Hello! My name is Emily, I'm 20-something (but who's counting), and I have been on Tumblr for way longer than I should admit. I am a writer, a passionate history lover, a dedicated full time [and only kind of delusional] George Russell enthusiast, and an avid defender of both Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri.
♡ GR63, LN4, OP81, AA23, CL16, PG10, MV33, NR6 ♡
♡ GR63 Masterlist | Main F1 Masterlist | Misc. Masterlist ♡
I DO NOT DO PART TWOS UNLESS SPECIFIED IN MY A/N.
Please do not ask for part twos unless it is actually paired with a thoughtful, polite, and genuine comment on my original. Please appreciate the original fic properly before demanding more. I am not a machine.
MY BLOG IS A 'WAG FREE ZONE'. PLEASE RESPECT THIS.
I will not be posting, reblogging, or talking about any current or past partners of the drivers, including answering asks that mention their names or show their faces.
The only exception is Lily Muni He. Don't ask questions.
Current WIPs:
The Braking Point [GR63, Single Parent Karting Fic]
Members Only [GR63, Adult Film Star AU (m/m & m/f)]
The Way It Goes 🩵 [GR63, Slice of Life Blurbs]
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↳ A/N Thank you all for coming on this journey with me!! I feel as though there is a part of my heart in this fic and I hope you felt it too x Remember, the universe doesn't end here; just like all of my other fics and series, I always welcome asks and blurb ideas if you want more :)
↳ Series Summary: As a single mother, Josefine is used to doing everything on her own. Leaving everything behind to chase her son's karting dreams in England, she dedicated herself wholeheartedly to pushing him through the ranks, no matter the cost...even if it takes everything from her in the process. She knows that nothing is guaranteed and trust isn't easily won, and yet she comes to learn that the biggest lessons may not be found on the track but, rather, in the form of a retired Formula 1 driver and his daughter.
↳ Pairings: SingleDad!KartingCoach!George Russell x Single Mom!OC
↳ Chapter Word Count: 1190
In central England, only fifteen miles north-west of Northampton, the bright red painted main building of the Whilton Mill Karting Track stood out boldly against the spotless blue sky. It was uncommon for such a clear day in late spring in England, and yet it made for a perfect day for the first race of the British National Karting Championships. The property was alive with energy. The grounds were packed tightly with pit tents and equipment and over-packed cars, all under a steady buzz of chatter and the distant rumble of engines and the unmistakable scent of rubber and oil overpowering the flora and fawna of the countryside breeze.
Out on track, zipping around the highly technical fourteen turns of the karting circuit, were thirty Rotax go karts, all adorned with unique numbers and striking colours, handpicked by their respective driver. The collection of nine-to-twelve-year-olds that made up the category were led by none other than the reigning Champion, Ivy Russell. In her lilac purple kart, she maneuvered herself through every complex turn like she could do it with her eyes closed. Even turn seven—which had been the thorn in her side the season prior—was handled with expert fluidity.
It was only the first Heat of the weekend, some might argue. No points up for grabs. There was no reason to be that serious, that dedicated, that intense and precise. Ivy knew, however, that such a mindset was not how one would win a Championship. And she was going for gold for the second year in a row. There was no margin for error.
She crossed the line first, zipping beneath the waving checkered flag with confidence, beating out her competition by a fraction of a second and guaranteeing herself a front row start for Sunday’s Super Heat. A solid start to the first weekend of the season.
Parked up in parc ferme after the cool down lap, Ivy climbed out of her kart and clasped her gloved hand in that of her father who was waiting for her.
“Incredible, Poppet,” George praised.
She pulled her helmet off and her two neat braids fell pristinely over her shoulders as she grinned at him, “Thanks, Daddy. Super easy.”
George turned momentarily to speak with their mechanics as they approached the kart to begin to take it back to their tent for tuneups and end of day packdown. At the same time, from behind her, Ivy was nudged playfully by a familiar hand and she turned to glance at the suspect. There, in a race suit as polished as her own, matching down to the same sponsor logos printed in all the same spots, only with red instead of purple trim, Henrik smiled at her through the open visor of his helmet. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight and he held up his gloved fist to her.
“You’re a beast.”
Grinning, Ivy bumped her fist against his and bantered right back, “Try harder next time. It’s boring out at the front.”
“I tried! Varland kept moving under braking,” Henrik huffed as he, too, tugged off his helmet and ruffled his hand through his hair, “So hard to pass without getting thrown into the wall.”
“Varland’s an a-s-s.” Ivy spelt out under her breath for just him to hear, not wanting to risk a lecture from her father on manners. The two of them giggled quietly together.
From across the crowded parc ferme filled with the rest of the thirty-odd kids and their associated parents and teams, Josefine came jogging over, “Henrik! Good news.”
Henrik and Ivy looked over at her and even George looked up from where he had been talking with one of the mechanics.
Josefine didn’t bother to wait for any prompting before she was explaining herself, “The stewards found the P2 driver’s kart to be a kilogram overweight. He is disqualified from the session. You are P2! Starting front row tomorrow.”
At the same time, Henrik and Ivy exclaimed a thrilled “yes!” before turning to each other for another eager fist bump. It was a far cry from where they had started last year at this time, but fifty-two weeks could change a lot.
“That’s great news,” George jumped in right away as coach, “We better debrief then, lots to prep for tomorrow.”
“Yeah, like how I’m going to overtake you in the first turn,” Henrik elbowed Ivy.
She elbowed him right back, a little harder, despite her cheeky smile, “If you can even see through my dust!”
Their little group made their way from parc ferme to the pit area with their mechanics and their dollied karts, locating their sizable tent amongst the dozens of others. It was newly made for the season and pristinely branded; housing Ivy’s purple 36 on the right side and Henrik’s fiery red 72 on the left in matching fonts to the informal Russell Racing insignia. Inside, it was just as elaborate as the year before with vinyl tiles to make up the floor and full sets of toolkits and equipment for each mechanic team.
Henrik and Ivy put their helmets and gloves away before sitting themselves at the folding table to prep for their routine debrief. With their racesuits tied around their waists and faces still half flushed from the session, they talked animatedly together, leaning over the track map and recounting what they could as they waited for George. Josefine set a hand on the back of each of their folding chairs to steal a peek.
“Turn seven was much better for you this year, Ivy,” she complimented.
“Yeah, all the practice over the break paid off. And I think the handling is better this year,” Ivy agreed.
Henrik jumped in, “Although I’m still losing time in the second sector.”
“Hug the curbs more,” Ivy said, “You gotta, like, really rattle over them here.”
“You also lost some time because you were stuck behind someone else,” Josefine reminded him, “You were better in the qualifying, remember?”
“Right, what are we discussing?” George called out as he approached their table. As he squeezed past Josefine, a fraction closer than necessary, his hand caressed lightly along her lower back before he dropped into the empty chair beside Ivy. Josefine shifted slightly to give him room, her hand still resting on the back of Henrik’s chair as George settled in.
As George and the kids began their debrief, Josefine’s gaze flicked between them—the easy rhythm of it, the way Henrik leaned in without hesitation now, the way Ivy spoke over him kindly and he didn’t bristle. She let her hand fall from the chair, folding her arms loosely instead as she listened and observed.
After a moment, George leaned back slightly in his chair, his attention still on the kids as they talked over one another, a small, absent smile settling on his face. His gaze flicked to Josefine—only to find she was already looking at him.
Something in his expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting just a touch more, and though he said nothing, she felt it all the same.
A quiet understanding passed between them.
Something steady. Something that stayed.
♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)
♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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anyone else get sick and fucking tired of making decisions. sometimes i just want to go pliant and pouty and be arranged and petted at. "puppy in a bad mood?" yes actually. "puppy want me to handle it?" yes, actually!
↳ A/N Thank you all for coming on this journey with me!! I feel as though there is a part of my heart in this fic and I hope you felt it too x Remember, the universe doesn't end here; just like all of my other fics and series, I always welcome asks and blurb ideas if you want more :)
↳ Series Summary: As a single mother, Josefine is used to doing everything on her own. Leaving everything behind to chase her son's karting dreams in England, she dedicated herself wholeheartedly to pushing him through the ranks, no matter the cost...even if it takes everything from her in the process. She knows that nothing is guaranteed and trust isn't easily won, and yet she comes to learn that the biggest lessons may not be found on the track but, rather, in the form of a retired Formula 1 driver and his daughter.
↳ Pairings: SingleDad!KartingCoach!George Russell x Single Mom!OC
↳ Chapter Word Count: 1190
In central England, only fifteen miles north-west of Northampton, the bright red painted main building of the Whilton Mill Karting Track stood out boldly against the spotless blue sky. It was uncommon for such a clear day in late spring in England, and yet it made for a perfect day for the first race of the British National Karting Championships. The property was alive with energy. The grounds were packed tightly with pit tents and equipment and over-packed cars, all under a steady buzz of chatter and the distant rumble of engines and the unmistakable scent of rubber and oil overpowering the flora and fawna of the countryside breeze.
Out on track, zipping around the highly technical fourteen turns of the karting circuit, were thirty Rotax go karts, all adorned with unique numbers and striking colours, handpicked by their respective driver. The collection of nine-to-twelve-year-olds that made up the category were led by none other than the reigning Champion, Ivy Russell. In her lilac purple kart, she maneuvered herself through every complex turn like she could do it with her eyes closed. Even turn seven—which had been the thorn in her side the season prior—was handled with expert fluidity.
It was only the first Heat of the weekend, some might argue. No points up for grabs. There was no reason to be that serious, that dedicated, that intense and precise. Ivy knew, however, that such a mindset was not how one would win a Championship. And she was going for gold for the second year in a row. There was no margin for error.
She crossed the line first, zipping beneath the waving checkered flag with confidence, beating out her competition by a fraction of a second and guaranteeing herself a front row start for Sunday’s Super Heat. A solid start to the first weekend of the season.
Parked up in parc ferme after the cool down lap, Ivy climbed out of her kart and clasped her gloved hand in that of her father who was waiting for her.
“Incredible, Poppet,” George praised.
She pulled her helmet off and her two neat braids fell pristinely over her shoulders as she grinned at him, “Thanks, Daddy. Super easy.”
George turned momentarily to speak with their mechanics as they approached the kart to begin to take it back to their tent for tuneups and end of day packdown. At the same time, from behind her, Ivy was nudged playfully by a familiar hand and she turned to glance at the suspect. There, in a race suit as polished as her own, matching down to the same sponsor logos printed in all the same spots, only with red instead of purple trim, Henrik smiled at her through the open visor of his helmet. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight and he held up his gloved fist to her.
“You’re a beast.”
Grinning, Ivy bumped her fist against his and bantered right back, “Try harder next time. It’s boring out at the front.”
“I tried! Varland kept moving under braking,” Henrik huffed as he, too, tugged off his helmet and ruffled his hand through his hair, “So hard to pass without getting thrown into the wall.”
“Varland’s an a-s-s.” Ivy spelt out under her breath for just him to hear, not wanting to risk a lecture from her father on manners. The two of them giggled quietly together.
From across the crowded parc ferme filled with the rest of the thirty-odd kids and their associated parents and teams, Josefine came jogging over, “Henrik! Good news.”
Henrik and Ivy looked over at her and even George looked up from where he had been talking with one of the mechanics.
Josefine didn’t bother to wait for any prompting before she was explaining herself, “The stewards found the P2 driver’s kart to be a kilogram overweight. He is disqualified from the session. You are P2! Starting front row tomorrow.”
At the same time, Henrik and Ivy exclaimed a thrilled “yes!” before turning to each other for another eager fist bump. It was a far cry from where they had started last year at this time, but fifty-two weeks could change a lot.
“That’s great news,” George jumped in right away as coach, “We better debrief then, lots to prep for tomorrow.”
“Yeah, like how I’m going to overtake you in the first turn,” Henrik elbowed Ivy.
She elbowed him right back, a little harder, despite her cheeky smile, “If you can even see through my dust!”
Their little group made their way from parc ferme to the pit area with their mechanics and their dollied karts, locating their sizable tent amongst the dozens of others. It was newly made for the season and pristinely branded; housing Ivy’s purple 36 on the right side and Henrik’s fiery red 72 on the left in matching fonts to the informal Russell Racing insignia. Inside, it was just as elaborate as the year before with vinyl tiles to make up the floor and full sets of toolkits and equipment for each mechanic team.
Henrik and Ivy put their helmets and gloves away before sitting themselves at the folding table to prep for their routine debrief. With their racesuits tied around their waists and faces still half flushed from the session, they talked animatedly together, leaning over the track map and recounting what they could as they waited for George. Josefine set a hand on the back of each of their folding chairs to steal a peek.
“Turn seven was much better for you this year, Ivy,” she complimented.
“Yeah, all the practice over the break paid off. And I think the handling is better this year,” Ivy agreed.
Henrik jumped in, “Although I’m still losing time in the second sector.”
“Hug the curbs more,” Ivy said, “You gotta, like, really rattle over them here.”
“You also lost some time because you were stuck behind someone else,” Josefine reminded him, “You were better in the qualifying, remember?”
“Right, what are we discussing?” George called out as he approached their table. As he squeezed past Josefine, a fraction closer than necessary, his hand caressed lightly along her lower back before he dropped into the empty chair beside Ivy. Josefine shifted slightly to give him room, her hand still resting on the back of Henrik’s chair as George settled in.
As George and the kids began their debrief, Josefine’s gaze flicked between them—the easy rhythm of it, the way Henrik leaned in without hesitation now, the way Ivy spoke over him kindly and he didn’t bristle. She let her hand fall from the chair, folding her arms loosely instead as she listened and observed.
After a moment, George leaned back slightly in his chair, his attention still on the kids as they talked over one another, a small, absent smile settling on his face. His gaze flicked to Josefine—only to find she was already looking at him.
Something in his expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting just a touch more, and though he said nothing, she felt it all the same.
A quiet understanding passed between them.
Something steady. Something that stayed.
♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)
♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
