Scrolling Through My Photos And Came Across This Banger

Struggled to come up with a full story line to build up on and suddenly I get a burst of energy in the middle of the night.

Now I’m writing with the ideas flooding in and tears lowkey welling up in my eyes. Had to take my glasses off in between 💀

My writing isn’t nearly as good as the scenes playing on repeat in my head so don’t expect too much but I can promise that I’ll do my best.

Tragic Launt story will be longer than the ones I’ve written before so it takes a bit longer. Sorry!

Niki Lauda and James Hunt

This video is playing on my phone at least 100 times a day just because him talking/explaining in German tickles my brain in the right spot I dunno.

Breaking Point - Valewis FF

Valewis fic i talked about earlier!

Won't be able to finish it today but decided to post the first part of it anyway! Please read the warning!!!!

TW/CW: eating disorder, Vomiting

And as always: Any mistakes please ignore or let me know. Thank you!

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Valtteri sat at the long table, the buzz of voices around him fading into a blur. The air in the meeting room was heavy with the usual technical jargon, the upcoming race strategy, tire choices, and performance analysis, but none of it sank in. Valtteri was staring blankly at the figures flashing across the screen. The lights where too bright, and the words spoken by the engineers and team principal felt distant.

He hadn’t eaten properly in days, and his body felt it. The tight knot in his stomach was a familiar companion now, gnawing at him relentlessly. The hunger was always there, but the idea of eating, of trying to force food down when everything inside him felt twisted and wrong, seemed impossible.

At least he was weighting less than Lewis now.

His chest tightened as the pressure built inside, a familiar gnawing feeling creeping in. No matter how hard he pushed, how much he trained, it never felt like enough. The weight of never being enough—never quite living up to the expectations, to the dominance of his teammate, Lewis—sat on his shoulders like an unbearable burden. He had been struggling with this for months—long, agonizing months of trying to control something that seemed so utterly out of control.

He was drowning in it, struggling to stay afloat.

But it's his own fault, no? It's what he signed up for all those years ago. Valtteri should be used to it by now. It was part of the deal.

He glanced at Lewis across the table, the man who made everything seem effortless. Lewis, always calm, always composed, with a confidence Valtteri could never seem to find in himself. His thoughts raced, louder than the voices around him.

It's not his fault. I just need to be better. Why can’t I be better?

The room felt smaller.

His palms grew damp with sweat, and his pulse quickened.

His stomach churned, a twisting pain that had become all too familiar. The pressure of racing, of constantly being compared to Lewis, of always feeling second-best, had chipped away at him. The pressure had seeped into every part of his life, his mind a relentless critic.

He could feel the room spinning. His throat tightened, and he knew if he didn’t leave now, he wouldn’t be able to hold it together much longer. He needed to get back into control. Quietly, almost cautiously, he rose from his seat, quickly moving toward the door. His legs felt shaky beneath him, but he forced himself to walk, head down, hoping no one would notice. No one usually did, after all.

Of course they don’t care.

He headed down the hallway, heart pounding in his chest, his footsteps growing faster as he neared the stairs leading up to his Room, a place where he could break down in peace. But his body betrayed him. He couldn’t hold it back any longer.

The nausea surged, and he darted into the nearest restroom. Slamming the door behind him, he fell to his knees, hunching over the toilet. His whole body trembled as he gagged, trying to keep what little food he had managed to eat earlier from coming up.

---

Lewis had noticed.

He always noticed when Valtteri disappeared. He had been watching him for weeks—how his mood shifted, how his energy seemed depleted, how his once hearty laughter had dwindled into almost nothing. At first, he thought it was just the stress of the season, but there was something more, something darker lurking beneath the surface.

It wasn’t until he saw Valtteri’s hunched shoulders hastily leaving the room that a sinking feeling settled in his gut.

Lewis followed.

---

Valtteri knelt on the cold floor of the small bathroom, his hands gripping the porcelain edge of the toilet. His body trembled, the shame of what he was doing hitting him in waves, but it was the only way he felt in control. He hated it. He hated himself for it. But he couldn't stop.

He felt utterly alone in that moment, as he always had in the shadows of the team. But then, through the haze of sickness and shame, he heard the door creak open.

"Valtteri?" Not now. Not him. It was Lewis. Of course, it was Lewis.

His chest ached, too late to hide, too late to pretend everything was okay. He heaved, gagging as his body rejected the little food he had forced himself to eat earlier, his body convulsing as he struggled to breathe between violent retches.

"Go away," Valtteri choked out, his voice hoarse. His knuckles turning white from the force he held onto the porcelain with. He heaved again, his body shuddering as another wave of nausea hit.

Lewis stood frozen in the doorway. His breath hitched at the sight before him. Valtteri, the strong, composed teammate he had always admired, was hunched over in a position that spoke of agony and desperation. His heart clenched painfully in his chest.

"Valtteri…" Lewis's voice was a whisper, filled with concern but to Valtteri, it felt like a stab to the gut.

Valtteri lifted his head but didn't turn around. He couldn't. He couldn’t face this—couldn’t face Lewis. Not now, not like this. His eyes were wide, chest tight, as if even breathing hurt. He wanted to tell him to leave, to walk away and pretend he hadn’t seen any of this. But the words caught in his throat, choked by the raw shame and exhaustion.

He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself, to act like it wasn’t what it looked like. But it was. He knew it, and Lewis knew it too. He couldn’­­t help it. His body trembled as he hunched over the bowl once more, dry heaving, retching with nothing left to give. His stomach was painfully empty, but still, he gagged, his throat burning from the bile coming up in harsh waves.

Lewis stepped forward, the weight of the moment hanging between them like a thick fog. "Val, what—" Valtteri could feel the concern radiating off him, but he couldn’t bear it.

His body was still shaking, and he could feel Lewis’s presence close behind him. Why did he follow me? He had always tried so hard and managed to hide it before, always kept this side of himself locked away. He couldn’t bear for anyone, especially Lewis, to see him like this.

"Don't," Valtteri cut him off, his voice hoarse, raw from the strain. He didn’t want Lewis to see him like this, vulnerable, broken. "Please, Lewis, just-" His body convulsed, another dry heave shaking him as more bile rose in his throat. He gagged, coughing, the sound echoing in the small restroom. His whole body ached, exhausted from fighting this battle for so long.

"Just… go," Valtteri croaked, his voice ragged, barely audible "please."

Another angsty Launt ficlet with an open (not so happy) ending

Longer than the previous snippets but filled with angst to the brim. Maybe I’ll expand it a bit and give them a happy end since I’m really not that satisfied with this version so far.

Anyways I’d love to know what you guys think of it and I hope you enjoy!

“Niki!” James’s voice was a whip crack through the pits, causing multiple heads to turn. Niki looked up, his expression hardening as he met James’s furious gaze.

“What is it, James?” Niki asked, his voice cool and detached.

James’s fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. “You know damn well what this is about. Your team’s pathetic act of getting me disqualified. You couldn’t beat me on the track, so you had to get rid of me some other ratty way? That’s a fucking coward’s move.”

Niki’s eyes narrowed. “Cowardly? Your car didn’t meet the regulations. We followed the rules, and the officials agreed. If anyone’s to blame, it’s your own team for not building a legal car. But it's easier to blame others than admit you fucked up, huh?.”

James took a step closer, his voice rising with every word. “Don’t give me that technicality bullshit, Lauda. Just because you drive a Ferrari, you think you know everything! You and Ferrari couldn’t handle losing, so you took the cheap way out. You’ve always been obsessed with winning, but this? This is a new low. Even for you”

Niki stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “We played by the book, James. Racing isn’t just about driving fast; it’s about discipline, precision, strategy. Qualities you clearly lack.”

James laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Discipline? Strategy? You’re so wrapped up in your calculations that you’ve forgotten what it means to really race. To feel the car, to embrace the danger. I should’ve listened to the others. You’re a machine, Niki. A cold, unfeeling machine.” He looked down at the German with a mocking scoff “I don’t even know why I called a backstabbing, ugly little Rat like you my friend.”

The words hit Niki like a slap, but he kept his composure. “And you’re a reckless fool. You risk your life and everyone else’s for the sake of your ego. You don’t respect the car, the track, or the people who depend on you. You’re so busy being the charming playboy that you don’t care who you hurt along the way.”

James’s eyes blazed with fury as he stepped closer to Lauda. “At least I’m living, Niki. At least I’m not hiding behind a wall of fear and rules. You’re scared. Scared of losing, scared of taking risks, scared of really living. Face it, rat. You’re nothing but a coward.”

Niki’s vision blurred, his emotions a mess of hurt and and anger, and he's pushing James away from him before he's actually even realized his arms were moving. “You think I don’t know fear?” he said, his voice shaking and his eyes not daring to meet the Brit’s. “I live with it every day. But I don’t let it control me. I use it to make me better, to make me smarter. That’s what keeps me alive.”

"Coward." James repeats, trying to slap Niki’a arms away. "You can't even look me in the eye." Niki shoves him back with a force that surprised them both and there's a glint in James’ eyes. "You gonna hit me? Is this how you sort out your fights? Punch them in the face and walk away, Rat, Mr Robot and no fucking emotion at all? No. You’re weak. You’re a pathetic excuse of a man and a driver-"

"Shut up!" Niki screams. He's shaking, on one hand he wants to cry, on the other actually plant his fist in the smug grin of the Brit but he knew he wouldn’t stand a real chance in a physical fight with Hunt. He's stepping back from James, his voice trembling as he tries to speak, "If you hate me so much then just leave me alone! I don't need you, just fuck off for all I care." The tears that welled up in his eyes finally spilling.

"Are you crying?" James laughs incredulously. “Oh, poor Niki,” he mocked. “Always the victim, always playing the martyr. You’re pathetic.”

Niki couldn’t take it anymore. The pain, the fury, the shame—all of it boiled over in an instant. With a choked sound, he pulled away, turning and walking swiftly out of the garage, ignoring the startled looks of the mechanics and team members.

People I got 13535 words and I’m not done yet…. Maybe this will be an ao3 exclusive 😭💀

I’ll probably upload a chapter every two to three days or smt over there once I’m ready and have polished the first few chapters

Struggled to come up with a full story line to build up on and suddenly I get a burst of energy in the middle of the night.

Now I’m writing with the ideas flooding in and tears lowkey welling up in my eyes. Had to take my glasses off in between 💀

My writing isn’t nearly as good as the scenes playing on repeat in my head so don’t expect too much but I can promise that I’ll do my best.

Tragic Launt story will be longer than the ones I’ve written before so it takes a bit longer. Sorry!

Soft Launt ficlet while I try to bring myself to continue the multi chapter fic about them that's been sitting in my drafts.

Hope y'all enjoy it!

Niki sat on the edge of the bed, half-dressed, methodically buttoning his shirt. His eyes, though, had long abandoned the task at hand. Across the room, James stood by the window, the golden morning light spilling over his bare chest, casting his lean figure in a warm glow. He was staring out at the street, casually sipping from a mug, his hair a wild, blonde mess that somehow made him look effortlessly perfect.

Lauda’s gaze lingered, tracing the curve of James’s broad shoulders, the easy way he stood—completely relaxed, utterly himself. It never ceased to amaze him how James could make chaos seem beautiful. Niki, with all his precision and need for control, felt a pang of admiration. There was something freeing about James’ carelessness, something magnetic in the way he lived entirely in the moment.

The thought made Niki smile, just the slightest tug of his lips as he watched. James was a force of nature, reckless and wild, and yet—somehow—he was also Niki’s. It was a truth that still felt surreal, even after all this time.

Lost in thought, Niki didn’t realize how long he’d been staring until James turned from the window, catching him in the act. A slow, mischievous grin spread across Hunt’s face, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

"See something you like, Niki?“ James teased, his voice low and playful as he set the mug down. He took a few steps toward Niki, his grin widening as he caught the faint hint of embarrassment crossing Niki’s expression.

Niki, never one to be easily flustered, cleared his throat and looked away, focusing back on his shirt as if it suddenly demanded his full attention. "You should get dressed. We’re going to be late," he muttered, his voice gruff, though the edge was softened by the warmth he couldn’t quite hide.

James, of course, didn’t let it go. He crossed the room in a few strides, standing in front of Niki, shirtless and unapologetically amused. "Oh, come on," he said, his tone light and teasing. "You were staring at me. Don’t deny it."

Niki shot him a look, his brow furrowed, but there was a flicker of affection in his eyes. "You’re impossible," he muttered, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him with the faintest hint of a smile.

James chuckled and leaned down, his fingers brushing against Niki’s jaw, tilting his chin up ever so slightly. "I like it when you look at me like that," he said softly, the playful edge fading into something more genuine.

Niki didn’t pull away. He couldn’t, not when James was this close, his presence so magnetic. He swallowed, trying to maintain his usual composure, but it was hard when James had that look in his eyes—the one that told Niki he was seen, truly seen, for everything he was.

"James…" Niki began, but before he could say anything else, James bent down and kissed him, softly at first, then deeper, his hand gently resting against Niki’s neck. It wasn’t hurried or heated, just... loving, the kind of kiss that melted the tension in Niki’s chest and made him forget whatever argument he’d been preparing.

When James finally pulled back, he grinned, his forehead resting against Niki’s. "You’re staring again," he whispered.

Niki let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe I am," he admitted, his voice quieter now, more relaxed. "But it’s your fault."

James pressed another quick kiss to his lips, his grin returning. "I’ll gladly take the blame for that."

goodbye, my danish sweetheart - mitski

It’s hilarious that James Vowles had to go on F1TV to apologize about what he said about Mick Schumacher being nothing special because so many people INCLUDING Toto Wolff were unhappy about it, and the thing is this. The horse is out of the barn. It doesn’t matter what James Vowles says to apologize because the comments are out there. Whether you disagree or agree with what he said, this is extremely unprofessional verbiage on the part of a team boss who shouldn’t have to backpedal on his statements like this.

The final GPDA meeting was held in that helmet