can we just get food and stay in Papa’s office and watch the race from the garage?" He asked.

You looked at him in confusion at his sudden change, he was beyond excited earlier and whilst you were relieved at the change in what he wanted, you were surprised at how abruptly he didn’t want to go and see the other drivers anymore.

"Are you sure that’s what you want?" You asked, skeptical as he nodded confidently but you reluctantly agreed.

"Okay then," you grabbed his hand and Toto grabbed his other as the three of you made your way into the track, you ignored the worried eyes of your husband that kept flickering to you every few seconds, the pair of you ignored the fans and shouts of media reporters as you weren’t in the mood to feign happiness and Toto was just far too concerned about you.

You had hoped that as day went by you would start to feel better but if anything you felt worse, you had went to hospitality with Jack to get some food to take back to Toto’s office but the mixture of smells had sent you spiralling and you tried to get out of there as quick as possible.

You and Jack had been in Toto’s office for about an hour and you hadn’t seen your husband in about two.

Jack was being on his best behaviour though, you don’t know where his change in what he wanted to do today came from but he seemed content sitting on the floor with his snacks and watching the live recording of the track on your phone.

You had sat yourself down on Toto’s chair to try and relax a bit but your head was spinning so much and your vision was starting to blur.

"Jack?" You called out weakly, you had tried to sound as though everything was okay as to not worry him but it didn’t work that well.

"Mama?" Jack pulled himself up to his feet immediately, live broadcast long forgotten as he saw his mother even paler than you had been this morning and leaning against his father’s desk, a thin layer of perspiration on your skin.

"Can you go get Papa for me? Tell him I need him quickly." You told him, trying to smile at him but your body didn’t even have the energy for that.

Jack didn’t need to be told twice, he turned around and ran to find Toto, opening the door with so much force that it banged against the wall before closing half way again.

"Papa!"

The Mercedes team all looked away from what they were doing and turned towards the sound of Jack’s panicked voice followed by the sight of him running through the garage with a petrified look on his face, searching for his dad.

"Papa!" He pretty much screamed, fear overtaking his body knowing that something was really wrong with his mother right now and you were alone and he couldn’t find his father.

The Mercedes team were worried beyond belief as they took in just how scared Jack was and how desperate he sounded for Toto who wasn’t in the garage at the moment.

"Jack?" Lewis slowly approached the boy who was stood in the middle of the garage, looking all around him, tears welling up in his eyes when he couldn’t see his dad.

He looked at Lewis frantically. "Where’s Papa?" He demanded.

"I think he’s speaking to someone right now, are you okay?" Lewis crouched down in front of him.

Jack shook his head aggressively, "I need Papa, Mama needs him quickly!"

"Where’s your mama?" Lewis asked as worry filled him. "Show me where she is, maybe I can help her?"

But Jack shook his head "no, she needs Papa, she told me to get him quickly."

Lewis sighed but nodded, a bad feeling was settling have in his chest for you. "Okay, you stay right here and don’t move and I’m going to go and get your dad, okay?"

"You need to be quick!" Jack told him desperately.

"I’ll be as quick as I can." Lewis told him, giving a look to the team to keep an eye on him before turning and quite literally running out of the garage.

People stopped and watched in confusion as they saw Lewis Hamilton running through the pits, looking around frantically for someone.

It didn’t take him long to see Toto sticking out from the crowd, in the middle of an interview with Martin Brundle, he didn’t care that it was live and brutally interrupted the pair of them, grabbing Toto’s arm. "You need to come with me, now. It’s important."

Seeing the serious look in his driver’s eyes, a million scenarios swirled around in Toto’s mind. He didn’t even excuse himself from Martin knowing that Lewis wouldn’t just crash his interview for no reason.

What took him back more was the fact that his driver had started running back into the direction of their garage and Toto didn’t hesitate to follow.

He couldn’t imagine how this looked, Lewis running through the paddock frantically, crashing Toto’s live interview and the pair of them running back.

"What is wrong?" He huffed as they weaved in and out of the masses of people crowding in the pits.

Lewis kept his voice down as he explained, not wanting this to hit the internet from someone overhearing. "I have no idea, Jack was screaming in the middle of the garage, looking for you. He said Y/N needed you quickly so I tried to get him to tell me where she was but he wouldn’t, said she told him to get you as quick as he could, he looked terrified."

A deep sickening feeling settled into the pit of Toto’s stomach as he quickened his pace, he knew you weren’t well today and the multiple scenarios of what could possibly have happened scared him.

"Papa!" Jack yelled as soon as he saw his father enter the garage, running straight for Toto and diving into his legs. "Quickly! Mama said she needs you."

Toto picked Jack up and looked him in the eye. "You stay here with Lewis, okay? I’m going to go see Mama."

Jack nodded, suddenly a lot more calm now that his dad was here and didn’t complain when he was passed off to Lewis.

Toto quickly made his way to his office and as soon as he stood in the threshold of the doorway, his heart fell to his stomach as he lay his eyes upon you, unconscious on the floor by his desk.

He was by your side in a second, kneeling next to you as he rolled you onto your side and moved your hair from your face.

"Liebe?" He gently tapped the side of your face, trying to coerce you out of unconsciousness.

At no response, he pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, grimacing at the amount of heat he felt radiating from your body. Looking around his office, he saw a glass of ice water sitting on his desk, he grabbed the glass and dipped his hand inside before pressing it back against your forehead, hoping it would cool you down a bit.

"Schatz?" He tried to wake you again, this time successful as he heard a slight change in your breathing and saw your eyes moving beneath your lids.

"Y/N, you’re okay, take it easy." He continued speaking to try and coerce you more awake, smiling when he saw your eyes open.

You were confused to see your husband hovering above you, your mind was foggy and your body felt so heavy you couldn’t move your limbs.

Looking around, you found that you were lying on the floor causing your face to contort into confusion.

Turning back to Toto, you blinked up at him and upon seeing the questioning look on your face, he explained. "You fainted, and gave Jack quite the fright too."

Hearing Jack’s name, your body filled with worry and you tried to sit up but Toto’s hands on your shoulders encouraged you to lay back down. "He’s fine, he’s with Lewis."

"Need a drink," you told him causing him to look at the glass on the edge of his desk.

"I’ll get you a new one, I put my hand in that one to try and cool you down," he told you.

You shook your head, "it’s fine," you held out your hand for him to just give you the one on the desk, not really wanting him to leave at the minute.

Toto brought the glass to your lips, insisting on hosing it for you since your hands were shaky and he didn’t want you spilling it all over yourself. "Have you had anything to eat?"

You shook your head, the idea of food earlier had knocked you funny but you know you should probably eat something.

"I’ll get someone from hospitality to make you some toast," he told you, not really giving you the opportunity to refuse, not that you would have anyways. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah, thank you." you replied, sitting yourself up to lean against his desk. It was as though passing out was what your body needed to recover because the fuzziness in your head had faded away, the hot flush all over your body was gone and your stomach was no longer churning anymore, it just felt empty.

"We should’ve stayed at the hotel," Toto repeated for what felt like the hundredth time today and you couldn’t even argue with him this time. "I know," you responded.

"Do you want to stay in here and rest while the race is happening? I can keep Jack with me."

You shook your head, "No, I want to watch it out there; I’ll be fine."

Toto sighed but nodded.

"Mama!" Jack ran away from Lewis and towards you as soon as he saw you and Toto leave his office, you smiled widely and crouched down for him to run into your arms despite Toto’s protests, knowing you still felt a bit weak.

"Hi, baby," you wrapped your arms around him tightly and rubbed a hand up and down his back.

"I got Papa just like you said," he spoke into your shoulder.

"I know, you did such a good job," you told him proudly.

Toto insisted that you stay near him whilst the race was happening, not willing for you to leave his sight incase anything else happened so you curled up on a chair beside him with Jack on your lap, the boy also not wanting to be far from you, with Toto’s large coat draped over the pair of you.

A plate of toast and a glass of water had been set in front of you next to the monitors and there was no way you could stomach all four slices so you and Jack split it.

The media had their speculations as to why Toto and Lewis had been rushing through the paddock but once they saw you snuggled up on the chair beside Toto, still very pale, they could guess what happened but they thought it was adorable seeing how the man would constantly glance away from the monitor to you and Jack to ensure you were okay, his hand stroking your hair away from your face every few minutes.

#formula one #motorsport #formula one x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #fluff #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x oc #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x you #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff x reader

[thisismeracing]

bonnington-schumi kiddos 

pls include the bono-schumi mood board i sent ya over email in your response

ok i’ve mentioned them enough, lets dig into the bonnington-schumi kiddos

history has a funny way of repeating itself and for bon and mick it manifests in their kids birth order and gender

because much like when corrina had gina and mick, bon had her daughter first and son second. and both came out looking like two more schumacher clones to add to the collection 

but bon isn't complaining because how could she be mad when her two babies share those unmistakable blue eyes 

their first born is named: Eloise “Ellie” Suzanne Bonnington-Schumacher 

and their second born is: Mike “Mikey” Sebastian Bonnington-Schumacher 

imagine bon and mick introducing little ellie to susie in the hospital and when susie asks what her name is and bon goes “eloise suzanne” susie just melts because this little bundle of joy is named after her. 

and the same goes for sebastian when mikey is born 

the f1 crew just going though the cycle of watching another kid grow up in the paddock start up again with miss ellie. but this time it’s the kid of the original kid you watched grow up, and this time around there’s two of them because mikey is born a few years after 

and everyone jokes about how “oh ellie is going to be an engineer like her mama” and “oh mikey is a future f1 champ like his papa” 

but the opposite happens where ellie is the driver, and mikey is an engineer 

And imagine the timelapse of the headphones to protect their little ears and how they look so giant on them cause they’re so small, but give it a few years and now they look proportionate to their bodies 

(i feel like that would make a lot of people just so soft and heartbroken because their favorite little kids are growing up and so fast, like pls make it stop 😢) 

[also the people who watched bon grow up just get deja vu whenever they are interacting with ellie, because wow does she act just like bon when she was this age]

and best believe these two are championship babies. you can't tell me no on this one. 

When they announced they were pregnant with ellie, people both in real life and online are so quick to do the math on when she could’ve been conceived, and they all land on the fact she was conceived around the time of abu dhabi 

and after mikey is born, toto sits the both of them down and says “i love that the team is winning championships with mick, and i love the kids. but next time you two do it after winning a championship please for the love of god put a condom on. because two little kids are going to be enough with them running around the paddock.”

and mick is just mortified, while bon is laughing her ass off and she’s the one to reassure him that they wont be having anymore kids anytime soon

[i told myself i had to finish this before showering and i did! also it breached the second page of the google doc so quickly]

☕

skjgksdjg OMG I LOVED LOVED IT!!! <3<3

totally agree on mikey engineer and ellie driver!!! espec bc I think ellie is more of a social butterfly while mikey is a bit shy like mick, he's funny and friendly, but usually he'll only talk if you talk to him first (the paddock experience helps it a little with this, but he keeps a bit of the shyness, its so cute and bb loves it bc he's such a momma's boy - its makes up for ellie being dada's girl)

adding more: ellie's first word will be angie while mikey's will probably be something from bb's work because she'll work with him on her hips sometimes so his big blue eyes are always watching the engineers go around and listening to everything, she'll only connect the dots bc he says it right after a meeting (to which he was silent throughout it all, only munching on a pencil and grabbing things from the table to curiously analyse)

#☕ anon #bonnington!reader #millies inbox #ms47 #thots #f1 x reader #mick schumacher

[12romy]

I'm afraid things got out of hand. It was supposed a cute and fluffy SHORT snippet and somehow it ended up with a 1.7k fic with Britcedes being possessive as hell over Mick. Gotta admit, it's a nice turn of event XD

Enjoy!!

Lewis couldn't help but glare as he passed in front of the McLaren hospitality with his scooter. It was stronger than him, he couldn't help it.

Mick was staying with them this weekend since he was driving Piastri's car during FP1. Lewis was happy for him, really. If it were up to him, Mick would be in a car every single race. Sadly, it wasn't, and he wasn't ready to let go of his own seat. Not quite yet.

So, he was condemned to watch Mick wear the McLaren ugly papaya orange, and drive a lame car because let's face it, the only not-lame car was their dear W14. She was a forever unmatched beauty and Lewis would die on this hill.

He found George wearing the same expression of displeasure as he parked his scooter in a corner of the garage.

"I don't like it," announced the young man with an upset expression, a bit like a pout, and Lewis felt his own expression soften.

"I know, love," he sighed. "I don't like it either."

George groaned, and plopped his head against Lewis' shoulder, defeated. He always did this when he wanted a hug, and Lewis found it adorable because he had to lean down to do that. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, pulling him into the hug he had requested.

"He should be here with us," George muttered, the sound of his voice hushed against Lewis' neck.

"He'll be back soon," Lewis murmured in answer, trying to convince himself much as George.

As he drove into FP1, Lewis had mix feelings each time he passed Mick in the McLaren. Mick waved at him, more than once, and Lewis was happy to see him drive. But it pissed him off so much that he was with another team.

He belonged with Mercedes. Throughout the weekend, Lewis found quite a lot of pictures of Mick at Mclaren. The PR team had decided to use him as much as possible, because why wouldn't they? It was Mick. Bright smile, soft laugh, puppy eyes Mick. It would be stupid not to make everything about him.

"I want to skin them alive when they touch him like this," George said, glaring at the picture of Lewis' phone. It was a Mclaren mechanic who had an arm over Mick's shoulder as they were talking animatingly. George had just voiced out Lewis' thought, even if he was rather thinking something around strangling instead of skinning. They shouldn't be allowed to touch him. Mick was theirs. He was Mercedes'.

And Mick knew it as well. They caught his longing glances toward their garage, and even if he was supposed to stay with McLaren, he kept somehow ending up near their hospitality, chatting with the team or asking about Lewis and George.

They had, obviously, no claim as official as they wished. Lewis and George, that is. It wasn't like they were dating Mick, no matter how badly they wanted to. They hadn't found the guts to confess just yet and were still trying to find the best, most romantic way to do it. They were working on a Plan, with a capital if you please. They were practically sure Mick felt, if not the same, at least something for them.

They'd have to say something soon, or they would go crazy with possessiveness before that.

Mick fit in so well with the team. In just a few months, he had everyone wrapped around his little finger without even meaning to. 

Bono had all but adopted the kid. With anyone else, Lewis would've been jealous to see Bono so fond of them. But it was Mick, so it was okay. Lewis certainly couldn't hold it against Bono. Angela was fiercely protective of Mick, and even Toto looked softer around him. 

Lewis and George, well, they were head over heels for him, and half the garage had already given them a shovel-talk, even though they weren't dating yet. Everyone also said it was a matter of time when ether of them answered that, which reassured them every time that their feelings might not be unrequited.

The entire weekend was pure torture. The atmosphere in the garage was gloomy because of Mick's absence, and to add to everything, both cars had issues. George during the qualifying and Lewis during the race. He had to retire the car to his dismay, and George didn't even make it to the podium, barely getting in the points.

A bad, bad weekend for Mercedes.

The post-race debrief was positively depressing. Everyone was in a mood, pulling long faces, and exhaustion didn't help.

Bono was going over some data with a tired and monotone voice when someone knocked at the door.

"I brought you guys hot cocoa!" Mick announced in a cheerful voice, a tray of drinks precariously balanced on one arm as he opened the door.

It might as well have been a divine apparition, with the way everyone was struck with pure, unaltered joy at the sight of their reserve driver.

He was still wearing a bright orange McLaren shirt under his Mercedes jacket and had probably come straight to the garage as soon as he'd been released from his duty at McLaren.

He skipped around the table, giving out a mug to everyone.

"Yours got almond milk in it," he winked as he gave Lewis his mug. He was gone a second later, which was a good thing because Lewis would've kissed him right then and there. He and George exchanged a meaningful look. Nevermind for the Plan, they couldn't wait anymore.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it," Mick exclaimed, still smiling.

"No, no, you can stay," Toto interjected. "We're almost done anyway."

The rest of the debrief was much more animated. Questions and ideas flew around, and everyone's depressed mood was gone and forgotten.

"Well, I think we're gonna do great next race," Toto announced at the end. "That'll be all for today. Rest and relax, and I'll see you all tomorrow morning on the plane."

Lewis had found himself flying more often with the team when it meant both George and Mick would be there.

The three drivers drove back to the hotel together, and instead of parting ways in the lobby, George offered Mick to join them in their room for a movie night. He agreed immediately, and they made their way to the suite Lewis and George were sharing.

"Man, that shirt has to go," Lewis growled the second they closed the door, glaring at Mick's shirt as if it personally offended him. Mick blushed, looking down at the McLaren shirt, and Lewis realised his words could've been misinterpreted.

"What- What are you guys gonna do about it?" Mick stammered, face flustered but with an unexpected glint of confidence in his eyes.

"I-" Lewis hesitated. He looked at George helplessly, and his boyfriend sighed.

"This was not how we planned to do this," he lamented but took a step closer to Mick. "We had a whole plan, you know... But then, McLaren had to try and steal you from us."

"I think we should help you get out of that shirt," Lewis added, a seductive smile on his lips. "If you want to, of course."

Mick nodded shyly, and Lewis took another step forward. George gently took off the Mercedes jacket off Mick's shoulders, and Lewis pushed the tip of his fingers under the hem of his shirt, grazing at his stomach. Mick was breathing hard, and Lewis wanted to press his palm against his heart, just to feel how fast it was beating.

He started to lift off the shirt, searching Mick's face for any sign of discomfort that would've made him stop immediately. He pulled the shirt above his head and took a moment to admire Mick's naked torso.

"God, you're so beautiful," George breathed out, stealing the words out of Lewis' mouth. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please," Mick pleaded softly, and George wrapped his long fingers around his neck to pull him in a gentle kiss. Lewis took in the sight in front of him. It was one of the most overwhelmingly beautiful things he'd seen in his life. And he'd get to have this, to have them both. He was one lucky guy, for sure.

Mick expectantly turned toward him after they broke the kiss, extending his arms toward him. Lewis snatched him in his arms, chuckling a little at Mick's neediness, and kissed him.

He noted distractingly that his lips tasted like cocoa, and he licked along his lower lip as Mick opened his mouth to deepen the kiss.

"Let us take care of you," he whispered in his ear, enjoying the shiver that ran through Mick's body.

"Only- only if I get to take care of you, too," Mick negotiated, flustered and timid.

"Gosh, what did we do to deserve you?" George hummed l, kissing Mick again.

"If we do this, we need you to know, Mick..." Lewis started, hesitating. "That I- we- er..."

George came to his rescue, a hand on his forearm to appease him.

"We love you, Mick," he said with a confident smile. "Lewis isn't very comfortable to say it aloud, but it doesn't mean he doesn't feel the same."

It was Lewis' turn to turn red with embarrassment. He buried his face against Mick's neck, who giggled.

"We had planned to do better," Lewis grumbled. "We wanted to wine and dine you, do things properly..."

"You've been doing that, though," he pipped up. "You've spent the last four months or so taking me out to dinners, and surfing and movie nights and boat rides... In my head, that counts."

"Oh," George breathed out.

"Were we that obvious?" Lewis inquired.

"Kinda," Mick giggled again. "But I like it. It's cute."

He kissed them again, one after the other, taking his time. Lewis hummed against his lip, pulling him toward the bed.

"Ah, I haven't said it yet, did I?" Mick stopped right as they reached the bed. "I love you both."

George basically tackled him to the mattress under Lewis' amused expression. He didn't wait any longer to climb onto the bed, joining them.

Later, that night, they fell asleep curled up in bed, Mick between the two of them and wearing a Mercedes hoody. He was where he belonged, and everything was as it should be.

#merc boys #f1rpf #rpf fic #f1 #fluff #getting together #no smut even if it's suggested #mick does end up shirtless but he had it coming #mick schumacher #lewis hamilton #george russell #not mclaren friendly :)

[mickcedesagenda]

30.03.2023 | AUSTRALIA FP1 & FP2

Technically it was Friday in Australia but I saw the FP1 on Thursday night because of the time zone lol

FP1

RED BULL

First, I can't believe Red Bull has a new front wing. Why.

Max was doing pretty well, but in the early part of the session, he mentioned they were "dragging the rear breaks too much." I was surprised that he lost control and ended up causing a yellow flag. He recovered well, but it got me thinking about how eventful this race will be. Max finished P1 (+1:18.790s) in softs.

Checo's helmet cam showed that this track produces quite a lot of bouncing. Checo went wide several times, which happened to the others too. Checo finished P3 (+0.503s) in mediums.

In other news: Daniel cam!!!

ASTON MARTIN

Fernando started to pick up pace mid-session, and I thought he'd finish P3 again, but he didn't. Fernando finished P4 (+0.527s) in hards.

Lance had great lap times throughout the session. I think he can do well this weekend. I would have preferred it if there wasn't so much traffic cause he would have had a better position. Lance finished P10 (+0.976s) in mediums with a +0.449s gap from his teammate.

In other news: Stoffel + Scotty cam!!!

MERCEDES

Mercedes didn't bring upgrades this weekend I need to speak to Torger immediately.

Lewis was complaining about bouncing at the start of the session, but apparently, it's just the track. Lewis was coming in for a good lap but made a mistake and went wide and then through the grass. He said he's not happy with the oversteer. Still, I'm glad he had a better lap time, but I'm not getting my hopes up even when I really want him to win. Lewis finished P2 (+0.433s) in softs.

I didn't write much about George. I was glad he could improve throughout the session, but he's also having apex issues. George finished P9 (+0.909s) in mediums with a +0.476s gap from his teammate.

In other news: Toto + Mick + Bono cam!!! Toto's face after Lewis' slide didn't have to be that funny.

FERRARI

Charles was doing a flying lap and I saw a couple of sparks, which isn't unusual but is not something I've seen on the other cars during this session. Charles finished P5 (+0.588s) in hards.

It seems to me that Carlos' car was in the garage for quite a while, but I may be wrong. Carlos finished P6 (+0.715s) in hards with a +0.127s gap from his teammate.

They changed the setup of both cars during the first red flag.

ALPINE

Pierre looked pretty good but Este was way down in comparison.

Pierre finished P8 (+0.856s) in mediums while Este P16 (+1.385s) in softs with a +0.529s gap from his teammate.

ALFA ROMEO

Alfa Romeo was bad. I don't know why they were so slow for most of the session. Their times improved near the end, and they still finished nearly last.

Val finished P18 (+1.629s) in softs while Zhou P19 (+1.779s) in hards with a +0.150s gap from his teammate.

HAAS

Hulk P4 at the beginning of the session made me think of What da hell is a polar bear doing in Arlington Texas. Hülkenberg finished P13 (+1.016s) in mediums.

Kevin had several problems with the gravel, and then he was slow. Kevin's fans don't have a day off. Kevin finished P20 (+2.357s) in hards with a +1.341s gap from his teammate.

WILLIAMS

Alex had good lap times during the session but then it went downhill. Alex finished P11 (+0.976s) in softs.

Logan said at the beginning that he was "bottoming so much he couldn't see" (I didn't even mean to make a joke but now that I wrote it I can't help but laugh). In the last 5 mins, the car lost power and Logan stopped on the grass causing a red flag, so the session ended early.

Williams worries me with their typical reliability issues, I hope they do better in this race.

ALPHATAURI

Uhh, I don't have much to say about Nyck. Nyck finished P14 (+1.143s) in hards.

I admit that, at first, Yuki going back on track was kinda hot, but then I watched the replay and got scared. The car gave bouncing a whole new meaning. I think gravel will really be a problem for everyone. Yuki finished P17 (+1.609s) on softs with a +0.466s gap from his teammate.

MCLAREN

Lando spent the first 10 mins in the garage, it was apparently not a problem with the car but just being adjusted. He didn't have good lap times, but he improved almost at the end of the session. Lando finished P7 (+0.746s) in softs.

Oscar improved mid-session and looked better. Oscar finished P12 (+0.987s) in hards with a +0.241s gap from his teammate.

FP2

This session was at 1AM in my country, I was falling asleep and I hardly saw anything, but anyway almost nothing happened because of the rain. This was the least representative session because hardly anyone could do full laps due to the rain, so the position of each driver doesn't bother me. (Don't have pics yet this is a WIP lol)

RED BULL

Max finished P3 (+0.615s).

Checo finished P7 (+1.196s) with a +0.581s gap from his teammate.

ASTON MARTIN

Fernando finished P1 (1:18.887)!!! I honestly would like to see him win this weekend.

Lance finished P16 (+1.692s).

MERCEDES

George finished P4 (+0.785s).

Lewis finished P13 (+1.436s) with a +0.651s gap from his teammate.

FERRARI

Charles finished P2 (+0.445s).

Carlos finished P5 (+0.808s) with a +0.363s gap from his teammate.

ALPINE

Esteban finished P6 (+0.838s).

Pierre finished P10 (+1.319s) with a +0.481s gap from his teammate.

ALFA ROMEO

Valtteri finished P12 (+1.425s).

Guanyu finished P15 (+1.583s) with a +0.158s gap from his teammate.

HAAS

Hülkenberg finished P9 (+1.307s).

Kevin finished P19 (+2.379s) with a +1.072s gap from his teammate.

WILLIAMS

Alex finished P18 (+2.295s).

Logan's car was not ready for this session.

ALPHATAURI

Yuki finished P11 (+1.333s).

Nyck finished P17 (+1.713s) with a +0.380s gap from his teammate.

MCLAREN

Lando finished P8 (+1.289s).

Oscar finished P14 (+1.493s) with a +0.204s gap from his teammate.

#f1 #2023 - season journal #australia 2023 #red bull racing #aston martin #mercedes f1 #ferrari #alpine f1 #alfa romeo #haas #williams f1 #alpha tauri #mclaren #max verstappen #checo pérez #fernando alonso #lance stroll #george russell #lewis hamilton #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #esteban ocon #pierre gasly #valtteri bottas #zhou guanyu #kevin magnussen #nico hülkenberg #alex albon #logan sargeant

[russilton]

What's your notp? (Dando is excluded from the question because Dando is everyone's notp except for a few crazy individuals)

Okay so, marks weird mental shipping rules under the cut

I tend to ship in a very “my otp and then everyone else can do whatever the fuck they want” kind of way. I don’t have many boundaries for prior or past relationships either. In a way my Notp is…. Anyone with Lewis that isn’t George, or vice versa. I’m a one track minded kind of dude.

If pressed? I really don’t fuck with Max and either of them, unless it’s like, porny poly (yes I’ve read four in a bed, yes you all should too, it’s amazing). Otherwise the less I have to do with the guy the better. Fernando or Nico and Lewis can also just fuck right off. I rlly can’t stand fernando, and Nico? Look I get why people might cling to the bromance but Nico is such a cunt. Fuck Nico.

But honestly my Notp is Gewis not being endgame.

That sounds like a joke but it’s fuckin, it’s really not. If they don’t end up together, I’m not reading it. I’ve only read it twice and one time hurt bc I misread the tags and the other? It emotionally destroyed me, and left me with a bitter distaste for Galex and Sewis at the same time. I have absolutely no issues with those ships, and I fully get it, but the context of that fic made me feel very… extra judgemental, shall I say. The only crime those ships committed against me were not being the first F1 Rpf fic for Lewis I came across. Gewis got me first and I bunkered down fast.

I still think Seb and Alex are George and Lewis’ VERY close friends and nothing can stop that, I just shy away from any mentions of that romance and they’re currently the only ones I have filtered so I can choose what I see. I do think they fooled around tho. Redbull twink seb and fuck boy Lewis? Yeah they probably did some stuff while drunk off their ass and still laugh about it as older adults.

I have no opinions on Dando, bc I don’t rlly like Lando. I don’t dislike him as much as say, Max or Perez, but I don’t like his humour.

Cause this feels like a weird and unsatisfactory answer, I do have preference ships for OTHER drivers, I’m happy to trade them about like bikes but I def have faves including:

James V / Bono (it just works)

Danny Ric / Valtteri Bottas (+ Tiffany bc I’m a sucker for men with GF’s realising they are gay for their buds and getting to have both in healthy poly throuples)

Pierre / Charles (they’re both different, complimentary kinds of slutty)

Mick/Nicky/Este (any variation of, I just think they’re neat)

Alex/Lily

Yuki / getting out of the redbull driver program

If these groupings aren’t included in fic I can’t say I’d care much, but it’s what I default to when I need BG couples

#asks #anonymous #notps #wank/rants

[racingliners]

F1 Re-watch 2022: Round 6 - Spain

To quote Manuel from Fawlty Towers: I know nothing

The only thing I remember from this race is the gifs of Seb and Lewis sharing an umbrella during the national anthem.

So yeah, this could be... fun???

I did not know Lewis and Schumi were the joint most successful winners in Spain. That is a fun fact (Just goat things)

Also Charles is on pole, so I fear I know how this race is ending.

Seb in 16th 😭 (To repeat a previous point, the AMR22 was beautiful, but boy she was a tractor)

Livery watch: Alpine preeeeeeeeetty (blue and pink livery my utter beloved)

Lewis starting on the mediums??????

Fernando taking his sweet, sweet time getting to the grid

[Start/Lap 1]: Another clear turn 1, I’m genuinely shocked

oop didn’t last long Lewis and Kev went into each other

Seb up into 13th though!!!

[Lap 5]: Damn Ocon got past Dan like he was slicing through butter

[Lap 6]: and again on Mick

ahhhhhh Seb on Fernando violence

THAT’S MY BOY!!!

(Insert quote about how Seb and Fernando have always raced each other)

Ugh Fernando got back past it was fun while it lasted

[Lap 7]: Oop Sainz in the gravel

[Lap 9]: Verstappen in the gravel????

Not the gust of wind excuse. *2015 Testing flashbacks*

[Lap 10]: Comms are already talking about team orders. 😬

oof Dan dropping down the top 10 like a stone 😶

[Lap 12]: Russell’s car is overheating???

[Lap 13]: And Verstappen’s DRS isn’t working. 

F1 cars don’t like heat too much do they?

[Lap 14]: Given how the second half of the season went I simply do not trust the face that Leclerc is leading by 14 seconds. I will not be lulled into a false sense of security by Ferrari I know better. I just about survived Seb’s years there 😭

Unrelated: where is my midfield spice???

Livery watch: Alfa Romeo preeeeetty

[Lap 15]: SEB IN P5 STOP THE RACE

(shhh I know he hasn’t stopped yet)

“DRS = Doesn’t Really Stay” Brundle I will give you that one right bc that was funny

This race is playing into Ferrari’s hands and I still don’t trust it

aeuvheugh we’re not in 2002 Crofty

(which reminds me I need to watch some old Schumi races when I have the time)

[Lap 20]: “So Perez is on a one stop” “Blimey!” fguehguehsg

Tell me George is British without telling me he’s British

Stop interrupting Ted, let him speak!!!

[Lap 22]: Yay Seb finally pits... and drops from 8th to 17th 😭

[Lap 24]: Russell on Verstappen violence, some spice at last

Who would win? A multiple F1 race winner or one (1) rear wing flap?

Livery watch: Glossy silver Merc preeeetty

[Lap 26]: uerhaguiehgueh Perez straight up asking for Verstappen to be moved out the way. I would have spat out my tea had I been taking a drink.

“Why won’t you let me by?” Honestly, valid question.

(I’m still laughing)

[Lap 27]: Ah. There it is. The sight and sound of Ferrari betrayal. Number 16 Ferrari goes poof.

Rule 1 of watching F1: Never, ever trust Ferrari

Ted is surprised. I am not.

Ouch, that on-board of the car dying is brutal though.

ANYWAY Seb up into P13 let’s get it

aaaand Lewis got past him 😔 (It’s fine it’s Lewis I’ll allow it)

[Lap 31]: Oop Perez’s turn to get past a car like cutting through butter

(something something the W13 was not a sexy car)

VAL’S IN THIRD?????

I mean it didn’t last very long but DAMN

[Lap 33]: SEB INTO THE TOP 10!!!! STOP THE RACE

I take it it’s bc others pitted, but anyway STOP THE RACE

I feel like this race sums up the 2022 Season. Ferrari start strong, then they fuck up. Red Bull pick up the pieces.

[Lap 39]: BOTTAS IS IN 4TH???? FOURTH?????

I mean damn Val go off but FOURTH?!

Seb gets passed by Lando for 9th

Ferrari engineers looking at their remaining engines like:

PASTOR MALDONADO?!?!

[Lap 43]: aaaaand we’re back with Seb vs Fernando

nvm Seb pitted

Livery watch: metallic green AM preeeetty

continued Seb footage... feels good feels organic

[Lap 47]: Bono sighting!!!

...RBR team orders.

If I speak 😶

(They are 1.7 seconds apart my dudes)

What do you mean this race was six years after 2016???

Christ has it been that long??? The season aged me more than I’d care to admit

[Lap 50]: Bottas is still in P4. Porridge power.

[Lap 57]: Mick: Can I get points??? F1: NO

It’s fine he scores points with Seb in Silverstone 🥺😭

[Lap 58]: Three car fight for 4th? 👀

oh nvm that lasted two corners

Crofty shut up about Seb and Mick crashing in Miami I don’t want to hear about it

[Lap 60]: Oh that was a nice pass from Lewis on Sainz

I would like an emotional support Bono, he sounded so proud 😭

[Lap 64]: Seb in P11. 15 secs behind P10. 😭

DNF risk on the Mercs???? wat

OH cooling issues. shit.

cut to Displeased Toto™️.

[Lap 66/Finish]: A water leak??? a water leak?????

Anyway Verstappen won quelle surprise

Are the Mercs gonna finish though???

They lived!! That was very wild though.

Hmm. It was fine I guess?? Much more interesting than Miami, but the bar was very low. I missed my spicy midfield drama. Russell v Verstappen was fun to watch, and seeing Lewis come through the field as Lewis does was cool. Overall 6 front wings out of 10. Monaco next!

#F1 Liveblog #Spain edition #F1 2022 re watch #F1 Re watch

[pynkhues]

meta thingy: 1! 4! 17!

1. Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Hahahahaha. 

Um. LOOK, I have a lot of WIPs, so I’ll just talk about one - the BDSM au! 

SO, in that, Beth and Dean are in the midst of an incredibly stressful, frutrating divorce. The entire thing is gruelling and really grinding Beth down, in no small part because Dean seems to be committed to making the divorce process so frustrating and painful that Beth caves and decides it’s easier to stay married. 

And Beth really feels it, y’know? She feels like she’s juggling so many balls between the kids and trying to make ends meet through Paper Porcupine and a small catering business while balancing a crushing mortgage and looking after an Annie who’s recently lost her job. Ruby’s trying to help her, but Beth can’t quite give up control, because she’s worried if she gives up control, she’s going to fall apart. 

So she’s dragging herself through mediation with Dean, who’s petulant and awful, and they’re both stuck with terrible lawyers because they couldn’t afford better ones, and the woman mediating their sessions - Gretchen Zorada - is doing it as pro bono work, and just the whole thing is a nightmare, and finally, during the third mediation session, Gretchen tells them they’re going to have to go to court because they’re not getting anywhere in mediation, and Beth maybe has a meltdown and ends up boning Dean’s lawyer to get back at him and it’s bad and the guy is useless and god, all she wants is for somebody to know what they’re doing, but maybe she’s not the sort of person who gets that. 

Anyway, maybe Gretchen overhears, and maybe Gretchen slips her a card to an anonymous sex club, and maybe Beth’s not planning on going, only she does, and then - - 

Well.

Then she meets Rio. 

I’m having a delightful time writing this fic, haha. It’s alternating Beth and Rio POV’s, and I have no idea how long it’s going to be yet? It’s sort of meandering,  but it’s been fun to explore a different sort of tension and a world I was - prior to researching - pretty unfamiliar with. It’s very much a fic that explores Beth’s need for control and power, while also exploring her desires around having somebody who might look after her and see to her needs in ways she’s never had, but hopefully twists that in interesting ways. It’s been fun to mess around too with Beth and Rio’s powerplay dynamic in a way that’s initially inherently sexual and then grows and deepens into other spaces too!  

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

I was pretty proud of this scene in Navigate a Broken Path, my Mick x Mary Pat fic!

“You’re pretty nice for a bad guy,” she tells him after a moment, and something in Mick tightens, even as he shrugs, because she’s wrong. Mick knows she is, even if he isn’t entirely sure on which part.

“I should know,” she adds. “I’ve known a lot of them. Bad guys, I mean.”

For a moment, the words seem to echo. To ricochet around the space like a familiar song stopped in the middle, and Mick tilts his head, watches her stare back at him, blink hard, and then she tilts her head, looking down at the baby in her arms.

It’s a picture – her with all her dark hair, pouring over her shoulders, her too blue eyes, clutching this angelic-faced baby to her chest. Virgin Mary of Suburbia.

“I think I’m a bad guy. Girl. Woman. Person. Maybe. I don’t know.”

And shit, Mick can’t help himself. He snorts at that, stares down at his hands in his lap.

“What? You cut in line at the grocery store?”

“All the time,” she says, a breathless little laugh in the back of her throat, and then: “Also I chopped up my husband.”

One of my favourite things to mess around with in fic generally is playing on character expectations, and in that fic in particular, Mick’s of Mary Pat felt like pretty rich territory to explore. I liked having this curl of intrigue in him from the moment he saw her steal the money from church, and having it build to this scene was just extremely fun, haha.

17. Do you think readers perceive your work - or you - differently to you? What do you think would surprise your readers about your writing or your motivations?

Yeah, I think so? While I like my writing, I’m pretty critical of it too and am always looking at areas for improvement and spaces to grow, so when I re-read, I tend to hyperfocus on the sections I think are weakest, which I don’t think people reading typically do, haha.

I’ve talked to you about this a bit too, but one of the things that really drives me as a writer is the question of why? In that sense, cause and effect is really important to me, even when I’m writing what’s essentially pwp, and often I’m more invested in that question than the answer. I hope that this helps me build to climaxes (the sexy kind and the plot kind, haha) that are ultimately satisfying to read and feel like they’ve been built to in a way that crackles. 

I know though that a lot of people reading my work skim straight to the sex scenes though, hahaha.

Ask me some fun meta asks about fic!

#thank yooouuu too! #fic memes #fic asks #speak so slightly (in love not given lightly) #to navigate a broken path #welcome to my ama #mego42

[anika-ann]

Crawl Home to Her

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OFC Vera

Word Count: 5080

Summary: H/C. He knows he should have been faster. Try harder. He knows it’s his fault. But she will do anything to convince him otherwise, he knows that too. She won’t blame him. And while she will believe what she’ll say, it won’t make it actual truth. He goes to her anyway.

Possibly a standalone. Otherwise set after Damned If I Don’t.

Warnings: mentions of death, violence and injuries, MM zero self-preservation and self.care, adult themes but probably not neccessarily 18+

Catch up on ‘Damned’ series!

And I was burnin‘ up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived But I swear I thought I dreamed her She never asked me once about the wrong I did

(Hozier – Work song)

The moment she opened her eyes to the darkness, she knew why she had woken up. She didn’t have any superpowers – she wasn’t a psychic or had enhanced senses –, but there were things she just knew. Matt watching her – or whatever she might call it – was one of them. She saw nothing but a silhouette of a man, leaning onto the doorframe of her bedroom, which would be scary if she didn’t know the outlines of his body, of his armour, better than her own.

The simple fact he didn’t react to her waking up – and she knew he knew – was alarming. He just stood there, a sculpture of an angel disguised as the devil. Complete with horns and stuff.  

Vera reached for her glasses, switching on the bedside lamp. Blinking to the sudden soft light, she focused on his face, shadows that weren’t caused by game of lights. It was something darker, heavier. Guilt.

Oh no.

“Matt?” she called out, low sound. One corner of his lips twitched, the only visible part of his face. He hadn’t even taken off his helmet. Or shoes for that matter. His posture was stiff. Something had gone wrong.

He didn’t react otherwise. Vera frowned, kicking the covers away, making her way to him. No reaction. She carefully reached for his forearm, stopping only inch away.

“Are you hurt?”

She would swear she heard him gulp before speaking. “No.”

Her heart sunk a little at the tone. Hoarse voice, definitely not in a good way. He had been crying. Or screaming. Possibly both. Screw touching his forearm. She raised her hands to his head, hesitating in silent question. He didn’t protest so she went for it. She slid her fingers under the helmet carefully, taking it off.

His gaze was lowered as if he was ashamed or afraid of letting her see something in his eyes. She pushed away the cowl as well, straightening his wild hair. She loved how they were always sticking in different directions when he got out from the armour. It was incredibly cute.

Matt closed his eyes completely, breathing in and out shakily as she ran her fingers through his hair. She had noticed he liked that and she enjoyed the feeling. It was a win-win. Hand moving to his cheek, she waited for him to give her a clue. Anything. She was giving him time, but she could tell he had no idea what to do with it. She tossed the helmet away, shockingly enough not missing the bed, landing it in the covers silently and she wrapped her arms around him.

For an agonizingly long moment, she wondered it was a wrong thing to do – his figure remained tense, the whatever material of his outfit pressing against her bare legs and arms rather unpleasantly. And then he finally hugged her too, slowly, unsure. But once he made the decision, he squeezed her tighter, his face buried to her shoulder, hot unsteady breath tickling her neck.

Vera wasn’t sure what she should say. That it was gonna be alright? Ask him whether he was okay? He was not, obviously. She didn’t say a word. They stood there for eternity, quiet mess of limbs.

It was her who let go first. She could tell he didn’t like the idea of them separating, but when she retreated, he did as well. She kissed his forehead lightly, not so secret code; ‘I care for you’.

“Why don’t you lay down with me, hm?” she whispered, kissed his temple as well, taking his hand. It was still hidden in his glove. It was him whole hiding from her. Guilt and shame. He had lost someone. He hadn’t managed to save them; that was the only possibility she could think of.

When Matt didn’t let her lead him to the bed, she first thought it was a very bad sign; until he squatted – a weary, slow motion – lost his gloves and untied his shoes, leaving them at the door. She couldn’t help a small smile. Matt caring about her floor was definitely a good sign.

“Thanks. Need help with the… uhm. The rest?” she offered as he stood up again and took few careful steps towards the bed.

He only made indefinable tiny sound that she interpreted as a miserable agreement. She walked behind him, unzipping the suit, helping him out. He stood there then, exposed, huddled as if he was cold or trying to cover the sudden nudity – not a physical nudity, he wore boxers if anything, but the emotional one.

Stick and stones…

Vera lied down, putting the helmet on the floor, patting next to her lightly and he wordlessly obeyed, burying himself in the covers. Jesus, he was a mess. Words burrito of sadness flashed her mind and she would laugh at that if it wasn’t such a heart-breaking image of the man she loved.

She snuggled closer, their shoulders and arms barely touching, leaving him with a choice. He leaned in and she couldn’t help a relieved sigh, rewarding him with another peck on his temple. They lied in silence for a while. It was hurting her ears, but she got used to it after few moments – so much that she actually winced when he spoke.

“I should have been faster.”

Vera tried really hard not to, but she did wince, startled. She found his hand, stroking it lightly – it was cold despite the warm weather. She could feel how scraped his knuckles were. He had hit someone – or something – very hard.

“I know you, Matt. I don’t believe it was possible for any human being to go faster at the moment,” she protested in soft voice even when she didn’t know the details yet. He had tried his best. He had probably pulled few muscles trying to get in time to wherever he attempted the rescue.

His fingers twitched under hers.

“I should have tried harder. Be better,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “She was right.”

At that point, Vera got confused. Who was right? The victim? The aggressor? A bystander?

“She said I should have come earlier. She died in her arms, her best friend, she-“ his voice traded off and Vera finally understood.

Her heart was clenched with cold fingers, grief for both women or girls washing over her. They had been two of them then. One of them had died, the other Matt had saved. And it wasn’t just himself who blamed him. The survivor did too. Few solitude tears rolled down his cheeks.  She pressed her lips together as she felt him shiver. She knew that kind of cold – the kind of cold that couldn’t be chased away with the thickest sweaters and blankets. It was coming from inside. She sometimes chased it away with whiskey when he wasn’t around.

She wrapped her arms around him once more, kissing his neck. She knew it was a stupid thing to say. But she had nothing better at her disposal. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Tiny humourless chuckle escaped his lips, his chest vibrating against her and she felt like the stupidest person in the world. But it was the truth.

“Matt, I mean it. It’s not the most original line, but I don’t aim for original. I aim for the truth. It was not your fault.”

“I stayed in with a case. I started the patrol too late. I should have left sooner,” he murmured to her skin stubbornly.

This time it was Vera who chuckled, unable to stop herself. “Right. You were too busy doing pro bono work, saving another life in a broad daylight. That sounds like a deadly sin.”

Matt winced at her last words. Poor choice of words, Veronika. But it seemed to snap him from whatever state of mind he was. At least he was listening to what she was saying, letting the words sink in.

“She’s dead. And I did nothing to stop it.”

“You can’t protect every single person in Hell’s Kitchen,” she offered, minding her tone this time, careful it didn’t sound like she was talking to a stupid child, who just couldn’t seem to understand something despite being explained for the millionth time. Her words were cliché, but she couldn’t figure out better ones.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t try doing it at all,” he said flatly.

Her heart skipped a beat, lips parting, letting out shocked exhale. Whoa. She felt herself panicking, This was way worse than she thought.

“Sure. If that’s what you want,” she agreed eventually and he went rigid, obviously shocked by her approval. He probably expected her to try to convince him otherwise.  But Vera meant it. If he wanted to quit, who was she to stop him? God knew he sacrificed more than enough to that life. Both of his lives, dedicated saving the others. “…just don’t forget that if you didn’t come there, they would be both dead.”

His arms wrapped around her waist tightly as an ear-tearing whimper escaped him. The sound was like a punch to her gut, knocking the air out of her. She returned the hug wholeheartedly.

“You can’t save everyone. I know it’s awful and I have no right to lecture you, since that fact and dealing with it is one of the reasons I left med school, but it’s true. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out even when you do everything-“

“Sometimes,” Matt repeated bitterly and his embrace loosened a little. For the first time that night, he let her see his eyes. They were glassy with tears. Vera hated when he was sad. But the imploring eyes, huge… it was a terrible thought, but the martyrdom suited him, giving him the strangest glow. Beautiful. Fascinating.

She mentally slapped herself.

“This girl, she was just a student, Lana Hill. Albert Magalles, the man who got crucified. Just like Edgar Harness, William Pomeroy and Mick Stuart. Ben Urich, the reporter who was helping us against Fisk. Elena Cardenas, a client, lovely old woman who protected her home with all she had. Pete Cabe, a drug junkie, but a good guy, taking care of is grandma, owed too much money to mob – shot to his head…”

She felt her hand trembling on his back, glad he couldn’t see her expression. Jesus, he remembered names. He remembered the names of people he couldn’t have saved. He couldn’t even know it the moment they had died; he had had to pry after it later.

Jesus freaking Christ. She was pretty sure her heart just broke in half.

“Matt-“

“The list goes on and on. Starting with my father...” His voice was quiet, raw. Hateful. He hated himself. Vera had no words. She opened her mouth only to close it. Her mind raced. What should she do?

“You,” he breathed and she let out a desperate sigh.

It would never go away. It would always be in the back of his mind, even when she had survived. She knew he had spent days thinking she had been dead, as she had been bleeding and suffocating right in front of him. He would never forgive himself for letting it happened, no matter how hard he had  fought against it.

“I’m alive,” she reminded him gently, stroking his back, placing a small kiss to his hair.

He snorted; very unattractive and very bitter sound. “No thanks to me.”

“Debatable. I could have been dead for several months by that time. Mugging. Armed robbery. Kidnapping. Assault, I guess? Another break-in to my apartment was just the icing on the cake. Oh, right, there was also an attempted rape,” she remembered and he winced at her last words, “I’ve been keeping you busy. And somehow you’re always here to save my sorry ass. Like heroes do.”

His chest rose significantly as he finally breathed in properly. He gave her a tiny kiss, just a passing contact of his lips on the skin between her neck and shoulder, before hiding his face again. She didn’t fight the smile creeping on her lips at the gesture; he wasn’t hiding anymore. It was simply a way of showing he felt comfortable with her close.

The worst of it was gone.

“What do you need, Matt? What can I do?” she asked, still rather carefully. His body tensed only for a second, before he finally relaxed. Or… went limp, pretty much.

“Nothing. Just be here… talk?” he offered almost timidly and she blinked in surprise. Talk?  

“What… uhm. What do you want me to talk about?”

She felt his shrug. “Anything, just-- I like listening to your voice,” he admitted and Vera couldn’t help her jaw falling slightly agape.

Huh. She only thought it was the other way around. Then again, it made sense – he wouldn’t be with someone whose voice he found displeasing. Still, there was a difference between putting up with something and liking it. It was a compliment she had never realized she could receive. Something warm spread in her chest.

Except… shit. Vera could babble, alright. She was a master of babbling. She wouldn’t shut her mouth sometimes, when it was highly inappropriate. But she was a total loser when it came to spontaneous talking. Her mind and heart raced.

“Mind if I read instead?” she asked awkwardly, her cheeks doubtlessly red. His eyelashes tickled the side of her neck as he blinked in surprise.

“Uhm. Okay…?”

“Good.”

The moment she shifted to get up and find a book, his arms locked around her waist, disabling her movement. She licked her lips.

“Matt, I gotta get something to read. I’ll be back,” she promised, not gaining any reaction. “Matt? I promise I won’t get assaulted on the way through my apartment,” she joked, only realizing too late how inappropriate it was. Dammit.

He sighed. “Can’t be sure when it comes to you,” he murmured, but released her.

“You’re so funny…”

It wasn’t like he didn’t have a point though, was it? It happened before. Twice.

Once she walked to her wardrobe – yes, Vera kept the books she had borrowed from her landlady next to her clothes, sue her, she didn’t have a bookshelf – she realized she had only two books in there. One was rather dark and had probably too much blood in it, which was not exactly suitable at the moment and the other was utter rom-com. Well, shit. Maybe she should buy an e-book? What could he possibly like? Apart from Thurgood Marshall, obviously. Not exactly light reading either, not exactly fitting right now.

Vera started her laptop, making her way to the kitchen to have a glass of water. If she was about to read, she needed it. Before she could ask Matt whether he wanted one, a much better idea struck her. She grinned, opening the freezer and pulling out the experiment. She hadn’t tried it before despite the fact the box had been in there for a while. This seemed like a good opportunity. She grabbed two spoons on her way, even though she didn’t really expect to need both.

Matt was frowning when she returned, obviously confused and indecisive. Vera knew why – she was pretty sure he figured out she was bringing ice-cream. He had told her he didn’t eat ice-cream. Because apparently he could taste every single additive in it and god knew what else. Vera had felt ultimately sorry for him, because dammit everyone needed ice-cream sometimes, and she had tried to make one at home. He had claimed he had used to like vanilla best. Well, it was a time as good as any to find out if his taste had changed.

“Shut that face and eat your ice-cream,” she ordered, shoving it to his hesitant hands, gulping some of the water and nesting next to him on the bed. He moved closer to her side before fighting with the opening. He probably thought to hell with it, I can suffer through chemical cocktail for once, because he took a spoonful of the stuff. Vera bit her lip to keep her laugh inside and rather focused on what the hell should she read to him. In corner of her eye she could see his surprised expression, as he took another spoon.  

Jackpot.

Jackpot on both fronts, because as she was typing, the browser offered her another website; a website she was visiting embarrassingly often. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen – Daredevil – sightings. And ‘thank you’ notes. Maybe if he had one list of people in his mind, he needed another to balance the scales. It seemed to be as wonderful idea as it seemed to be a terrible one. Well.

“Alright. I consider the two books I have totally inconvenient, so I just… read something else. If you don’t like it, just stop me, okay?” Vera offered hesitantly, turning to him. She wasn’t quite sure he was listening to her. He was enjoying the ice-cream too much. She smiled widely, ignoring that she didn’t get any answer.

She browsed through the notes, looking for something convenient. She knew about at least one she definitely wanted to read to him. Maybe she should start with it. It was over a year old, but it didn’t matter. The point still stood. Dammit, what was the girl’s name?

“Just a min-“

“This is really good. Where did you get it? What brand is it?” he interrupted her, voice honestly surprised.

Her heart jumped. He actually did like it. Sure, she liked it too, it was way better than normal ice-cream, but the fact he liked it… that was a whole new level. She had no idea how to say it. She cleared her throat awkwardly, unable to look at him.

“Homemade,” she murmured, her eyes darting to find the right note. Nat, the girl’s name was Nat.

“Homemade? That’s the name of it?” he questioned, sounding a little taken aback, taking another spoon. Wow, he had really missed ice-cream, hadn’t he? Not that she blamed him.

Aha! Got it. ‘There are lot of things that-‘

“What?” She realized he had asked her a question and sighed. No way of sugar coating it. “No, Matt. As in yolks from eggs from farmer’s market, cream and milk from farmer as well, cane sugar and vanilla bean. Homemade ice-cream.”

Peripherally, she saw his hand with the spoon stop halfway to his mouth. He seemed to freeze in that position, before his arm fell back and his awestruck face turned to hers. Her heart must have been doing funny things. It felt like it did.

“You made this?” It didn’t sound like he doubted it. He just didn’t understand why she would do that. Well. Why would she do that, huh?

“You said you used to like vanilla ice-cream. But since you can taste everything and ice-cream turned into a cocktail of various chemicals to you…. Life is sad without ice-cream. Everyone needs ice-cream. It’s a traditional break-up food. People watch rom-coms and eat ice-cream, it’s a thing. Ice-cream is the king and queen of comfort food,” she explained, babbling without planning it. Yeah, that was her thing. Babbling.

“You made ice-cream… for me,” Matt reassured himself, shifting in his position, straightening.

“Uhm… yeah? I mean-- I was kinda hoping you would share, but hey, that’s okay, I can do more or buy a regular one for myself. But yeah. Basically.”

Vera knew he had been holding the pack in his hands for a while, but the coldness of the touch on her cheek surprised her nevertheless. He gingerly stroked it with his thumb, kissing her temple with icy lips. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she murmured back, returning to the screen to cover her whatever. “Still want me to read? Or you’re good with your comfort food?”

One corner of his lips rose inconspicuously and she counted that as a real win. He rested his head on her shoulder. That position was rather typical, but usually their roles were reversed. Huh.

“I think you spoiled me. Talk?” he pleaded and he was like a kid in a candy shop, asking his mum for more ice-cream. Ha!

How could she resist that? She cleared her throat. “Okay. Whatever you need, Matt.”

He automatically reached for his spoon. She took a deep breath, starting.

“There are lots of things that define a hero. Courage. Will. Helpfulness. Selflessness. Sacrifice. The man we call the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen certainly is one-“ she felt him stiffen and stopped.

“You’re… reading that,” Matt stated, unsure, voice thick.

“Yes. It’s something I wanted to read to you a while ago. Can I?” she hesitated, worried he would shut her down. It definitely seemed more like a terrible idea than an amazing one now.

Surprisingly enough, he slowly nodded. Good.

“-He saved my life. He saved lots of lives and many of them are more important than mine, but I’m writing this because I need people to know there is one more significant feature of a true hero that they tend to forget about. Strength? Of a character, maybe. But what I’m talking about is humanity. We can fight over the definition of humanity – whether it means being a human complete with his imperfections and weaknesses or being human capable of feeling compassion. I saw both the night he saved me.”

She couldn’t help smiling as she heard his shaky exhale. Had he never read any of those?

“I was assaulted by four guys, each of them some with kind of a weapon - brass knuckles, knives. I tried to run, but they were faster. I screamed and screamed and he heard me. He has all my respect for what he can do, but if he remembers the night, at least bits and pieces, he knows it didn’t go well. He won of course, because he has something they hadn’t – conviction – but he ended up bloody. I’ll never forget the extensive laceration on his face and the cuts – god, there were so many cuts, some of them really deep, gaping scarily. He seemed to be barely standing. He called the police and asked for the ambulance for me, sending it few alleys over. And then he approached me – more like stumbled to my feet – , checking on my busted ankle carefully and offering his hand. He helped me to get up, supported my weight, got me to the location, himself breathing hard and tangling up his own feet multiple times as he did so. He never let me fall. I don’t know who you are, but I want you to know I am grateful. More importantly that I believe in you. You don’t have to fight aliens to be a hero. You don’t need fancy tech or super strength. For me, you are the truest hero because of your heart and humanity. Thank you. Nat,” Vera finished, voice a little shaky as the emotion and endless gratitude behind the note washed over her once again.

When she had first read it, she remembered crying over it. This time it was Matt who had tears in his eyes, frozen. Any other time, she would probably tease him about adding a wrong ingredient to the ice-cream, because spicing it with his tears was not a good idea.

He was out of it. Ups. She didn’t intend to cause that.

“It’s— uhm. It’s one of the older ones, but I really liked it. Should I read another? There are so many of them. Fair warning, not all of them are this fancy and essay-like, right under this one there is only ‘Near Gotham West Market, saved from getting mugged. He really kicks ass.’ And then ‘Hell’s Kitchen Park. Yesterday around eleven. Thank you, Devil.’ Devil, ‘cause these are rather old. I can read more recent- “

“I love you,” came a barely audible whisper.

Vera shut her mouth, snapping her head to him in surprise. He hadn’t seemed to be able to say a single word seconds ago. She expected him to gather himself after a while and say something, sure, but not that.

Matt raised his head, those big honest eyes burning. Her heart hammered in her chest, lips parting at the sight.

“I love you,” he repeated, louder, firmly. Before she could react, his lips, slowly warming, touched hers. He tasted after salt of his tears, vanilla and sugar, the kiss sweet in every meaning of the word. Soft and slow movements, fondling her lips with tenderness. And gratitude. He rested his forehead against hers. “Thank you.”

Vera had to swallow against the growing lump in her throat at his tone. So much emotion in few words. “Anytime. Anything.”

She felt his eyes snapping open, so she did the same, meeting his smiling warm irises. She felt his hand wander, the weight of her laptop disappearing from her thighs. She had no idea where he put it and she didn’t give a damn about it, when he grasped her hips and basically dragged her to his lap. She bordered his hips with her knees, not wanting to hurt him. She didn’t see that coming. His lips sunk into hers, icy fingers finding the back of her neck, his other hand keeping her in place.

“Anything?” he breathed to her mouth, the vibration of his voice making her shiver. “Anytime?”

She had honestly no idea whether he was kidding her or not. Really? Now? Hey, she had been woken up in the middle of the night with the feeling of being watched and she was pretty sure she had been awake for a while now, so if she was going to be sleep-deprived, she might as well enjoy it, no problem. But given his emotional status? If he was a blushing virgin, she would have to decline, because it would be like taking an advantage of him.

His tongue slipped into her mouth easily, letting her taste vanilla again. He was definitely giving the impression of meaning it. Apparently slightly annoyed by the lack of her response, he moved to her neck, his hand sliding under her t-shirt. Still cold. She gasped and escaped the icy touch.

“That’s-“ He sucked a mark to her neck and for a moment, she lost the brain-mouth connection. Jesus, Matt. “-shameless emot-“ Her tongue somehow tangled as his fingers wandered up, her nipples hardening immediately. “-emotional manipulation.”

Vera would swear she felt his smile on her collarbone and she shifted in his lap to wipe that no doubt smug grin away. Certain part of him liked it a lot and he hummed contentedly, a deep sound in the back of his throat.

“Never said I was a saint,” Matt exclaimed, returning to her lips so she couldn’t respond.

Could have fooled me just few minutes ago.

She didn’t fight it. She already felt her own arousal rising, warm in her abdomen. She leaned in.

And then he hissed in pain silently, just the smallest sound. She immediately retreated, startled. He looked disappointed and a little annoyed.

“Matthew Michael Murdock, are your ribs bruised?!” she demanded, climbing from his lap despite his weak efforts to make her stay. He made a regular kicked puppy face.

“They are not.” He fucking pursed his lips, offended.

“You’re a lousy liar, considering you’re a lawyer. And wear a costume of the Devil,” she murmured, making her way to the bathroom so she could bandage him.

“I admit the ice-cream was versatile,” she heard him call out silently and she rolled her eyes.

Fucking idiot. First crying, then self-consciousness, then the stupid amazed eyes, sweet words, freaking seduction – and he had her exactly where he wanted, oblivious. Of course he was hurt. When he ever wasn’t?

When she came back with the first aid kit – she was confident there was more than the ribs – he was still pouting. “Don’t give me that face.”

“They are not bruised…. Cracked? Maybe. Two,” he argued weakly and she shot him an incredulous look, which was sadly totally wasted on him.

“Not helping!” she gasped, horrified. “Sit on the edge and tell me which ones.”

“I love you.”

Don’t look at his face! He has the kicked, lost and love-struck puppy expression.

Vera sighed and started working. She was really glad she had asked Claire to teach her stuff, even though it didn’t seem Matt would need any stiches that night and she could have taken care of this just fine before they had started their sessions.

They didn’t say a word until she finished the last circle, hiding the loose end. She carefully raised her gaze to his face, ready to be strong and adamant. Yeah, he was wearing exactly the expression she thought he would.

“Anything else?” She placed her palm over his heart, waiting for the truth.

“No.”

No fastening. No lie. That was the first. He covered her hand with his, his lips spreading to a soft smile. “Thank you, Vera. You’re… you’re really good at this.”

Stupid, stupid smile. So hard to be angry with him.

She licked her lips, looking away. He didn’t let go off her hand, his heartbeat strong and steady, comforting feeling under her palm.

“Well, you can thank Claire. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t get much practice. She was very devoted,” she noted.

His other hand found her cheek, lightly pushing so she would face him again. No. His fingers traced the lines of her jaw and lips before trying again.

Stupid, stupid tenderness. So easy to fall for him.

“I’ll send her a fruit basket. But I’m not talking just about stitching up cuts and bandaging cracked ribs.”  

Vera gave in to his touch, turning back to him, confused. His smile transformed, a little dreamy now, ‘I love you’ smile. He ran his fingers through her hair, gingerly tucking disobedient strands behind her ear.

Stupid, stupid words. So confusing and captivating.        

His lips brushed her cheek, disappearing quickly, spreading back to the brilliant smile.

“You’re really good at fixing me.”

 My baby never fret none About what my hands and my body done If the Lord don't forgive me I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me When I was kissing on my baby And she put her love down soft and sweet In the low lamp light I was free Heaven and hell were words to me When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

(Hozier – Work Song)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

#marvel #fanfiction #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x ofc #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x ofc #matt murdock #mcu #daredevil #hurt/comfort #oneshot #songfic #crawl home to her #anika ann

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: The World's Greatest Detective (ao3) Fandom: Flash, Batman Pairing: Gen (background ships)

Summary: In this world, things go differently after Nora Allen is killed.

In this world, they walk down a different road.

In this world, the road leads them to...

Gotham?

A/N: ...so one day I wanted to write a fic where Barry meets Batman. For @oneiriad, for the inspiration and for your flight.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's not that I'm not grateful," Henry says, because he is, really.

If it wasn't for the thief - for Leonard Snart, Henry forcefully corrects himself - then, well, who knows where he and Barry would be?

Not that Snart's story - that he'd been thinking about breaking into a house on the Allen's block (though carefully not admitting he'd actually taken the last step and done anything, of course) when a figure wreathed in lightning had appeared in front of him, calling him by name and begging him to protect the young Barry Allen - was any less fanciful than Barry and Henry's own stories about a whirlwind of lightning, but the cops knew Snart well enough to be surprised by the idea that he'd come up with such a dumb story ("If that's the best Snart comes up with, it's probably true," a detective by the name of Singh, who wasn’t assigned to their case, opined to the papers), and Snart had testified to seeing a man in lightning exiting the Allen household, splatted in blood, shortly after.

Henry knows that it was Snart's explanation, so scathing and sarcastic and matter-of-fact, of a man who had to be utilizing tricks to create confusion, that swayed the jury into finding Henry not guilty by reasonable doubt.

Not that that means that they didn't think he did it. They just don't think the prosecution proved it, but that's enough.

And, too, Henry knows that he owes far more than just his freedom and his son to Snart: when his practice failed and the hospital let him go (no one wants a suspected murderer for a surgeon, even if the crime is unrelated to his work), he didn't know what to do until Snart had talked to one of the downtown clinics about taking him on. Henry suspects Snart did more than that, too: the clinic has seen a startling rise in the number of paying (albeit clearly criminal) patients, and at least one had let slip that Henry was "just as good as Snart said".

Snart even managed to find them this house - far cheaper than the one he shared with Nora, something he could manage on top of the bills for the lawyers and Barry's therapy and all with his reduced salary - and Henry's grateful for that, too. He hadn't had many options or friends to turn to, what with Joe still thinking that he was a murderer who got away and all.

Henry knows all that.

But - and Henry is quite serious here - why is Snart still here?

"That lightning runner said to take care of Barry," Snart replies firmly. "And that's what I'm going to do."

Henry opens his mouth - looks at the kitchen where Snart's arsonist friend Mick is cooking them dinner since Henry's really only good at grilling, looks at the kitchen table where Snart is permitting Barry to teach him basic algebra as a sneaky method of teaching it back to Barry, at Barry who's laughing at Snart's long-suffering whining about how he dropped out of high school for a good reason, looks at Lisa (Snart's younger sister) who's finished her own homework and is playing the peanut gallery - and then shakes his head.

Nora always said he ought to stop looking gift horses in the mouth.

The problem, as it is, arises later.

Snart's word of mouth is apparently better than gold, because Henry never knew how many poor people were pathetically grateful to have an affordable surgeon in their area. They're not just criminals, as he'd originally thought: just poor people, stuck in the slums, ignoring increasingly dangerous ailments because they won't go under the knife of a drunkard.

"We need to hire more doctors," he tells the head of the clinic.

Pre looks at him with a touch of sadness. "Henry," she says kindly. "I would if I could."

"But I'm sure I could convince a few of my old colleagues -"

"The part time pro bono clinic you set up is great," Pre says. "Don't get me wrong. But we need full timers. People who take a case from start to finish. And I can't afford to pay 'em. I'm barely even affording you, and that's with you accepting pennies to the dollar of what you're used to."

Henry has to admit it's true.

"City Hall takes the money earmarked for the slums and puts it in their pocket," Pre continues. "More and more each year that they notice nobody cares. Our funding is very small. You want more doctors? Get us more money."

Henry nods and goes home early to look at his savings for the hundredth time. He knows he can't deplete it - there's Barry to think of - but so many people in need. He has enough to pay for one more doctor for a year, he thinks, or at least six months -

"You can't," he hears Lisa say through the door to his office, and he's stopped by the despair in her voice. "Lenny, please! You know it's a bad job, you said it yourself; you'll go to prison again -"

"There's nothing else," Snart replies, and his voice is wretched like Henry's never heard it before. "Lise, I've looked, I swear. I just ain't got capital for it by myself. I spent it all getting the cash for this place -"

"Exactly! You don't need the money," Lisa argues. "It's not so urgent as it was, anymore - I don't need to graduate early - I'm not back with Dad, getting hit more often than not -"

Henry flinches. Snart had insisted his sister get the spare bedroom of their new apartment and never explained why.

"I know, and I'm grateful for it," Snart says.

"And I'm grateful for the fact that it means you don't have to work for him anymore," she shoots back. "Or do you think I don't know what he makes you do, saying he'll take it out on me if you don't?"

"Lise -"

"We can wait, Lenny! I don't want you to go to prison!"

"It might not come to that," Snart says, but even Henry can tell he doesn't really believe it. "And even if I'm caught, the money’ll still be safe and – and it'll only be a few years, and Mick will be here -"

"I refuse to let you go to prison just to pay for me to go to college," she hisses.

Henry stops. He and Nora had put money aside for Barry's college fund, of course, and he'd never touched the money no matter how dire things seemed. But there was only money in there for Barry, university and even grad school, and it wouldn't cover Lisa, who he saw as practically one of his own, now...

"It's not that weird to take a year off," she continues. "That gives you more time to find something better."

Snart snorts. "Lise," he says gently. "I've been looking for 'better' for two years."

"But -"

"I got one big score," Snart says. "And I used it for this house for you, and for Barry, and I don't regret it. I get enough from the rest of the stuff I do to help pay the mortgage so Henry don't realize he can't afford the place. But it ain't enough."

"Lenny -"

"College can wait a year," he says while Henry's still reeling. "But your ice skating can't."

Lisa falls silent.

"Your coach said Nationals," Snart continues. "Maybe even the Olympics. But neither of us can afford the fancy training you'd need for it without some egotistical college backing you, and there's an age window for it. Now or never, Lise."

"I don't -"

"You've wanted to do this since you were a kid," Snart says firmly. "Decision's made."

"But -"

Henry knocks over a pencil case.

They both fall silent.

Henry opens the door. They both look squirrelly, neither having realized he'd come home early.

"How much?" he asks.

"Henry -" Snart starts.

Henry holds up a hand. Snart falters, and for a minute he looks painfully young. He's only twelve years older than Barry, really, and he's already been in and out of the prison system. He's seven years older than his sister, and Henry would bet that he's been caring for her ever since she was born.

He never got a chance to be a kid, and that's just as wrong as what Henry's been struggling with, with all those people in the slums that need him.

Snart needs him, too.

"How much?" Henry repeats.

Lisa says a number.

It'd be most of his savings.

"Okay," Henry says. "I'll write you a check.”

"You can't," Snart protests. "Barry -"

"I'm not touching his college fund," Henry says. "And if we need to move to a smaller apartment, so be it. He'll be fine."

"What about your clinic?" Lisa asks. "Weren't you going to use it for that?"

Henry hadn't realized they'd known about how he kept looking at the money he had stored away, but in retrospect he was probably fairly obvious about it.

“I have a different idea for that,” he lies. “Some things are more important.”

The Snarts look skeptical. He can’t blame them; from what he’s heard, they never had any adult that would help them the way a father ought to.

Just as he’s trying to think of what to tell them, an idea finally comes to him. He’s asked for his friends’ skills, not their money, thinking they would be more inclined to assist that way, but he hadn’t thought about fathers and children.

Or, perhaps more correctly, children who longed to be fathers.

“Go tell Barry and get everyone packed up,” Henry says. “We’re going on a road trip. All of us.”

Snart crosses his arms, clearly (and correctly) identifying Henry’s desire for him to join in on the road trip as a mechanism to keep him from the temptation of this sure-to-go-wrong job. “Where to?”

Henry smiles. “Gotham.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Thomas Wayne was an amazing doctor and an even better man. He’d been Henry’s mentor back in med school and, later, during his residency; he’d taken a liking to Henry when Henry had declined his scholarship because he could just about afford the price of school while the next guy in line had no hope of it. They’d kept up an infrequent correspondence for a while after Henry had moved to Central with Nora, and Henry had been distraught to hear of his death. He’d sent a note to Thomas’ son, Bruce, making sure to address the cover envelope to the butler who was handling correspondence with instructions to only give it to Bruce when it wouldn’t be a burden, and not to bother with a thank you note in return. He’d also included a message of condolences for the butler himself, of course.

“Your card was one of the kindest we received,” Bruce – now a young man, only a few years older than Snart but with tired eyes that make him seem much older in just the same way – tells him. “Most people forget about Alfred.”

“We’re unaccustomed to butlers in America,” Henry says wryly. “Sometimes people forget that butlers are people at all. I blame the movies, myself.”

Bruce cracks a practiced grin.

Henry shakes his head. “No need to make the effort to be charming, Mr. Wayne,” he says. “To be blunt, I’m here to ask for money; it would be rude for me to pretend it’s just a social call.”

“Most people still do,” Bruce says wryly, the smile fading into something a little more real. “I appreciate your honesty. What brings you here?”

“In this case I am like most people,” Henry says just as wryly. “I’m here to trade upon an old relationship and your reputation for philanthropy. I know you primarily focus on Gotham-based charities, but the slums in Central are, if anything, a match –”

Bruce holds up his hands and Henry pauses in his hastily cobbled-together sales pitch.

“You’re here to ask for money for a charity?” Bruce clarifies.

“I work at a clinic that services low-income individuals in the Central City slums,” Henry explains. “If we had an additional source of income – even for just one year – we could hire another doctor. Maybe two.” He shakes his head. “I’m a surgeon, not a generalist; I do what I can, but there’s always a need for more.”

“I see,” Bruce says. “I had thought…” He trails off, his cheeks pinking very slightly.

“You thought I needed money because none of my friends would talk to me after my acquittal?” Henry asks. It’s true. Not even Joe talks to him anymore.

“Yes,” Bruce says, the embarrassment fading. Henry’s not sure if it was ever real, or if it was for his benefit. Bruce is very self-controlled, masked behind a guise of carelessness; it’s only that Henry knew Thomas’ own self-control quite so well that he can recognize it.

Henry shakes his head. “We –” He swallows, because it’s still hard. “Nora and I, we put aside money for Barry’s college fund from the day he was born. I’m never touching that money. The rest of it, well, we’re managing quite well.”

“I heard you moved in with the criminal that testified for you,” Bruce says.

“He’s a good kid,” Henry says.

“You’re not denying he’s a criminal?”

“Bit hard to deny,” Henry says because, well, it’s true. Len’s a criminal down to his bones. “But beggars can’t be choosers. I’m not from Central originally, so I really only knew the more expensive white-collar areas. I needed advice and a place to go, and, well…”

“None of your old friends were talking to you.”

Henry nods. “That’s also why I’m here,” he adds, trying to bring the conversation back to where it started. “I know my old friends and the few that do still talk to me would disappear at the first request for money; I’ve asked them for time, instead, but some part-time pro bono work at the clinic can’t replace a real full-time doctor.”

Bruce nods. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he says. “I’m always happy to donate to worthwhile causes.”

Henry breathes a sigh of relief, which makes Bruce smile.

“Perhaps we could talk about it over lunch?” Bruce suggests. “Alfred always starts us promptly at noon.” He rings a bell.

The butler, Alfred, appears, as proper as ever – though strangely frazzled.

“The Allens will be joining us for lunch,” Bruce says. “Please ask Dick to join us.”

Dick presumably referred to Richard Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s ward of just over six months. It was a hard thing for a man in his early twenties to adopt a ten-year-old boy – less than a year younger than Barry – but Bruce had managed it.

“Master Dick has already made his way down,” Alfred says wryly. “He and the younger Mr. Allen have apparently taken a liking to each other and are currently playing tag.”

“Tag,” Bruce says, sounding bemused.

“Yes, Master Bruce. They appear to be pretending to be pirates as well. It is, I have been informed, a game known as 'Pirate Tag'.”

“Pirate Tag. Well, good for Dick,” Bruce says, shaking his head. “Let’s start lunch an hour late, then, and let them play. Dick doesn’t make friends easily,” he explains to Henry.

“Understandable,” Henry says. “Barry hasn’t really made many friends either, not since what happened to his mother.”

Richard Greyson lost his parents in a terrible accident, which some rumor claimed to be a murder; Barry had lost his mother to a murderer and very nearly his father to the criminal justice system. In retrospect, it made perfect sense for them to get along.

Bruce and Henry share understanding looks.

“So,” Bruce says. “Tell me more about your work in the clinic.”

Henry happily complies.

However, an hour later, the kids are nowhere to be found.

“The house isn’t that big, Alfred,” Bruce says sharply.

“My apologies, Master Bruce –”

“Oh, crap,” Henry says, looking at a window. The frame was just a little cleaner than the others.

He’d gotten pretty good at recognizing things like that.

Bruce looks at him.

Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you recall how I mentioned Leonard Snart to you?”

“I recall.”

“I brought him along on the trip, as well as his younger sister Lisa and his partner, Mick Rory; they promised they wouldn’t get into trouble, and I was under the impression that they were touring the city today, but –”

“A giant mansion is too tempting to resist?” Bruce asks, frowning. “I don’t mind that, but – what does that have to do with where the kids are?”

“They probably joined the kids’ game and explored the house,” Henry says regretfully. Kleptomaniacs, all of them! “Do you have any hidden compartments or anything? I think Snart can smell them out –”

Bruce looks alarmed. “Please wait here,” he says, and hurries away.

“I can help,” Henry tells Alfred. “But I understand if he doesn’t want me to see where he’s hidden his valuables. Is there anywhere else I can look?”

“Master Bruce will be able to determine fairly rapidly if Mr. Snart and the others have gotten into the relevant area,” Alfred says. “If they are not there, we can begin to worry –”

There’s a loud noise.

Henry dashes after it, Alfred in hot pursuit.

There’s an open wall – a candlestick bent over sideways reveals that it was once a grandfather clock that slide aside to reveal a passage – and there is the sound of voices beneath.

“Mr. Allen –” Alfred starts.

Henry ignores him – there’s nothing that’ll get between him and Barry, should Barry be in danger, not ever again – and goes down the cobwebbed stairs.

Inside, there’s…a cave? But there are computers everywhere. Some sort of server room? But why would that be hidden?

“Dick,” Bruce is saying. “You know better –”

“They found it on their own!” Dick is arguing.

“Can someone explain why there’s a giant penny?” Mick asks, his eyes fixed on what is, in fact, a giant penny. He’s there, because of course he is, and the two Snarts and a very excited looking Barry.

“Is this a server room?” Henry asks Alfred, starting to get the distinct feeling it is not.

“No, Dad,” Barry says. “It’s the Batcave! You know, for Batman and Robin!”

“…I can explain,” Bruce says.

“Nope,” Snart says. “You really, really, really can’t.”

----------------------------------------------------

"Lenny!" Lisa exclaims, hands on hips in proper angry sixteen-year-old girl style, even though she's now eighteen. "This is all your fault!"

Henry hides a smile under his hand. Len - definitely Len, now that he'd explained how much he dislikes being called Snart in private - blinks at her owlishly. "What's my fault?"

"You told the Penguin's people not to rough me up so much!"

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that!" she scowls. "How am I supposed to be a proper Robin if you scare the supervillains into behaving?"

"Not the supervillains, just the thugs," Len corrects. "And I told them that all three Robins are off limits."

"Wait, what?" Dick says, sitting up straight. He'd been smirking at Lisa until that point.

Barry - sitting next to him - laughs. "Told you," he says smugly.

"You can't do that!" Dick exclaims.

"I can and did," Len says.

"Bruce, tell him he can't do that," Dick says to Bruce as he walks in, half-dressed in his Batman gear and looking distracted. Alfred is walking in behind him with a long suffering expression.

Henry catches his glance and arches his eyebrows in silent question. Alfred shakes his head - no need for Henry to take up his part-time role as the Batman's private surgeon tonight.

(The kids call Henry the Bat-doc, but Henry's pretty sure Mick's the source of the name.)

It'd worked out surprisingly well, all in all. Barry and Lisa were Robins alongside Dick, now, which made them happy and made Dick safer, which made Bruce happy. Len and Mick - who'd gotten the media nicknames Captain Cold and Heatwave, respectively - were now fellow masked vigilantes, striking terror on the Bat's behalf and saving his ass on occasion, which made Dick and Alfred happy.

They do keep stealing the Bat-mobile, but they also return it, which everyone's taking as a win.

Henry gets to take them all back to Central for all holiday and summer breaks, which made him happy - sure, he's only a jet flight away from the fancy boarding school in Gotham Bruce had arranged and paid for Barry to attend alongside Dick, but he likes having them around and Len and Mick are always pleased to have an excuse to lord about their town (which, lacking as it did any proper supervillains, they'd conquered fairly quickly).

Bruce also paid for a dozen new doctors for Henry's clinic and Lisa's training for the Olympics, which she’d signed up for in lieu of starting college immediately, which made everyone happy.

"What can't he do?" Bruce asks. "Len, the Riddler left another love letter to you; you really need to stop answering his terrible riddles with terrible puns. It only encourages him."

"I've told him I'm taken. He just enjoys my ability to devise them on the fly."

"Yes, but the Penguin will still kill you if this continues. He gets jealous. Please check the note to see if he's invited you on another heist. If he has, refuse."

Len sniggers but takes the note.

"He's made the thugs agree not to rough us up!" Dick protests.

"Len?"

"Too hard," Len says. "Rough them up too hard. All the Robins."

"How'd you do it?"

"Made it a union rule."

Lisa, Barry and Dick all groan. The unionization of Gotham's supervillain thugs was the bane of their existence.

Mick had been unanimously elected union rep, for reasons that absolutely escaped Henry.

"How'd you even get them to vote it in?" Dick grumbles.

Len shrugs. "Limiting child brutality is for everyone's best interest; juries hate it. Having a blanket rule'll cut down jail sentences."

Bruce hums in thought. "And that way, we'll be able to identify anyone who's using non-union guys," he says. "Good. We don't want the League of Shadows sneaking in an army."

"Again."

"Yes, again."

"But -" Dick starts.

"It's too late," Barry says glumly. "It's settled."

Lisa heaves a sigh.

Both Dick and Barry take a moment out of their sulking to observe Lisa's bustline heave with the sigh.

It isn't even that impressive a heave - her chest is mostly covered in armor - but they are thirteen year old boys.

"Can we talk about my proposed Robin recruit instead?" Lisa asks.

Bruce frowns at her. "We're not recruiting new Robins. It's not an expanding position."

"Yes, it is," Lisa says briskly. "It has been since we talked our way into it. And if we don't recruit Barbara now, I'm telling you, she'll make her own costume and head out on the streets by herself without any training."

Bruce looks forbidding, which is really just his way of reluctantly agreeing.

"Better to get her training," Mick opines.

"She's the police commissioner's daughter -"

"Good, she can steal us info," Len says. "Use the resources you have, not the fantasy universe you'd like to have. I've seen the girl, and Lisa's understating things, if anything. I'd be willing to bet she already has a suit, except it won't have any of the nice padding and armor these three have."

"And we'll need someone to take over Lisa's role full-time once she's in college and has finals," Barry says. “Besides, the Olympics are coming up soon; she can’t afford to get hurt now.”

Bruce surveys the room, but if being surrounded by people has taught him anything this past year, it's how to know when he's being overruled by the will of the majority.

Len and Mick have strong feelings on democracy when not in an active battlefield, who knew.

"Fine," Bruce concedes.

The Robins cheer and jump to their feet, earlier grievances forgotten. "We'll go tell her -"

"Give her the warning spiel -"

"And her new suit -"

"Of course you've designed one already," Bruce says, but it's too late; they've already left.

"Welcome to the joy of having kids," Henry tells Bruce. "I use the term lightly."

Bruce shakes his head, but he's smiling.

They helped teach him that, all of them.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"You were in a coma for nine months!" Henry shouts.

Barry looks startled. Henry doesn't raise his voice often.

"Dad," he says, and comes forward, arms outstretched.

Henry pulls him into a hug. "God, Barry," he whispers. "You have no idea how the last few months have been - the Gotham crew thought it had to be a themed villain or something, that lightning; Barbara nearly burned her fingers to the quick looking for info in all the secret places in the world, and Jason got into a hundred fights with Bruce over how hard he was interrogating people - Dick started having anxiety attacks again - and Len, Mick, Lisa, god, they were wrecks -"

"It's okay," Barry says. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"The hospital didn't know what to do with you," Henry continues, fully aware and uncaring of the tears that dripped down his face. "Barry, they thought your heart had stopped. I thought your heart had stopped. Even Bruce's fancy Gotham doctor he flew in had no idea why you were still breathing. Hell, even that weirdo from San Francisco, the ex-surgeon friend Bruce has, he couldn't figure out anything; all he could say is that your soul is still in there. Brain death was a certainty. You were dead, for all intents and purposes -"

"Dad - Dad - it's okay - I'm here, and I'm okay - and I have superpowers now -"

"And the first thing you do is run off and fight a cyclone?!"

"Cyclone-guy, actually. He was attacking Central City! What was I supposed to do?"

Henry laughs wetly. "Once a Robin, always a Robin, huh?"

Barry smiles crookedly.

"I bumped into Joe," he says. "He said we need to keep my identity a secret - even from Iris -"

"Identity secret, yes," Henry says, finally releasing Barry. "Good job on getting a police contact -" Joe had finally started talking to Henry again, but made clear in every interaction that he thought Henry was a murderer let free on a technicality, so they didn't really talk much; but Joe was Iris' father and Barry did so love Iris, so he’d softened up on that at least. "But you shouldn't keep a secret from Iris."

"It might put her in danger."

"Barry. Has Bruce ever managed a successful relationship with someone who didn't know who he really is? And has it ever helped keep them out of danger?"

"...I take your point," Barry says, making a face. "Uh. Though. She started dating that Eddie guy, because she thought I was dead, so that makes things awkward."

Henry shakes his head and hugs Barry again. "You kids have been in love with each other for years. I'm sure you'll figure it out. Please let me know when the pining has been resolved, this time."

(Barry's later teenage years had involved a lot of ice cream and horrific poetry. The other Robins had read it out to Gotham villains as a low-key torture method; the Penguin in particular was susceptible to trying to bash his head in if he heard too much of it. Scarecrow usually offered suggestions on how to improve the meter.)

Barry laughs. "Okay," he says. "I'll tell Iris. And you should meet Dr. Wells and Cisco and Caitlin -"

"I've met them," Henry says. "They were taking care of you, remember? I visited every day. Dr. Wells said he might have an insight because of his work on the Accelerator, and I was desperate."

Henry's still a little uncomfortable with how hard Wells pushed for the transfer, but whatever; Barry's awake now, and himself. That's what matters.

"Say," Barry says. "I should probably think of a new superhero name. Since I'm not a Robin anymore." He grins. "Cisco still made my costume red, though."

Henry laughs and hugs him again. "Later," he says firmly. "I'm not letting you out of my sight for a while. Now sit and I'll tell you all the gossip from the last nine months -"

---------------------------------------------------

"I hate to do this," Henry says apologetically. "I mean, it’s terrible of me to even suspect him. He's done so much for us -"

"I know," Bruce says, his voice tinny over the phone. He’s probably in the cowl. "It happens that way, sometimes. I'll look into it - if it's nothing, it's nothing, but you'll have some peace of mind."

"Thanks," Henry says, feeling very much relieved. "I wish I could give you more of a lead than 'he acts creepy towards Barry sometimes' about Dr. Wells."

"I've worked with less," Bruce says, and then hangs up because he has terrible phone etiquette, and also possibly has started punching someone.

"Goodbye, and have a nice day to you too," Henry says into the phone, shaking his head and hanging up.

Still, he must say he feels better, having the World's Greatest Detective on the case.

Batman will figure this one out. He always does.

#batman #barry allen #leonard snart #mick rory #dccoldwave #just a bit #henry allen #my fic

[nitrateglow]

All the movie questions with a 6 in them!

Top 5 performances of your favoriteactor and actress. 

I’ve answered for Buster Keaton and Barbara Stanwyck several times, so I’llgo with some other faves:

Lillian Gish

The Wind

The Night of the Hunter

Broken Blossoms

La Boheme

Way Down East

Boris Karloff:

Frankenstein/Bride of Frankenstein

The Mummy

The Black Cat

The Body Snatcher

Bedlam

Favorite [insertactor/actress/director] movies? 

Let’s say Jacques Demy!

Donkey Skin

The Young Girls of Rochefort

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg

A Room in Town

Lola

Favorite movie characters. 

Lmao, here you go:

Nausicaa (Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind); Mrs. Brisby (The Secret ofNIMH); Blizzard (The Penalty); Alex DeLarge (A Clockwork Orange); Lupin III andLady Clarisse (The Castle of Cagliostro); Erik (The Phantom of the Opera 1925); LukeSkywalker (the Star Wars movies); Boris Lermontov and Victoria Page (The RedShoes); Trina Sieppe (Greed); Letty (The Wind); Hjalamar Poelzig (The BlackCat); Susy Hendrix and Harry Roat Jr. (Wait Until Dark); Count Zaroff (The MostDangerous Game); the Monster and Henry Frankenstein (James Whale’s twoFrankenstein movies); Dr. Frankenstein (the Hammer Horror Frankenstein movies);Pazu, Sheeta, and Ma Dola (Castle in the Sky); Rick Blaine (Casablanca); LilyPowers (Baby Face); Kurt Anderson (Employees’ Entrance); the Boy/Sherlock Jrand the Girl (Sherlock Jr); Johnny Gray (The General); Steamboat Bill(Steamboat Bill Jr.); Alonzo the Armless and Nanon (The Unknown); Scarlett O’Hara(Gone with the Wind); Jack and Wendy Torrance (The Shining); Alice Hartford(Eyes Wide Shut); Kiki (Kiki’s Delivery Service); Carl Frederickson (Up); allthe kid characters (The Goonies); Farralone (Ace of Hearts); Igor (YoungFrankenstein); Georgia and Big Jim (The Gold Rush); Joan (The Passion of Joanof Arc); Irena (Cat People 1942); Mick Travis (If… and O Lucky Man!); ProfessorEcho (The Unholy Three 1925); Margaret Waverton and Rebecca Femm (The Old DarkHouse); Helen and Imhotep (The Mummy 1932); Frankie Bono (Blast of Silence);Clive Candy and Edith (The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp); Belle and theBeast (Beauty and the Beast 1946 and 1991); Norma Desmond (Sunset Blvd);Scrooge (A Christmas Carol 1951); Judy/Madeline (Vertigo); Tajomaro and Masako(Rashomon); Catherine (Jules and Jim); Antoine (The 400 Blows); Sanjuro(Yojimbo); Hilda (Horus, Prince of the Sun); Anne Boleyn (Anne of the ThousandDays); Sheriff Bart (Blazing Saddles); Willy Wonka and Charlie (Willy Wonka andthe Chocolate Factory); Ayako (Osaka Elegy); Sam Lowry and Jill Layton(Brazil); Basil and Rattigan (The Great Mouse Detective); Henry Jones Sr.(Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade); Clark Griswold (Christmas Vacation);Eddie Valiant (Who Framed Roger Rabbit); Yondu (Guardians of the Galaxy 1 and2); Steve Zissou (The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou); Marie Antoinette (MarieAntoinette 2006)

Sure even with this monster of a list, I’m forgetting some great characters!

Actress in need of new agent. 

Can’t think of anyone in particular.

A film that always makes you laugh.

Young Frankenstein

Best cinematography. 

Any post-1965 Kubrick movie.

[madferliam]

Liam Gallagher interview: 'Noel is a potato. He dresses like Gary Barlow'

Original Source: The Telegraph By: Andrew Perry Date: 1 October 2016

In a secluded corner of Highgate’s Café Rouge, Liam Gallagher is acting like a man half his age. And he looks the part: enviably bronzed from a recent holiday in Majorca, and irrepressibly Tigger-ish in manner, it’s hard to believe that he recently turned 44.

After three troubled years out of the game, British rock’s one true icon from the ’90s is visibly revelling in the limelight cast upon him by a new film about his first band, Oasis. Called Supersonic, it’s a timely reminder of how this garrulous, magnetic Mancunian was once a pop saviour. 

Today, he’s bang on time for our 10am summit – unthinkable in 1994, unless actually on his way to bed, gin and tonic in hand – and in buoyant mood, having kicked off his day at 5.30 with a seven-mile run on Hampstead Heath.

As Supersonic electrifyingly shows, when Gallagher first surfaced as a cocky twentysomething back in the mid-’90s, Britain was crying out for what he calls a “chin-out” rock frontman, after years of American grunge, acid house and shoegazing.

The stirring two-hour movie, which was put together by the team behind the award-winning documentaries, Amy and Senna, charts Oasis’s meteoric rise from dreary Manchester, to the cusp of world domination. It culminates with their two epochal shows at Knebworth in ’96, before a staggering combined audience of a quarter of a million people.

Gallagher describes the film as “euphoric and lovely”, accurately adding, “The majority of it’s comedy gold, man!” Certainly, their escapades on their first visit to Los Angeles, where they over-indulge in potent American narcotics, and then end up playing different songs at the same time onstage, will have viewers reeling in the aisles.

Liam does admit, however, that parts of it are, for him, “emotional – seeing us all together, starting off young, not knowing where we’d end up.” He pauses, clenching his teeth. “And then the way it ends – with me and our kid”.

“Our kid” is Liam-speak for his elder brother, Noel, with whom he has an infamously tempestuous relationship.

I first met the Gallaghers in summer ’94, at the BBC’s studios in Elstree, where Oasis were performing Live Forever, on Top Of The Pops. That day, they were non-stop entertainment, excitable about their whirlwind success. From a journalist’s point of view, there were rich pickings in the contrast between Liam, the lairy, impetuous frontman, and Noel, the thoughtful, acerbic tunesmith, who, the movie reveals, had always kept his emotional core well guarded, after suffering physical abuse from their father in early childhood.

As one insider remarks in the movie, “Noel has a lot of buttons to press, and Liam has a lot of fingers”. On this front, and every other, Supersonic is bang on the money.

“Those times were great, man, and dead fast,” Liam recalls, as we relive them together. As Oasis’s star ascended, the aftershows became big, wilder and more extravagant, with the likes of Madonna, Bono and George Michael turning up to bask in their reflected glory. I’ll always remember one bleary night in a Manchester hotel room with Liam, Robbie Williams and the movie actress Amanda Donohoe, which spiralled on until well after sunrise.

“It was just like one big, long night out,” Liam affirms “like going to loads of different parties one after another, for the first two and a half years. You never had any time to sit and think about it. I didn’t want to be on TV talking about it. I didn’t want to be on holiday with me feet up. I wanted to be f---ing there, singing them tunes, ’aving it, and then afterwards getting off me tits and trying to blow me head to pieces.” This was the essence of Liam in his “mad for it” majesty. As such, Oasis were a completely different animal from the other so-called Britpop bands they were lumped in with. “Blur, Menswear and all them,” he says, derisorily, “we didn’t dress like them. Their music was all jolly and wa-heeey [waves his arms around in a silly manner]. Our music was more serious, straightforward, classic.”

He says he never had stage fright, even as the audiences got bigger.

“Knebworth was easy, man,” he maintains. “I was only scared when it was empty. Then you thought, 'F---ing hell, a bit big, this, innit?’”

That weekend, I interviewed Noel on site. The crowds were unimaginable, unnavigable, but they bellowed Oasis’s anthems in one mass choir, so they reputedly could be heard in neighbouring counties.

Noel was predictably upbeat after the first show. “We thought we were big when we played Earls Court, then Maine Road,” he said. “But last night… Now I know what big means. All you can do is sit and laugh at it.” He went on to confide that he’d had Mick Hucknall thrown out of their family enclosure. “He was pissing me off,” he reasoned, “I didn’t want to look at his head.”

I share with Liam my memory of Noel strolling into an empty compound right behind the stage – one little guy whose magical songwriting had convened this imponderable throng of 125,000 people beyond the fence.

“He’s the Ronnie Corbett of rock!” Liam roars, referring to his brother’s diminutive stature, which hadn’t been my meaning. After Knebworth, the Gallaghers’ sibling disagreements turned into a never-ending scrap, resulting in cancelled tours, declining fortunes, and, eventually, a bitter parting of ways in 2009.

So, Supersonic concludes at Knebworth, presenting a fabulously empowering rags-to-riches tale, mostly narrated by the disembodied voices of Liam and Noel. Each reputedly reminisced for around 20 hours, often with something verging on mutual affection, though never in the same room together. Here in Café Rouge, it soon becomes clear that no hatchets have been buried.

“Noel’s far too busy to promote the film,” Liam bristles. “Apparently, he’s doing a fun album, and he’s living in the now, and he’s too f---ing busy to be going down the nostalgic route. Which is funny, because it was his management who decided to make the film.

"But he won’t be at the premiere, and he’ll come back with some quick remark, like, 'Oh, I’ve no need to be doing this, but that’s all Liam’s got’.” He thumps the table angrily. “Well, I’m doing it, because I’m not leaving it to them cowboys to do a film about my f---ing thing.”

The tirade goes on. Noel “is a potato”. He “dresses like Gary Barlow”. He “stirred up” the final argument in ’09, “because he wanted to go solo.” Noel indeed soon got up and running with his own band, Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds, and quickly established himself as an arena headliner, with a set mixing Oasis and solo hits. In interviews, he often states that he simply doesn’t need the aggro of an Oasis reunion.

“Anyway,” Liam adds, “his missus, Sara McDonald, won’t let him get that band back together. She wears the trousers, mate." Liam suggests that a further difficulty lies in the fact that half of the songs were written about Meg Mathews, Noel’s first wife.

Ouch, I say. Talking that way will hardly accelerate a reconciliation, let alone a reunion.

“The olive branch has been put out many times, and he’s blanked it,” Liam fumes. It’s a shame we can’t bury the hatchet, but it’s not like I’m messing with the brakes on his car, or he’s putting my windows through. It’s just banter, isn’t it, until one of us grows up.

“It is a shame. I don’t see his kids, he doesn’t see my kids, and it hurts my mum, and all that tackle. It’s all very childish and ridiculous, but there you go. I’m quite enjoying it, actually.” There’s a long pause. Liam taps a teaspoon on the rim of his empty macchiato cup.

“So yeah,” he concludes, “here we are now, twenty years later, bored out of our f---ing minds. The party is well and truly over!”

You’d never know it from talking to him, but Liam Gallagher has had a rough ride since 2009. From the ashes of Oasis, he immediately started Beady Eye, but, he concedes, “people couldn’t grasp me being in another band”, so he had to call time on it in ’13.

Around that time, his second marriage, to All Saints singer Nicole Appleton, ended abruptly, after it came to light that he’d fathered a child by an American tabloid journalist – he also two sons, one by Appleton, and one by his first wife, Patsy Kensit.

“The stuff that happened was my own doing,” he admits today, unusually contrite. “S--- happens, and I apologise. I’ve hurt a lot of people, but that’s life. I’m in a good place with my two kids, the divorce is all done, and we move on.”

He’d never use a touchy-feely word like “rebuilding”, but that’s what the Oasis hell-raiser has been doing of late. A few weeks ago, he signed his first solo deal with Warners, for an album he’s been co-writing and demoing with a raft of unnamed helpers.

“I guess it’s the last chance to dance, know what I mean?” he shrugs. “There’ll be some rock 'n’ roll bangers on there, but also some softer, John Lennon-y things. That’s who I am. You know, I can’t cook. I f---ing refuse to cook. All I can do is, do what I do.”

Even pre-release, however, Supersonic has already sparked another wave of demand for an Oasis reunion. Will it ever happen?

“At the moment, it’s a bazillion light years away,” their iconic singer summarises, as we say au revoir. “I’d love to, but obviously – it’s down to Ronnie Corbett, innit.”

#interview #liam gallagher #2016 #oasis #the telegraph #supersonic #documentary

[thisismeracing]

bono-schumi kiddo thots - godparents edition

once mick and bon’s f1 family find out they are expecting these people are pulling out their credit cards and buying every possible baby item they can set their hands on

kids mini mercedes car? delivered to their house

cute plush they saw at the store? in hand on the way to the register and holding onto it until they see one of them at the next race

the mercedes amg branded stroller and carseat? toto has shown up to their house in the middle of the night to hand deliver it (babe these are real products i just want you to know)

a shit ton of baby tommy hilfiger clothes that are unreleased? lew is folding them and putting it in the new wardrobe he bought for the nursery, before they even woke up (how did he get in?????? [he has a key])

a handmade crib that seb put hours of love into making? he’s setting it up while lew is folding the clothes

a collection of gina’s cowboy hats from her childhood? making space for them in the closet while lew and seb are doing their thing

and it isnt all monetary (even though they get enough items to fully furnish the nursery and have enough toys and clothes for at least another kid and didnt even have to worry about any of the other baby things because their village got it for them already) [seriously they didnt have to buy a damn thing]

like how susie has come over to either cook for them or drop off a dish she’s made

or how the kimi, nando, jensen, seb, lew, etc. come over one day to paint the nursery the color bon and mick have picked out but just haven’t gotten around to painting because of their busy schedules

or how while most of the guys who came over to help paint (how many of these fuckers actually need to be here in order to paint a single room one color?) val has made bon a cup of tea, and a cup of coffee for him to keep her company while mick supervises the painting session

or how lance and esteban will bring over fresh pastry around brunch time, to help in feeding the growing family

and it’s all a bit too much, but they don’t have the heart to tell them to stop so mick and bon just let their family shower their love on them

and bon is a little bit stressed about the whole “who do we put on paper so if anything happens to us they will be taken care of?” situation, but mick reassures her while they are cuddling in bed that there is no wrong answer and he will support whoever she wants to be godparents to their children, while kissing her gently and while sun fills the room they’re occupying

and they eventually land on a consensus

ellie’s godparents are susie and lew

because for one, little miss eloise is named after susie and lew is just so close to bon and she wants him in her daughter's life as much as he has been for her growing up

toto can be an unofficial godparent and i don't feel bad about that because he absolutely just slots himself into the role of grandpa right next to bono. [adding onto this nando absolutely gets called grandpa/abuelo because bon gets a good laugh each time nando reacts to hearing him being referred to as a grandpa.]

mikey’s godparents are gina a seb

seb because again this kid is named after him, but also because we cant leave seb out of being godparent. mick and bon would not let that slide. and then gina cause they also wont let gina not be godparent, and the fact she is mick's sister and bon's sister in law.

yeah people like lance and esteban are close to them, but these four they hold just a smidge closer. but not all is lost because they are very enthusiastically filling the roles of uncles for eloise and mikey. alongside people like val, kimi, jense, etc.

[okay i think im done, hope this made sense and you liked it <3]

☕️

I literally googled "mercedes amg branded stroller" bc I've never seen it before lol kinda cute, toto would def get them one of those

seb building a crib for baby bon is something I can totally see happening and it's such a dear thought to me*teary eyes emoji*

one hundred percent agree and love the godparents choice

#☕️ anon #millies inbox #ms47 #mick schumacher #bonnington!reader #thots

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Central City Rendezvous, Ch. 11 of 14

Rip Hunter never came for the Legends. But maybe some meetings are meant to be. (Captain Canary, of course!) An AU.

Thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta. I own nothing! (*grumble*)

This one is a little shorter than some, and if it reads like the second half of chapter 10 ... well, it sort of was. :)  AU takes place during events of the Flash episode “The Runaway Dinosaur.”

Also can be read here on AO3 or here on FF.net.

It's a somewhat grumpy and discouraged group that finally makes it back to S.T.A.R. Labs, engendering a wave of reactions in Cisco Ramon that would be fairly amusing, Leonard thinks, if he wasn't so goddamned annoyed.

"Mick Rory? Heatwave?" Ramon gapes at the grinning Mick as he saunters openly into the room with the rest. "Oh, nononononono... oh, hi, Ray. Kendra!? Oh, wow. Wait, what happened to..."

"Differences of opinion," the woman tells him mildly, with a smile. "Carter and I… parted ways. Ray said Central City could use some help."

"Yes! Um..." Cisco glances at Ray, who's earnestly chatting with Iris. "Right..."

The inventor notices the glance and walks back over. "So, um... we sort of need to find this zombie again. Cisco…”

Leonard snorts as he makes his way carefully into the Cortex. This is not how a Snart... this Snart... plans out operations, he thinks, collapsing into a chair. He’s gotten… well. Maybe not precisely soft. But out of practice at the precise plotting and planning a well-executed heist entails.  

Working with Sara has been exhilarating in its own right. (He smirks a little, watching her cross the room, enjoying the view.) But with an enemy like this Girder, and a group that’s not just the two of them, it’s different.

Closing his eyes, he finally entertains the thought that’s been lurking in the back of his brain since he’d hit the concrete in the Big Belly Burger parking lot … and wonders again if maybe it isn’t time to leave.

Cut his losses. Let his wounds mend. Let the insanity ruling Central City shake down a bit before sniffing back around to see what opportunities are available for an enterprising crook and… and…

His mind just doesn’t want to go there.

Someone nudges his shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. Sara’s returned, holding out the ankle brace he should have been wearing. Her glare says that he better put it on, and so he accepts it without a word. She smiles a little, shakes her head at him, and then turns to perch on the arm of the chair, close enough that he could slip an arm around her waist if he wanted to.

He wants to.

He can’t leave. He can’t. Not while his city’s this open to things like this Girder, like this Zoom, who apparently killed seven cops while he and Sara had been holed up in the safe house and who seems dedicated to being a force for the type of chaos Leonard just can’t stand. If Wells is correct—and there’s no reason he wouldn’t be—eventually there will be nowhere left to run.

And not while Barry is still MIA. While his feelings on Central City’s speedster are complicated—he’ll admit that—running off while his fate’s unknown just doesn’t feel right.

And not while Sara won’t go with him.

And she won’t. There’s simply no way. Whatever fragile thing they have, it’s no match for her pure drive to be a hero, to help people. It’s who she is. He glances up at her, takes in her profile as she watches the others discussing metahuman apps and Girder’s probable whereabouts, and thinks about card games and fighting side by side and long hours in bed…

“So! If he’s probably at the West’s house, are we going to go get him?” Palmer’s voice is plaintive. And when Leonard looks over at him, the other man is looking a trifle lost, casting about the room as if looking for someone to tell him what to do.

Well. They do need a plan. And now Sara’s looking down at him, a little smile playing about her lips, and damned if maybe she didn’t know exactly what he was thinking all along….

Leonard Snart sighs… and levers himself to his feet, resigning himself to his fate.

“That thing’s metal, more or less,” he says. “I laid out the plan before, although we didn’t get a full chance to carry it out. Mick heats it up as much as possible, then I hit it with ice. I don’t think I have to tell you what that combination does to metal.”

Palmer looks intrigued. “Makes it brittle,” he says. “So… what do Sara, Kendra and I do?”

Leonard shrugs. “Distract him. Make sure he stays in metal form. Make sure no civilians get in the way. And when I’ve cooled him down…”

“Shatter him.” Kendra’s voice is low. “It’s a good plan.”

“Of course it is.” Turning, he offers Sara a hand. She accepts it, getting to her feet, and smiles at him.

But into this silence, then, comes a new noise: the low hum of the heat gun.

Mick’s standing, primed gun in hand, and he’s sweeping it back and forth to cover them all, more or less.

"I don't know what the hell he thinks he's doing," he says, staring at Leonard. "But I'm no hero. Sure, it was fun frying zombie ass, but I’m not putting my life on the line for nothin’. There are other cities. Why would…”

"I'll pay you."

At this point, everyone, including Mick, turns to stare at Ray Palmer, who colors faintly, but looks stubborn.

"I'm rich,” he says to Mick. “Well, sort of. Not as much as I used to be. But enough to make it worth your while. What’s a good take in a heist? Hit me.”

Mick snorts, but hesitates… and then names a sizable figure, one that Leonard knows perfectly well is far more than he’d be pulling in on anything other than one of Len’s elaborately planned jewel heists, enough that he won’t have to pull anything else for months.

And Palmer nods. “Done,” he says. “But you have to see this out. After that... well... we'll renegotiate."

Mick stares at him, then lowers the gun and shakes his head.

“I’m in,” he says, “for now.”

Palmer takes a deep breath, then looks at Leonard. “And you? Is that what it’s going to take?”

He’s actually surprised at the fury that sparks momentarily. Hasn’t he been protecting the city pro bono over the past few weeks with Sara? Wasn’t he the one out there about to get flattened by a fuckin’ meta zombie? And isn’t…

A noise from Sara, though, distracts him from his own anger, and he glances at her to see utter rage in her eyes as she glares at Palmer, who, showing an ounce of self-preservation, takes a wary step back. The hawk woman steps to his side, watching Sara, and Mick watches them all, and this whole thing could go downhill really fast…

Which will serve no purpose whatsoever.

He puts a hand on Sara’s shoulder, and when she looks at him, he meets her eyes, trying to convey gratitude and understanding and…

"Got my own reasons," he says shortly to Palmer, still holding Sara's gaze. "So, they say he’s probably heading for the West residence? I just happen to already know where that is..."

It is a good plan.

They lure and herd Girder off the quiet city street to a vacant lot in an area when the resulting fallout can’t damage much, then put Leonard’s plot into motion. While Ray and Kendra and Sara herself harry the lumbering meta zombie from one side and then another, keeping him off base and in his metal form, Len and Mick move around them, alternately heating and freezing him until he finally slows to a stop, metal body stressed to the breaking point by the forces of physics.

Palmer moves into position then, readying his weapons… when what seems to be a shooting star in human form careens right through their midst, smashing into the metal form with a resounding crash and sending chunks of stressed metal everywhere.

The fiery figure loops back into the air, then comes to a rest at the spot when the animated form of a dead man once stood.

"Whoo!" it crows, with a young man’s voice. "That was awesome!”

This spectacle earns a long moment of silence, even from Ray, whom Leonard had started to suspect never really stopped talking. It's eventually Mick who, lowering his weapon, shakes his head in amazement.

"This day," he informs the fiery man, "just keeps getting weirder and weirder."

The figure tilts its head and then, with a low rush of air, glows brighter for a moment before separating into two figures who step away from each other as the flames die.

The shorter of the two, an older, bespectacled man who looks like nothing so much as an absent-minded professor, shakes his head.

"Was that," he says, distaste dripping from his voice as he scans the group, "a zombie?"

The other man, much younger and with the build of an athlete, laughs out loud and stretches, looking around at the startled faces around him.

"Like I said," he adds with a grin, "awesome."

The fiery man, it turns out, is two people in one superhuman form: Martin Stein (the older man, who is indeed a professor) and Jefferson “call me Jax” Jackson, who takes his older counterpart’s lectures with a combination of fond exasperation and annoyed frustration. They’d apparently also been among the help Cisco’d called in when Barry’d vanished, although Leonard, listening to the two sides of “Firestorm” bicker as they all head back to S.T.A.R. Labs, thinks to himself to perhaps they have some issues to work out as a bit more of a priority.

But then, don’t they all.

The members of their little group, flush with the success of the operation, are chattering amongst themselves as they head down the corridor toward the Cortex. Leonard, bringing up the rear side by side (and hand in hand) with Sara, shakes his head in amusement—but then frowns as he notices the silence falling the moment each of them reaches the Cortex. He slows, squeezing Sara's fingers in warning, then lets his other hand drift down to rest on his gun...

… and stops dead in his tracks as they emerge into the room.

Barry Allen, grinning, stands there with Joe and Iris, Cisco and Wells and Henry Allen, still wearing his ridiculous red costume and taking in the group with a smile that just grows wider when he sees Leonard and Sara.

“Hi, guys,” he says, spreading his hands out in front of him. “Thanks for the assist. But I’m back!”

Leonard stares at him a long moment... and then snorts.

"Whatever," he tosses over his shoulder as he steps around the bemused speedster and heads for the elevator. "I need a shower."

Barry, as it happens, has returned from an experience with what he seems to believe is the Speed Force itself. He’s woken Jessie Wells with a mere touch of his hand, and he seems to have a renewed store of faith that he’s meant, destined even, to defeat Zoom and bring balance to the force… or something like that.

But Leonard just can’t seem to shake the feeling that something’s about to go sideways. He stands in the Cortex and watches the impromptu welcome-home celebration, frowning, until Sara shakes her head, makes him take a drink, and insinuates herself under his arm, leaning against him in a way that once would have had him running, but honestly just feels right.

“What’s bugging you?” she asks finally. “And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ ”

He owes her the courtesy of honesty. "Barry seems to think everything's sunshine and rainbows now," he says slowly. "But...”

“It just doesn’t work that way,” Sara finishes. “So, what are you thinking?"

He exchanges a long look with her, then turns again to look at the group. Mick is regarding Palmer with an expression that seems to be equal parts amusement and bewilderment as the armored man jabbers on at him about dwarf star alloy and astrophysics. The hawk woman... Kendra... is speaking with some animation to the professor (whom he thinks he's met at one point, though he can't recall precisely how) while the kid is watching her with an expression of great appreciation.

A motley crew, to be sure, but... he's worked with worse.

And he can work with this. He can work with them.

"If Barry's not going to be ready for the worst," he says slowly. "We will be."

#captain canary #fanfic #legends of tomorrow #the flash #central city rendezous

[biofunmy]

Back to Basics for a Designer Whose Business Got Too Tight

Scott Sternberg would prefer you not call him “quirky,” as has happened many times before. It’s “a word people like to use for me a lot,” Mr. Sternberg said, “which I don’t love.”

So we will not repeat the offense, further than to note that, while Mr. Sternberg may not be quirky, there he was, in all his Peter Panish youthfulness, with his penchant for stripy shirts and Polaroid film, seated in a geodesic dome of his own design as vintage monitors played the funny little videos he creates, ruminating about utopia.

If Mr. Sternberg has a quirk — let’s say for a minute that he does — it is for ginning up not just clothes (which he does) or videos (which he does) or even geodesic domes (which he has, for his label’s first-ever pop-up, in the SoHo branch of the furniture seller Design Within Reach), but also an entire world in which all of these things come together, with its own rhythms, cadence, colors and meticulously designed aesthetic.

Mr. Sternberg, 44, is what is usually called a fashion designer, insofar as he is in the business of making and selling clothes. If you know his name, it is most likely that you remember his former label Band of Outsiders, which, from 2004 to 2015, had a profound impact on the way stylish American men dressed, squeezing them into slim shirts and skinny ties and Sperry Top-Siders: prep-school style in quotation marks, self-aware and self-effacing.

Mr. Sternberg thinks of himself less as a designer or a creative director than as a world builder. He and Band of Outsiders parted company, and his new brand, Entireworld (aha!), is less exclusive and less niche; a collection, essentially, of basics. It is clothing considered from the bottom up — one if its founding garments was a pair of underpants.

Now with a few more staples to round it out, Mr. Sternberg hopes for nothing less than to dress the entire world. A year into its life, the question is: Can he?

The Entireworld world, a fantasyland in Disney colors (Disney World is an acknowledged influence), is a cheerful, welcoming one. Mr. Sternberg’s Band of Outsider tailored jackets could once run $1,800 or more; Entireworld’s T-shirts are $32.

The same sensibility — Mr. Sternberg’s cinematic adorable — animates both. Many of the same friends who posed pro bono for guerrilla Polaroid ad campaigns are now in Instagram videos, singing, mugging or prat-falling: Jason Schwartzman, Kirsten Dunst, Andrew Garfield, Spike Jonze.

Over a series of interviews beginning in April 2018, at its inception, and continuing through Entireworld’s first year, Mr. Sternberg explained his vision of this world and how it was built on the ashes of its predecessor. In so doing, he offered a view into the tectonic shifts in the fashion industry, the instability of the high-fashion, runway model he left behind and the traditional gatekeepers who perpetuate it.

Mr. Sternberg had been featured in every fashion magazine, won the industry’s top awards, hosted Anna Wintour and Kanye West at his fashion shows. Still, he said at a public conversation at Design Within Reach with Deborah Needleman (the former T Magazine editor), “the fashion system can feel like jail.”

Band of Outsiders did $15 million in wholesale business its height, but Mr. Sternberg, overstretched and under-resourced, who sought and received investment, couldn’t keep up with the immense pressure to grow. He found out that his last hope for additional funding passed on the morning he opened the first Band of Outsiders shop in the United States, in SoHo. (The first-ever store had opened in Tokyo.)

He received a loan from CLCC, a Belgian fashion fund, for $2 million, but soon clashed with his new backers. Ultimately, Mr. Sternberg’s company defaulted on the loan and Mr. Sternberg himself walked away from the Band. CLCC assumed ownership, and Band of Outsiders continues without him, with a new design team in place. Mr. Sternberg called their first collection “a disaster.”

The challenges of designing and producing collection after collection of men’s and women’s wear are significant, and Band of Outsiders eventually grew to encompass several lines. The collections were well received but also vulnerable to the whims of trend and timeliness, and the vagaries of inconsistent production.

Even Band’s signature slim cuts were in part a self-fulfilling prophecy: After an initial run of shirts were (correctly) snug, other orders arrived from the factories in similar style. “Everything just came in a little bit small,” Mr. Sternberg said. “I’m not kidding.”

Band’s cuts — like those of Thom Browne, whose shrunken suits were a more conceptual foil to Mr. Sternberg’s easier Americana — helped convince curious young men to embrace a snugger silhouette. But that fit made democratizing and expanding the brand nearly impossible. In any case, high-fashion esotericism had never been Mr. Sternberg’s intention.

“That’s just not me,” he said. “That’s not how I see my legacy.”

If fashion is by definition exclusive, Entireworld is inclusive; fashion segments the world into groups of like-minded (and like-dressed) cohorts, but everyone wears underwear. In a video announcing the creation of Entireworld last year, Mr. Sternberg faced the camera and, as his face dissolved into a montage of stylish men and women (Mick Jagger, Sade, The Dude), acknowledged his past failings and vowed to take a different tack.

“I started thinking about what it would be like to create something more democratic this time, without compromising anything about the design or quality,” he said. “About the stuff we live in every day.”

But now, instead of staging fashion shows and courting the fashion press, instead of depending on the patronage of department stores and boutiques, Mr. Sternberg’s Entireworld is sold primarily from its own website.

Mr. Sternberg runs the entire business out of a bland commercial office building in the Koreatown neighborhood of Los Angeles, from where he conjures a utopia only he can see. He is the man behind the curtain. Entireworld, and the thousand tiny windows onto it offered on Instagram posts and its cheeky, sunny website, is Oz.

Of course, the thing about Oz is that the man behind the curtain is pulling the levers, working to convince you to buy a $32 T-shirt from him, rather than a $10 three-pack from Hanes. He will tell you that his feels better, fits better and wears better; he will not be wrong.

But a basic is a basic, and to many, the difference is hard to parse. Mr. Sternberg is under pressure to make Entireworld so appealing that even its basics have ineffable magic that coaxes credits cards out of wallets.

Mr. Sternberg has to capture that market with less of the support he once enjoyed. “Have we captured the attention of traditional media outlets the way I expected to, the way I did at Band? Eh,” he said, giving a grunt of not-really. He has skipped the fashion shows and presentations he once staged. As a result, Entireworld has made a smaller splash.

But those who love it — those who may be rising to replace the old gatekeepers — have vouched for it. “Basically have not taken this sweatshirt off since I got it last week,” Leandra Medine, better known as the Man Repeller, posted to her Instagram not long after the label’s debut.

At Design Within Reach, Mr. Sternberg had his first real-world test, hanging racks of Entireworld clothes among Alexander Girard dolls and Man Ray chess sets and Hans Wegner chairs. Pegged to New York’s NYCxDesign programming, the Entireworld shop stayed open for 11 days, and customers came away with hot-pink sweatsuits and cotton sweaters.

“It was definitely something we had never done,” said Kim Phillips, the head of public relations and events for Design Within Reach. “It was sticking my neck out there for sure.”

Mr. Sternberg called the experiment gratifying. “An idea like this, I really believe more than ever has a place, especially when I see the sales and repeat sales,” he said. “I think the real challenge is — I know the real challenge is — that the amount of capital it’ll take to get where we need to getis formidable.”

To start Entireworld, Mr. Sternberg raised $1.5 million from a group of private investors, and he has sought further investment to grow and scale it. Within its first year, he said, the company has sold more than three quarters of its initial inventory and reached more than $1 million in sales without paying for any advertising.

Numbers like these, while impressive, mean Entireworld is dwarfed by many of its competitors, limited by finite capital but not in an ideal position to attract more. “There’s a real disconnect,” Mr. Sternberg said, between his values and the goals of the investors he is hoping to attract.

“Investors want a return, and they want a return in a certain amount of time,” he said. “I understand all these things, clearly, but they still don’t change my view that sticking to my guns in terms of what this is and what it should be shouldn’t bow too much to the pressure of what investors think it should be right now.”

And while the signs have been good — Ms. Phillips said that she and Mr. Sternberg were talking about the pop-up traveling to other Design Within Reach locations, and sales continue to climb online — the economic reality of keeping a fashion business afloat is a chilly reality intruding into utopia. The world isn’t Entireworld, yet. But Mr. Sternberg said there had been no question of not trying his hand in the rag trade again.

“Unfortunately not,” he said with a laugh. “I am an entrepreneur by birth. I am at my most ebullient, excited, energetic when there’s a big challenge and a huge bucket that needs these ideas to fill it out. It’s painful. It’s not easy. There’s just this unexplainable, probably illogical urge to do this stuff.”

Sahred From Source link Fashion and Style

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