#DECIDE FASTER STEWARDS!

[singsweetmelodies]

it'd be sad and all if george got that DSQ... BUT it would mean a Lewis win and a Charles podium 👀 in fact, it'd mean the Ham-Pia-Lec podium of my dreams

[boxboxblog]

What To Expect From 2025

Hello my friends, it's been a while. Sorry for the lack of posting, decided to take a break along with the drivers during our off-season, but as the weeks creep closer and anticipation grows, we must start to rev up for the first day of testing. As such, i wanted to do a little deep dive into what changes or special things to look forward to in this upcoming F1 season.

Some New Regulations

Heavier Cars: Starting 2025 the minimum weight for F1 cars will be around 2 kg heavier than they were in the previous season. This regulation change comes with another regulation change, one that has to do with driver wight. The old rule used to be that drivers must be at minimum 80 kgs, and has been switched to 82 out of concern for taller drivers (and probably also due to the fact that the average height for drivers has gone up considerably in the past few years). While this may seem like a small thing, it has impacts because drivers who were previously encouraged to hit that low weight so they could be faster will have a little bit less pressure.

Flex-Wing Restrictions: Does anyone remember the 'mini-DRS' that McLaren had for the 2024 season? Yes, the little flexible wing that allowed them to gain massive amounts of speed in the straights has been officially declared illegal. The new regulation states that the minimum gap in the rear wing will be decreased from 10-15mm to 9.4-13mm. I am very curious to see how this effects the performance of the McLaren car come the first race, it was quite clear that the team lost their dominant momentum once they got rid of it last year.

Driver Cooling Systems: Good news for everyone who felt concern during any of the wildly hot races that had drivers vomiting in the past few years, a new regulation has passed that states that a driver cooling system must be in place temperatures go over 30.5 degrees celsius. It will be interesting to see how well this helps (hopefully a lot).

No More Fastest Lap Point: A sad day for anyone who enjoyed seeing drivers push their cars to the limits. The fastest lap point is officially gone, which means we might see drivers keep it calm toward the end of races now.

Setting the Grid: This one is interesting, and is most likely due to what happened in Brazil 2024. Anyone who watched all of that live remembers the worry you felt watching the drivers qualify that Sunday morning in terrible conditions, and this new regulation could prevent that. It states that if a qualifying to set the grid is impossible, the starting will be determined by championship standings. If it is too early in the season, it will be up to the stewards to decide how it sets (whatever that means).

"Driver Behavior": I am sure everyone has heard of this one, and I will not dive too deeply into all the ins and outs. Just know that drivers are pretty much flat out not allowed to curse, make political statements, yell, express frustration, or getting anywhere close to any sort of 'bad misconduct' without incurring massive fines, or suspensions, or even a docking of championship points. We will see how this one goes when the season starts.

Some New Team Dynamics

One thing to look forward to is the massive shift the entire grid has done. Only two teams retained both of their drivers, McLaren (Piastri and Norris) and Aston Martin (Alonso and Stroll), and we have rookies on top of rookies to go along with that. Really tells you how much of F1 is musical chairs in truth.

Hamilton and Leclerc with Ferrari:

A dynamic that is bound to be interesting. When two number one drivers are on one team it tends to make sparks fly, but perhaps that won't be the case with these two. Both are rather mature people and drivers, and for the past two years Hamilton has played second driver to Russell after all. So I think honestly there may be some moments on track, but they will work well together.

2. Ocon and Bearman with Haas:

This one will also be interesting, in my grand opinion. On Ocon's side, he has switched over to Haas after years with Alpine (not so great years at that), and now he is the senior driver for the first time ever. For Bearman, everyone knows how well he can race an F1 car, so I wonder how Ocon will react to being second fiddle (to a rookie this time), which no doubt be will be.

3. Bortoleto and Hulkenberg with Sauber:

This one I feel like will go really well. Hulkenberg knows how to be a team player, and is generally a nice guy. On top of that he has many years of experience, and will be a great asset to help build his rookie teammate up. For Bortoleto's part, he is an extreme talent who just came off winning the 2024 F2 season. I think in truth Sauber has one of the best line-ups of the midfielders.

4. Lawson and Verstappen with Red Bull:

Lawson will either be chewed up and spit out by Verstappen, or wholeheartedly ignored. Verstappen is very obviously the first driver, completely undisputed, and apparently Lawson has agreed to that. But how many times have we seen a hungry rookie ignore that fact? *cough cough* Charles Leclerc *cough cough*. All I do know if taht both drivers have a rather aggressive style on and off track, which usually doesn't lend itself to being teammates.

5. Hadjar and Tsunoda with RB:

This one I feel like will be kind of meh. Tsunoda will most likely outscore his teammate, and he has done for the past years, and it will be typical RB things. Hadjar is talented, but Tsunoda is too. The question will be who wants it more.

6. Doohan and Gasly with Alpine:

Another meh one, the only real drama stemming from the fact that Doohan might be an F1 car for a blink of an eye. Alpine has their eyes set on bringing Franco Colapinto in if Doohan doesn't do well by I believe five races, and lets be clear EVERY rookie needs more than five races to get used to racing in F1. So looking at this pairing, I can only hope Doohan performs better than he did in Abu Dhabi. As for Gasly, he will do fine.

7. Antonelli and Russell with Mercedes:

I am split on how they will do. For one, I think Russell is being replaced as the golden boy, which might rub him the wrong way. If he is outperformed by Antonelli, that could spell the end for his time as the first driver. On the other hand he could also massively out do his teammate, which really wouldn't be a surprise. I do wonder if the pressure of being on a top team right away will get to Antonelli.

8. Sainz and Albon with Williams:

Ah, another pairing that has drawn lots of attention. it's not often a driver switches from a top team down to a back of the grid team at so young an age, but when they do it often spells trouble for either them or their new teammate. Some say Sainz will straight away out perform Albon, I think different. It may take him some time to get used to having a slower and less reliable car. There is something to be said about pushing a car harder than it allows, and he will have to override the instincts that he honed at Ferrari for years. We will see though, both are solid drivers.

Reserve Drivers

So we have talked about who will be the drivers, but who will fill in for each team if something were to happen? Something always happens, after all. Not all the teams have announced who their reserve drivers will be, but I will list the ones who have below.

Ferrari: Antonio Giovinazzi and Zhou Guanyu

An interesting lineup in truth. Zhou drove for Sauber/Alfa Romeo for the past couple of years, but was booted to make way for a new lineup. Giovinazzi also drove for Alfa Romeo a wile back, but was well known for... having some difficulties. It would be nice to see Zhou in fast car after being in the slowest car period for his entire career.

2. Mercedes: Valtteri Bottas

And Bottas returns to his old stomping grounds once more. Not a massive surprise, he was a Mercedes driver for years, and it would be fantastic if he was able to fill in for a race or two, just to seem him in a fast care once more. Bottas is a talent, after all, one that has been almost forgotten about after his tenure with Alfa Romeo/Sauber.

3. Aston Martin: Felipe Drugovich and Stoffel Vandoorne

In truth, I am kind of meh on this one. Drugovich was the F2 2022 winner, so he of course is a solid driver (and is most likely destined to come into F1). Vandoorne has been in F1 before, back when McLaren was a midfield team. Both are pretty safe choices for reserve drivers.

4. Alpine: Franco Colapinto, Paul Aron, and Ryo Hirakawa

Ah, as always there is Alpine drama. Three reserve drivers is just greedy in my opinion, and it makes you think that Alpine is probably enjoying the influx of new sponsorship money. As for the drivers, Colapinto is solid, Aron is a fresh face who has done well in the lower categories, and Hirakawa has an immense amount of experience. Really I think they are almost hoping one of their drivers (Doohan) will need to be replaced.

Calendar Changes

Australia back as the opener

Bahrain and Jeddah moved a month later for Ramadan

Suzuka and Shanghai switched up a month

Barcelona now after Monaco

Hungary now last race before summer break

Vegas start time pushed back to 8 PM local time

Spa will replaces Austria as the hosts of a sprint

Important Upcoming Dates!

Haas Filming Day - February 16th

F175 Season Launch - February 18th

Ferrari Event - February 19th

Mercedes Reveal - February 24th

Pre-Season Testing in Bahrain: February 26th-28th

Season Begins in Melbourne: March 14th

That is essentially the basics of what to expect! I will do driver profiles for all the rookies (except for Lawson, who already has one) once we get closer and then do an analysis of testing when that comes.

I am excited for the season to get started, and more than ready to see our cars back on track. Hope you all are too!

Cheers,

-B

[littlejuicebox]

Midwinter Carol 10 / The Trunk

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 3.3K

Story navigation: [1][2][3][4] [5] [6] [7] / Click here to read on AO3.

Summary/Setting: 

Fifteen years after the Ascendant and his lover went their separate ways, they run into one another at Wyll Ravengard’s Midwinter Gala. One dance is all they share. A week later, a cataclysm of events, spurned by Eirianwen’s return, uproots the life Astarion had been building for himself.

One thing is made certain: the elven sorceress is the key to any ounce of salvation he may have left, if only she stops slipping through his fingers like sand from an hourglass.

But old habits die hard, and old feelings are pulled to the surface for both the elves. Astarion is forced to confront the wounds of his past and deal with the damage he's done while trying to run from himself. The Ascendant is forced to decide whether he will continue on his current path or forge a new one... perhaps one that leads him back to the love of his life.

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarion’s past trauma

-----

“Wait, Ani,” Astarion warns when the sorceress releases his hand, her fingers ghosting across his as she walks away. She instantly starts to wander when the servants swarm them at the dungeon doors. The entire situation had caused quite a ruckus, and Astarion is caught between quelling his employees' concerns and providing them various instructions. He’s simultaneously signing something to Melga and Thrak as he tells another servant to send the maids upstairs. 

In moments like this, Astarion is reminded that he is constantly surrounded by people and yet always alone. It’s his fault, he knows; he prefers to place himself above others, an easy way to ensure he will be able to look down his nose at them. He holds everyone far beneath him, apart from the one woman he keeps on a pedestal, built up in his mind like a goddess he worships and a religion only he follows. 

Eirianwen glances back at Astarion, where she is paused on the stairwell leading to the second floor, and he lifts his gaze to her, quickly pointing to the ring on his finger before turning to answer another question from his steward, Pascal. The cacophony of voices and questions around him, all needing guidance, is unnerving. Ani recognizes the man Astarion is talking to, but is shocked to see how much he’s aged in fifteen years. He’s almost completely gray. Time is quite different for humans; she often forgets the luxury she has as an elf. 

It gives her more time to hold grudges and run from mistakes. 

She spots the ring on Astarion’s hand and then peers at her own hand resting upon the shiny oak banister, frowning down at the marred flesh. Despite his previous motion, the sorceress is still somehow shocked to see the matching band on her own finger. Her brow furrows as she continues to walk up the steps. 

What had she missed? How long had she been asleep? 

Questions dart through her mind faster than she can climb the grand staircase toward the room she used to share with Astarion. She’s still walking up the steps in a dazed, daydreaming state. Ani’s almost to the second floor when a sudden bolt of pain shoots through her body, culminating in the overwhelming need to vomit. But no, she couldn’t possibly do such a thing, she hasn’t eaten in— 

Eirianwen retches. Hot, acrid bile spills onto the perfectly polished marble of the second floor. She’s doubled over and gasping for air when another violent spasm attacks her body and more green fluid spews from her mouth. She suddenly feels feverish as a throbbing pain pulses in her hand, igniting the entire limb in fire. Two servants rush to clean up the mess as a familiar arm comes around her shoulder. 

“I don’t think you should be standing quite yet, darling,” Astarion murmurs, and without another word he sweeps Eirianwen off her feet and into his arms. He walks to the bedroom with Ani pressed into his chest; she just barely hears the rapid cadence of his heart.

He carefully places her on the chaise lounge in the bedchambers; it’s a piece of furniture she’d picked out, incidentally. They’d made love many times, in many positions, on this same chaise. He’d carried her here, wrapped around him, more times than he can remember. Recollections flash through his mind in rapid fire and he swallows as he blinks them away. 

He leaves her there to speak to the servants on the landing and then quickly returns. Eirianwen feels awful. The taste of bile still sits in her mouth. When Astarion returns he breezes to the carafe next to the bed, on top of one of the side tables, and silently fills a cup with water. Then he hands it to Ani. 

She drinks in silence. Gods, she’s parched. Holding the glass is difficult, never mind the weakness she feels in her hand. Her body is shaking. 

“Who… who was that down in the dungeons, Astarion?” Eirianwen finally asks, her voice sounding hoarse, as she lowers the empty glass from her lips. 

“Delilah. She stole the God Killer,” he replies as he gently takes the glass from the woman and places it on the side table. His brows stitch together as he watches Eirianwen. He’s never actually interacted with someone after Delilah’s poison has done its damage. 

Ani’s eyes clamp shut. Her head is pounding. She’s trying to follow along, but it’s hard to think past the pain in her body. Another wave of nausea flows through her and she retches; no sooner had she made the sound than Astarion appeared at her side with a waste bin. But nothing comes, there’s nothing left to regurgitate. 

“The dagger Edmund used was laced with a very potent poison. You slept through the worst of it but the effects will probably be there for a day or two longer. The rings are… working. But Delilah’s draughts are stronger than anything you’ve seen before, I’m sure. You were out for a few days, darling. Your hand…”

He trails off as his jaw clenches. He shakes his head and gently gathers Ani’s hair into a braid, to keep it out of the way should she vomit. Deft fingers perform the action without much of a thought, as if it hadn’t been fifteen years since he last styled Ani’s hair for her. “Jaheira is looking into it. She mentioned conferring with Halsin.”

He senses Eirianwen’s heartbeat spike up a fraction at the mention of Halsin, and feels that sickening twist of jealousy rise in his gut— perhaps being stabbed by the God Killer had been a moderately better feeling than that sensation— but quickly stifles it. “Now… we can talk more. But let us get cleaned up and then eat something. It’s quite a bit to discuss. Would you like to bathe first, or should I, darling?”

*

Astarion bathes first as Ani waits in the bedchamber. A set of servants bring her a tray of fruit to snack on while she waits, and the sustenance improves her physical state, if only a bit. Her spotted serval cat, perched upon the chaise, meows away. She listens to Umber’s ramblings and scratches distractedly at the large feline’s fur, occasionally murmuring a response or two. 

When he exits the bathroom, wrapped in a plush crimson robe and toweling his hair, Astarion meets the sorceress’s gaze and notices she appears to be staring through him, lost in her own thoughts. He cocks his head to the side just slightly, brow furrowing in concern, before he asks, “Are you doing alright, Ani?”

She blinks and then snaps back into the room, her blackened hand flexing against the feline flicking its tail next to her. 

“Umber says you let her sleep with you in the guest room, and that you’ve been taking care of her while I’ve been asleep. She likes the steak and lamb she’s been eating here far better than the birds and mice she eats on the road… you’re spoiling her, Astarion,” Eirianwen says with a weak smile, glancing to the side before stroking the cat’s ear. Umber purrs and then focuses her jade eyes on Astarion.

He drops the used towel in a basket at the end of the bed as he moves toward the cat and strokes a single curled finger up under her chin. The creature moves to playfully nip at his digit, affectionately holding it between four sharp canines with no intent to cause harm. This must be how Eirianwen often felt, all those years ago, with a part of her body seemingly always caught between his fangs. Doting on a dangerous creature. 

“I think she would’ve preferred to sleep next to you, but Jaheira suggested it would be better to not. She’s smaller and far cleaner than Scratch— it was less of an inconvenience.”

He won’t tell Ani he actually enjoyed the company. It sounds too pitiful. 

Umber releases his hand and then hops from Eirianwen’s side with a flick of her tail. She ducks and hides under the bed before emitting a meow; Ani’s brow furrows almost imperceptibly before it smooths again. After a moment, she moves to stand. Her eyes lift to examine Astarion in the process.

“Your ear is still split,” she murmurs. Eirianwen had never seen a laceration last this long on Astarion; his vampiric regeneration had always kicked in by now. Though she knew the God Killer’s capabilities, it was still unsettling to see. 

Astarion begins to lift his hand to his ear, but before he makes contact, Eirianwen has her fingers pressed to his flesh. A cooling sensation spreads from lobe to tip as a spell mends the slice along his pinna. And then, almost by force of habit, Ani idly traces her finger down the edge of his ear as she pulls away. 

The fleeting sensation causes Astarion to stiffen as his body flares with an unexpected wave of powerful, raw, aching desire. His heart jumps. His cock does, too.

*

“Mm.. do that again, darling,” Astarion purrs from where his head is resting on Ani’s lap.

Eirianwen fills the tent with a soft, melodic tinkle of laughter as she gently tugs on Astarion’s ear once more, coaxing a little moan from his lips, “Oh, you like that, do you?” 

“You know I do, darling,” he responds while he palms at the bulge forming between his legs as his lover continues to methodically massage his earlobes. Astarion groans and rocks his hips forward as a small, relaxed smile spreads across his face, “and that’s why you always pretend to do it by accident when we’re in the tent.” 

He was putty in her palms, easily molded by her will alone. 

*

Eirianwen seems distracted as she pulls away from him; she hadn’t even realized what she’d just done. Astarion thinks it’s simply a small, habitual sliver of comfort she’d so routinely offered once upon a time, but it causes his breath to catch and all the same. The hope he's kept locked in his heart threatens to break from its cage. His ear feels as if it’s on fire, but when Astarion reaches up to inspect it, he finds a perfectly healed pinna.

He clears his throat and then opens his wardrobe, aiming to pull out a set of clothes for himself as he says, “I’ll speak to the servants about preparing lunch while you bathe; I’ll be in the office when you’re done. You’re welcome to borrow something of mine for today, though I know it won’t fit correctly. I’ve sent for your things from Wyll’s— I apologize, I should have sent for everything sooner.” 

“Oh… it’s not a problem, Astarion,” Eirianwen responds, still lost in a fog as she walks toward the bathroom. Umber meows from under the bed once more. “Thank you.” 

*

After calling down to the kitchen about lunch, and to secure a meal of short ribs for Umber, Astarion returns to his office. The pungent smell of lye assaults his senses and he quickly moves to toss open a window. The room appeared normal, apart from the gauzy white curtains flecked with blood. No one would think a murder occurred just an hour ago. 

Astarion vaguely thinks the curtains will have to be replaced tomorrow just before his eyes settle on the mountain of paperwork precariously stacked upon his desk, all requiring his attention. 

Business never quit. 

He grimaces and grabs half of the hefty stack, trying to move the scrolls into a desk drawer. Surely much of it can wait; had it been truly pressing, his steward would be breathing down his neck this instant. As Astarion relocates most of the documents, the small piece of parchment Pascal delivered – gods, had it been less than 24 hours ago? –  sealed with red wax and an unfamiliar sigil, flutters to the floor, catching Astarion’s attention. He’d forgotten all about it. 

Long, lithe fingers retrieve the letter and deftly undo the wax fastening. Scarlet eyes run across the page and instantly narrow at the simple, foreboding message. 

“You will find me in Elturel when you are desperate enough. 

– Lady Lysandra Morgan”

Astarion re-reads the message. His fingers tremble as they fold the paper and shove it into his pocket. Desperate. He wasn’t desperate for anything, not even for the return of the God Killer. He had no true use for the dagger, nor any plans to use it; he’d certainly slain enough gods for an eternity by now. 

But then a sudden shock of acid through his veins, beginning at the ring and shooting up his arm, pulls his mind to Eirianwen. He hears her stifle a whimper of pain through the walls. A sickening feeling begins to grow in his chest.

He fears he may already know where this path leads. He may have unknowingly carved the way for the both of them. 

*

Astarion is scribbling his showy, looped signature on yet another scroll when Eirianwen enters the office. He turns his head to greet her, but the moment he does, his breath is stolen away and his mouth suddenly feels as if he hasn’t drunk anything in centuries. 

He’s certainly used to thirst, but perhaps not like this. He’s sitting mere feet away from an oasis, longing to delve into her depths.

She’s dressed in his old camp shirt. He must have a strange look on his face, because Ani halts, frozen in place. 

“I— I hope it was okay to borrow this,” Eirianwen says, looking down as she tugs at the bottom hem of the clothing piece, where it grazes just above her mid thigh. 

It’s clear she isn’t wearing a brassiere. The threadbare cotton grazes against the peaks of her breasts, and the darkened patches of skin around her nipples are barely visible through the white fabric. The winter air from the still-open window has chilled the room significantly; the tiny buds hidden beneath the blouse are stiffening in response. His eyes flit across her chest and then back up to her face before she notices.

Is Ani even wearing briefs or is she entirely barren under the— 

Astarion coughs and rips himself from his musings as he forces himself to tear his gaze away. He finishes signing the scroll in front of him and grabs another as he murmurs, “Yes, that's perfectly fine, darling. Though, I wonder… where on earth did you find that?” 

“In the very bottom drawer of your wardrobe…” Ani starts, her voice containing a strange tinge of something he cannot identify, as she settles herself on the tufted leather sofa across the office. She focuses on her blackened hand, bringing the other hand to rub against the marred flesh. “I looked in the other wardrobe drawers but nothing else seemed… comfortable.” 

Astarion hums a distracted response, continuing to place his signature on documents to avoid staring at the woman mere feet from him. There is a silence that stretches a moment too long.

“I found all the jewelry,” Eirianwen blurts, and then her hands come to cover her mouth as if she’s shocked by her own admission. 

Astarion does not need to ask for clarification. She is, of course, referring to the several anonymous commissions he’d made over the years from her parents in Silverymoon. A trunk full of never worn, customized pieces had been locked and tucked away under his bed, until now, when Eirianwen presumably ripped it from its hiding place. The contents alone must be worth close to half a million gold. He’d spent nearly the entire first year’s worth of blood money on unneeded jewelry, designed for someone that would not be around to wear it. Astarion often wondered if her parents thought about their daughter when they, unknowingly, made each piece for her, much like he thought of their daughter when he designed it. 

His fingers twitch just enough to cause a wavering loop in the signature he’s scrawling. His jaw starts to clench as he stares at the parchment before him a second longer before rolling it back up and moving to yet another scroll. “What possessed you to look under my bed?” 

“Umber,” Eirianwen explains hastily, “she… she said it smelt like my parents under your bed. And, of course, I really had no idea what on earth she meant but she was insistent and— and—“ 

Ani stops, her eyes shutting and fingers coming to press into the lids as she tries to form a question from scattered thoughts. Astarion chews his own cheek as he considers how to answer the question she isn’t able to ask, and then he lifts his eyes to look at Eirianwen as he taps the quill upon the desk once, twice, thrice. She opens her eyes to meet his gaze, and he offers a simple half-shrug… his face is unreadable.

“After I performed the Rite and you almost died in the dungeons, I promised I would always take care of you, Ani… did I not? I am not one to make a promise lightly; you, better than anyone, know that.”

A gust of air blows through the open office window and grazes against the bloodied curtains, causing them to drift from the windowpane as the two elves stare at each other. Eirianwen sucks her lower lip between her teeth but says nothing. 

“I…” Astarion sighs and shoots his eyes up to the ceiling as his fingers twist the snowflake signet pinky ring, the only commissioned piece he actually wears, “I… hope the money was… helpful in your travels. I know you had expressed wanting to travel together after— but…”

He trails off, forcing his eyes from the ceiling and back to meet Eirianwen’s gaze. He cannot actually meet her eyes, so he focuses on his favorite vitiligo patch instead. He is horrible at this. This should not be as hard as it is. 

Ani nods and then opens her mouth to respond, but she is interrupted by Pascal breezing into the doorframe with a thick ledger in one hand. He doesn’t peer up from the document as he says, “Lord Ancunin, lunch will be served in the solarium in ten minutes as you requested. Thrak and Melga are currently burning the spawn’s corpse—“

“Thank you, Pascal,” Astarion interrupts, his tone tight with irritation. The steward glaces up, confused about why he is the recipient of his boss’s ire. But his eyes widen in realization when he spots Eirianwen in the room. He snaps the ledger shut. 

“Apologies,” he murmurs, and after an awkward pause, inhales a sharp breath before saying, “Lord Ancunin, when you have a moment, I’ll need to go over the ledger with you. I have some… concerns.”

Pascal makes to leave the door frame, and at the last moment pauses and turns to address the sorceress, “Good to see you awake, Lady Eirianwen.” 

“Spawn corpse?” Eirianwen asks, whatever warmth had grown in her chest toward Astarion instantly freezing over as Pascal disappears from the doorframe, calling after one of the servants as he goes. 

Astarion rakes his hand through his hair and nods with a grimace. He cannot ever outrun the mistakes of his past when the woman before him remembers every single one. He is thankful that she is not running away, at least. “Yes, but– darling, like I said, we have a lot to talk about. Lunch first. You haven’t eaten in days, and we cannot have this discussion until you eat. Please, Ani.”

He only ever says please when he's desperate; he's delaying the inevitable, he knows. But can he not pretend for a moment longer, before fifteen years of hurt cuts him to the bone? He’d already survived death from some version of Eirianwen today, he isn’t certain he can survive a condemnation for his mistakes from this version, too.

But, he supposes, he has no choice. When it comes to her, it unfortunately seems as if he never does have a true choice, at least not if he wants to keep her within his orbit. He has always been putty in her palms, easily molded by her will alone.

----

Tags: @anukulee @viowolf

[petit-papillion]

2024 Spanish Grand Prix

FP1:

Charles's car did not have the new upgrades, while Carlos did

Complaints on the radio: Charles about his car being horrendous and Stroll being Stroll, RUS about his team getting both Mercs out together, and GAS, NOR, VER, OCO and PER about their cars.

ALO lost a piece of wing, leading to a short red flag

Ollie drove the session for Haas and ended P19.

Nobody binned it, and it was overall not very exciting to watch, leading to lots of technical info, speculation on driver contracts, and a little gossip shared by commentators.

P1: NOR / P2: VER / P3: SAI

FP2:

Charles's car was in the garage for 1000 years.

My cat laid on my arm and blocked my view of my phone.

I almost fell asleep.

P1: HAM / P2: SAI / P3: NOR

FP3:

Incident with STR impeding (turning into?) HAM, leading to a reprimand for Stroll

Incident with LEC cutting too sharp into NOR, also a reprimand for LEC

P1: SAI / P2: NOR / P3: LEC

Quali:

Not related to quali, but a fire broke out at McLaren hospitality and the other teams all came through to feed and care for the McLaren drivers and team members. 👏

Oscar had a rough time in Q3 with lap 1 deleted due to track limits and getting into the gravel on lap 2. No time = P10

The Ferraris were out way earlier than the Mercs, NOR and VER who then all went ahead of us with faster laps.

P1: NOR / P2: VER / P3: HAM

Petit's Race Notes (to be added)

SAR received a 3-place grid penalty for impeding STR, dropping him from P20 to (wait for it...) P19 - due to Alex starting from the pit lane

False start for MAG - 5 second penalty

Also 5-second penalties for HUL and TSU for speeding in the pit lane

Race start saw RUS torpedoing to the front while NOR ended up in P3

Lap 3 SAI decided he needed to get past LEC and then complained on the radio that Charles ran into him and pushed him off track

Rinse and repeat later in the race with HAM and whining about stewards not warranting it with further investigation

Tyre strategy was crucial. NOR & LEC extended stints with Charles working his magic with tyre management

RUS couldn't make the Hards work, so Softs were the preferred choice and allowed HAM to get P3

Charles pushed hard at the end and almost caught RUS, but in the end had to settle for P5

Top 3: P1: VER | P2: NOR | P3: HAM

Fastest lap: Lando Norris

Driver of the Day: Lando Norris

Fastest pit stop: Red Bull/Max Verstappen (1:92)

[keepthedelta]

https://www.tumblr.com/keepthedelta/749632894793826305/wait-does-that-mean-mercedes-max-wouldve

wait i need u to elaborate on that last bit bc i am So Intrigued

i think that them being teammates is really the thing that broke them. because if they hadn't been teammates, even if they had been championship rivals (a bit like lewis and seb) they would have been able to maintain their friendship at least somewhat.

because one of the biggest issues for both nico and lewis was how the team treated them. some of this is down to bad management imo, but fundamentally there can never be true equality between teammates, because there will always be one person in front of the other. in races, the person in front will usually get preferential strategy (although mercedes didn't do this on several occasions and nearly fucked things up) but sometimes team orders force drivers to do things for the team that they would rather not do (see nico letting lewis through in monaco 2016, or holding position behind lewis even though he was faster in malaysia 2013, or lewis being told to let nico through in hungary 2014). if you obey the team it can have a negative effect on the driver because they feel like they're accepting the secondary place in a team, but if you don't obey the team they're less likely to help you out. nico has also spoken about having to force the team to treat them more equally even in regards to who got to out first for a lap in qualifying, because if you don't force it, the team will always take the easiest way out.

being teammates and rivals is a very specific pressure cooker. lewis was able to maintain a good relationship with valtteri, because valtteri never challenged him (although the treatment from the team was incredibly negative for valtteri). lewis was always the priority, so he had the full team's support in a way that he didn't when nico was there, because there was always half a garage full of people that didn't want him to win. it became so factional that toto decided to swap some of the mechanics around to ease the tension in the team.

the other major factor in this is the car itself. a championship fight between teammates will always be more difficult because they have the same car. when you're fighting someone in a different car, there are a thousand engineering factors that can affect your speed and manoeuvrability. when you're in the same car, the driver is the major factor. it's why lewis and sky and cultLH went so hard on the sabotage theories in 2016, because they didn't want to admit that nico was ever better than lewis, and in several very crucial races, he really was.

plus, when teammates collide, as championship rivals often do, stewards tend not to give as many or as harsh penalties, and teams will never fight for a penalty, because that's still their driver that they would be arguing against. when the two alpines collided in australia last year, it probably should have been a penalty, but the stewards let it go because it was french on french violence. if pierre had hit someone from another team, it would have been a penalty. equally, if nico had hit anyone other than lewis in spa 2014, or lewis had hit anyone other than nico in spain 2016, they probably would have received penalties. but because the team won't fight for that, all of the consequences and punishment has to come from within the team, and depending on how that is handled, it can very easily lead to resentment and accusations of favouritism.

so if brocedes hadn't been teammates, i think they would have been able to be happy for each other's success. if nico had won with mercedes for at least a few years (i still think he would have retired around 2016 to be with his family more) while lewis was at red bull or ferrari, they would have been able to stay friends. in any other universe, even if they had fought for a championship, i think they wouldn't have got divorced, because the thing that broke them was being teammates

[etoeilles]

Rewatching Game of Thrones currently and melted at the thought of joining Ellie at the watch where she feels the need to protect you and finds herself teaching you how to wield a sword even though you were both assigned as stewards. I have another series being written as we speak but i need ur help to decide which to post first?

Brief info:

Faster Getting Nowhere: skater Ellie - best friends with you sister who wants nothing to do with u (all in your early 20s)- they’re in a promising crew and you want to join - loosely inspired by Lords of Dogtown (2005) - Betty (2020-2021) - A League of Their Own (1992).

Life and Honor: ranger Ellie - ranger reader - basically Jon and Sam’s storyline with necessary readjustments - fighting white walkers, wildlings, evil men, etc. Ellie sends her wolf after a man who threatened to hurt you - Ellie is a bastard/stark/targaryen - reader is a handmaiden/tyrell.

[thedemocraticallyelectedovahkiin]

Joining the Dark Brotherhood

Before Going to Riften to kill Grelod the kind, I decided to kill Grelod before talking to Arentino to save time travelling, I completed the quest required to get Faendal as a follower and subsequently as farm steward. I choose to talk to Sven first and then tell Camilla Valerius the truth (this was because I knew Sven would be in the inn and would be easier to find). Arriving at the farm I was approached by the courier with a letter from the Jarl of Falkreath that upon being read started the miscellaneous quest to speak to him

I then travelled to Riften and sold excess gear and potions made from crops and used the money to buy the necessary materials to upgrade the farm outside before entering Riften Orphanage. Grelod was easy to kill as ever the only challenge was managing not to be detected and to sneak kill her for exp. Then I travelled to Windhelm using the cart at Riften stables. Little else can be said about the next part as the lock into Arentino's house was novice and all that I needed to do was talk to him. Once that was done I travelled to the farm and entered before sleeping for 24 hours to get the letter from the Dark Brotherhood.

This waiting allowed enough time for the crops to regrow and so I harvested them and made more potions leading to leveling up some more and a lot more gold once I sold them all. In order to be kidnapped by Astrid and join the Dark Brotherhood I went to sleep in our characters bed at the farm. This gave me the rather amusing image of Astrid breaking in to our bedroom only to be confronted by all of our pets who reside in the top floor. Upon waking up I killed all three hostages (sorry I didn't make a poll for this I forgot until I was actually in the shack). Upon killing them I was offered to join the Dark Brotherhood and proceeded to make my way to the Sanctuary where I received the Dark Brotherhood armour and grabbed the set of robes by Astrid. Ending the quest and having joined the Dark Brotherhood

Quests:

quest lines active: Before the Storm (main), Dampened Spirits (thieves guild), Hitting the Books (college of winterhold), Sanctuary (dark brotherhood)

quests started: The Grey Cowl of Nocturnal, A Soul Divided, A Farmers Life for Me, The Rising Dead, Forbidden Legend

mic quests: learn more about the thieves guild from Delvin and Vex, return the queen bee statue to Delvin, join the Imperial legion, join the Stomcloaks, Talk to the companion leaders for work, speak to the Jarl of Falkreath, speak to Constance Michel about adoption

Places Discovered:

Windhelm stables

Windhelm

Abandoned shack

Dark Brotherhood sanctuary

Enchantment's learned:

none

Spells learned:

none

Shouts learned:

none

Apparel:

Head: Steel soldier helmet, Thieves guild hood (prices are 10%better), Shrouded cowl (with and without mask) (bows do 20% more damage), Stormcloak helmet, Fine hat, Novice hood (increases magicka by 30 points), Shrouded hood (sneaking is 25% better)

Body: Banded Iron armor, Thieves guild armor (carrying capacity increased by 20 points), Shrouded armor (Increases Poison Resistance by 50%), Scaled armour, Fine clothes, Necromancers robes (Magicka regenerates 75% faster), Shrouded robes (destruction costs 15% less to cast)

Hands: Steel Soldier gauntlets, Thieves guild gloves (lockpicking is 15% easier), Shrouded gloves (backstab does double damage), Scaled bracers, Gloves, Shrouded hand wraps (Double sneak attack damage with one-handed weapons)

Feet: Steel soldier boots, Thieves guild boots (pickpocket success is 15% better), Shrouded boots (Wearer is muffled and moves silently) , Scaled boots, Boots, Shrouded shoes (Wearer is muffled and moves silently)

Shields: Banded Iron, Hide

Jewellery: Amulet of Arkay (Increases health by 10 points), Saarthal amulet (Spells cost 3% less to cast), Gauldur amulet fragment (Increases magicka by 30 points), enchanted ring (Increases health by 20 points)

Weapons:

Ancient Nord bow

Steel battleaxe

Dwarven greatsword

Elven warhammer

Steel war axe

Steel mace

Steel sword

Steel dagger

Staffs:

Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson(Target takes 25 points of damage, and twice as much Magicka damage)

Staff of Magelight(Ball of light that lasts 60 seconds and sticks where it strikes)

Scrolls:

Scroll of Firestorm (A 75 point fiery explosion centered on the caster. Does more damage to closer targets)

Scroll of Blizzard (Targets take 20 points of frost damage for 10 seconds, plus Stamina damage)

When polling please be aware two handed weapons will be included in the right hand poll while magic, staffs and shields are in the left.

[danmeiljie]

Advance Bravely Vampire AU Part 7!

Follow the tag "advance bravely... fanfic?!" For previous parts of this fic!

This one is extra long (4,625 words) and upgraded from Teen Rating to Explicit. You will need an ao3 account to read my E fics! Readers beware. (CW: blood drinking, blood play, explicit sex) Read it HERE!

Preview:

Yuan Zong did not necessarily need the binoculars to see it was Xia Yao moving within his father's apartment in Shanghai, but the magnification afforded him a clear view of his face. It still arrested him to behold his beauty. Perched on the rooftop in a building across the busy street, Yuan Zong was partially hidden behind a large sign, which blocked most of the wind at his high elevation.

Yuan Zong did not waste time after listening in on Yuan Ru's conversation with her sire. Normally she was very cautious about her communications with him. All Yuan Zong ever knew was she would retreat to have privacy whenever he called. She only had him in her phone contacts as "Daddy". It disturbed Yuan Zong that she didn't at least call him "Uncle" or "Mister" and it made him wonder at their relationship. He knew not all vampire sire/childe bonds were sexual or romantic in nature, though they often were. He understood why Yuan Ru had turned him, and he certainly felt the urge to make Xia Yao his own a number of times. At the heart of it, choosing someone to make like yourself, to bind them to you in a dark way, was an answer to loneliness. The great expanse of forever loomed over many of their kind. And these bonds were not always good. In fact most of them were rather toxic.

Yuan Zong had slipped from his sister's room while she celebrated gaining permission to turn Xia Yao, his blood stirring anxiously in his body as he willed it to move faster than he ever moved before. He had to get to Shanghai before she did. The news of Xia Yao's father being the identity of her sire had confused and shocked Yuan Zong, but he did not have the luxury to think about it long. He had grabbed a few essentials from their apartment and booked himself an expensive last minute early morning flight out of Beijing. 

For the entirety of the day Yuan Zong fought persistently against the great fatigue that attacks all vampires when the sun rises. Luckily it was not an uncommon sight to be a sleeping passenger on a plane, though he scared the steward when he struggled to rouse him upon landing in Shanghai. Another steward was getting ready to bring a defibrillator over and revive the sick passenger, when Yuan Zong startled the small crowd around his lifeless body with a shuddering gasp and apologies.

He went from airport to taxi, wincing in the sunlight, to an underground garage utility closet to spend the rest of the day in hiding. When the remainder of his blood stirred him to life once more after sunset, he was exhausted, but determined to find Xia Yao and set out immediately. He had drunk enough of the young man's virile blood over the weeks they had been getting together that he had a sense of where to go, letting his instinct as a hunter guide him. His strong supernatural body had allowed him to scale the wall of a building and leap across alleyways, making his movements above the busy city largely unnoticed.

'Xia Yao… I'm coming…'

Yuan Zong brought the binoculars to his face again, and saw Xia Yao walking around without a shirt, a towel in hand. His skin and hair glistened as if still wet from a shower and it made Yuan Zong hunger to touch and taste him again. Yuan Zong was no stranger to sneaking about - it was a skill required for his lifestyle - but he often lured prey to him. He was not accustomed to breaking into people's homes, never mind a high security apartment building that Xia Yao's father resided in. He was calmed momentarily to be able to actually see Xia Yao, even though he was fairly far away. He took out his phone and decided to try and call him. While Yuan Zong was persistent in his pursuit of Xia Yao, he always respected any clearly stated boundaries. Xia Yao had told him to leave him alone. Yet Yuan Zong figured his sister trying to collude with his vampire father into killing him was reason enough to break the silence.

Yuan Zong watched through the binoculars as Xia Yao looked at his phone from the couch and canceled the incoming call. Growling to himself Yuan Zong called again. Xia Yao pouted at his phone, and hesitated, as if he was deciding whether to answer or not. He watched him raise the phone to his ear.

"What do you want, eh?" Xia Yao's defiant tone of voice was very reassuring to Yuan Zong and he bit back the rebuke that wanted to come forth.

"Xia Yao. Listen to me. This is very important. Yuan Ru knows where you are and is coming tonight to force you to be with her. You are in danger." Yuan Zong strove to be calm but firm, urging Xia Yao to action. "You need to leave your father's apartment now. I can protect you and take you wherever you want to go, but you can't stay here."

"Shit! How did she find out? And what do you mean 'here'? Are you in Shanghai?" Yuan Zong watched Xia Yao gesture angrily from his high vantage point.

Yuan Zong debated about how much to reveal, "I am nearby, ready to help you. I overheard Yuan Ru making plans. You need to get out."

"Fuck me!" Xia Yao swore. He darted across the apartment disappearing from view down a hallway, but Yuan Zong could hear him breathing as he moved around. "Where should I meet you?"

"Outside your father's apartment building." Yuan Zong was greatly relieved that Xia Yao was listening to him.

"How did you– I'm coming down!" Xia Yao hung up and Yuan Zong sprung into action. He grabbed his backpack and went to the backside of the building that had a fire escape most of the way down, and he flew down the old stairs. At one point he thought they would break free from the brick, but they held on, creaking as he went. He managed to get across the street just in time to see Xia Yao coming out of the front glass doors.

"Xia Yao." Yuan Zong was drawn to him immediately and couldn't help but take him into his arms and breathe in his scent deeply. Xia Yao struggled against his chest and broke free, shoving hard. He straightened his jacket and looked around nervously as passerbys glanced in their direction, frowning at the odd behavior between the two handsome men. Yuan Zong looked at Xia Yao with naked longing.

"Let's go. Quickly!" Yuan Zong urged him to walk along the street while he called for a private car to pick them up. Xia Yao followed, but avoided any attempts of Yuan Zong touching him. It pained his heart and he burned with anger at his sister Yuan Ru. What did she do to him?

[critical-skeptic]

FUCK YOU, ZUCKERBERG…

You spineless, Cheeto-mushroom-gobbling, knee-bending, anemic zombiedroid, hypocritical, scared, little ass-kissing, greedy fuck. Let’s not pretend you’re anything more than a glorified tech parasite who happened to hit the lottery by taking a college networking idea—one that wasn’t even entirely yours—and turning it into a platform that metastasized into a social cancer. You rode the coattails of a lucky break and daddy’s financial cushion, mistaking this fortuitous alignment of stars as some kind of testament to your intelligence or value to society. Spoiler alert: it’s not.

Let’s get one thing clear, Mark. You are not a genius. You are not an innovator. You are not some great architect of the digital age. You’re a mediocre coder with the social grace of a damp napkin who got lucky enough to stumble onto a half-decent idea at the right time. Facebook succeeded because of timing, not brilliance. It succeeded because people were eager for connection in an increasingly online world—not because you’re the next coming of Einstein. And now, as the steward of what could have been a tool for empowerment and education, you’ve reduced it to a cesspool of misinformation, hate, and mind-numbing drivel, all in the name of shareholder value.

But today’s move? Today, you reached a new level of pathetic. Dismantling fact-checking on Facebook and Instagram under the guise of “free expression”? Are you fucking serious? Fact-checking on your platforms was already a joke—a performative, too-little-too-late Band-Aid slapped on a gaping wound of misinformation. But at least it was something. Now you’ve decided even that was too much effort because—let’s be honest—you’re scared. Scared of losing ad revenue. Scared of pissing off the MAGA crowd. Scared of Elon Musk, Trump, and the legion of anti-intellectual sycophants who’ve been barking about “censorship” while they spread lies faster than wildfire.

Let’s not forget, you initially had the balls to stand up to Trump. Remember when Facebook banned him after January 6th? You made a big show of pretending to care about democracy and accountability. And yet, here you are, rolling out the red carpet for the same demagogue and his cronies because you’re terrified of losing relevance. You’ve bent the knee just like Musk—a man so desperate for approval he turned Twitter into a farcical echo chamber for his own fragile ego. You’re no better, Mark. You’ve just done it with a slightly more polished veneer of “corporate responsibility.” But don’t think for a second that we don’t see through it.

What’s particularly infuriating is the sheer audacity with which you and your ilk—Musk, Bezos, Thiel, all of you wannabe philosopher-kings of the tech world—pretend your wealth equates to wisdom. As if the money you’ve hoarded and the empires you’ve built by exploiting workers and hijacking public discourse somehow make you qualified to shape society. Newsflash: your billions don’t make you insightful, and your platforms don’t make you indispensable. You’re not architects of the future; you’re caretakers of the prisons you’ve built for yourselves, gilded cages of your own making where your only concern is how to hoard more wealth and power while avoiding accountability.

Let’s talk about accountability, shall we? For years, you’ve enabled the worst aspects of humanity to flourish under the guise of “connecting the world.” Racism, misinformation, political manipulation, mental health crises—you name it, your platforms have amplified it. And every time someone has tried to hold you accountable, you’ve deflected, you’ve gaslit, you’ve hidden behind PR campaigns and hollow promises of reform. Now, you’ve abandoned even the pretense of caring. Stripping away fact-checking is your white flag of surrender to the very forces you once claimed to oppose. It’s a tacit admission that you care only about your bottom line, even if it means letting your platforms rot society from the inside out.

The hypocrisy is staggering. You and Musk and the rest of the tech overlords love to position yourselves as champions of free speech and innovation, but in reality, you’re nothing more than opportunistic cowards. You latch onto whatever ideology is most convenient at the moment—whether it’s pandering to liberals to secure early growth or cozying up to authoritarian populists when the tide turns. It’s not about principles; it’s about survival. You’re chameleons without conviction, mercenaries for profit at the expense of progress.

And let’s not forget the irony of all this. For all your talk of “free expression,” you and your platforms have done more to stifle meaningful discourse than any government ever could. You’ve created echo chambers, monetized outrage, and reduced complex issues to bite-sized headlines designed to enrage rather than inform. Your platforms are not bastions of free speech; they are factories of division, places where truth goes to die and lies are given a megaphone.

So fuck you, Zuckerberg. Fuck you for your cowardice. Fuck you for your greed. Fuck you for pretending to care about the world while doing everything in your power to destroy it. You are not a visionary. You are not a leader. You are a scared little man clinging to relevance in a world that’s increasingly tired of your bullshit. And the sooner your gilded empire crumbles under the weight of its own hypocrisy, the better off we’ll all be.

[jcmarchi]

Keeping the cosmos clean

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/keeping-the-cosmos-clean/

Keeping the cosmos clean

Asked to describe his work for a lay audience, Allan Shtofenmakher responds with an unexpected question: “Have you ever seen the movie ‘Wall-E?’” Recalling that the 2008 Disney-Pixar movie’s view of Earth from space was “brown and dusty and just surrounded by tons and tons of space junk,” he cautions, “If we’re not good stewards of our local space environment, we could actually end up in a situation like that — where we can’t get anything into space because it’s so cluttered and dirty.”

Shtofenmakher, a PhD student, works in MIT’s Dynamics, Infrastructure Networks, and Mobility (DINaMo) research group under the guidance of Hamsa Balakrishnan, the William E. Leonhard Professor of aeronautics and astronautics (AeroAstro) and associate dean of MIT’s School of Engineering. “A lot of my work,” he continues, “is trying to keep space sustainable.” When satellites or spent rocket bodies crash into each other, they create space debris moving in different directions at very high speeds. “Then they’ll create even more junk that can crash into each other … and you end up with a completely unsustainable space environment.”

Shtofenmakher’s research interests reside at the intersection of space situational awareness and control of multi-agent systems, with a focus on tracking orbital debris using in-space satellite sensors. He is experimenting with techniques such as mixed-integer programming and multi-agent reinforcement learning to maximize our awareness of — and ability to avoid — rogue objects orbiting the Earth at speeds 10 times faster than a bullet. “My goal is to leverage the cameras on the thousands of active Earth-orbiting satellites to keep the space around Earth clean and sustainable for generations of space explorers to come,” he says.

After earning a bachelor’s degree in aerospace engineering from the University of California at Irvine, and a master’s in aeronautics and astronautics from Stanford University, Shtofenmakher worked as a spacecraft systems engineer on several small satellite programs. “I decided to return to graduate school to solve some of the challenges associated with distributed satellite networks,” he says, “and I chose MIT AeroAstro for its wealth of expertise in both satellite systems and multi-agent systems.”

“A lot of my work had been broader and more general in aerospace engineering, and I wanted to become good at something. That something was controls and optimization.”

A life-changing conversation

When Shtofenmakher was originally applying to PhD programs, he says, “I wanted to work with actual spacecraft and hardware … on what are called CubeSats, which are these really small, student-built satellites that can be sent into space for cheap to do something cool and novel.” He received a call from Balakrishnan, whose research had focused primarily on air traffic control and optimization but was now shifting into space research. Reviewing his graduate school application, she thought Shtofenmakher’s expertise would be helpful in her lab.

“What Hamsa specializes in (among other things) is multi-agent optimization,” he explains. “If you have a fleet of drones that are trying to simultaneously accomplish a bunch of different tasks, how do you distribute them in such a way that you minimize fuel across the fleet?”

It’s a different flavor of controls and optimization, he explains, than controlling individual CubeSats — but he is learning skills and using techniques that will enable him to work on applications on land (self-driving cars), in the air (autonomous drone networks), and in space (distributed satellite systems) when he completes his degree.   

Critical fellowship support

In his second year at MIT, Shtofenmakher was awarded an endowed fellowship in honor of the late Arthur Gelb ScD ’61, an entrepreneur, philanthropist, and former member of the MIT Corporation. “Getting the Art Gelb Fellowship,” he says, “meant that I suddenly had the flexibility to work on exactly what I wanted to work on.” Without the funding provided by the fellowship, he points out, he might have spent 20 hours a week working as a research assistant on an unrelated topic rather than dedicating his time to pursuing his own research interests.

Shtofenmakher regrets that he never met Gelb, who passed away in 2023, because he sensed that they shared some common history: Both were the children of immigrants who worked hard and valued education. Growing up in California, he says, “My parents both worked more than full time so that we could finally land on our feet. I modeled my work ethic after theirs so that I could get a good education, which is the number one thing that they wanted for me.”

Work and life

Still a hard worker, Shtofenmakher now also sees the value of work-life balance, serving as co-president of AeroAstro’s department Resources for Easing Friction and Stress (dREFS), through which he advocates for graduate student mental health and helps students establish healthy boundaries with their research advisors. With support from the department, he and classmates converted a storage area into the AeroAstro graduate student lounge, which now offers couches, a flat-screen TV to watch soccer and other events, and a place, he says, “where people can just chill.”

Also adding to Shtofenmakher’s quality of life at MIT are sailing and skateboarding along the Charles River and spending time with fellow students. “I know I can just message any one of them, and we can walk to the Banana Lounge, or go down to the ping-pong table in the basement, or just grab food or drinks after work.” He has also developed an interest in bar tending, which aligns well with science. Mixology, he laughs, “is the closest I can get to art with my double left brain.”

[generalhumancloudalmond]

Lamp

Yandere!Platonic!Pantalone x Childe!Fem!Reader

This was the second time that Y/n was in the guest room, her main place of cleaning was the distant library, which almost no one goes to. But the elders didn't have time and therefore asked her to clean a couple of lamps. It was already evening, and the owner was very annoyed by dirty things, including lamps, at least that's what they said.

Y/n herself has never seen the owner, but thanks to rumors, she has a portrait of this man. First, he was very, VERY clean. Secondly, he almost never leaves the cabinet or the house. Third, he was very, VERY rich and his name was Pantalone.

So, while cleaning the lamps, Y/n did not notice the tall man behind his back at all.

"What are you doing?"

The girl shuddered, and then turned and bowed.

"Cleaning the lamp, sir."

"Hm... I see, I hope you won't mind if I sit here."

"No, of course not..."

She answered thoughtfully, continuing her work and feeling someone else's gaze on her. Not that she cared much about it, after all, she had lived in the same room with other girls all her life, feeling the eyes on her was already something ordinary. But she was wondering who he was. Maybe a friend of the owner? Or the house steward? Some of the maids said that he also dresses expensively.

"Actually, you're not doing it right."

A voice behind her immediately brought Y/n out of her thoughts, she turned to him in surprise. He crossed his legs and propped his head on his fist, looking at the lamp. Y/n was surprised that he knows how to clean the lamp properly, but then after thinking about it, she decided that he is most likely the steward of the house, that's why he knows.

"Come here, I'll show you."

Without delay, she immediately approached the stranger, who was now taking off obviously expensive rings and gloves. He took the lamp from the girl and cleaned it in just a couple of minutes.

"Wow! So fast! And the maids showed me differently, but you definitely did it faster..."

"As a child, I used to clean lamps to get some money, and I learned this method for myself completely by accident."

"Mom was right when she said that looks can be deceiving..."

The man with glasses looked at her in surprise before handing her a clean lamp and taking a black handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping his hands.

"It's just that you don't look at all like a person who cleans lamps."

He just chuckled at that.

"You flatter me."

"Not at all, but can I tell the other maids about this method?"

"Of course."

"Thank you, then I'll show off today!"

Joyfully Y/n told, approaching the door.

"Ha ha, I'm glad I gave you a reason to do this."

"Thank you again and good night."

"Thank you, have good dreams too."

...

The same evening Y/n told the other maids about how she met the steward of the house and how he helped her with the lamp, the girls only got wise to this story, and then went to bed. But the next day...

"Who cleaned the lamps in the guest room yesterday?"

The real steward was standing on the threshold.

"Y/n, but you helped her yourself, didn't you?"

"With what? Clean the lamps? I've never done this. But it doesn't matter. The lord only asked me to pass on something for Y/n"

He handed the doll to the girl. The toy was definitely expensive, her dress alone seemed to cost more than all the maids' profits.

"Y/n, which part of the house are you responsible for?"

"For the library, sir."

"From this day on, for one of the guest rooms. Come on, I'll show you which one."

You and the steward left, leaving the other girls at a loss. You left the doll in the room and they looked at it for a while. They all understood that most likely you confused the grumpy, but harmless steward with a cunning and dangerous harbinger. Everyone understood, but no one wanted to say it out loud.

[wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse]

Always There (Faramir x Gender Neutral!reader)

Request: I'd like to send a Faramir request! And I thought maybe just some fluff, confessing their love to each other? ~ @midearthwritings

Word count: 2249 (sorry I got carried away, it was fun lol)

Warnings: The teensiest bit of angst, fluff, and kissing?

A/N Alright, I thoroughly enjoyed making this one, I always love me some Faramir! Just for reference, I have not gotten to Return of the King yet, I have only watched the movie, so if something seems to be incorrect, my deepest apologies. And yes, I bent the story to match my thoughts. It’s fine. Thank you so much to @guardianofrivendell for helping me with some scenes! Also, a Quisby is a lazy-ass and a yaldson is the son of a prostitute. I looked up medieval insults and thought they were pretty funny. May or may not be using them on my friends...

Denethor was a quisby, a yaldson. You clenched your jaw, seething with anger. You couldn’t say much, for fear of upsetting the king, no, the Steward. But he was sending his only son left to battle. A battle that he could not win. No one would survive. Wasteful. And he sent the love of your life.

Faramir had always been special to you. When you were younger you were closer with Boromir, but as you all grew up, fitting the molds made for you, things changed. Boromir was always learning policy and diplomacy as his father’s right hand. Faramir was left behind with the lesser jobs, that most would consider unpleasant for someone used to a grandeur life. You bonded quickly, soon knowing even the most minuscule details about each other. And all was well. Until Osgiliath was taken again. With Boromir’s success came more criticism of Faramir. This also led to Boromir sent to a secret council regarding a weapon that could change the war. But Boromir never returned from the mission. He never made it back home. To Faramir and you. 

Denethor took the news horribly, but nothing compared to Faramir. He was distraught, hiding the most of his pain. He only confided in you, how lost and unappreciated he felt. He didn’t understand how those words also hurt you, carving deeper into the fresh wound of grief. He didn’t realize how much you appreciated him, how blind he was to your love. It was all you could do to not unravel then and there, piece by piece. But you held strong, for his sake. He had no one left but you. His father did not care for him. His brother who showered him with affection and praise was gone. It was just you two. 

And now he was gone, sent on a death mission, little chance of making it back. You found yourself in your room, not remembering how you got there. Tears were streaming down your face, slowing down to your chin. You went onto the balcony, luckily one that did not face the battle. It would be unbearable to see it. You curled up, your back pressed against the cool stone. You wished you had told him. Told him how you had felt. You relished the memories you shared with him. Even though he only saw you as a friend, no more. The day passed quickly, but you stayed where you were, hidden. And then, a horn sounded. They were back. At least whoever was left. But there were worse things heading towards the gates. Gondor was under attack.

You rushed to the gates, your thoughts clouded with panic. Only one thought was constant. Where was Faramir? You reached the guards at the front. 

“What happened? Who made it back?” You said hurriedly, seeing no signs of injury in the guards nearby. 

“Only the Captain of Gondor made it back ma’am, he was injured horribly. Taken back to the citadel is what I heard. Hardly going to last the night.” The guard looked at you, concerned. “Are you the one Faramir talked about? I was by his side all through Osgiliath. Pardon me if I’m mistaken, but you like precisely like what he described.”

You bowed your head, cheeks a hint darker than normal. It didn’t matter, he only talked about you as a friend. And besides, he was horribly injured. This should be the last thing on your mind. “Aye, that would be me. But excuse me, I must be on my way. I need to find him.” 

You turned from the slightly bemused guard and walked as quickly as you could without causing alarm. Although at this point, everybody had to have known about Faramir. Everyone except you. You turned a corner, quite distracted, and slammed into someone. 

“Oh, I am terribly sorry I- what on Middle Earth?” You stuttered. A child looked up at you, no, not a child, but he was small enough to be a child. Not a dwarf though. Something completely different. 

“Oh hello there! I’m guessing you have never seen a hobbit before! My name is Pippin, and don’t worry about accidentally running into me, it happens a lot. You look very in distress. What is wrong? Also, I am looking for a friend, so if you happen to see him please let me know.” The hobbit, Pippin babbled. You were a bit overwhelmed from everything you were going through but luckily found the patience to deal with this energetic hobbit. 

“Oh, I am looking for a friend as well, his name is Faramir if you manage to find him. And don’t worry little one, I am just worried for his sake.” You responded back quickly, hoping to move on your way. 

Unfortunately for you, the hobbit had different plans. “Oh yes, I am also looking for Faramir, as well as Gandalf. I saw him being led away, and I heard a mutter about the Steward going insane. I am trying to find him to help. But the trouble is brewing, and the fighting will start soon. I am worried, very worried.” Pippin babbled on as you searched the streets for this Gandalf. 

After a little while, he finally saw who he was looking for. He explained quickly what was going on and why he needed to check on Faramir. 

“Faramir is alive but Denethor wants to burn him. He thinks he's dead. ” Pippin spoke hurriedly, already rushing Gandalf along. 

You gasped. “You did not tell me that Denethor was trying to burn him! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pippin looked confused. “I didn’t tell you? I could have sworn I did.”

You shook your head, your heart racing even faster than it had been before. To make things even worse, you could hear the sounds of battle. The city had finally been breached. Luckily you were far up enough that the orcs hadn’t reached you...yet. Gandalf was farther ahead of you, and you quickened your strides to match his. He turned and looked at you, his eyes piercing yours. You had the strangest feeling that your mind was being invaded. 

“Patience child. We will stop that lunatic before anything happens. He will be alright.” He turned away again as if he hadn’t said a word. You gaped, it was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. He seemed familiar, but you didn’t know why. But alas, it did not matter at this moment, and you refocused your mind back on who you were trying to save. Faramir. 

As you hurried along, you tried your hardest to remember. His smile. The dimples on his cheeks. How much fun you two had together. Running through the markets when you were younger, causing trouble, but laughing all the way. How he would be publicly humiliated by his father. How you would be there for him, comfort him, make him happier. The hidden smiles in the throne room, the silent laughter, and inside jokes.

You were quickly brought back to the present as some stone shattered right behind you, showering big chunks of rock. You ducked quickly and grabbed the hobbit, making him run faster. You had to get out of there. Gandalf showed you two through a small alley, and all too soon you had arrived at the top. But Faramir and Denethor were nowhere to be seen. Somehow, Gandalf knew exactly where they were, and took you to a smaller room, that was barricaded. He slammed open the doors as if it were nothing, and you ran right into a horrifying scene. 

Denethor was standing on top of a pile of wood, and Faramir lay at his feet, both drenched in oil. Some soldiers had torches in their hands, and some looked hesitant. Everything drained away, all sound was muffled. All you could see was Faramir, and it was as if he knew you there. He rustled slightly and looked straight at you. His lips moved wordlessly, and you couldn’t move, an invisible force stopping you. 

A scream and then fire engulfed the wood, Faramir was taken from your view. Your feet finally decided to start moving, and both you and Pippin ran towards the pyre, grabbing Faramir before the flames could engulf him. Another screech and then you realized that Denethor had been taken by the flames. He ran off to who knows where, and the guards left quickly, helping to aid in the battle. 

It was soon just you, Faramir, Pippin, and Gandalf. Faramir’s eyes were closed, but his heart was still beating. You cradled his head in your lap, softly brushing his hair out of his face. 

“Gandalf, will he be alright?” You asked tentatively, not daring to even look away from Faramir. 

Gandalf sighed. “With time he will heal. But whether he will heal from the pain in his heart is unclear to me. He has been through far too much, as most have in such times, and for your sake, I hope he perseveres.”

You and Gandalf helped Faramir up, who at this point was able to open his eyes slightly. You both brought him to his room, as the medical wing was a greater distance. Pippin trailed behind like a lost puppy. The poor hobbit had probably never seen such violence in his life. You laid him in his bed, and Gandalf bid a quick goodbye, herding Pippin out. 

It was just you and Faramir. You knelt at his bedside and grasped his hand, waiting, hoping, for anything. More memories ran through your mind. He taught you how to use a sword, to protect yourself if need be. And then on your birthday, he had gotten you a sword of your own, beautifully crafted, and balanced perfectly. It was quite a gift to receive, and you protested, but to no avail. It was in your room, hidden so that no one could take it. You remembered how your hands tingled when he gave it to you, just the slightest brush of fingers. But you were young and naive. 

He stirred, and his eyes opened, looking at the ceiling. Then he tilted his head towards you and looked down at your intertwined hands. You stopped breathing for a second, nervous that you might have overstepped your bounds. 

“I am still alive. What happened with my father? I remember the smell of smoke.” Faramir’s voice was raspy still, and quiet.

You looked away, trying to figure out what to tell him. You were the bearer of bad news this time it seemed. “Your father thought you dead and was going to have you burned. I showed up with Gandalf and Pippin only moments before it was to happen. ”

He groaned and turned away. But he held on tighter to your hand, as if you were his lifeline, the one last thing keeping him there with you. “Faramir,” you said hesitantly, “I-I was so afraid of losing you. I never want to lose you again. I-” You broke off, too afraid to say what was on your mind. He was looking right at you, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Continue, please,” he said. He reached his other hand across his body, softly grazing your arm. 

You smiled slightly, taking in a shaky breath. “I love you Faramir. And I have for a long time. I am not creative enough to give a whole speech about my love for you, but my love for you is worthy of a speech if needed.”

Faramir smiled, the brightest you had ever seen it. “I love you too my dear, more than anything, and I am so sorry I never said anything before. Please forgive me.”

Then he slowly reached his hand up to your face, and you leaned towards him. But you went a bit too fast, and accidentally slammed your nose onto his, causing you both to cry out in pain. You felt like you were going to cry, you ruined the special moment. But then he smiled and started laughing so hard. You were so embarrassed, but you also started chuckling. 

In between breaths, Faramir choked out, “Clearly, neither of us have done this.”

You nodded, keeping back a grin.

He cracked a smile, trying to hold in his laughter. But then he sobered up. “Well, I think we should try that again. Help me sit up?”

You felt even more butterflies in your stomach as you propped up a pillow for him and helped him up. You leaned back to make sure he was comfortable, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. You laughed again, and he smiled. He traced a finger up your arm and all the way up to the back of your neck. He leaned in first, making an emphasis on how slow he was moving, but you were too nervous to laugh. Softly, he pressed his lips against yours. You barely moved, not daring to. But you slowly melted as he moved his other hand to the small of your back. You moved your hands, knotting them in his hair, pulling you even closer together. His lips molded against yours, slightly chapped, making you shiver. Ever so slowly, he began to pull away, much to your dismay. But he still held you in arms. 

Slowly, you whispered, “We should have done that sooner.” 

Faramir nodded and pulled you closer. “Thank you,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

[alicewritingstories]

The Mad King (pt 4/?)

I had several options for what to throw at poor Diccon next, so in the end I went to the Bingo card (from @badthingshappenbingo​).

This was bad news for Diccon.

The Mad King (pt 4/?)

Contents: Underage whumpee (17), Ablist language (used by whumper), Humiliation, Violence, Forced to strip (non-sexual), Self-sacrifice, Choking, Binding, Whipping, Stoic whumpee, Gagging

The next day, soon after lunch, Diccon once again heard hoofbeats in the courtyard: a larger party this time. His heart sank and he wondered if there was still a chance to run. But he heard a loud voice giving orders for the household to be gathered and the house surrounded. There was no time. He took a deep breath, adjusted his mantle, and walked out into the courtyard with his head up.

Sure enough, the courtyard was milling with men in the king's livery. One was still on horseback and as Diccon walked out he looked round at him.

"Good day, sir," Diccon called. "The king's messengers are always welcome. My brother Lord Ned is at court, but I speak for him in his absence, as best I can given my years."

The man looked hard at him.

"You're Diccon?" he asked.

"I am."

"I was given to understand that the traitor Ned's brother was a cripple."

Diccon gritted his teeth and took a moment to master himself. "My back has grown twisted," he said. "That's all. And as to my brother… I had heard there were charges against him, but I believe the king is misinformed. Is there anything I can do?"

The man dismounted from the horse and walked over to Diccon, standing too close and staring down at him. Diccon stood his ground, his heart hammering in his throat.

"I am here to take over administration of his estate," the man said. "I'm sure I'll find quite enough evidence of treason when I check the records, but in the meantime I suggest you show that he has raised you to respect and obey the king."

"Of course, sir."

"Personally, I think you're easily old enough to be implicated, but given that you're a child I'm also here to take over your education until the king has decided what to do with you."

Diccon hadn't thought his heart could sink any further.

"That is if you really are who you say." He started to walk round Diccon, looking him up and down. Diccon stood still with an effort, colour rising in his cheeks as he noticed that his whole household had now been gathered in the courtyard to see him inspected like a prize bull.

The man suddenly grabbed a handful of his mantle and pulled it off his shoulder, making him yelp.

"Your spine doesn't look twisted."

"You can see it from my shoulders." Diccon took the mantle off with a shiver. The man walked round to stand in front of him and stared critically at him, his lip curling.

"Strip," he ordered suddenly.

Diccon stared at him. "What?"

The man moved faster than sight, backhanding him across the cheek.

"Do as you're told, boy," he snarled. "I want to see this twisted spine."

Diccon was still reeling from the blow, let alone the outrageous demand.

"Are you defying the commands of one who stands in place of the king?"

"No. No, of course I don't want to defy the king," said Diccon. "Come inside. I… I'll show you."

"You'll do as you're told. You've already earned yourself a caning for disrespecting your elders. If this is how Ned has raised his ward, I think we have enough -"

"How dare you?" yelled Ned's steward, Harald, who ran the estate on the ground. "You come here, insult our lord, try to humiliate -"

"No, stop! Be quiet!" shouted Diccon. He'd not have this loyal man face punishment for him. "All right!" he cried, raising his hands and looking back at the emissary. "Ned has always been loyal and has always obeyed the king. We all have. I… I'll do as you say." He swallowed hard and beckoned Harald forward. "Hold my clothes for me," he said, keeping his voice steady with an effort as he handed him the mantle.

"Master Diccon -"

"It's all right." Despite his words, Diccon's hands shook as he unclipped the brooch holding the neck of his outer tunic. Even many of his own servants had never seen the twist in his spine.

Gradually, he took off the outer and inner tunic and was left with only his shirt. He hesitated, the cold wind cutting through to his skin. The uneven shoulders would be very obvious now, but the emissary’s expression didn't change and at last Diccon took off the shirt as well.

"Wasn't that easier than defiance?" asked the emissary mockingly and pushed Harald aside to walk around Diccon again. He stared into the distance, trying to ignore the blush rising in his cheeks and tears of shame pricking in his eyes.

Something landed on the ground by his feet and he looked down. It was a wooden bar with a small metal ring at each end.

"Put it in your mouth," the emissary said from behind him. "Children are to be seen and not heard and you clearly need some help learning not to speak out of turn."

There were a few angry cries around the household. The emissary shouted, "Guards! Bring forward those who just protested!"

"No!" Diccon spun round, his arms outstretched. "These are good people. Leave them alone, your quarrel is with me."

Again, the emissary moved almost too fast to see. This time his hand slammed into Diccon's throat and gripped. He tried to cry out, grabbing at the man's fingers to claw them loose enough for a breath.

"Insolent little brat!" snarled the emissary, and threw him hard to the ground. As he lay gasping and rubbing his bruised throat, he heard, "Did you find a whipping post?"

"No, sir."

"Then I'll improvise." Again he was grabbed  this time by the hair, and hauled half upright to be dragged, scrambling, to the hitching post where horses were tethered temporarily. The emissary threw him against it and ordered, "Tie him and give him twenty lashes. Then we'll see if he's ready to apologise."

The hitching post was a horizontal bar at waist height and two guards stretched Diccon's arms along its length and tied his wrists. He took a deep breath, making up his mind in a flash that if an apology was all the emissary wanted he would have it, but in the meantime he would do his best to stay silent. Not one cry, he promised himself. He could at least keep that much pride.

The first lash fell, a bright, hot line across his bare back, and he gasped.

"Count!" snapped the emissary.

"One," Diccon ground out through his teeth.

Another crack. Another line of fire.

"Two."

By the time he reached eighteen, he could feel blood running down his lacerated flesh, but he managed not to scream. A few tears spilled over and his voice caught on "Nine-nineteen!" But he braced himself. One more. Just one more.

The last lash fell. He gasped out, "Twenty!" and closed his eyes as his head spun.

"Now, boy, have you learned your lesson?" asked the emissary, stepping in front of him.

He looked up. "I apologise," he said curtly.

"Good." The emissary held a hand in front of his face and he realised he was expected to kiss it. That thought alone made his stomach churn and then he saw the ring the man was wearing.

Ned's signet ring.

The wave of pain and grief and anger choked him just as the hand around his throat had done. He fought to keep his composure. He'd do what he had to. He closed his eyes, tilted his head forward, and kissed the man's knuckles.

"Good boy. I think you still have a long way to go, though."

With no other warning, the wooden bar was jerked into his mouth. A strap tightened across the back of his neck, pulling it against the corners of his mouth, and to his horror he heard the soft snick of a lock.

"You'll wear that until I think you've learned some manners," said the emissary as the guards untied Diccon's wrists. Tentatively, he reached to the strap holding the bit in his mouth and found that, indeed, it was fastened with a small padlock.

There was no time for him to consider that before the emissary suddenly kicked him hard in the chest, sending him sprawling. His injured back scraped against the flagstones of the courtyard and he just managed to stifle a scream; the gag would mangle words but didn't muffle his voice entirely.

Then the emissary kicked him onto his side and put a foot on his head to hold him down.

"Hear these words!" he shouted. "I am now in charge of this estate until the king finds a more permanent solution. My orders will be obeyed immediately and without question! This whelp has no authority and no status. He may not leave the house without my express permission. All messages sent to him will be brought to me. All visitors to him will be turned away and reported to me. Anyone who disobeys will be hanged. Now go about your business!" He removed his foot from Diccon's head and said, "And you, get inside."

Diccon got up with an effort and turned to walk away, but the emissary suddenly cleared his throat.

"Manners, boy," he said.

Diccon turned to look at him, wondering if it would achieve anything to punch him in the face. He knew it wouldn't. He bowed.

"Very good."

Diccon turned and walked back towards the house, aware of all the eyes on him, shaking with cold and pain and the effort of keeping his head up. No matter how humiliated he felt, he could try to hide it.

He walked to his room and closed the door behind him before he let his shoulders slump. The room had been searched and his belongings were scattered on the floor, but at least nothing had been destroyed. He threw himself face-down on the bare mattress and finally let out a scream of pain and rage. The second scream turned to sobs.

[oss-crime]

Chapter 4-Project “Ma” –Seth–; Scene 4

Original Sin Story: Crime, pages 167-175

Let’s take a little walk down memory lane.

.

I first met Adam when he had only just been born.

As Miroku’s steward, I had been given the order to take the twins Queen Alice had birthed and discard them in the river.

They were both quite adorable babies.

Though, well, I didn’t get attached to them over that or anything.

But I did wind up having a fairly interesting idea.

I had wanted “friends”.

I had been carrying out several efforts for that purpose.

And my endeavoring to save those twins was also part of that.

.

I met Ceci Vaju through Miroku, and under his patronage I became head of the Royal Research Institute.

At the same time, I also began to meet with other people I viewed as appropriate “friends” and built up a network.

Venom was an extremely useful drug, and so now and then I would also use it when increasing my number of “friends”.

Only, it’s not like Venom was a cure-all for my problems. It also had several downsides, so I had to hold back from using it too much.

When things had calmed down to a decent degree, I decided to go check on how those twins were doing.

But…around then I ended up having a bit of a problem.

That is, I was in “poor physical health”.

Which meant that I couldn’t just go around places willy nilly.

So I decided to entrust one of the twins to a “friend” of mine. Raiou was a considerably skilled man, and so, though he had founded the organization “Apocalypse”, I gave him the order to leave it and go collect one of the twins.

I went to the beach and found the other one—Adam—and took him up myself.

…Ah yes, and there I wound up reuniting with an old colleague. Well, that didn’t matter to me so much. She’d always been a rather stupid woman.

All that aside, it was my first time ever raising a child, so it was fairly novel for me.

I did my best to raise him to grow into someone with my favored “emptiness”.

It was a busy time. My “friend” network was expanding, and I was kept occupied with my work at the institute as well. I also couldn’t forget to go to the castle and dose Miroku with the drug, too.

And then there was something else I had to do—to solve the source of this “poor physical health” problem.

For that, I needed to conduct research somewhere where I wouldn’t be seen by the public.

The facility called “Lunaca Labora”…That was where I had been born “as a human”.

My body at the time was an inferior product, and aged at a rate much faster than that of a normal human.

I needed to create a new body that would be sturdier, and last longer; prodigy that I was, I overcame this difficulty quite readily.

I was quite keen on my completed work, and so while I was at it I decided to create two more “ghoul children”—that is, clones.

It was also part of a new test to give me more “friends”. If I were to implant a fake personality based off of my own mind in the clones that I created, they would make ideal “friends”!

Or that’s what I thought…Well, even prodigies have failures sometimes.

One of them went flawlessly.

But the other one was a miserable dud.

Still, I could probably still use it as an emergency spare…Thus, I wound up keeping the failure in cold storage for the time being.

I named the “ghoul child” that had been successful “Pale Noel”. And then I entrusted him with the “Apocalypse” that Raiou had fled.

Pale is still doing excellent work even now. He is my clone after all, so I suppose you could say it’s only natural. 

…Only, he was doing a little too well, and as such it started to cause problems for my public position.

After all is said and done, Pale, a man who has the same face as me, was causing havoc as the leader of an anti-government organization, so obviously this was putting me under suspicion as well.

It’s not like Miroku could deal with all of it. I had to take care of it somehow before it got too troublesome.

First I ordered Pale to avoid showing himself in public any further, and to just work behind the scenes. Then I had all of the documents on Pale erased from the information bureau, and after that went to “Apocalypse”’s founder, Raiou, and erased his memories pertaining to my physical appearance.

Even then, doubts about the “head of the Royal Research Institute, Horus Solntse” hadn’t completely gone away.

I figured that this inferior body had begun showing its age about then anyway.

I decided to have the man named Horus retire from this world.

I went to “Lunaca Labora” and swapped my consciousness into the new body I had completed.

…Truthfully I did wonder if I should make some adjustments to my flawless features…

But! It would be an unthinkable sin to alter this handsome face!

--And thus changing my mind, I left it the way it was.

Well, I decided that if I ever got pressed on my similarity to Pale I could just tell them we were “twin brothers” or something like that to smooth it over.

It was actually true, in a sense.  

.

The new body was more comfortable than I had thought it would be.

I felt so good that I decided to stop using false names, and went by my true name of “Seth”.

I ended up staying in “Lunaca Labora” until all the excitement surrounding Pale could die down, working hard on making new “ghoul children”.

Though I couldn’t afford to cause another problem like the one I’d had with Pale by making clones that were exactly like me.

So I went on a bit of a venture with my third “ghoul child”.

I would make even the gender different, not just the face…A completely brand new “ghoul child”, that was a clone but also wasn’t!

And this, surely, would be a great enterprise on par with the “god creator of mankind’s bodies, Behemo” himself!

My “old friend”’s face came to mind.

Ha ha…That one would surely be stomping his feet in a rage if he knew about this!

.

…I’ll say it again.

Even prodigies have failures sometimes!

No! Rather, to be a prodigy is to be made up out of one’s failures!

It probably was a bit of overkill to implant in an “inheritor” power on top of changing the gender.

The moment I put in the pseudo-personality the girl took on a rebellious attitude, and as soon as my back was turned she escaped from “Lunaca Labora”.

I was unable to grasp her whereabouts for a while—but eventually I received word from Pale that he’d found her and was taking care of her.

It seemed that she showed quite the obedient side towards him.

…Why!? Pale is a clone of me!

--Well, whatever the situation, I decided to entrust her care to Pale.

.

I grew tired of making “ghoul children”, so I decided to go play with Adam again.

He’d seemed very rattled when we reunited at that bar, but the sight had also been quite pleasant.

Yes, at present, Adam was the one I could enjoy myself with the most—that was what I had thought.

.

I would let slip certain details to get Adam to hate me.

He soundly got on board with the idea, and so started plotting to have me killed.

Gosh, that had been fun…

Though, as you might expect I was a bit upset that my third “ghoul child” had genuinely tried to kill not just the other researchers but also me, in direct opposition to what we had arranged previously.

.

--Adam.

One of the “Twins of God” that had been abandoned right after he was born.

He had been most enticing as raw material.

I wondered how I might change him into one of my “friends”—that is, “evil”.

It was elegant sport.

.

He’d been superb at being “evil”.

And yet…or rather, because of that, perhaps.

Adam withdrew from the stage, and left.

.

For, to cast aside the role you are given, and run away—

That, too, is a type of sinful “evil”.

.

--And then there’s Eve.

Let me say it quite plainly here…the death of “Cain” and “Abel” was absolutely not my fault.

I wouldn’t have minded at all if those twins had been born properly.

For I had the suspicion that a new, altogether different story would have started there.

Simply put…their blood had been too dense.

The survival rate of children born between blood siblings isn’t all that high to begin with.

.

And another thing.

There is something Adam was mistaken about regarding Eve.

And something Eve was hiding from Adam.

.

The explanation I gave to Adam on Venom.

I did tell a few lies in that.

My extracting the genes from an “Inheritor of Levia”—

It wasn’t from a corpse.

It was from a newborn baby.

.

At present, there is one “Inheritor of Levia” in this world.

And her name—is Eve Zvezda.

Adam’s twin sister.

.

Venom has some drawbacks.

The drug was created based on the genes taken from an “Inheritor of Levia”.

So, while it might sound obvious—

On one who has the antibodies to it—that is, an “Inheritor of Levia”, it has no effect.

Venom doesn’t work on Eve.

.

Naturally…I have no obligation to tell any of that to Adam.

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[fuckingfinwions]

#3 russingon au? 👀👀👀

(from this)

Prince Fingon is about to come of age.

Feanor is a blacksmith (not anyone related to the king) in the small town of Formenos.

A royal messenger comes to the town to look over all the unmarried boys of appropriate age range as a potential private companion for the prince.

Maedhros, Maglor, and Celegorm are all about the right age, though Celegorm is on the young end and deliberately sabotages his chances because a palace sounds stuffy.

The messenger looks everyone over and asks some questions. Maedhros and a couple of the others also get asked if they have all their teeth, if they ever had the pox and if it scarred. Then the messenger rides away and that’s it for a while.

They don’t forget about it, because Feanor rants at dinner about how the royals do nothing and steal the work of honest men in taxes and now want to steal their children, but it’s not on the top of anyone’s mind.

There’s a lot of boys in the village, and though Maedhros is aware that he’s the handsomest of them, there’s a lot of villages in the kingdom.

It’s a month later when the messenger comes back, this time knocking on Feanor’s front door.

Maedhros is to go to the capital city and meet Crown Prince Fingolfin. If Fingolfin approves of him when they meet in person, Maedhros will become Prince Fingon’s private companion. If Fingolfin doesn’t approve, Maedhros will be sent back.

Maedhros kind of wishes he didn’t have to go be a glorified personal prostitute, but it’s a great opportunity. He’ll be in the capital with it’s libraries and art and people from all over. He probably won’t be allowed to talk to anyone important, but still it’s amazing.

And there’s not a whole lot keeping hm back at home. He’s competent in the forge and can make horseshoes and such, but not especially talented, and Caranthir is old enough to be a proper apprentice. He’s not dating anyone, and though he’ll miss his family he doesn’t have any very close friends

Sidenote: In the upper class, there is a very strong emphasis on heterosexual-virginity before marriage, and monogamy during marriage until you have at least three undisputed children, to ensure inheritance. In the lower class and outside the capital, it’s more common for teenagers to have bit of fun, and if you need to marry in a hurry because someone got pregnant so it goes. (This is apparently a not-elves au).

The messenger says that he’ll bring by the carriage for the journey to the capital in the morning, Maedhros can have a day to pack and say his goodbyes.

Feanor is not happy with this, even though it’s “temporary” and Maedhros will go back home once the prince marries in 5-10 years. 

Maedhros knows that pointing out that Feanor legally has to let him go will not make things better. There’s a lot of arguing, and Maedhros is able to mostly focus on what his free time might be like rather than what his new job will be.

(And Maedhros knows that if he admits he doesn’t want to go in Feanor’s hearing, Feanor will do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t have to. It’s nice to know his father cares, but it means he doesn’t say any of his doubts or even fully articulate them to himself.)

So in the morning Maedhros has a couple of apple crates full of his things and gets in the carriage.

He has a lot of time to think about what this will be like. Maedhros has heard that King Finwe is tall with dark hair, maybe Prince Fingon will look like that? (And should Maedhros call Prince Fingon by his title or just his name? Would it be seen as unbearably rude to forgo the title, or horrendously stilted to use it during sex?)

Maedhros has wondered what sex with another man would be like, but a reputation for it in his town would mean he might never marry and be alone forever.

Other things Maedhros knows about the royal family: all of Feanor’s anti-government rants. Fingon is the oldest prince. The cobbler two villages over traveled to the capital to visit her aunt, and said the princes were tall and had clothes woven out of silver instead of cotton.

Maedhros knows that the prince will of course be ugly and lazy, never having to work a day in his life, but someone nearly as tall as him would be nice.

“How old is Prince Fingon?”

The messenger looks at Maedhros like he’s an idiot.

“It’s two months until his seventeenth birthday. That’s why you’re here, to be his companion and be a good place for him to direct his adult urges as he comes of age.”

“I knew that, I just wasn’t sure when exactly he was considered of age.”

“The royal family doesn’t live their years any faster or slower than you do, kid.”

“I’m just not used to it being sudden. In Formenos, you don’t marry until you can support a house together, unless she gets pregnant in which case you build a cabin in one of your fathers’ yards and live off them until you’re ready.”

“The Prince is too young to marry, hence finding him someone to have fun with.”

“Of course.” Maedhros keeps quiet for the rest of the carriage ride so he doesn’t look like a complete fool. (Whether or not he wants to do this, he’s too proud to not try his best.)

They reach the capital, and there’s enough notice for Maedhros to change into his best clothes. He wore them to the festival this spring, the bright red tunic has flowers embroidered along not just the neckline most of the chest and stars on the sleeves.

Maedhros is expecting to be outclassed by Crown Prince Fingolfin, of course, but he might as well but on his best clothes.

Fingolfin is wearing a simple chain necklace made of more gold than Maedhros has ever seen in one place, even as a smith’s son. The shirt behind it isn’t embroidered, someone actually wove the cloth out of different colors of thread so it fades from an indigo near Fingolfin’s face through to a blue and then near turquoise at the hem.

Fingolfin calls Maedhros’s attire ‘rustic’ and asks him a few questions, though most of them have already been covered by the messengers.

Fingolfin then says he’ll make his decision in the next few days, there’s a temporary room for Maedhros in the servants quarters. He’ll be brought his meals, and shouldn’t go wandering (Fingon isn’t supposed to see his private companion until his birthday, it would spoil the surprise of his present.) And does Maedhros have any requests of Prince Fingolfin?

Maedhros asks if there’s a book of court etiquette he could study, either in his rooms or escorted to the library? “I know that of course I won’t take part, but as a private companion I’m supposed to be whatever Prince Fingon wants. If he wants to talk about his day sometimes, I'm sure he’d rather do so without spending hours explaining the context.”

Fingolfin asks, “So you’re not trying to learn the rules so that Fingon doesn’t punish you for misbehavior?”

“If Prince Fingon wishes to punish me for any reason, I of course will obey. But I have no desire to behave in ways he would find unpleasant.”

Fingolfin nods and waves a hand for Maedhros to leave. Maedhros does, and a few hours later one of the servants brings by a book of etiquette. It’s aged with a cracked spine, as new books are even more valuable, but it was obviously replaced in the royal library for datedness or cosmetic reasons, not readability. This copy is one the palace steward uses for reference.

There’s nothing else for Maedhros to do, so he reads it cover to cover. (He can do arithmetic too, they’re useful skills in the forge.)

Fingolfin decides on Maedhros. He’s pretty and polite and articulate, and not one of the sons of a half-dozen merchant families that are trying to get an avenue to the royal palace. Friends with the future king is nothing to sneeze at, even if it’s a degrading sort of friendship.

So the night of Prince Fingon’s seventeenth birthday, Maedhros is waiting for him. He’s dressed in a dark brown tunic that Fingolfin selected to make Maedhros’s fair skin not look washed out, and red leggings to match his hair. His hair is in one long braid, so it can just as easily be out of the way or used as a leash. He’s not wearing any underclothes, and he opened up and oiled his asshole so that Fingon can take him immediately if Fingon wants. He’s nervous, and kneels by the door to wait.

He waits rather a long time actually, and eventually concludes that it won’t be too presumptuous to sit on a stool, as long as he gets up immediately when Prince Fingon enters.

In the mean time, Maedhros thinks. They say everything in the capital city is politics. Maedhros himself would never leave a new.., acquaintance to wait by accident, especially not as a first impression. Prince Fingon is obviously setting the tone for the next several years with Maedhros. Maedhros has to be where he's told and do what he’s told, and Fingon will acknowledge him only when the prince feels like it.

Maedhros figures he’ll know more when the prince show up, if he bothers to thank Maedhros for waiting or if he’ll go straight to removing clothes.

Fingon is not actually thinking about any of this. It’s his coming of age! There’s a feast and dancing and drinking and all his friends and the whole focus of the night is on him. He knows he’s getting a private companion, but Fingolfin hasn’t given any hints about what exactly they’ll look like and Fingon has a lot of other presents right in front of him.

Fingon doesn’t worry about the hypothetical private companion’s comfort, because this is the palace, it’s got to be better than wherever the guy came from. Whoever it is can relax on a feather bed for possibly the first time ever and eat fancy food rather than plain bread, Fingon arriving a few hours earlier or later will make no difference.

Fingon is Nice, and is used to people knowing that. If everyone knows you’re a nice person, they give you the benefit of the doubt that thoughtlessness was not malice, and inattentiveness was not disrespect.

People have been telling Maedhros that Fingon is nice, but he expects they’d tell him that anyway. Everyone wants Maedhros to please Fingon after all, so they’ll frame everything the best way possible. They also say Fingon is determined, which Maedhros interprets as “never listened to the word no in his life”.

It doesn’t matter, Maedhros reminds himself, because saying no would be illegal anyway. If Fingon is the type to just push past that if Maedhros is not in the mood, it’s better than being thrown in the dungeons.

Eventually Fingon comes back to his bedroom.

[gilbertslipgloss]

Lady Oscar x Fem! reader

Part 1

The year is 1765. 24 years before the French Revolution. You are a 3rd class citizen by the nobility, nobility and members of the royal family. You may be a victim of the class discrimination of the time, but unlike them, you see yourself in the mirror as a person of great pride, simple-hearted, benign and naive.

Actually you really are. You don't have an eye on more of anything. You are grateful for yourself and live and go ...

You work as an apprentice with a tailor. The master asks you to finish off the missing button on the jacket that his customer two blocks away brought in a few days ago. Since your hand has gotten used to working there for years, you will finish sewing the button in minutes. You iron and fold the jacket and leave the shop to deliver it to the customer.

When you go out into the street, you see the people pouring out into the street and celebrating. While you cannot understand what is happening, you are committing the parade to take place. An army of countless soldiers passes through the street and you witness someone's conversation in the crowd.

`` Princess Marie Antoniette of Austria marries Crown Prince Louis ''

"Oh, are you serious! This is great! ''

So you think to yourself. As one of the people, you are happy for the crown prince who will head the country, but you do not want to dwell on it too much. You continue on your way.

Before long, you see Marie Antoniette's carriage crossing the bridge ahead. Next to the carriage there is a soldier on a white horse. You're guessing Antoniette's guardian. Although they are a little far away, you can clearly see the soldier's face. This mysterious person, who has a pretty face to be a soldier, manages to impress you at first sight.

You look at him with admiration. He is very beautiful and very handsome. You wonder, whatever the gender, how it manages to have traits belonging to both genders together.

You take out your pocket watch and check it. You realize that there are minutes to the delivery time and you rush towards the customer's house. You do not want to swallow the scolding you will hear if you are late, and you catch up on time and deliver the jacket to the customer. You put your wage in your pocket and hit the road again. But your mind is still in that soldier you see. You wonder who has what, but you remind yourself that you should know that you are not in your limits.

After all, isn't the crown princess the guardian?

When you get back in the shop, you are trying to get yourself into your job and try to get the beautiful soldier out of your mind. At that moment, the bell behind the door of the shop is rattling and you know that someone has entered the shop. When you look back, you see that this is your sincere (!) friend (male).

''Hey! *your name*. Why didn't you come to church? ''

“Sorry I couldn't come. I had works.''

`` Did you have an excuse for you not to come? ''

You begin to doubt whether the boy you call friend is your friend. So much so that everything you did was mint, criticized, constantly tried to adjust from his own religion or another qualification, and most importantly, he often exceeded his limits. You were giving your good will to your tastebuds, and you were begging patience.

`` I can say I had an excuse that does not concern you ''

`` Don't you know it's a big sin not to do what is fard for you? ''

Your patience is starting to run out since it's not the first time you do this but you know how to brake yourself

"If sin is a sin to me. You cannot decide who sin or good deeds will be written for! ''

Meanwhile, your master calls out to you.

''*your name*!''

You answer, `` Master, master? ''

He leaves the back of the store and squeezes two shirts in his hand.

“You will take these to Mr. Jarjayes. The servant would take delivery from the square of the church. Take care of this too ''

You buy the shirts by saying `` of course '' and make a brow-eye mark that makes your friend go away when you leave the shop.

Since it takes a long time to get to the square, black waters come down to your feet from walking, but you arrive at the end. You feel very tired and want to sit by the flowing fountain and get some rest. You take your head in your hands and close your eyes. But after a while you wander and you don't hear a woman calling you over and over again.

''Sorry. Would you let me wash my face? ''

A noble, gentle and gentle voice asks you. When you look up, you are shot in the heart. This is the beautiful soldier guarding beside Marie Antoniette's phaeton. You are shocked when you know from your voice that she is a woman. Serious and noble stance takes you away from you. You think you're dreaming. Because it has become a rule accepted by all the people, including you, that there will be no soldiers from women. But it turns out like a miracle.

As you stand up, your tongue grabs and you step aside

'' E-E-Sure. This is-here ''

''Thank you''

You watch her wash her face with cold water. She soon realizes that you are watching her

`` Do you want something? '' She asks you politely

"Y-No. I'm just an apprentice. I came to deliver what I have ''

She looks like he knows the shirts in your hand and moves one step closer to you. Your heart beats faster for no reason as you feel her near

"These ... these are my shirts! Where did my father give it to? However, my milk grandmother said I could handle it. ''

“Oh was it yours! Tell me that the housekeeper will take it '' and you feel your face turn red, your blood boil

''Yes. Let me take them. '' And he takes them away before you have time to give them.

`` A-But ma’m ... ''

“"Don't worry about it! Why would the steward take what belongs to me? ''

She winking at you while riding her horse. You feel like you are going to faint after your blood pressure rising rapidly. She taps the saddle of the horse with her foot and commands it and moves away. As you gaze after her, you hear the rush of horseshoes moving away.

Will you ever see this beautiful soldier that mysteriously confronts you?