#Free Sectional Test Series

[suliigwp]

BUON FUCKING GIORNO

You said you wanted to hear from me again??? Well here I am!! 1: LOVE your Mirrored hearts series it’s 😗🤌🏾😘💋MWAH chef kiss. 2: I’ve had in idea for a SMAU with Kimi Antonelli x best friend!reader… like reader is studying engineering and her dream is to get in Ferrari but Kimi is trying to get her to shift from Ferrari to Mercedes to have her close,(and because of his repressed feelings). Lest throw in Mercedes socials admin being a menace, reader kinda crashing out on her finsta bc she thinks that Kimi doesn’t like her back and in the end best friends to lovers bc why not. Do you see the vision??? Feel free to ad your ✨touch✨ to it. I’ll let you cook…

XoXo from Italy,

-🐢 anon

Engineered to love

Kimi Antonelli x Engineer!Reader | SMAU + Written | angst + fluff

SULI: hiiiiii 🐢anon! Oh it is so lovely to hear from you! Thank you for your kind words🫶 hope you enjoy this and thank you for requesting🫶 and yes, I'll wait to hear from you again tehe— I did have to add written part because I just Have to make it angsty — sorry this took this long😭

SUMMERY: Kimis ways of trying to get his best friend to join Mercedes puts a crack in their friendship

Warnings: none

yourusername

📍Maranello, Italy

Liked by kimi.antonelli, Ferrari, yourmom and 12k others.

yourusername got the call. I’m going to Ferrari.

I look grumpy in this because they dragged me away from the data screens mid-run and handed me snacks like that was supposed to help.

I was seven. I already knew what I wanted.

thank you to every version of me that kept going.

(and yes, I still snack like this before debriefs.)

comments:

kimi.antonelli: you’re not even in the factory yet and already giving ted talk captions huh

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: let me have my moment you bitter future world champion

mercedesamgf1: still time to change your mind 🤍

->yourusername: this feels like emotional tampering

f1paddocktalk: not the data prodigy origin story 😭😭

->yourusername: born to overanalyze throttle maps

kimi.antonelli: you were annoying even then

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: and you’ve never known peace

...

yourusername

Liked by kimi.antonelli, charles_leclerc, ferrarif1 and 16k others.

yourusername 12-year-old me would be crying.

Got to spend the week at the Ferrari Innovation Campus in Maranello — got my hands on real aero data, shadowed the team on a test day, and cried twice in a supply closet. No shame. This is the dream. This is my dream.

I know it’s just a visit. But some places feel like home even when you’re just passing through.

comments:

kimi.antonelli: you cried twice?? and didn’t text me?? ♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: you would’ve made fun of me and I was emotionally vulnerable

->kimi.antonelli: I would’ve said “come to Mercedes” and then driven to get you gelato

->yourusername: See. Exactly.

mercedesamgf1: Okay but. Like. What if we gave you access to our wind tunnel too. For... reasons. 👀

charles_leclerc: it was amazing meeting you❤️ I felt like the dumbest person in a good way🤣

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: charlie🫶

ferrarif1: Real recognize real. You’re always welcome, ragazza rossa ❤️ ♥️ Liked by Author

->kimi.antonelli: delete this please

f1gossipqueen: is it just me or is @/kimi.antonelli fighting a silent war in this comment section

->yourusername: 😐

...

mercedesamgf1

Liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli, susiewolff and 1.4M others.

mercedesamgf1: Kimis favorites around the paddock🩶 Working with our data girl🩶

Even if she refuses to wear silver. 🙄

comments:

kimi.antonelli: remove slide 4 before she kills me

♥️ Liked by Author

->yourusername: I am going to kill you

->kimi.antonelli: worth it

yourusername: “DATA GIRL.” do you even respect me as an academic

♥️ Liked by Author

->mercedesamgf1: actually we’re printing that on mugs 😇

ferrarif1: shouldn’t she be in Maranello right now? 🧍‍♂️

->kimi.antonelli: she’s exactly where I want her to be

f1teaofficial: PLS the comments are giving “pining Italian boy who doesn’t know how to say I love you”

->yourusername: I AM RIGHT HERE

->mercedesamgf1: and yet not in silver 😔

...

It was almost one in the morning when you finally stepped outside the simulator building, exhausted and overstimulated and still buzzing with the kind of clarity that only came with too much data and too little sleep. The air was sharp, biting, the chill wrapping around your arms like a warning. You sat on the edge of the stone bench outside, staring at the quiet Mercedes campus, his jacket in your lap but not on your shoulders.

Kimi was already out there, elbows on his knees, fingers locked together. He hadn't said a word when you sat down.

You didn’t either. Not at first.

And then—

"You looked good at the Innovation Center," he said suddenly, voice rough from silence.

You blinked. "Is that a compliment or the start of a complaint?"

"I don’t know," he muttered. "Both, maybe."

He finally turned his head toward you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something he already knew too well. "You looked like you belonged there. I hated it."

You laughed, a dry little sound, burying the ache it caused. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific, Antonelli."

He leaned back, stared up at the sky like it might help him find the words he couldn’t say directly to your face. "I want you to come to Mercedes."

You let the words hang. You’d known this was coming. Still, it made something twist in your chest.

"No shit," you said lightly, but your voice cracked right at the end.

"I’m serious."

"So am I."

He looked at you this time, really looked — like he was hoping you'd already said yes and he just hadn’t heard it yet.

You exhaled. "Kimi… I’ve worked for this my whole life. Ferrari has always been the dream. Every class, every project, every scholarship I wrote about them. I grew up with posters of the SF70H above my bed. I applied to Maranello before I even finished my thesis. It’s not just some internship, it’s—"

"—your oxygen," he finished quietly. "I know."

You nodded. "And now you’re asking me to give it up?"

"I’m not asking," he said, voice low. "I’m just… hoping."

You went still. The bench felt colder beneath you.

He kept going. "I want you here. Where I can see you. Where you don’t fade into someone else's legacy. You could build your own here. You should.

"And you think I can’t do that at Ferrari?" you challenged, eyes sharp.

"I think they'll let you in, yeah. I think they'll love having you around. I also think they’ll keep you in a box and smile while they do it. And I think… I think you won’t even notice, because you’ve wanted it too long to question it now."

Silence stretched. The wind blew your hair into your face. You didn’t move.

"That’s not fair," you said finally, almost a whisper. "You don’t get to weaponize the fact that you know me like that."

"I'm not trying to weaponize anything," Kimi said, quiet but firm. "I’m just telling you how I see it. And maybe…" He swallowed, looked down at his hands. "Maybe I want you close because I don’t trust myself not to fall apart if you go."

You froze.

There it was. Not dressed up. Not disguised as concern. Not even veiled in professionalism. Just raw, stupid honesty in the middle of a cold night.

You looked away, blinking fast. "So this is about you?"

"No," he said, and this time his voice broke a little. "It’s about us. If that still exists."

Your throat felt tight. "Don’t say that unless you mean it."

He didn’t look away.

"I mean it," he said. "I just don’t know what I’m allowed to want anymore."

You stood up too fast. The jacket fell to the ground.

Kimi didn’t move.

You stared at him like you were trying to convince yourself he was still the boy you grew up with. The one who used to cheer from the karting fences. The one who used to fix your helmet strap like it was sacred. The one who never once made you question what side he was on.

Now?

He felt like the very thing pulling you off-track.

“You’ve been waiting for me to break,” you said, voice trembling despite everything in you willing it not to. “Every time I talk about Ferrari, you get quiet. You make comments. You guilt me.”

“I never—” he started.

“No. Don’t lie,” you cut him off, sharp. “You don’t say it directly because that would make you the bad guy. But you drop hints. You say things like ‘Mercedes would treat you better’ and ‘you shouldn’t be someone else’s legacy.’ Like it’s concern. But it’s not. It’s control.”

He flinched.

You didn’t care.

“You don’t actually believe in me,” you continued. “You believe in me if I choose you. If I orbit your world. But the second I try to build something that doesn’t include you, suddenly it’s wrong. Suddenly I’m throwing everything away.”

Kimi stepped toward you, voice low and tight. “You really think I don’t believe in you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“You think I’ve spent the last ten years fighting for you, dragging you into every room you deserved to be in, defending you to people who didn’t even see you—just so I could control you?”

“Then what is this?” you snapped. “What is this choice you’re making me make?”

“I’m not making you do anything—”

“You’re making me feel like I’m betraying you by chasing the dream I had before you ever came into the picture!”

That shut him up.

And it made something in your chest break.

You lowered your voice, finally—like your anger had burned through and left nothing but ash behind.

“I loved Ferrari before I even knew your name. And now I can’t even think about taking the internship without wondering if I’m about to lose you.”

Kimi looked at you. Really looked.

“I didn’t mean to do that to you,” he said quietly.

“But you did,” you replied. “And I don’t know if I can forgive you for it.”

He took one step closer. "So that’s it?"

You shrugged. "I don’t know. Is it?"

He stared at you.

You had spent years imagining this moment. The one where you got the call from Ferrari. The one where it all paid off. The one where you'd finally be living the dream you bled for.

You never thought Kimi Antonelli would be the one making it feel like a betrayal.

The silence was suffocating.

And then he said it.

Quiet. Cold. Final.

"Then go."

Like you were some passing thought. Like everything you'd built together—friendship, trust, whatever the hell this almost-love thing was—meant nothing.

Your body locked for a second. Not from shock, but from the sharp heat that flared beneath your skin.

Then you let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Right,” you muttered. “Of course. That’s what you do, isn’t it? You push people out the second they stop orbiting you.”

Kimi flinched—but didn’t speak.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t follow you.

So you stepped back.

You turned on your heel with more force than necessary—your footsteps loud against the concrete, your spine stiff with fury.

And as you walked away, your voice snapped through the air like a whip:

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to see me fade into someone else’s legacy. You won’t see me at all.”

And then you were gone.

You didn’t look back.

Not once.

And Kimi?

He stood there. Silent. Still.

Not brave enough to stop you.

Not strong enough to admit he wanted to.

And he would regret that for a very, very long time.

...

They were twelve.

The heat was brutal. The kind that clung to your neck and made your fireproof suit stick to your skin, sweat pooling in your gloves and boots. You were sitting on the edge of the pit wall, legs swinging, fingers clenched around a half-melted paper cup of water someone shoved in your hands after the last heat.

Your helmet sat beside you on the concrete. Scuffed. Too big. Still humming with the leftover echo of your own breathing.

You stared at the track like it had betrayed you.

Twelfth.

You came twelfth.

Not because the kart wasn’t good enough. Not because you weren’t fast.

Because you locked up on Turn 4—went wide, didn’t recover, and lost everything in three stupid seconds.

You blinked hard. The sting behind your eyes was building fast, like heat rising in an engine. You hated crying. Especially in front of him.

Kimi sat next to you. Quiet. Always quiet, but especially after races. You’d learned by now not to expect much talking from him unless he had something to say. He wasn’t like the other kids, didn’t brag or scream or throw tantrums. He just sat there, knees bent, fingers picking at the Velcro on his gloves.

You were halfway through convincing yourself to go cry in the bathroom when he spoke.

Soft. Like he’d been thinking it for a while.

“You’re gonna change F1 one day.”

Your head whipped toward him. “What?”

He didn’t look at you. Still staring at the track, like he was seeing a version of it you couldn’t yet.

“You’re gonna change everything,” he said again, firmer now.

You scoffed. “I just came twelfth.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You furrowed your brow. “It does a little.”

He finally turned to you.

“No, it doesn’t. Not really. You made one mistake. That’s not the point.”

You didn’t respond. Just looked at him like he was speaking another language.

Kimi sighed and leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out in front of him.

There was a cut on his elbow and dust on his collar. He looked like a kid who belonged in this world — someone built for it. Born into it.

“You see things the rest of us don’t. That turn? Everyone else just takes it. You overthought it. You were already trying to correct the line before you even locked up. I watched.”

You blinked.

He kept going, voice picking up like he finally had something to say.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever seen go straight from the kart to the telemetry screen without even taking your gloves off. You ask better questions than half the mechanics. You feel things in the setup before the data even shows it.”

You looked down, biting the inside of your cheek.

“You think it’s about winning. And it is, kind of. But it’s more than that. You’re not just fast. You’re smart. And that’s the part no one trains for.”

You swallowed hard. The paper cup in your hands crumpled slightly.

Then came the part you’d remember forever.

He sat forward again, elbows on his knees, and looked at you — straight on.

No jokes. No sarcasm. Just quiet, unshakable belief.

“You’re gonna fix cars better than half the engineers on the grid. You’re gonna read data better than the guys on the pit wall. You’re gonna build things they haven’t even thought of yet. And yeah, you’re gonna piss off a lot of people by doing it better than them.”

He shrugged, like it was obvious.

“You’re gonna change everything. I just know it.”

The air felt too heavy in your lungs.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

You just looked at him — the boy with dirt on his face and grease on his fingers — and something clicked.

For the first time that day, you didn’t feel like crying.

You’re in Maranello.

Ferrari ID badge hanging from your neck. Data sheets in your inbox. Everyone’s shaking your hand, telling you they’ve “heard so much.”

You should feel proud. Triumphant. Fulfilled.

But all you can hear is a twelve-year-old boy’s voice echoing in your head.

“You’re gonna change everything.”

And all you can think is:

He believed in you before you believed in yourself.

And now he won’t even look you in the eye.

...

kimi.antonelli

📍Barcelona, Spain

Liked by mercedessamgf1, georgerussell63, lando and 52k others.

kimi.antonelli clean weekend. good vibes. grateful. thanks to everyone who made it feel like home out here 🤍

Comments:

landonorris: and yet I still beat you at padel

♥️ Liked by Author

mercedesamgf1: the sunset pic??? ok moodboard king

f1gossipgirl: Not @/yourusername being dead silent?? hello?? 😭

georgerussell63: amazing weekend mate✊

♥️ Liked by Author

f1updatesonly: wait has she not liked any of his posts since the Ferrari announcement…

pitlaneprincess: used to be top commenter. this is actually so sad now 💔

georgiaracegirl17: idk if y’all are still besties but she made you feel real in posts like this.

...

landonorris

📍Miami

Liked by zacbrown, mclaren, oscarpiastri and 1M others.

landonorris good food mid chaos 🧡

Comments.

f1gossipgirl: okay wait where’s @/yourusername???

pitlaneprincess: she hasn’t posted since Kimi’s “clean weekend” post 😭

mercedesamgf1: can neither confirm nor deny our collective heartbreak

scuderiaferrari: she’s working. y’all should try it sometime. Liked by kimi.antonelli

...

PRIVATE GROUP CHAT — “grid therapy (unpaid)”

@/landooooooo: Kimi’s still asking where you are. This is hilarious.

@/dying.in.data:

he told me to go. I went. case closed.

@/notcharleslol: not closed.

you still post about him at 2am in Helvetica italics with blackout captions like we can't tell.

@/teamradiotrauma63: she soft launched heartbreak like it was a firmware update

@/carmen.in.crisis: she hasn’t posted a selfie with eye contact since the argument. I’m scared.

@/gossipgasly: she posted a photo of his helmet on her Pinterest board and captioned it “whatever.”

girl be serious.

@/dying.in.data:

I didn’t think you’d notice that

also shut up

...

…Then Kimi Antonelli finally cracks.

...

@/dying.in.data:

Guys...

There's a note with it

It says "I'm sorry <|3"

@/landooooooo: okay wait that’s actually really soft????

@/notcharleslol: he’s annoying and I still want you to kiss him

@/carmen.in.crisis: this is literally the boy version of “it was always you”

I’m crying at my desk

@/dying.in.data:

I miss him

@/teamradiotrauma63: girl go get your man?!?!

@/dying.in.data:

He's not my man

He doesn't feel that way about me

@/gossipgasly: denial is a river in Egypt

...

It was late.

The paddock was mostly empty. Media had cleared out. The lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting long shadows against the concrete.

You were leaning against the pit wall, arms crossed, jacket zipped up to your chin. You weren’t supposed to be there — you’d finished your analysis hours ago — but your badge still worked, and the silence felt cleaner than whatever mess was still clinging to your chest.

Behind you, soft footsteps approached. Then stopped.

You didn’t have to look to know it was him.

He didn’t speak at first.

Neither did you.

Until—

“You still won’t look at me.”

Your jaw tightened. “And you still think everything deserves to be forgiven just because you finally show up.”

A pause.

Kimi stepped beside you, leaned on the wall without touching you. Just close enough that you could feel the heat of him.

“I don’t want forgiveness,” he said quietly. “I want to stop pretending like we’re strangers.”

You stayed quiet. Let that sit.

“You made me question myself,” you whispered. “You made me feel like chasing my dream meant losing you.”

He didn’t flinch this time. Maybe he’d rehearsed this.

“I never wanted you to give it up,” he said. “I just… I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without sounding selfish.”

“So you chose silence?”

“I chose wrong.”

The words were simple. Honest. You hated how much they cracked something in you.

You turned toward him, finally, and the look on your face stopped him mid-breath.

“I’m still not sorry I went,” you said.

“Good,” he replied. “You shouldn’t be.”

You held each other’s gaze.

Years of friendship. Months of tension. One moment of sharp clarity.

“We don’t fit neatly into each other’s worlds, Kimi,” you said.

“No,” he agreed. “But maybe we can stop trying to fit, and just find a way.”

You looked at him. Not as a teammate. Not as a boy who let you down. But as someone who had always, in some fractured way, loved you—even when he didn’t know how to show it.

You nodded once.

“Okay.”

Not a promise.

Not a fix.

But a beginning.

He smiled, soft and crooked. “Still team red?”

You smiled back. “Still team red.”

Then he pulled the snack you liked from his jacket pocket and handed it to you without a word.

You laughed. Took it.

And for the first time in weeks, it didn’t hurt to be near him.

But you didn’t move away either.

Didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

You stared at the wrapper in your hand. Familiar. Stupid. Intimate.

“I got your box,” you said, voice low.

He looked over, surprised — not because you said it, but because you finally did.

> “Yeah?” he asked. Like it had been sitting heavy in him, too.

You nodded, slowly. Eyes still on the ground.

“I didn’t open it all the way at first,” you admitted. “Just enough to know it’d make me feel worse.”

“That wasn’t the plan,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

You paused.

“But it did anyway. Because it was… you. And it was thoughtful. And I was mad at you. And I didn’t want to be grateful while still being hurt.”

The silence between you stretched again. But this one wasn’t sharp. It was soft. Worn-in. Like grief finally finding somewhere to land.

You finally looked at him.

“So… thank you. For sending it anyway. Even when I didn’t deserve nice things from you.”

Kimi’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile. Not quite a wince either.

“You always deserved them,” he said. “Even when you hated me.”

You blinked once, throat tight.

“I never hated you,” you said. “I just didn’t know how to stop being disappointed.”

He nodded. “I know."

You turned away then, just a little — enough to hide the glassy edge in your eyes. You tucked the wrapper into your jacket pocket like it was something fragile.

“It meant something. The box,” you added, quieter now. “It really meant something.”

“So did the silence after,” he said.

You looked at him again — wide, startled.

He shrugged, like it didn’t destroy him to say it.

Like maybe it already had.

“But… this? This right now?” he said. “It means more.”

This time, you didn’t say anything. Just nodded.

And when you finally walked away, he didn’t follow — but he didn’t feel left behind, either.

...

@/teamradiotrauma63: saw you two talking

What did he say?

Anything 👀👀👀

@/dying.in.data:

Nothing?

We just talked the fight out

@/teamradiotrauma63: tell me you're shitting me

...

@/georgerussell63: I need to have a word with you

@/kimi.antonelli:

???

...

It was quiet in the garage long after the debrief ended. The engineers were gone. The screens dimmed. Just the low hum of lights and the kind of silence that makes people say things they probably shouldn’t.

Kimi was still sitting at the desk, tapping a pen against a telemetry sheet he wasn’t reading.

George leaned against the wall behind him, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“You’re actually unbelievable,” he said suddenly.

Kimi didn’t look up. “Good to see you too.”

George pushed off the wall and came closer. “She’s in the same paddock as you. You get the chance to talk to her every weekend. And you just… don’t?”

Kimi finally glanced up. “It’s complicated.”

George scoffed. “No, it’s not. You like her. She likes you. You both look like kicked puppies around each other. What’s complicated?”

Kimi’s voice was low. “We said things.”

“So say better ones now.” George’s tone was sharper than usual. “You think you’re protecting her by staying silent? You’re not. You’re just making her feel like she was wrong. Like she made it up. Like you didn’t care.”

“I do care,” Kimi muttered.

“Then act like it.”

Kimi went quiet again, fingers tightening around the pen.

George ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “Look, I’m not trying to be a dick here—actually, no, I am. Because I’m sick of watching this play out like a bad movie.”

Kimi exhaled slowly. “She’s at Ferrari. She’s doing what she always wanted. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

George stepped closer. “You think you’re not already in the way? She’s hurting. She doesn’t say it, but she is. You’re hurting. And instead of doing something, you’re sitting here playing noble idiot.”

Kimi’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t the right time.”

“It’s never going to be the perfect time,” George snapped. “There’s always going to be pressure, always going to be something. But the right people? You don’t let them slip just because the timing’s a bit shit.”

Kimi didn’t say anything, but something in his face shifted. Something like guilt. Or maybe realization.

George took a deep breath and said, softer this time, “She doesn’t need grand gestures. She just needs to hear it. From you. Not from the box. Not from Lando. Not from some story you think tells her everything. She needs to hear it.”

Kimi blinked. “And if she doesn’t feel the same anymore?”

George gave him a look. “Then at least you’ll know. But right now? You’re punishing both of you for being afraid.”

Kimi stared at the telemetry sheet like it held an answer he hadn’t considered yet.

George grabbed his jacket. “Tell her before someone else does.”

Then he walked out, leaving Kimi in the low hum of silence.

...

@/teamradiotrauma63: I swear I am a driver not a therapist

...

He found you in the back paddock lot, standing by the railing. It was quiet, late. You didn’t look surprised to see him.

You just crossed your arms and said, “Took you long enough.”

Kimi stopped in front of you, eyes tired. “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me.”

“That’s not your call to make.”

He nodded. Fair.

You sighed. “Why are you here, Kimi?”

“I need to say something. Actually say it. Not send a box. Not drop a hint. Just—say it.”

You looked at him. “Then say it.”

He took a breath, steadying himself.

“I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. And I was too scared to say anything because I thought it would ruin what we had. And then I let you walk away without fighting for you, and that’s on me.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at him, trying to figure out if he meant it this time. If he really understood what it cost you.

“I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to pick me over Ferrari,” he continued. “I didn’t want to be that guy.”

“You didn’t make me choose,” you said. “You didn’t make me feel anything. You said nothing. That’s what hurt the most.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “I thought I was protecting you. Turns out I was just pushing you away.”

You looked down at your hands. “You hurt me, Kimi. Not because you didn’t like me. But because you didn’t trust me with it.”

“I do now,” he said. “I want to fix it. If you’ll let me.”

You looked up at him, straight in the eye. “I don’t need perfect. I just need honest.”

“This is me being honest,” he said. “I missed you. Every day. I hated not talking to you. I hated wondering if I ruined it forever.”

Your voice was quieter now. “I missed you too.”

Neither of you moved for a second.

Then, slowly, you stepped in and wrapped your arms around him.

He didn’t hesitate. Just pulled you in tight, like he’d been waiting for it since the second you left.

It was everything.

...

yourusername

Liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt, f1 and 1M others.

yourusername: do NOT ask. yes we yelled. yes we’re fine 🩶❤️

Comments:

kimi.antonelli: you forgot “yes, he was wrong”

lando: finally i can breathe again

charles_leclerc: no bc what was i supposed to do during the silent treatment?? babysit BOTH of you??

georgerussell63: i literally fixed this you’re welcome

mercedesamgf1: nothing to see here. just excellent cross-team collaboration 😌

scuderiaferrari: we’ll allow it. for now.

carlossainz55: who had ‘public truce photo’ on their bingo card?

alex_albon: does this mean she’s back on main? the finsta was scaring me

...

kimi.antonelli

Liked by mercedesamgf1, maxverstappen1, yourusername and 3M others.

kimi.antonelli: anyway. i’m fine now.

Comments:

lando: NAUGHTY. BOY.

yourusername: you did not just post the last pic i will literally cut your brakes

->kimi.antonelli: amore😉

charles_leclerc: oh he’s IN it

iamrebeccad: babies😍

user17: THE POST-ARGUMENT GLOW IS CRAZY

georgerussell63: was this pr approved?

->georgerussell63: forget it I know the answer

user55: KIMI WHAT IS THIS

pierregasly: HELLO???!!??!!

carlossainz55: happy for you. scared of her.

alex_albon: “i’m fine now” as in whipped beyond repair? yes we see that.

mercedesamgf1: posting like it’s a 2014 indie romance. proud of you, king.

scuderiaferrari: someone’s getting a strongly worded email about the driver lounge keycard

user12: he's a freak like us

Taglist, comment to be added; @angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu

make sure you can be tagged!

[cressidagrey]

The Red Notebook

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:  Every season, Felicity Piastri keeps a red notebook—meticulously filled with race notes, corner analysis, and tyre data—not for the engineers, but for Oscar.

Warnings and Notes: This adds much needed context to a mention of the Red Notebook in the eventual Silverstone one shot. Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

Oscar knew every driver had their rituals.

Some tapped the side of the car before lights out. Some listened to the same playlist before quali. Some wore lucky socks. He wasn’t one for superstition. (Unless it was Felicity’s notes tucked into his gloves.)

Oscar was calm, calculated, precise. But if there was one thing in his world that carried the same sacred weight as a prayer before battle, it was this:

The red notebook.

Felicity had been keeping one since he was fifteen.

Oscar had never asked her to do it.

But she did it anyway.

Every season of his career, starting in 2016, from karting to F4 to now, had its own red notebook. Same brand, same size, same weight. Always red. The kind with a soft leather cover and a ribbon bookmark. He’d once asked why that colour.

Felicity had blinked. “Because Racing is in your blood.”

Every year, a new one. Lined up in a quiet row on the shelf at home. 2016. 2017. 2018. All the way through now.

The season’s notebook started the day before pre-season testing. She’d jotted down tyre compound data while he was still learning the steering wheel settings. 

She never missed a race.

Even before they’d been married, even before they’d been anything more than best friends, she’d been the one watching grainy livestreams of karting races at three in the morning. She’d pause, rewind, scribble something, frown, rewind again. Always in pencil first. Always rewatching later with a cup of tea and writing with black ink. 

Oscar still remembered when it started. One day he’d come back to Haileybury from a junior series race, his helmet still damp with sweat, and found her at the kitchen table with a notebook open beside her laptop. She’d been watching his onboard, pausing it at the exit of Turn 9.

"You were lifting earlier here," she’d said casually, as if they weren’t fifteen and chronically exhausted. "Were the rears giving out or was it just the balance shift?"

He’d stared at her. “How do you even—”

She’d shrugged. “I rewatched the last three races. Thought maybe it was setup. But I think it’s tire fatigue.”

She hadn’t been wrong.

She never was.

He’d protested, at first. Told her she didn’t have to. That she could sleep in. That she didn’t need to rewatch every one of his races in painstaking detail. But she’d just looked at him, calm and matter-of-fact.

“I like watching you work,” she said. “And I like knowing how to help.”

Since then, every race season had a notebook.

She’d never stopped. Not in F4. Not in Renault Eurocup. Not in F3. Not in F2. Not even now, when the races were streamed to millions, and Oscar had an entire team of strategists and data analysts and performance engineers.

By the time he got to F1, the habit was ingrained.

Every season had a new red notebook.

Neatly labeled with the year on the inside cover. Oscar – 2019. Oscar – 2020. Oscar – 2021.

 All the way up to Oscar – 2024, tucked beside her laptop, the pen clipped to the side like always.

Each race had its own section—track map hand-drawn in the corner, weather data scribbled in the margins, key overtakes underlined in green, mistakes circled in blue. 

Notes on setup balance, driver behavior, tire drop-off. Observations from free practice. Quali patterns. Sector deltas compared across weekends.

One red notebook for every season.

Lined pages, neatly labelled.

Her handwriting somehow managing to be both clinical and caring.

Oscar sometimes thought about all those notebooks. How they formed a silent record of his life—not the headlines, not the points on a screen, but the real story. The choices. The nuance. The growing.

Oscar had once asked what she’d do with them all.

She’d just smiled and said, “Maybe I’ll give them to you. When you’re old and don’t remember why you did all this.”

But he thought she was wrong.

Because all he’d have to do was look at her.

And he’d remember.

Every Monday night—after every race, whether he won, DNFed, or trundled home in P9—they’d debrief.

Not officially. Not in a team room. Just the two of them. 

Over the phone. Or curled up on a couch somewhere. He’d grab a water bottle. She’d open the notebook. And they’d go through it—one sector at a time.

“You want the good or the bad first?” she’d ask.

And Oscar would always say, “Start with the bad.”

She never softened it. That wasn’t her style. But she never made it cruel. Just observations, always grounded in care.

“You were oversteering into Turn 4,” she might say. “You hesitated on the switchback in Lap 36. And you always get a little sloppy after safety car restarts.”

Then she’d pause. Let him breathe.

“Your tire management in the middle stint was beautiful, though,” she’d add. “And your dive on Lap 21? That was perfect.”

She always ended on that. Something kind. Something true.

It wasn’t just racecraft. She tracked patterns— behavior, tyre drop-off curves, pit wall communications. 

She never shoved it in his face. Never acted like she knew better. She just… saw him. All of him. His driving, his instincts, his cracks, his triumphs. And she held it with reverence. She had, always.

That was Felicity.

Not loud. Not flashy. But constant. Fiercely observant. Quietly all in.

Oscar had always known Felicity was the kind of person who remembered things.

Not in the casual way, either—this wasn’t *oh yeah, I think you mentioned that once* kind of memory.

This was weaponized recall. Pattern-tracking. Observation to the point of quiet obsession.

She always said it wasn’t for coaching. She didn’t have the right license for that.

But they both knew—Felicity’s mind was the license.

Oscar hadn’t missed a single debrief with her since he was fiteen.

Even now — full McLaren kit, media commitments, a dozen engineers and strategists surrounding him — he still came home after every race and sat at the kitchen table with her, red notebook open between them, a cup of tea cooling by her elbow.

She’d never push. Never judge. Just turned a page and say, “I think you started lifting earlier here. Did it feel different?”

And she was always right.

He didn’t know what he’d do without her voice in his ear. Her notes. Her calm, razor-sharp logic that made him better every single season — not by force, but by faith. She believed in him like it was a given. Like his success was a shared equation they were solving together.

That notebook was sacred now. A quiet, red witness to every win, every loss, every hard-earned point. 

Felicity never missed a race. Never skipped a page. Never stopped showing up, quietly and completely, with the kind of devotion that made him ache.

And Oscar knew how lucky he was to be loved like that. To be studied and understood and quietly backed with a red notebook full of margins and maybes.

By 2023, the red notebook wasn’t just Felicity’s anymore.

It was still hers in the way rituals are—quiet, sacred, consistent. But now it had new fingerprints on it. Smaller ones.

Bee had started watching races more intently after the summer break that year. Not just to cheer for “Papa’s car” or to spot “the man who always says ‘box box’ in the funny accent.” No—she started paying attention. The way Felicity did. The way Oscar did.

It began with questions.

“Why did the other car pit sooner than Papa?”

“Was he happy with that last lap?”

Oscar hadn’t thought much of it at first. Just curiosity. The kind of natural interest you’d expect from a kid who was surrounded by racing. And who could identify tyre compounds before she could spell tangerine.

But then, one day after the Dutch GP, he opened the notebook and found a sticky note wedged between Lap 28 and 29. Bee’s handwriting was still wobbly, more squiggle than letter, but it was there. Carefully written in her purple glitter pen:

“I think Papa was fast in the twisty bits. The Red car was slow. Tell him?”

He’d laughed. Soft and stunned and warm all over.

Felicity had just smiled. “She asked if she could help.”

After that, it became a thing.

 Usually marked with a tiny star, or Felicity’s added annotation: “Bee’s call. She might be right.”

And the thing was — sometimes she was.

Bee had an instinct for rhythm. For flow. She couldn’t articulate it like her mother could, but she felt when something was off. Her feedback wasn’t technical, but it was honest. Raw. Oscar had learned not to dismiss it.

After the Japanese GP, she had scrawled, “Car sounded grumpy today.” Turned out there had been a small issue with engine mapping.

Bee’s contributions were scattered throughout the pages like little bursts of joy — added while Felicity reviewed footage with her on her lap or at the table. Sometimes Oscar came home to find the notebook open beside a half-drunk juice box and a crayon drawing of Turn 4 with a heart around it.

He never took them out.

Felicity never corrected them either. Never scolded Bee for scribbling in what had once been her own sacred system. If anything, she looked quietly proud.

“She watches with me now,” Felicity had told him once, her voice soft as she passed him the notebook. “She wanted to write something after Suzuka. Said she thought your car was sliding more than usual in the esses.”

Oscar had blinked. “She said esses?”

“Specifically. She said ‘I think it’s the bit where the car goes whoosh whoosh left right left really fast.’ So… the esses.”

Oscar had laughed. Then paused.

Bee was three.

Sometimes she asked questions that made even him pause — about racing lines and brake bias and why tyre wear seemed worse on warmer weekends. 

Sometimes, when Oscar flipped it open after a race, he’d find a different kind of note squeezed into the margins — messier handwriting, uneven spelling, sparkly gel pen in place of Felicity’s precise script.

“You did really really good at the overtake!!” “I think maybe you were sad in the middle. Was it because the tyres were bad?” “Next time try even more zoom!!”

There was one he’d never forget — a page where Bee had stuck a neon orange post-it and written, painstakingly, in huge capital letters:

“I WAS SO PROUD I DID A LITTLE JUMP.”

Underneath, in smaller, steadier handwriting:

Same. – F

Other times she just wanted to draw pictures of his helmet and write “GO PAPA” in shaky block letters across the page. But she was watching. Really watching.

And the red notebook had become a shared ritual.

Oscar would come home after races and find them curled together on the couch, the replay paused mid-turn, Felicity with her pen and Bee with her toy car in hand, mimicking every motion.

And when the notebook was passed to him, it felt heavier. Fuller. Like legacy.

Because in those pages—lined with analytics and corrections and glittery three-year-old commentary—was something unshakeable.

A family.

A home.

And the quiet, unspoken truth:

They saw him.

Every lap. Every decision. Every tenth gained or lost.

They watched. They learned. They remembered.

And in between the margins and the tyre notes and the childish stickers that said "GO PAPAYA GO!!", Oscar Piastri could read something else:

He was never doing this alone.

And after all these years, Oscar still found himself sitting on the couch, a cup of tea in his hand, watching the girl he loved scribble something in the margin of the notebook — the red one, the current one — and thinking:

She knows me better than telemetry ever could.

He didn’t need a strategist when he had Felicity. He didn’t need a publicist, a hype reel, or a season highlight package.

He had a girl with a red notebook and a brain like fire — and a heart that chose to use it for love.

And when he won—really won—it would be written there, too.

In pencil first.

In ink, later.

With love, always.

Written down. Every season. Every race. Every lap.

[alchemistc]

Technically a continuation of the make them communicate series I keep getting more inspo for.

two-way contract

"I need some advice," he says, the moment they're settled, and Tommy stares forlornly at the slab of salmon that is definitely not going to be the right temperature in however many minutes. It takes him a moment to register what he's being asked, and it takes a concerted effort to keep his cool once he draws a conclusion.

Evan has a roster, Tommy knows. A specific set of people he reaches out to for specific areas of expertise, and Tommy, for all that they've been working on things, has never been a part of that.

He thinks of hearing that Evan admired him, once upon a time, and wonders if the Tommy hearing that had ever considered he might one day shift into the roster. It's not a promotion he's entirely prepared for. He hasn't trained for this.

"Okay," Tommy says.

"So there's... this guy," Evan says, and the irritation hits Tommy's spine before he can stop it. Not a call-up, after all.

He's trying to work through this stupid urge to be Everything All The Time for Evan, but it's work. It's still work.

"Is this guy ...handsome?" Strike two for the both of them. Straight to the flirt. Or, if Evan's feeling snippy, a direct line to the jealousy and accusations.

Evans brow furrows in confusion. "Tommy, what does his attractiveness have to do with -?" He veers. "I have to start again or I'm gonna lose my train of thought."

Strike three before Tommy's even learned This Guys name.

"There's a guy, from 137," Evan starts again. "You can eat, this is gonna take a minute."

Christ, add a 3-6-4 double-play by the opposition to the list.

The warmth hits his spine as Evan lays out the absolute stupidest turf war known to man, and the fellow firefighter who keeps flirting with him at scenes they both show up at.

"Like I'm free game, Tommy. Like every civil servant in the city isn't well aware I'm dating that crazy pilot from 217?"

"That's what they call me now?"

"So not the point, Tommy."

Evan drops Tommy's name like an endearment, like a sacrament, like an expletive. Tommy's never appreciated his name before he heard Evan Buckley use it like a prayer.

Crazy Pilot isn't the worst thing he's ever been called. He doesn't see anyone else out here attempting to get closer to Those Batshit Freaks At The 118. They might have a point.

"What... do you need my advice for?"

Evan rolls his eyes. "Tommy." A plea, this time. "I don't know how to let a dude down gently. Not on purpose, anyway."

("Oh, TK thought I was asking him out," on a random Tuesday morning while Tommy was doing his best work right around Evan's belly button.

"Can you please stop bringing up all the men you didn't know you wanted to fuck while there's a perfectly serviceable one right here?"

"You're more than serviceable, Tommy.")

He's been trying to stop seeing everything as a test, too, and that little nugget is rearing it's ugly head at the moment.

It takes him a long moment to realize Evan's framed this whole thing in a way that blazed right fucking past Tommy's jealousy issues.

"What did Maddie say?"

Evan's brow creases. "I haven't talked to her about it."

Oh.

Fuck.

He's gotta get past the giddy feeling bubbling up before he blows this. They can talk about that later.

"Is gentle the right move, here?" Evan blinks. "If you're sure he knows about me, maybe tossing the code of conduct with a highlighted sexual harassment section through his window one night is a better move."

"I know you're being facetious but the only reason I'm not doing that is because he'd find something flattering about me knowing where he lives."

The surge of protectiveness isn't new, but it feels like a new branch has grown off that tree. Not the point. Not the issue. But it's there all the same. "So he's been aggressive about it."

"He sent me flowers at work."

Better than home.

"C shift thought they were from you until I threw them in the trash."

Worse than home, actually.

Tommy doesn't have a solution. Tommy has the reminder of a man who'd clocked him in his late twenties before he'd figured himself out and scared Tommy into dating women for half a decade.

"I don't know if gentle is the right move," Evan says, and Tommy knows they aren't getting to dinner for a while. "I just know if the rumor mill gets hold of this they're gonna start calling you Crazy Cuck instead and then I'm gonna break my hand on their face."

Tommy snorts a sip of wine through his nose when he fails to hold back a laugh

[perry-the-human-fanzine]

Hi there! Today i will sharing some information about the zine sections.

I'm in the process of creating the templates and running some tests to ensure that things like font size won't cause readability issues when printing.

I still want to play around a bit with the layout and I’m totally open to suggestions, but for now, the sections are pretty much set.

Both writers and illustrators will have several sections in common:

ID:

This section is meant to share some basic info about your Perry. Artists will draw a passport-style photo (or provide a drawing where Perry's face is clearly visible), and writers can choose to either include a drawing (you can do it yourself or team up with an artist) or just leave the space blank—it’ll be replaced with a mysterious silhouette wearing a hat.

If your Perry has a signature, that’ll add a nice realistic touch.

About:

In this section, you’ll share a bit more detailed info about your Perry, plus a few words about yourself. Feel free to write whatever you like!

Backstory:

We all love a good backstory—context is what gives your Perry that extra flavor. And in this section, you’ll have space to really go all out.

Social media:

In this small space, you can promote up to two of your social media accounts.

I still need to estimate the approximate word count for each section, but I’ll share it as soon as it’s established!

ARTIST

Screenshot redraw:

For the artists, there will be two spots to showcase your work. In the first one, you’ll follow a fun challenge where you redraw a frame from the series, swapping the canon Perry for your human Perry. You can use the background from the original shot or draw everything from scratch. If your Perry shows up, that’s great!

If you use the original background, just try to find an image with good resolution.

Art Gallery:

In the second spot, you have full creative freedom—you can create a brand-new piece about your Perry, use drawings you already have, make a collage, a comic… we want to see your PERRY!

Artists will have 2 pages (a double spread) for their Perry, so all their info can be seen at a glance.

Writers:

Fanfic:

Writers will have two full pages to write a one-shot. The genre is free, and the layout will be as follows: one page with all the character info as a sort of presentation, and a double page spread for the fic.

Once again, i still need to estimate the word count for the piece.

And that’s all the info I can share for now—I'll keep posting updates soon about other sections like articles and extra content. If you have any suggestions to improve these sections, I’m all ears!

[what-even-is-thiss]

Free or Cheap German Learning Resources for all your Hochdeutsch Needs

I will update this list as I learn of any more useful ones. If you want general language learning resources check out this other post. This list is German specific. Find lists for other specific languages here.

For the purposes of this list "free" means something that is either totally free or has a useful free tier. "Cheap" is a subscription under $10USD a month, a software license or lifetime membership purchase under $100USD, or a book under $30USD. If you want to suggest something to add to this list, include things in this price range that are of good quality and not AI generated.

WEBSITES

DW - A public broadcasting service from Germany that also has a German learning section. They have videos, tv series, and lessons from beginner to advanced. The website is free to use with an account.

Gothe Institut - An organization affiliated with the German government that administers language level tests and promotes German culture abroad. They have a lot of free exercises and test questions. If you're willing to pay they may also have classes available in your region.

thegermanproject.com - A free website with explanations of beginner German concepts and stories to read for people at the beginner level.

germancorrector.com - A free website that will correct your spelling and grammar. You can also set the dialect to Switzerland or Austria.

Your Daily German - A blog in English by a native German speaker named Emanuel who makes posts about grammar, vocabulary, tips, and suggestions for reading.

YOUTUBE CHANNELS

Comprehensible Germani - A comprehensible input channel with German lessons in German using visual aids. Has content from beginner through upper intermediate.

Learn German - A channel that explains certain concepts and provides listening practice. The channel uses a mix of German and English.

Chill German - A channel that makes vlogs in slow German. They have videos from beginner to lower advanced levels.

Natürlich German - A comprehensible input channel that talks about different aspects of German culture and other topics as well. Has videos for complete beginner to lower advanced. This channel hasn't updated in a while but there's a large archive to watch through.

Easy German - A channel that has a combination of videos about basic German phrases for beginners and videos with interviews on the street in German speaking regions. The channel has dual language German/English subtitles on screen. The hosts of this channel also have a podcast for intermediate to advanced learners.

Expertly German - A channel about learning German with discussion of grammar, vocab, and business German. The channel is entirely in German.

Deutsch Mit Lari - A channel with a mix of German Lessons and vlogs in slow German. Content ranges from beginner to intermediate. All content and explanations are in German.

Learn German With Anja - A channel with a mix of lessons and videos on culture and living in Germany. Videos are in a mix of both English and German and often have dual language subtitles on screen.

READING PRACTICE

German graded readers by Olly Richards Short Stories in German, Intermediate Short Stories in German, Conversations in Simple German, Western Philosophy in Simple German, World War 2 in Simple German. Books tend to range from $4-$20 depending if you buy the digital or print versions. The books can also generally be found easily at used book stores or used on Amazon for cheaper.

Dino Lernt Deutsch - A series of short stories for beginners about a man named Dino lost in various German speaking countries. The full series new in print costs about $25 but it can be bought used or as a digital edition. Each individual story can also be bought separately

Nachrichtenleight - A website with news articles in simple German. The website is entirely in German.

AlumniPortal - Website with articles about business, academics, and other related topics organized by difficulty level. Has articles from upper beginner to upper intermediate. The website is entirely in German.

Grimm Stories - A website with an archive of the original Grimm's fairy tales. Language may be a bit archaic. The website is available in multiple languages.

PODCASTS

Slow German Podcast - Advertises itself as being for beginner to lower intermediate. The host talks about everyday topics such as seasonal weather and describing your apartment.

Easy German Podcast - The hosts from the Easy German Youtube channel talk about different topics, news, and answer questions from listeners in clear and understandable German.

News in Slow German - It is a podcast with news in slow German, including international news and culture news. Only a small section of the program is available for free.

Top-Thema Mit Vokalbeln - A podcast from DW for lower intermediate learners that discusses news topics in simple German and provides vocabulary lists related to the episode topic.

German Stories - A podcast for beginners in a mix of English and German that gives lessons through dialogues and short stories.

Speaking of Berlin - A podcast by Babbel of Berliners telling personal stories in slow German.

SELF STUDY TEXTBOOKS AND DICTIONARIES

Complete German All-in-One from McGraw Hill - a textbook that also doubles as a workbook. It’s more expensive at about $30. It’s difficult to find intact used copies of this book because it’s also a workbook and people tend to write all over it and tear it up. However the sentence builder and grammar sections are sold separately for much cheaper if you just want one or the other.

German Made Easy - Individual books in this series tend to be about $10-$20. From what I’ve read it’s just fine but it’s cheap and has all the beginner concepts you need and used copies are fairly easy to find online.

Easy German Step By Step - This is McGraw Hill’s budget option at $12-$16 new. Though as this one isn’t a workbook, it’s easier to find used copies. It focuses hard on only the most frequently used vocabulary and grammar concepts to get someone started as quickly as possible. It’s also available in audiobook form.

German Grammar Complete - This book is a full comprehensive guide to all levels of grammar from absolute beginner to college level. However it’s on the more expensive side at $30 and the workbook is sold separately.

DK German to English illustrated dictionary - This dictionary is sorted by topic and includes pictures and English translations. This is a new edition and is slightly harder to find used as I’m writing this. The base price is about $20 but there are older editions of this dictionary that might be easier to find used.

Merriam-Webster’s German to English Dictionary - The OG. The legend. The menace. The classic bilingual dictionary. Simple. Many words. Decent explainations. Only $8 new. Easy to find used older editions.

SERIES FOR LEARNERS AND KIDS TV

Hallo Aus Berlin - A series infamous among German students everywhere. Made in the early 2000s for use in classrooms, it has ten episodes of kids talking about certain topics like numbers and going out to a restaurant. It also has a number of songs. It’s cringey but in a fun way in my opinion.

Löwenzahn - a kids tv series aimed at very young audiences that’s been on for several decades. Every episode discusses one topic like bridges or factories so you’ll hear certain words repeated a lot. Theres only been a couple of different hosts so the presentation style remains consistent and unlike some other shows for kindergarteners it’s not obnoxiously loud and can be enjoyable for adults.

Sesamstraße - Sesame Street in German and localized for the German market with different themes and characters. In their YouTube channel you can find clips from as far back as the 1970s.

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 14

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k words

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy woes, anxiety, fluff, angst, poor Dean's out of his element again, nesting (I love the concept so damn much), nerf guns, pup gender reveal

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

“Oh.” Dean looked back at you, finding your eyes lit up and hopeful. He couldn’t help but smirk at the heightened interest in your scent.

“Oh?” 

And your demeanour.

He gripped harder on the cushioned handle and pushed down again, feeling the layers of steel, rubber and plush padding sway beneath his fingers. “The suspension on this thing is awesome.”

“And?” 

He shrugged. You were way too eager, hanging off his every word, and he needed to be tight-lipped.

“And…it might be handy.” Yeah. That would placate you while he thought this through.

Sure, this stroller had more going for it other than just being fire engine red in a sea of white, beige and black. Didn’t mean it was a good thing. The colour had drawn him to it, which meant others would be drawn, too.

Yes, he could pack a lot down the bottom of that basket. Even hide an angel blade somewhere in the handle there if he got his welder out. Engrave a devil’s trap into the chassis, but…no. No, no. You’d said you’d be able to take the pup out for walks when he wasn’t there, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to consider that.

Being there in that nursery store wasn’t something he’d considered either. When he’d said he wanted to take Baby out for a spin to break in the new tires and test his handy work after her incident with old Alice, he never intended you’d end up as far away from the bunker as you had. 

Stupid him. He’d had plans for a simple drive. Get some groceries. Take you out to eat.

But then you’d seen that family in the diner while you were chowing down on his fries. He caught a whiff of jealousy in your scent as you saw that mom playing with her pup. The googly eyes at their fancy stroller, and Dean realised so far you’d bought nothing for your son, aside from the stuffy he’d chosen months ago.

So, what did he do? 

Well, his dumbass suggested it was time you went to a store and looked at stuff for him. He was an awesome mate, after all, and he was excited - at first. 

You’d buy a crib, a stroller. Maybe some essentials like wipes. A book or two. Blankets and pillows to build your nest with, which were all fine. Perfert. Wonderful. Until he stepped foot inside this joint and he was reminded why he’d tried sourcing as many of Baby’s needed parts online as he could.

Where to start? The music with its whiny drone and high-pitched piano? The mish-mash of colour, dominated by rainbows and construction truck yellow? The smell of snotty noses, diapers and Cheez Doodles? Had every kid pooped in here or was there something wrong with the plumbing? 

Alright, a salvage yard would’ve had none of these things (might’ve stank a little), but the pup store had the upper hand for worst, simply on the fact you were there, amongst people he didn’t know. 

He’d slung his arm over your shoulders and directed you around the other shoppers with the widest of gaps possible between you and them, following the signs to the wall of strollers on the left. You passed the conveniently located nesting section right by the cash registers on the way, of course. Full of all things fluff, including stuffed animals. 

Dean may have glared at another alpha who got too close when you stopped. He may have sympathised with another who also found himself stuck while you and his omega eyed one fugly looking cushion, but he said nothing. Neither did the other guy. Though there was an eye roll when your scent peaked in full delight as you ran your fingers through the fur that could’ve passed for a muppet. 

Oh god. His world was going to be full of Elmo and Cookie Monster, wasn’t it? Or that blue thing with the Australian accent he kept seeing as you walked by older pups sitting in the main part of their parents’ carts with eyes glued to their screens. 

Whatever it was, it wasn’t for his little man. Nope. He’d watch Scooby and the gang. Maybe the Jetsons or the Flintstones, but there’d be none of this modern crap. Cartoons, not equipment. He could see the benefit of Wi-Fi connections and GPS. 

He huffed. Tilted his head on the idea. That would definitely be handy, and his eyes travelled the length of the red stroller before him, up and down, side to side. Was there space? If he could make an EMF reader out of a Walkman, he could add a tracking device to the frame of this thing. It was big enough.  

He rocked it. Pushed it back and forth under the large metal racking that housed it and then out into the otherwise empty aisle.

The wheels turned well. The front smaller ones spun around a full three-sixty and into some crumbs on the floor… Those at the back were big and thick. He touched the sole of his boot to the top of the right one and pressed hard against the rubber. Good pressure. Great shock absorption. The brake was a little flimsy, though. 

“This one’s kind of expensive,” you said, taking the little swinging tag hanging off the bright red hood in your fingers and flipping it over for him to see. 

Dean gawked with you at the numbers. How much? For something the kid was gonna grow out of in a year or two, this thing should’ve been made of gold and angel feathers. He stretched over the handle and pushed the padding of the seat down, and his chin into his neck. 

He wouldn’t find it comfortable. Then again, his full-blown adult ass would crush the frame. 

He turned back to the swell of your stomach, though. His little mango wouldn’t. Sammy never had either. He didn’t have one, being carried everywhere until he could walk from what Dean remembered. 

Motel cribs and scratchy blankets that smelled like smoke - and not the good kind. A different room every other week in a shitty town, off the beaten track where they likely never returned to. That was their life. And he couldn’t even remember his mom’s nest because of it.

He’d once said he’d freak out over manicured lawns and an omega who greeted him with a “how was your day?” after some crappy office job. But this stroller with the little stitching and embossed cursive logo under his fingertips. You. The bunker, in its own way. It all represented a stability he could only ever dream of, and now, with the strong chance of it staring him in the face and in his grasp, he wanted it for his pup. 

“Is this something you like?” he asked through another shrug and a slight dig of his toes into the cookie crumbs beneath him. Not sure which answer he was hoping for until it left your mouth.

“I mean. Maybe not so expensive,” you said, still holding the tag. Your face frowned as you read over the numbers again, and though you tried to hide it, he couldn’t miss the twinge of disappointment in your tone. “I’d rather get something…simpler. Especially if you’re not on board with us walking without you.”

Dean studied you a moment longer. It wasn’t safe, but he couldn’t deny you normalcy. He couldn’t deny you anything if your history was anything to go by, and the apple pie lifestyle was something you and the pup deserved.

“Maybe the red is a bit too conspicuous.” He pushed the stroller back under the rack, as if it were the real problem, and took a step over to the next one down the line. 

The handle was just as soft. The suspension, sensitive, easy to move and lighter. “This is nice.”

At least, he thought. If someone had told him a year ago that he’d be standing here in this store with you, shopping for this stuff, he would’ve laughed in their face. Yet, here he was, and it was nice. And brand spanking new. 

He brought it over to you and pulled you to stand in front of him, pushing his chest flush against the warmth of your back. He then leant over you, encompassed you and your bump between him and the display. His head, coming neck and neck with your own, nuzzling your mark, breathing it all in. The apple, the citrus. The odd sweetness of new plastic. 

When your hands ran over the leather, he covered them with his own. Soft on soft. Soft under rough.

“You think you can imagine our little guy, all comfy in here?” he said into your ear.

When you hummed, he knew before you even spoke that you weren’t going to let him get away with it this time, but someone else said something first.

Dean had been so busy focusing on you, the stroller and trying to ignore the stench surrounding yours, he hadn’t noticed the approach. 

Okay. He was overzealous on the safety front, too. He clearly had good reason to be, and his fingers gripped yours tight, squeezing your bones under the skin. Yeah, you were in a store. That didn’t mean his inner alpha wasn’t gauging anyone else as a threat, even if they worked there.

‘Too close,’ it snarled.

‘She’s a beta. Same as Donna,’ he said, and when he turned around, she was.

Yay high. A healthy dose of extra meat to her bones. If her red and white candy striped shirt was blue and donned a silver sheriff’s badge instead. 

“Oh. Didn’t realise I snuck up on ya there,” she said in a voice way too cheery to be in a place like this, exactly as Sheriff Hanscum would have. “Can I help you folks choose a stroller?” 

Before he could even decline, you jumped in, your thumbs gaining his attention with a squeeze of their own to loosen his grip. “We’re just trying to decide if we need one,” you said, and Dean lost a few feet off the top.

“Well, that comes down to preference.” Fake Donna nodded and approached with a casual step. Her open palms pointed to the handle, her eyes at him.

He could take a hint, and before anyone could lower his stature further, he pulled you with him to the side, keeping a hand on your waist at the ready. 

“Some pups prefer to be worn, so you can get away with a carrier, especially when they’re younger, but if it’s a stroller you want, you can’t go wrong with this one.” Her foot pushed down on the brake. 

“She’s sturdy.” She shook the frame. 

‘Already done that.’ His tongue swept over his teeth.

“Great price too.” She patted the hood near the tag. 

Well, he hadn’t looked at that, and he stretched out and grabbed it, flipping it over in his hands as you had done with the other. It was better, but he couldn’t help the deep inhale and the straightening of his spine.

“And as I said, comes with a travel system. Great for more cantankerous pups.”

Travel? Can…travelling? Dean handn’t wanted you walking without him. Screw travelling. There was no way the two of you were coming on cases with him, either. Of course, she didn’t know his ‘job,’ and thankfully, you were just as dumbfounded as he was judging by your scent.  

You exchanged glances, his eyes wide, yours flitting between him and her; but when you opened your mouth to reply, she cut you off before you’d even formed a sound. 

“Oh. Bless your cotton socks.” She clapped, making Dean flinch at the enthusiasm. He may have gripped you tighter. “Don’t worry. All first timers are clueless. Comes with the territory.” She chuckled, but Dean wasn’t laughing. 

It was uncanny. Along with the missing badge, if you just swapped the stroller for a donut and a cup of coffee, that snort was Donna to a T. 

Did she have a twin? A cousin? Was there a mirror around to check her eyes?

‘C’mon man, you’re getting paranoid.’ 

‘She snuck up on us,’ said his inner alpha as she got mighty close to you.

Dean soon realised he wasn’t leaving this place with just you and a stroller. Nope. With the way she was buttering you up like a sacrificial lamb with retail-speak and mentions of how you were glowing like you were old friends, you were walking out with the whole damn travel system. Maybe more.

“They’ll only stay in this for about six months, or until they can sit up, so you’d need to get both, not just the capsule,” she said. How convenient.

“Or you can get the bassinet attachment. It’s much more comfortable for their tiny tushies.” She was taking lines outta his book.

“But the capsule is probably the best choice. Don’t have to wake them if they fall asleep in the car.” Of course, it was the most expensive of the attachments, too. 

“How far along are ya, hun?” 

More like, how the hell did she do that? She’d pulled said capsule out and away from the frame in one fluid motion. The click, the only obvious sign something had gone down.

But then you answered. “Ah, nineteen weeks,” you said, and your smile filled your cheeks and eyes with a warmth he’d never forget. 

Suddenly, he didn’t care how much the thing cost. He didn’t care if his pup was can…tan…whatever. You standing next to it, one hand tracing the cursive lettering on the handle, the other smoothing over your dress and highlighting the slight bump below it, had Dean captivated. 

You made that stroller look good, and he could just picture you pushing your pup in there, all round with another one in your belly. Chuck. He couldn’t help but smirk. The apple pie life was looking mighty fine from where he was, and he closed in on the conversation, now eager to join.

“Do you know what you’re having?” Her eyes flicked to him with a sparkle, welcoming and friendly. She was actually enjoying talking to you. 

“A boy.” He beat you to the punch. He took the capsule she’d picked up out of her hands, hovering it over the empty slot in the frame.

“Dean thinks it’s a boy.” Your gaze narrowed at him, and his tongue receded through a grin in retort, which she chuckled at.

“You’ll find out I’m right on Monday.”

And you would. 

Just not before.

You were shown more of the store by fake Donna though, and soon that leather cushioned handle turned into the plastic rounded one of a shopping cart. A box with the stroller and its matching capsule inside that would transfer in and out of Baby once he got the right parts for her. Again.

But her candy stripe uniform had to leave you mid crib talk, having had a ‘clean up on aisle two’ kind of situation happen - right on her foot. 

“Maybe for the first six weeks, he should stay with us,” Dean said. “Til you’re healed up.”

Okay, some might call researching how soon your mate could have sex after giving birth was a bit of a dick move. Yeah, no, that fit. It was exactly something Dick would do, and Dean felt guilty, even when most parts of him were curious about your healing. Whether he needed to call in a favour with heaven and get you on the mend faster. He couldn’t help if the condition of your vagina came up. 

“I could set up my nest in whichever room we decide.” You were half statement, half question on that line. Your hand once again brushing over a store display.

The white wooden finish would get dusty in a place like the bunker. There had to be a reason the old geezers had chosen all dark furniture, and Dean wondered if he could also pull some strings and actually track down Mrs Butters. 

“You don’t want your nest in our bed?” he said, unknowing he’d just set himself up.

“I wanna keep it free of monster guts and whiskey.” You narrowed your eyes at him and he pulled a grin from somewhere. 

“I can’t help it if I miss ya when I’m gone.”

A brow raised, and he couldn’t help the husk that spiked his voice when he then said, “It was one time.” But though you smiled at his antics, the air surrounding you remained serious. 

You were on the other side of the crib to him. Too far for his liking. It was harder to hear. You were closer to the front, seeming oblivious to the potential threat of the many other alphas, just as cautious as he was nearby. 

Who knew if one of them would turn? He would if someone so much as looked at you the wrong way.

So he watched, helpless to appear collected from his distance as your fingers moved over the pattern of little ducks on the display mattress with an upturned lip. Your palm pressed into the springy foam, much like he’d done with the stroller. “Still have to decide about a nest birth or a hospital one.”

Hence the angels.

Dean clenched his jaw. You seemed wistful, and he wasn’t sure why.

The appointment was in four days, but the doc hadn’t given you a cut off date on anything. He’d just mentioned it last time, so you’d start thinking about it.

And he had.

It’d been on the back of his mind even before Doctor Cameron had brought it up. They couldn’t bring a doctor to the bunker if things went wrong, and your mom was out of the question even before he’d convinced you not to contact her. 

He’d also convinced himself that the decision was yours, though he was hoping you’d choose the Pack Planning clinic. Cameron could be a smartass, but he trusted him to take care of you, especially when he knew he’d be useless.

Beating up Dick for hurting you was one thing. Dean, knowing he was indirectly responsible for causing you pain, was another.

“What do you think?” you asked, looking up when you realised he’d said nothing. 

“You, ah, you’ve still got months to decide,” he tried. Hands darting from the cart to the pockets of his jeans. His bow legs pushed against the slats of the cribs side. The thing was sturdy.

“You mean we have.” 

No. He really didn’t. Not an out loud one, at least. Opinions on taking the pup for a walk? Yeah, he had one on that. You’d just changed it with your doe eyes, and the help of fake Donna and her sales skills, but this? With his ‘I want you to be safe and in a hospital’ mindset? What if you misconstrued him to mean something else?

You were the strongest omega he knew. Granted, you could get emotional at the drop of a hat these days, which was exactly his point.

“I dunno, sweetheart. You’re the one who’s gotta do all the work. I just put him in ya.” 

Your nose creased more in the middle as you circled around back to him. Your head, down and deep in thought, until you stood before him. Slid your hands in between the gap his arms formed next to his waist and gripped his hips. Played with the loops holding his belt as you brought yourself back up to search his gaze.

“You must have some input,” you said. “You get a choice, too.”

If he had a choice, he wouldn’t be in this predicament, but what to say? You were pushing it, and like the mention of hurting the pup in his argument for taking suppressants, he spoke a half truth and focused on his concerns. “I just want you both safe.”

“So do I,” you said. Bit your lip. “It’s why I’m kind of leaning towards the hospital.” 

Halle-freaking-lujah. Though why you couldn’t have said that without giving him the third degree, he’d never know.

“Doctor Cameron did say I could bring some of my own nesting supplies closer to my due date. It won’t be a full nest, but there will be other omegas close by, and—”

“Hey.” Dean’s hands were up and out of his pockets, both palms caressing your cheeks. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m on board with that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled you in closer, inhaling your sweet scent. The chocolate and citrus swirling through it had him smirking.

He kissed your head first. Right on the crown. Fingers tracing little circles over your lower back, hips almost swaying, dancing, blocking out the noises and everyone else around you. 

If it wasn’t for the gush of air that mimicked a cracker startling him from behind, he would’ve forgotten where he was. Lost in his own world. 

His arms pulled tighter ‘round you and his head turned over his shoulder like a deer in headlights, finding a small boy holding a bright blue plastic gun, still pointed at him. A grin bigger than any of Dean’s plastered over his face. 

“James!” a fellow customer screeched. “I’m so sorry,” she hissed in your direction before grabbing his hand and scooping something off the floor. “I told you not to shoot that thing inside.”

That thing was a Nerf Gun. Something Dean had never seen before, and damn straight, he went looking for it in the toy aisle the second he’d wrangled you and your shopping cart away from the cribs. 

You’d purchase one another time when he could fit more in Baby’s trunk. The crib. Not the Eaglepoint RD-8 Blaster. 

He bought four of them (and extra ammunition).

So what if they were for eight years and up? He’d just passed forty. He didn’t want to risk them not being around anymore when his pup came of age. 

So what if he opened it to check it out and then waited up for Sam two nights later in the armchair on the landing? In. The. Dark. It was late, and the bunker had switched down into nighttime mode. The lights and buzz from the old machines below gave off just enough glow for him to see his target and keep him company.

It wasn’t his fault he got Eileen in the nose instead. Her and Sammy’s figures blended together as one, thanks to Sam’s giant Sasquatch physique.

“Hey. Woah. I’m sorry! Sammy didn’t say he was bringing anyone home?” He grit through his teeth and a head tilt, forgetting in the heat of the moment that the omega couldn’t hear him.

“Was I supposed to?” Sam scoffed. “How did you not scent her?” He’d raced to the light switch on the wall and turned it on for Eileen to see them, thus illuminating Dean’s bright red skin amongst the freckles. “I’m sorry,” he signed, before scowling at him. “You remember my brother?”

“Hey.” Dean waved his hand, Eaglepoint still in it, like the fool he felt, switching positions with them and scooting to the edge of the staircase. “I’m just gonna leave you two, to ah…see you in the morning.” He thumbed behind him. He’d find the foam bullet then, too.

“Goodnight,” Eileen said. 

Sam was still giving him his best bitchface.  

“Night.” He half bowed, spinning around to descend into the war room and further to room 11. He may have sniffed the air as he did, but it would appear neither Sam nor Eileen’s scents had changed. 

When Dean had last left you, you’d bid him goodnight. A tender kiss. An ass grab. A gaze deep into those brilliant green eyes of his. You were tired, and even though you hadn’t had as big a day as others, you still found yourself ready for bed earlier than usual thanks to your changing body, among other things, keeping you up at night.

No, it wasn’t morning sickness. What little you’d experienced had subsided. Somehow lucky on that front. But things like leg cramps, not being able to get comfortable because of frequent bathroom visits and a bump that stuck out just enough to be in the road of lying on your stomach were causing you grief.

Now you didn’t want to sleep on your side or back. No. Tummy sleeping is what you craved, and the only craving so far. 

You held that pee in as long as possible, disturbing Dean in the process when you caved and shuffled around the bed so as not to trip. Damn balance was already off centre, and as much as you insisted he stay, he still got up to walk with you down the hall or soothe the muscles cramped in your calf from the slightest movement. 

And then you were excited. Anxious. All week. The nerves about deciding where and how you wanted to deliver frequenting your mind the most. 

So even though you’d told Dean you were going to sleep, you hadn’t laid down at first.

No. You’d sat on the floor, legs crossed in front of you, a no longer neat pile of nesting supplies in front of them. They still lay scattered on the floor, and though it should’ve bothered you, they were a drop in the ocean compared to this feeling.

Trying to work out which items you’d take to the clinic seemed important two hours ago, even if they wouldn’t be joining you on the drive tomorrow.

What if Doctor Cameron showed you the birthing suites? Knowing what was here at home would surely help you plan. 

Like Dean needed to be in control of all aspects in his life, you, at the very least, needed to be in control of this. You were an omega after all. Giving birth and nests and pup rearing were something you were meant to be good at, and being good at it required practice and planning.

There was a matter of scents and getting the balance just right on the pieces you’d chosen. As much as Dean hated the cushion with the blue fur, his reluctance when you’d added it to the cart at the store meant your omega wanted his musk all over it. 

You’d picked it up, ran your fingers through each whispy strand. The little hairs tangled ‘round each of them, though bringing it up under your nose had been a mistake. It smelt wonderful, like talcum powder. But it tickled your nostrils and made your eyes water, too.

It’d be perfect under a nursing arm, though. Or resting behind your head, presuming Dean wasn’t there already.

Just another thing you needed to discuss at the appointment. 

You’d leant back, arms stretching out behind you, your palms flat on the cool cement of the floor. But as you’d strained your neck to chase a glance at the clock, you could’ve sworn your stomach did something weird. 

A flip? The kind you got after a small dip in the road or that one time you went on Space Mountain. 

Nah.

Yeah?

Maybe.

You were twenty and two now, and you’d been waiting since week sixteen to feel them. You’d been waiting since your first. 

But was that it? Would you feel it again? Because you hadn’t.

You’d sat on that floor longer than you cared to admit, waiting more, still and…patient. But when nothing seemed to come of it, you’d heaved a heavy sigh and butt-shuffled back to the bed, leaving that pile scattered. Disappointed, as you used the baseboard to prop yourself up into your non-nest.

It had to be your imagination. You were too eager because of tomorrow and the possibility of finding out. Yeah, that was it.

You’d switched off the closest light, screwing the rest. Snuggled under the blankets, lay on your back, then your side, then the other. The crisp sheets, no longer crisp, pulled and remained loose at the sides, twisted half off you in your feeble attempt to relax. 

Only you’d moved back to your back. Wiggled your rear against the mattress. Felt a niggle in your middle. Like a single pop from a piece of popping candy or a throb from blood passing through your veins or Dean’s knot. 

From then on out, you were still again, waiting under the low light of the usual lamp for more. 

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twelve.

You sighed. Nope. It wasn’t happening. Must’ve been your imagination, and you rolled over. Rubbed your head into the fluffy pillow. Pulled your top knee up and leant in on it. A compromise between side and tummy that’d worked the night before. 

But there it was again. A pop, a flip, a throb. Like a little gas bubble deep within your womb…and… Holy shit. You couldn’t put it down to anything else. That was your pup. It had to be. Right there below Dean’s shirt, your skin. Your pup. Alive and healthy, heartbeat, and all.

You sat up, shoved the covers off. Your fingers moved from it to grip the faded black cotton and pull it up over your stomach to see it protruding over your mound and heels, tucked in and not quite under your rear. Your bump wasn’t large enough to cover your toes when you stood, but it stuck out further than your boobs, sitting or no. Soft and pudgy, though, depending on the angle, it was firmer like then. 

“Hey there.” You smiled. A well of wet forming under your eyes. “You gonna do it again? ‘Cause I need to be sure before I tell your dad,” you whispered. 

Was it wrong to poke them? Probably, but it was a little too late to question it.

Your index finger picked up and pushed the pad down close to your navel. Gentle, of course, but hard enough to make a nail shaped dent when you twisted it just right. You, ignoring all the information you’d read that said they couldn’t feel or hear you yet. 

The experts knew nothing when your pup had the stock of an alpha as perceptive as Dean. It was the door in front of you that clicked with his head poking out from behind it soon after. His gaze alight in mischief turned to confusion when he saw you, your exposed stomach, and the mess of nesting supplies.

“You know, saying you’re tired is an excuse for sex, right?” He shut the door and ditched his new toy on the table in the corner. “Not setting up the floor is lava for your unsuspecting mate.” 

“I was going through stuff for tomorrow,” you said in a huff as he toed off his boots. “Don’t you want to know why all this is hanging out?” 

Even though your face was beaming. Dean still scanned the situation with a lick on the edge of his lip. He’d started undoing his belt and fly, but the process stalled as his brain geared up to fight or flight. 

“Is this the real trap?” he asked.

“No. I can feel them.” 

“Yeah?” His grin returned, and your head jiggled with excitement.

“He kicked?” And when you nodded again, it only grew wider.

“He-they’re moving,” you said, but Dean ignored the correction. 

His bow legs darted around the unravelled blanket and the other, still folded with a bow. He then hopped over that cushion you’d decided he’d be sleeping on tonight and flopped onto the mattress next to you, spreading out like a partner in one of those fake family portraits would. 

“My man. Something else to tell the doc, huh?” His arm cradled your swell, fitting snug as he leaned over and kissed your exposed skin first. “Hitting all them milestones. Making his momma crazy already?” His brows wagged as he stretched up to kiss you too before you could retort. 

He’d had a whiskey. The smoky remnants on his tongue, just another reminder of something you couldn’t have, making you savour it, and him, all the more with a greedy foray of extra nips.

“So.” He indulged you again, keeping the tip of his nose on yours when he pulled back. “What’s it feel like?”

You had to think about that. The flip? The candy popping? The throb? He’d appreciate that. 

Your palm slid over his thigh, close enough to his pelvis to bring the point home. “You know when your knot pops and there’s that pulse?”

“When I shoot my load?” 

“Yeah. It’s like that, only stronger.”

He huffed. Part snicker. Eyes, half lidded and lecherous, joined the smirk and twitch of his head. “You mean you’re getting an orgasm in your stomach?”

“It’s not pleasurable.” Wait. That wasn’t right, either. Of course, it felt good. 

This was your pup. 

“I mean, when you feel your blood passing through your veins. I thought you’d get a kick out of the analogy.”

“Oh. I did.” He looked down at your hand still in his lap only to lift again, expression changing the scene as an actor would on stage. “Next question.”

You repeated the phrase.

His chin pointed towards the mess. “What’s with the nest? No offence, sweetheart, but even I could do a better job than that.”

Obviously, it wasn’t one. Half of it wasn’t even out of its packaging and the shape was all wrong. “I told you I was preparing for tomorrow.”

Tags still hung off the corners of the cushions you’d chosen. They’d be scratchy on your skin, let alone the delicate fuzz-lined completion of a newborn, and none of it washed yet. Nothing from a store was going anywhere near your precious pup unless you’d sanitised, then scented it.

“We’re taking all that?” 

“No.” It was three blankets and a few more cushions. Didn’t even fill up half of Baby’s usable trunk. There’d been room with the stroller, its attachments, the Nerf guns and the multiple bags of extra foam ammo. “Not even half.”

How much leeway would you have delivering in a hospital? Rooms you’d seen visiting friends and family were probably about the same size as yours here in the bunker. But as much as the Pack Planning clinic tried to make their space warm and inviting for its patients, a clinic was still a clinic, and nothing like home. 

The walls that could use a lick of fresh paint. Outdated furniture lining them collected dust you dusted every other day. 

Dean’s scent. 

Yours. 

It was all a charm surrounding you that calmed and soothed like no other. It didn’t take an idiot to know that’s what you’d be needing most when the time came. 

“I just want to go in knowing what I have so I can plan for the space,” you said, and Dean swallowed. Nodded. 

“Alright.” 

He sat up, whipped his phone out of his back pocket and dropped to the floor with a groan and a definite crack from overused bones.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, because him picking up and pointing the camera point blank at the unravelled blanket while obvious, hadn’t computed with your brain. Why hadn’t you thought of that?

“Getting rid of the trip hazard. There’s gonna be enough bumps in the night with Eileen here. Don’t need you makin’ more.”

Wait. “She’s here?” You picked yourself up and knee-walked to the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve gone and—”

“Played host? I’m sure she’ll understand why you were sleeping. You can make up for it in the morning.”

Only you couldn’t, because both she and Sam were MIA when you left for Salina. Lost to the depths of his room. Thank god for Dean. With your mind occupied by your nest and your birthing plan, you weren’t too concerned about your territory.

You talked non stop to avoid all of it. Everything and nothing at the same time on the way. The weather. Potential names, Bobby, John and Henry. Dean even humoured you with girls’ ones like Mary and Charlie, while you avoided your moms on purpose. Thankful he had too when he listed every other female who’d been prominent in your lives. Grateful he didn’t bring up the night before or your need to pee.

Of course you couldn’t. Doctor Cameron needed a full bladder for the anatomy scan, and it was hell. 

Well, not the actual one, but you doubted, very much, that he or Dean could hold on for as long as you had. All that pressure in your pelvis, aching like the throes of a heat. If Dean had cracked a joke, you’d have no hope.

Each press of the cool gel into your exposed stomach from the transducer, another jab closer to leakage. No wonder multiple pregnancies drove people with vaginas into incontinence. Your bladder, a punching bag for the doctor and your offspring, could only hold so much — oh shit.

The doc pushed the damn thing into your stomach for the umpteenth time on your left side, where you figured one of your ovaries to be. The blunt head dug into your flesh, firmer on account of the recline of the exam table. Your sensitive skin, wetter where you didn’t want wet to be...

“Have you taken the time to think about your options?” he asked, like he’d done nothing wrong. If it weren’t for his hands occupied by the ultrasound equipment and his keyboard, you’d have considered him bored. It was okay when you were the prodder.

“We’re leaning towards here,” you said. “Presuming there’s time?” Just another thing you wanted to discuss. 

How long did it normally take? Movies made most births seem like your water broke and that was it. Pushing, grunting, groaning in your nest with loved ones, or on the way to the hospital, finding yourself stuck in the back of a car in a snowstorm on Christmas Eve.

No in between and never an estimate. No, ‘three hours later,’ or ten or twenty or thirty, and you had no one to ask how it felt or what to expect. Besides Cameron, a beta, presumably with the wrong bits.

Dean gave you a reaffirming nod. He was at full attention, in awe, and on edge. You could sense it in his scent. 

He’d squeezed your hand in his. Brought your knuckles up to his lips when he’d heard the sharp exhale on yours with the last poke. “No problem with my Baby, sweetheart,” he said, clearly concerned by the drive itself. 

Doctor Cameron nodded too as he typed in another measurement. “So long as things stay low risk and you’re happy to travel the distance.”

“Ah.” Dean cleared his throat. “Low risk?” 

The doc lowered his head and looked at him and then at you, “All medical procedures come with risks.” 

“Right, but, ah, what’s the risk the risk could be higher?” Dean’s feet shuffled beneath him, and this time it was the doc clearing his throat in response.

The pause didn’t help your nerves. That look in Doctor Cameron’s eye, typical. He chose his words carefully. So either there was a risk or it was unknown because you had little history to go on, and your guess was on the latter.

It had to be. The world just worked that way. It was Murphy’s law or some other guy you’d never heard of and theirs.

You didn’t know how long your mom had laboured with you. You didn’t know if she’d needed stitches or lost any blood. When you were asked to fill out that form at your first antenatal appointment with the doc, you couldn’t list any next of kin besides Dean, which was fine. He was your true mate, and you trusted him with every and all decisions if you were ever… incapacitated. 

But it was nothing the doc could go off of now, and he didn’t say it. Not directly, at least. What he did, though, was far more valuable, albeit accidental, leaving you surprised, and Dean insufferable. His grin the widest you’d ever seen it, rosy cheeks of pride contrasting his brilliant green.

“Your mate is in fine health, Dean,” Cameron said. “And so is your son.”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

And there we are! I was honestly really torn on what to give them, me being a boy mum wanted to live vicariously, but I know little boys too damn well, and it will be easier for me to do some timestamps in the future with the nerf guns this way.

I have a name in mind, but if you have an idea, I'd love to hear it! Just know I plan on avoiding Bobby and John.

Chapter 15 - Disappointment 30/05

“Why’re we getting this stuff again? They’re the ones cooking,” he grumbled as he leant over the cart, pushing it forward to let an elderly beta past.

This position was becoming more and more frequent, and he’d become rather skilled at navigating the metal cages. Gold medal material with the way he turned the damn thing. Whether that was good was still up for debate.

“It’s the least we can do,” you said, examining the mound of onions, a piece of vegetable at a time. Turning them over. Inspecting the flaky skin and differences in the colour underneath it. Weighing each piece with your hands.

“No. The least we can do is eat what they cook. You should be taking a load off.” 

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[reasonsforhope]

"At HarperCollins, a lot of attention and thought is given to deciding exactly what combinations of margin measurements, font, and layout feel most appropriate for the genre, and writing style.

But in a case of do-your-part environmentalism, designers at the publishing house have now standardized a series of subtle and imperceptible alterations to normal font style, layouts, and ink that have so far removed the need for 245 million book pages, totaling 5,618 trees.

Telling the story in Fast Company, representatives from HarperCollins, one of the four largest publishing houses in the world, explained that the idea first arose in Zondervan Bibles, HarperCollins’ Christian publishing division. Being that the Bible is 2,500 pages or sometimes more, saving ink and pages was not just an environmental consideration, but one of production costs.

A new typeface called NIV Comfort Print allowed Zondervan to shave 350 pages off of every Bible, which by 2017 had amounted to 100 million pages, and which, as Fast Company points out, would be four times higher than the Empire State Building if stacked.

The production and design teams then wondered how much they could save if they applied the same concepts to other genres like romance and fiction. Aside from the invention of the eBook, publishing hasn’t changed much in the last 100 years, and the challenge was a totally novel one for the teams—to alter all their preconceived ideas and try and find a font and typeface that resulted in fewer pages without being harder to read.

They eventually standardized 14 different combinations their tests determined were the most environmentally friendly, and which delivered an unchanged reading experience.

But the challenge didn’t stop there. Printed books, one might not know, are printed in large sheets which are then folded into sections of sixteen pages, meaning that Leah Carlson-Stanisic, associate director of design at HarperCollins, has to calculate the savings of space, words, and ultimately pages with the help of her team to fall in multiples of sixteen.

Nevertheless, they have been successful with it so far, and in the recent print run of one popular book, 1 million pages (or a number near 1 million that coincides with the 16 times tables) were saved.

“We want to make sure our big titles, by prominent authors, are using these eco-fonts,” Carlson-Stanisic said. “It adds up a little bit at a time, saving more and more trees.”"

-via Good News Network, April 4, 2024

--

Note: Great! Waiting to see this on the rest of their books and at the other big publishers!

Actually, though, it's worth noting that this may not come quickly to the other large publishers, because Harper Collins almost certainly owns that font - meaning that other publishers would have to pay HarperCollins in order to use it, on an ongoing basis.

More on publishing shit and more realistic solutions here below the cut!

What I'm hoping for and think is more likely is that this will inspire the development of open source eco-friendly fonts, which would be free for anyone to use. That would make it far more likely other publishers would adopt eco-friendly fonts.

I'm also hoping it would inspire other publishers to create similar eco-friendly fonts of their own.

Ideally, there would be a whole new landscape of (hopefully mostly open source) eco-friendly fonts. And/or to see calculations of the eco-friendliness of popular existing fonts, compared to each other.

If we could have a publicly accessible list of calculations for different fonts, including fonts designed to maximize eco-friendliness, I really do think that it would affect which fonts publishers choose to use. Here's why:

Most people in publishing are on the left (notoriously, actually) and really do care about the environment

People in publishing are plenty aware of these issues re: paper and trees, I promise

Shorter books means smaller production costs - and possibly smaller shipping costs as well, over time! So it would save them money too.

Eco-friendly fonts could also be combined with other measures for greater effect, such as bamboo paper (already in use for a lot of projects where page color/quality is more flexible) and thinner paper (aka paper with a lower weight) that uses less trees.

Don't expect books to all move to just one or two different fonts, though. Publishers and typesetters and font designers will innovate to create more options instead, though it will take longer. This is because different books really do use different fonts for various different reasons - one new font to rule them all isn't really a solution here.

"Every book is in the same font" may sound like a "whatever" deal to a lot of people, but as someone who works in publishing - trust me, it would actually make your reading experience worse, even if you could never quite put your finger on why.

[fandomrewrites]

Legends Chapter 3: Challenges

18+ Minors DNI

Hi Riders, I decided to post early this week since the chapter is done and I won't be able to post on Wednesday like usual. Starting next week I will be moving my posting schedule to Thursdays. So this will be the longest time in between chapters. Please feel free to ask any questions or just comment on the story so far. I love hearing from you guys! And remember to let me know your opinions on a love interest!

Chapters 7-9 in Fourth Wing Pairings: Xaden x Younger Sister, Liam Mairi x Best Friend, Sawyer x Reader Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Smut (First time writing smut, definitely needs work lol), Oral M receiving, Unprotected Sex, Spoilers from the book series Word Count: 8,785

Legends Masterlist

I can't wait until next year when we get to join the riders quadrant. Not because I'm eager to become a rider, but because I'm excited to finally see you again. - Recovered correspondence from Liam Mairi to (Y/N) Riorson

A few days have passed since assessment day. Sawyer and Rhiannon have been teaching Violet sparring and the four of us have been studying history and physics together. Violet hasn't taken up my offer of teaching her sparring but she has been talking to me more, so at least it's a step in the right direction.

Now that dinner and classes are finished, we're back in the sparring gym along with the two other squads of flame section, fourth wing. Rhiannon is teaching Violet while Sawyer and I are on the mat next to them.

Sawyer and I aren't going full out, but more testing each other just to do something. "When did you learn to fight?" Sawyer asks.

"Pretty much since I could walk." I throw a punch that Sawyer dodges. "Living beyond the wards, my dad always wanted us to be able to defend ourselves."

"Makes sense, no wonder you're so good on the mat." Sawyer throws a punch of his own but I use his momentum against him, sending him to the ground.

"What about you?" I try to pin him but he uses his size to roll from underneath me.

"I learned pretty early on, plus last year in the quadrant helped." He shrugs, trying to sweep my legs from under me.

I hum, "You know? I kinda admire you."

"Admire me?" His eyebrows knit together, using the distraction I tackle him to the ground. "Shit!" I laugh as he struggles beneath me, his arm locked between my legs. "Why would you admire someone who didn't bond and had to repeat a year?"

"Because," I grunt as he finds a way to wiggle out of my grip, rolling so he's on top of me. "You didn't give up. Despite knowing that this college is a death sentence and you'll have to be here an extra year, you came back. It's brave."

Sawyer has me pinned between his hips, "Brave? That's a new one." The right side of his mouth curves into a smirk. "Do you yield, (Y/N)?"

My own lips pull into a smirk, "Why would I yield when I have multiple ways to make a man beg for mercy?" Sawyer's eyes widen at my words. I push my full weight off the ground, switching so I'm now on top of him, "And if I did yield I never would have gotten to see how good you look underneath me."

A smile lights up Sawyer's face, "I must say, I like this view myself."

"(Y/N)!" Sawyer and I look to the side, Xaden has his arms crossed, watching us fight. He crooks a finger at me beckoning me over.

I look back at Sawyer, "Duty calls, but you're not allowed to move from this position. I expect to finish this when I come back."

"Sure thing." Sawyer laughs as I stand to walk towards my brother.

I follow Xaden to the corner, out of the way of passing cadets, "Practicing or flirting?" He asks.

I smile, "Why can't it be both?"

Xaden rolls his eyes, "Don't do it in front of me."

This time, I roll my eyes, "I didn't know you were here, Xade. With that being said, deal with it. I can die at any point in here and if I want to fuck someone I will."

Xaden's face quickly morphs into one of disgust, "I don't need to know." Xaden pulls shadows around us, shielding us from prying eyes and ears, "I called you over here to tell you we're meeting tonight, midnight." Xaden already told me where this first meeting between the marked ones will take place, I guess he finally got the chance to confirm a time.

I nod, "Okay, I'll see you tonight then." I move to walk away but he grabs my arm, stopping me before I get far.

"You'll be able to make it out by yourself?"

"Duh, I'm not incompetent. I'll be fine. Liam and I already planned to meet when you got a time so we could head over together." He nods before letting me walk back to Sawyer, the shadows falling away. I smile at the taller first year, who is still laying on the mat where I left him. "Awe, you listened."

"I was thinking while you were talking to you brother," he smirks, "I'll yield right now if you want to find a room to sneak off too."

I smirk back, "Say less." I hold a hand out for him to help him off the mat. As we walk out of the gym, my eyes meet Xaden's. He glares at me, knowing exactly why I'm leaving but he doesn't do anything to stop me.

*_*_*_*_*_*

There are a lot of empty bedrooms to choose from considering cadets only get a private room once they bond a dragon. Sawyer and I choose one that's close to the barracks. The minute the door is closed behind us, Sawyer pushes me against the door, hands gripping my hips.

I throw my arms over his shoulders and pull him down, our lips meet in a heated kiss. He quickly adjusts his hold on me, hands skimming down the sides of my body to grip my ass then thighs. I jump up as he presses me even more tightly against the door. Our tongues clash, my fingers tug at the ends of his hair as his hands feel my curves. "More," I whisper against his lips.

He quickly adjusts his hold, moving one of his hands to fit in between our bodies. He unbuttons my pants, sliding his hand underneath my clothes. "Fuck," he pants. "You're so wet."

I whimper at the pressure of his fingers against my clit, kissing down his neck. I tug at his shirt wanting more access to his skin. We slightly pull away from each other so I can pull his shirt off. He removes his fingers from my pants, carrying me to the bed. I take off my own top before he throws me on top of the sheets. "You're beautiful." Sawyer whispers, a smile lighting up his face.

"Mm, you're not too bad yourself." I run my hands up his toned stomach, pulling him down once more so his lips crash into mine. I roll the two of us over so I can get on top of him. "Wanna taste you," I mumble as I start kissing down his body.

Once I reach his pants, I snap the button open, tugging them off him to get access to his cock. Sawyer watches me with wide eyes, waiting for my next move. I smirk up at him before I lick the tip of his cock. Sawyer groans above me, "(Y/N)." I smirk once more at the sound of his voice, it's rougher now compared to how it usually sounds. My lips wrap around the tip, and I swirl my tongue around it causing Sawyer to groan once more. "Feels so good." He reaches a hand down, gathering my hair and lightly tugging.

I hum around the tip before slowly sinking more of him into my mouth. What I can't fit, I wrap my hand around before slowly starting to bob my head around his length. I look at him through my eyelashes, seeing his blissed out face. I can feel him getting closer but before he cums he grips my hair tighter, pulling me off of him. A string of drool connects my mouth to him. I pout, "What was that for?"

"Want to feel your pussy wrapped around me. Don't want this to end yet." Sawyer lets go of my hair and reaches for my pants, indicating he wants them off. I step off the bed to shimmy out of the tight pants. Once off, I climb back on to the bed, straddling Sawyers hips.

The minute I sink onto him, we both moan from the pleasure. I slowly lower myself, sinking inch by inch until his cock is fully inside me. "Gods, you feel incredible." I moan.

"And the view is definitely perfect." Sawyer smirks, referencing the conversation that started this. I let out a breathy laugh.

"It is," a smile lights up my face. I start to move, Sawyer's hands gripping tightly onto my hips to help me. They'll probably end up bruised with how tight he's holding me but I don't mind.

After a few agonizingly slow minutes, Sawyer starts to roughly fuck up into me. The action causes me to gasp and I fall forward, one of my hands splayed on his chest, the other lands on the pillow by his head. I turn my head to kiss and suck at his neck as our hips meet.

Breathy moans and groans escape our lips, "Are you close?" He asks me. I nod, not being able to form words, "Me too. Cum for me, (Y/N)." He reaches a hand between us to rub at my clit, helping me climax faster. I slam my lips on his as I cum, Sawyer following right after.

When we ride out our highs I roll over so I'm laying beside him, "That was. Amazing." I sigh.

Sawyer laughs, "Agreed." He turns his head to look at me, "Want to go for another round?"

I bite my lip, because yes, abso-fucking-lutely I want to go for another round, but I need to go meet Xaden and the others and if I don't leave now I'll be late and Xaden will be pissed. "I have to go meet my brother, he'll be pissed if I'm late. But if you stay here, I'll be back soon and we can go for however long you want."

Sawyer smirks, "Sounds like a plan to me." I give him a quick kiss on his jaw before standing up to put my clothes back on and heading out of the room.

*_*_*_*_*_*

I meet Liam by the parapet. He's sitting on the same bench where he helped me put my shoes back on on conscription day. "We're going to be late." Liam whispers, standing up when he sees me, handing me a cloak.

"We'll be fine." I brush his concern off, moving past him to the stairwell as I slip the cloak over my shoulders and pull the hood onto my head.

"Did anyone see you?"

I purse my lips, "Technically no."

Liam's eyes narrow, "What do you mean? Technically no?"

"I was with someone. That's why I'm running a little late. They just think I'm meeting Xaden, so they won't say anything considering he's my wingleader."

"Care to share who you were with?"

"Why? You jealous?" I smirk.

"No." Liam shakes his head, holding the door at the bottom of the stairwell open for me. "Whoever it was, bet I'd be better."

I quietly laugh, "I don't know. I had a great time tonight."

Liam smirks, "But you've never been with me." We stop talking as we see the figures ahead of us. Xaden and the others are gathered by the Iakobos River, under a tree.

"Finally," Xaden says, seeing us approach. "You're late."

"Maybe you're just early." I tilt my head.

Xaden rolls his eyes, "I don't care what you do in your free time, but don't let it delay our meeting." I smirk, Liam and I aren't even a minute late, I know he's just being protective and doesn't want to think of me sleeping with someone. Understandable though, considering I don't want to know what he does in his free time either.

"Well, let's not delay anymore, big brother."

Garrick starts the conversation, "We've already lost Sutherland and Luperco."

"We're here to make sure as many of you survive as possible." Xaden continues.

"Like it or not," Imogen says, "We're going to have to stick together if you want to survive until graduation."

Carolyn Bennett, a first year with olive skin and dark brown eyes speaks up, "And if they find out we're meeting?"

"We've done this for two years and they've never found out," Xaden responds. "They're not going to unless one of you tells. And if you tell. I'll know." He narrows his eyes at the group, "Like Garrick said, we've already lost two first years to their own negligence. There are only forty one of us in the Riders Quadrant, and we don't want to lose any of you, but we will if you don't help yourselves. The odds are always stacked against us, and trust me, every other Navarrian in the quadrant will look for reasons to call you a traitor or force you to fail."

There's a murmur throughout the group, I lean against Liam, not wanting to stand up straight anymore. He wraps his arm around me as Xaden continues, "How many of you are getting your asses handed to you in hand-to-hand?" Four hands shoot up, Carolyn is one of them along with a tall dark-skinned gangly guy named Dmitry Harper, a guy with shoulder length black hair and tanned skin named Julian Rizzo, and a pale woman with blonde hair named Carina Steiner.

I made it my mission to know all of the marked ones names even if I didn't have a lot of contact with them growing up. Their parents all fought with my father, and just like Xaden, I feel some responsibility towards them. "Shit," Xaden swears, lifting a hand to his face.

"I'll teach them," Garrick assures.

Xaden shakes his head, "You're our best fighter-"

He gets cut off by Bodhi, "You're our best fighter," He corrects.

"Dirtiest fighter, maybe," Imogen says, smirk on her face, "You and (Y/N) don't know how to fight clean."

"Ruthless more like," Garrick corrects, "Both of them."

I smile, "Thank you."

"Garrick is our best fighter," Xaden continues like he wasn't interrupted, "but Imogen is right up there with him, and she's a hell of a lot more patient." He pauses, "So the four of you split yourselves up between the two of them for training. A group of three won't draw any unwanted attention. What else is giving you trouble?"

"I can't do this," Dmitry says, he hides his face behind his hands.

"What do you mean?" Xaden's voice is hard.

"I can't do this! The death. The fighting. Any of it!" His voice pitches, "A guy had his neck snapped right in front of me on assessment day! I want to go home! Can you help me with that?"

"No." Xaden bluntly answers, "You're not going to make it. Best accept it now and not take up my time."

"That was a little harsh, cousin." Bodhi says, but we all know Xaden's right.

"What do you want me to say, Bodhi?" Xaden cocks an eyebrow, "I can't save everyone, especially not someone who isn't willing to work to save themselves."

"Damn, Xaden," Garrick mumbles, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Way to give a pep talk."

"If they need a fucking pep talk, then we both know they're not flying out of the quadrant on graduation day. Let's get real. I can hold their hands and make them a bunch of bullshit empty promises about everyone making it through if that helps them sleep, but in my experience, the truth is more valuable, and I know for a fact (Y/N) agrees, that's why she looks bored as hell right now."

I nod in agreement. "We knew coming in here that death would be common, best get used to it and be prepared to welcome Malek with open arms."

"In war, people die. It's not glorious like the bards sing about, either. It's snapped necks and two-hundred-foot falls. There's nothing romantic about scorched earth or the scent of sulfur. This," He gestures around us, "Isn't some fable where everyone makes it out alive. It's hard, cold, uncaring reality. Not everyone here is going to make it home... to whatever is left of our homes. And make no mistake, we are at war every time we step foot in the quadrant." He leans slightly forward, "So if you won't get your shit together and fight to live, then no. You're not going to make it."

Everyone's quiet except for Garrick who mumbles, "Fucking Riorson's."

Xaden sends him a look then addresses the group once more, "Now, someone give me a problem I can actually solve."

"Battle Brief," Lydia Savel starts, her bunk is a row over from mine, "It's not that I can't keep up, but the information..." She trails off.

"That's a tough one," Imogen says. She turns to Xaden for his answer.

"You learn what they teach you," Xaden replies, "Keep what you know but recite whatever they tell you to." In other words, don't say anything about the truth of what's beyond the wards and memorize what the professors want you to know. "Anyone else? You'd better ask now. We don't have all night."

"When do we get to kill Violet Sorrengail?" Ashton Matuli asks from the back of the group. I stand up straight, my head snapping towards him, a glare on my face.

"Yeah, Xaden." Imogen says, a seemingly sweet smile plastered to her face, "When do we finally get to have our revenge?"

Xaden turns his head to Imogen, "I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I'll handle her when the time is right." I roll my eyes at my brother.

"Didn't you already learn that lesson, Imogen?" Bodhi asks, "What I hear, Aetos has you scrubbing dinner dishes for the next month for using your powers on the mat."

Imogen turns to face Bodhi, her eyes set into a glare, "Her mother is responsible for the execution of my mom and sister. I should have done more than just snap her shoulder."

I open my mouth to respond but Garrick beats me to it, "Her mom is responsible for the capture of nearly all our parents, not her daughter. Punishing children for the sins of their parents is the Navarrian way, not the Tyrrish."

"So we get conscripted because of what our parents did years ago and shoved into this death sentence of a college-"

"Violet's in the same death sentence of a college, if you haven't noticed," I cut her off, "And her mother forced her to come here as well. She was originally training to be a scribe. So looks like she's not doing much better."

"Don't forget her brother was Brennan Sorrengail," Xaden adds, "She has just as much reason to hate us as we do her. And I'm not going to tell you again. She's mine to handle. Anyone feel like arguing?" There's a moment of silence before Xaden speaks again, "Good. Then get back to bed and go in threes."

"Go ahead, I'll catch up." I whisper to Liam. I wait for the group to disperse, Liam lingers a bit farther away. I look towards Xaden, "You can't kill her."

He raises an eyebrow at me, "Yeah? Why not?"

"Like Garrick said, we don't punish the children for the sins of the parents. I hate General Sorrengail too, but Violet did nothing wrong. Leave her out of this." I don't wait for him to reply, I turn around and head towards Liam. We walk back together, Liam heading for the barracks and me towards Sawyer.

*_*_*_*_*_*

The next morning Sawyer and I are up early so we can make it back to the dorms before everyone else starts waking up. Just as I'm about to open the door I hear voices, I pause to listen, "We have curfew for a reason, cadet."

I whisper to Sawyer, "It's Dain. We should wait until he passes." Sawyer nods in agreement, moving closer to also listen.

"And you know that no one is supposed to be in the private dorms until after threshing." Dain scolds.

"Maybe we were just up early," We hear Rhiannon answer, "You know, like you are right now."

Dain sighs, "Just get back to the dorms and pretend you slept there, will you?"

"Absolutely!" Rhiannon agrees, footsteps move away back towards the dormitory.

"Monitoring the sex lives of first years was not what I had in mind when I applied to be a squad leader." Dain's voice fades as he walks further from the door.

I slowly creak the door open, peaking my head out to check if it's clear, "All good." I smile over my shoulder at Sawyer, "Luckily it was Rhiannon that was caught, he so wouldn't have let me get away with it."

"You think so?" Sawyer asks.

"Oh, definitely, Dain hates me. He thinks I'm out to get Violet and when we first met I called him an asshole."

Sawyer smirks, we make it to his dorm first, "I'll see you at breakfast." He whispers before opening the door and stepping inside.

Once I make it to my own dorm, Rhiannon is sitting up in bed tying her boots. "Where were you?" She questions.

I smirk, "With a friend."

She wiggles her eyebrows, "And that friend would be?"

I giggle, "I'll only tell you if you promise not to tell anyone. I don't want things to be weird."

Rhiannon nods, suddenly serious, "Promise."

I lean closer, "Sawyer."

Rhiannon's eyes light up, "I wondered where you two ran off to last night. I saw you talking with your brother so I thought maybe you were doing something with him but it makes sense that you and Sawyer left together. Was it good?"

I smirk, pulling a shirt over my head to put a fresh one on, "Well considering we went multiple rounds..." I trail off.

Rhiannon laughs, once we're both fully changed she hooks her arms around mine so we can head off to breakfast, "Well, your secret is safe with me."

*_*_*_*_*_*

After breakfast the next day, all of the first years are in Professor Kaori's classroom. Kaori is our professor for Dargonkind. I sit with my squad, Sawyer to my left. Liam sits beside me to my right, the rest of his squad close by. I'm taking notes as Kaori talks about the different dragon types. "Keep the temperaments of each specific breed in mind when you decide which dragons to approach and which to run away from at Threshing."

Professor Kaori is an illusionist. He can project different images of things he's seen to show others. Currently there is an illusion of a Green Daggertail in front of the class but Kaori quickly replaces the image with a Red Scorpiontail.

"Red Scorpiontails like Ghrian here, are the quickest to temper," Kaori looks at the dragon with a smile, then his eyes quickly scan over the cadets, "So if you offend him, you're-"

He gets cut off by Ridoc, "Lunch." The class laughs, even Jack Barlowe, who I was beginning to think only knew how to glare at Violet.

"Precisely," Professor Kaori smiles, "So what's the best way to approach a Red Scorpiontail?"

A first year from Second wing speaks up, "They prefer that you approach from the left and from the front, if possible."

Kaori nods in approval, "Excellent. For this Threshing, there are three Red Scorpiontails willing to bond." The image changes in front of the class to another dragon.

"How many dragons are there in total?" Rhiannon asks.

"A hundred for this year." Kaori changes the image again, "But some might change their minds during Presentation in about two months, depending on what they see."

"That's thirty seven fewer than last year," Violet says.

Kaori nods, "Yes, Cadet Sorrengail, it is, and twenty six fewer than the year before that."

"Wonder why there is less bonding." I mutter to Liam. He nods, his eyebrows knitting together.

Another voice from across the classroom asks, "Will they tell you why they won't bond?"

"No, jackass," Jack sneers, "Dragons only talk to their bonded riders, just like they only give their full name to their bonded rider. You should know that by now."

Professor Kaori sends Jack a pointed look that shuts him up, "They don't share their reasons, and anyone who respects their life won't ask a question they're not willing to answer."

"Do the numbers affect the wards?" Aurelie asks. She's tapping her quill against the desk, never happy sitting still. Can't say I blame her though, my leg is bouncing up and down as I focus on the conversation around me.

"We're not sure," Kaori's jaw ticks, "The number of bonded dragons has never affected the integrity of Navarre's wards before, but I'm not about to lie to you and say that we're not seeing increased breaches when you know from Battle Brief that we are."

The wards are faltering quite frequently, which begs the question are we growing weaker or our enemies growing stronger. I personally think it's our enemies growing stronger, which kind of terrifies me to think about. Either way, all that means is that I need to train harder and do better so I can make sure myself and my loved ones survive.

Kaori changes the image to Sgaeyl, "You won't have to worry about how to approach blue dragons, since there are none willing to bond this Threshing but you should be able to recognize Sgaeyl if you see her."

"So you can fucking run," Ridoc drawls. The class laughs, as I share a look with Liam.

"She's a Blue Daggertail, the rarest of the blues, and yes, if you see her without her bonded rider, you should... definitely find somewhere else to be."

"Xaden said she likes me." I say with a proud smile.

"Consider yourself lucky then," Kaori smiles, "Ruthless does not begin to describe her, nor does she abide by what we assume to be what the dragons consider law. She even bonded the relative of one of her previous riders, which as you know is typically forbidden, but Sgaeyl does whatever she wants, whenever she wants."

"Badass," I whisper to myself.

"In fact, if you see any of the blues, don't approach them. Just.."

"Run," Ridoc finishes for Kaori.

Kaori nods, "Run. There are a handful of other blues in active service, but you'll find them all along the Esben Mountains in the east, where the fighting is most intense. They're all intimidating, but Sgaeyl is the most powerful of them all." And my brother bonded her.

"What about the black dragon?" A first year in Jack's squad asks. "There's one here, right?"

Jack's face lights up, "I want that one." I roll my eyes.

"Not that it's going to matter," Kaori sighs, he flicks his wrist replacing Sgaeyl with a massive black dragon. "But just to appease your curiosity, since this is the only time you'll ever see him, here is the only other black dragon beside General Melgren's."

I suck in a breath, I hate General Melgren and his dragon more than the Sorrengail's. And that's saying a lot. Liam notices me tense and grabs onto my hand, gently rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. "You okay?" Liam asks, causing Sawyer to look over and notice how tense I am. He reaches down, placing his hand on my thigh, squeezing gently.

I nod, "Fine."

"He's huge," Rhiannon says. "And is that a clubtail?"

"No, a morningstartail. He has the same bludgeoning power of a clubtail, but those spikes will eviscerate a person just as well as a daggertail."

"Best of both worlds," Jack calls out, "He looks like a killing machine."

"He is," Kaori agrees, "And honestly, I haven't seen him in the last five years, so this image is more than a little outdated. But since we have him up here, what can you tell me about black dragons?"

"They're the smartest and most discerning," Aurelie answers.

"They're the rarest," Violet adds, "There hasn't been one born in the last.. century."

"Correct," Kaori nods, "They're also the most cunning. There's no such thing as out smarting a black dragon. This one here is a little over a hundred, which makes him about middle-aged. He's revered as a battle dragon among their kind, and if not for him, we probably would have lost during the Tyrrish rebellion." The marked first years around the room pull there sleeves down and squirm, except for Liam and I. We both hold our heads high, unfazed by the gazes of our fellow first years. "Add to it that he's a morningstartail, and he's one of the deadliest dragons in Navarre."

"I bet he powers one hell of a signet. How do you approach him?" Jack asks, sitting forward in his seat.

I loudly laugh before I can stop myself, "Oh please try to approach him. I'd pay good money to see what happens." Liam and Sawyer smirk beside me.

Jack glares over his shoulder at me but doesn't say anything as Kaori starts to talk, "You don't. He hasn't agreed to bond since his previous and only rider was killed during the uprising, and the only way you'd ever be near him is if you're in the Vale, which you won't be, because you'd be incinerated before you ever got through the gorge."

"Someone should ask him again," Jack states.

"By all means, Jack. Why don't you. Maybe he'd say yes if you ask him nicely." I pout, the rest of the class laughs, except for Jack and his gang of misfits.

"It doesn't work that way, Barlowe." Kaori says, bringing the attention back to him, "Now there is only one other black dragon, which is in service..."

"General Melgren's," Sawyer says, "Codagh, right?" Sawyer's hand is still resting on my thigh, lazily tracing patterns. He's not taking notes in this class, which makes sense since he already took it last year.

"Yes," Kaori nods, "The eldest of the den and a swordtail."

"But just for curiosity's sake." Jack speaks up once more, causing me to roll my eyes. "What signet ability would this guy gift his rider?"

Professor Kaori closes his fist, the illusion disappears, "There's no telling. Signets are the result of the unique chemistry between rider and dragon and usually say more about the rider than the dragon. The stronger the bond and the more powerful the dragon, the stronger the signet."

"Fine. What was his previous rider's?"

"Naolin's signet was siphoning. He could absorb power from the various sources, other dragons, other riders, and then use it or redistribute it."

"Badass." Ridoc's tone has a little more than hero worship.

"He was," Kaori agrees.

"What kills someone with that kind of signet?" Jack asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Professor Kaori glances at Violet before quickly looking away, "He attempted to use that power to revive a fallen rider - which didn't work, because there's no signet ability capable of resurrection - and depleted himself in the process. To use a phrase you'll become accustomed to after Threshing, he burned out and died next to that rider."

There's a brief moment of silence then Kaori flicks his hand once more, "Last dragon of the day." A huge white dragon appears in front of us. She looks to have a daggertail but the image is slightly blurry, making it difficult to see. "This image is also a bit outdated but since we are going over every kind of dragon, I figured I should mention her."

"She's beautiful." I say.

"I've never seen a white dragon before," Liam tilts his head.

"She is, and she's the only one of her kind. She's never bonded before so we don't see her very often. But she is just about one hundred years old and we believe she's incredibly powerful. It's possible that if she chooses to bond, that she will die with that rider. Which is why she either doesn't want to risk bonding or she is waiting to choose wisely. Of course we can't be certain, as nobody has ever talked with her."

"Is she coming to presentation this year?" Lydia Savel asks.

"No, she has not said that she's willing to bond this year." The bell rings signaling the hour is up, we collect our things, putting them in our bags, before heading out of the classroom. 

*_*_*_*_*_*

I stand next to Xaden in the gym watching as Rhiannon faces off against a guy from Second Wing. She quickly gets him in a headlock, cutting off his air supply. "She's good." I say, tilting my head. Xaden hums, a look of boredom on his face.

"You're better." He states.

I smile, "Not many people here will be better than me."

"Don't get cocky, that's how you lose."

I roll my eyes, "I'm confident, not cocky. I know not to underestimate anyone and I know not to let my emotions get the better of me, I'll be fine."

"I know you will be," His eyes flicker to me as the guy in Rhiannon's hold passes out, "I'm not worried about you on the mats."

Both of our gazes our drawn towards Jack and Violet who are arguing, "Gods, I want to kill him every time he opens his mouth." Violet throws two daggers at Jack just missing him, causing me to snort. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Xaden's lips twitch as he fights off a smile. I smirk but don't say anything.

Xaden turns away when Violet makes eye contact with him, "I'm going to watch some of the other Fourth Wing matches, but I'll be back over here when you're called up."

"No need, you're a Wingleader, focus on the cadet's that need help."

"You're my baby sister, I'm going to support you in your first challenge. Kick your opponents ass and don't disappoint me." I smile and nod, moving to stand beside Rhiannon as Violet moves onto the mat.

Violet is against Oren Seifert. He looks like he's going to be sick, Violet may get lucky. "Don't take this personally, but you'll only be a hazard to your wing." He says, palming a dagger. He charges at Violet but he's sluggish. She lands a punch to his kidney's before spinning away. They taunt each other, swinging their daggers and dodging.

When Oren goes for Violet once more, she waits until the last moment to dodge, nicking his side in the process. She kicks him in the back, sending him sprawling to the mat. Violet takes advantage, digging her knee into his back and placing her dagger at his throat, "Yield."

"No!" He calls out, he retches, bringing up everything he ate that day.

"Ew. Gross." My face scrunches up in disgust.

Beside me Rhiannon mumbles, "Oh my gods."

"Yield," Violet demands once more.

"He yields," Emetterio calls out, ending the match. Violet stands up, sheathing her blade, than taking the one that Oren dropped on the mat.

"You won!" Rhiannon exclaims.

"Good job!" I smile.

"He's sick," Violet shrugs in response.

"I'll take being lucky over being good any day," Rhiannon counters.

I nod, "True, but you can't just rely on luck. Keep up with training and you'll be fine."

"I need to find someone to get this cleaned up." Dain mutters, walking away and getting a first year to clean up the mess.

The group moves to another mat to continue matches, "Riorson and McCall." I move towards the mat, a girl slightly taller than me but with less muscle steps up. She was the one who was originally in Dain's squad but got switched out. She nods at me, "Weapons?" Emetterio asks.

"Swords?" She asks, noticing I have a short sword strapped to my hip. I nod pulling mine out, causing her to do the same.

"Begin." I keep my weight balanced, waiting for Scarlett to make the first move. When I don't know how my opponent fights, I like seeing their style first. She lunges, swinging her sword towards my neck. I quickly block it with my own, pushing her arm up and spinning underneath, ending up behind Scarlett.

She moves quickly, not wanting to have her back towards me. She charges again, feigning left before attacking towards the right. Once again, I quickly block, I kick her in the stomach, causing her to stumble backwards. She gasps in pain but comes at me again.

I dodge, swiping at her legs as I pass her. My sword nicks her ankle causing her to stumble once more. Before she can recover, I attack with a flourish of swings, each one sending her closer to the edge of the mat. I send a quick kick to her sword hand, she loses her grip, the sword tumbling to the mat. I quickly raise my sword to her throat.

Scarlett sighs, "I yield."

I smile at her, "I'll take a dagger, keep the sword." She smiles back at me, reaching into a sheath on her thigh to hand me a dagger and picking up her sword once more, before stepping off the mat and heading back to her squad.

As I step off the mat to stand once more beside Rhiannon and Violet, I glance up at Xaden, he has a proud smile on his face. He nods to me before turning to watch another match.

Week after week passes, I win every match thrown my way only ending up with minor bruises and cuts. Liam and Violet are also undefeated at the moment. Every time Violet is up against someone though, they have something wrong with them. It's easy to tell that she's poising them but I'm starting to think I'm the only one who notices. It's not like I'll tell anyone, surviving the Rider's Quadrant takes more than being strong, and Violet is smart enough that she may just survive.

It's early September and I've collect five new weapons from challenges. Professor Emetterio looks down at his roll seeing who's to fight next. "(Y/N) and Liam." Multiple heads turn, trying to find each of us in the crowd. One of us is losing our winning streak and it's not about to be me. 

*_*_*_*_*_* Liam

I slowly make my way to the mat, just because I'm going against (Y/N) doesn't mean I'll take it easy. I make it to the mat first my eyes scan the room for her. My blue eyes land on her just as she hands her corset halter that carries three of her daggers, to Violet. My eyes narrow in confusion but quickly widen as I watch her reach down to pull off her shirt, leaving her in just her work out bra and pants.

She flings her shirt at Ridoc who's standing beside her, gaping like a fish. "What are you doing?" I hiss once she's across from me. I know every eye in this room is on her right now, and it makes my blood boil.

She smirks, "Using all of my assets to ensure a win."

I roll my eyes, "Fighting me without a shirt isn't going to be a distraction."

"You say that now, but I know you better than that. Using daggers okay?" She asks.

I nod, but don't take one out. I want to win, but I don't want to harm her, and without an extra layer covering her that goal got a lot more difficult. "Begin." Emetterio calls out.

She tilts her head at me, beckoning me over, a small smirk on her face. I know she won't make the first move, and I want to end this quick so I comply with her wishes. The smirk on her face grows as I lunge but (Y/N)'s quick and dodges out of the way. Gods do I want to wipe that look off her face. She uses her foot to trip me, but I catch myself before I fall.

I turn to face her again, she raises an eyebrow, unfazed by the eyes on her. My jaw ticks, I just know Xaden is seething on the side of the mat. I charge once more, her dagger grazes my side as she dodges, but I grab her arm before she can fully get away.

I twist her around, throwing her to the mat, she let's out a gasp of air. I squeeze her hand open, causing her to drop her dagger. Our faces are close, neither one of us have broken into a sweat, "I love being manhandled." She whispers, her breath gentle on my face.

Before I can reply, she knees me in the groin, "Cheap shot." I groan, as I fall off her.

She gets another dagger out, pinning me to the ground, "All is fair when you're at war. Do you yield, Mairi?" She's straddling my thigh, one leg pinning my right arm down, the other knee pressed to my groin. The dagger she holds is pressed to my throat, and her other hand is holding my free arm to the mat.

I clench my jaw, about to move her off of me, but her dagger presses closer to my neck and her knee moves pressing more into my groin, and I know I'm trapped. "I yield." I say loud enough for the room to hear me.

(Y/N) smirks once more, she kisses my cheek as she sheaths her dagger, then pulls a dagger from one of my sheaths, "Thank you for this." She winks before getting off of me, offering her hand to help me up. Once I'm up, she turns around, twirling the dagger she took from me around as she heads back to her squad. My eyes follow her as I slowly back off the mat.

Just as she reaches Ridoc, grabbing her shirt back from his outstretched hands, a hand grabs tightly onto my shoulder, "Undress my sister with your eyes again and I'll cut them out of your head." I blink, my head whipping to Xaden who's glaring at me. I gulp and nod, turning around to properly head back to my squad.

"Mairi, I know you just lost your first match, but damn. You're so lucky. I'd gladly let (Y/N) do anything she wants to me." My eyes sharpen into a glare as I look at my squad mate, Augustus.

"Fuck off." I growl.

Augustus smirks, "What? I thought you two where just friends. And (Y/N)'s hot. Every guy and some of the girls were eye fucking her when you guys were fighting."

Lyra, another first year in the squad nods, "Even Barlowe looked like he wanted to have a go with her." She tilts her chin in his direction, "He's still trying to sneak glances."

I look in the direction Lyra indicated, my eyes finding Jack, he's laughing with his squad, and sure enough his gaze passes by (Y/N) multiple times. I feel like throwing up. Instead of answering, I march over to (Y/N) and her squad.

*_*_*_*_*_* (Y/N)

I make my way back to my squad after winning against Liam. Ridoc holds out my shirt, I slip the dagger I won from Liam in an empty sheath before I reach to take my shirt back from him, "You might want to put that on fast, your brother looks to be seconds away from killing everyone in this room." Ridoc says.

I snort, "He won't do shit."

"Well, you looked hot and everyone here can agree on that. I swear everyone was eyeing you like they wanted to take a bite." Rhiannon smirks, "Honestly, I wouldn't say no."

"Come find me later," I wink, taking my corset back from Violet.

"I could never be brave enough to fight without half my weapons. Or without at least some sort of barrier between my skin." Violet says, shaking her head.

I smile brightly, putting my corset back on, "The key is knowing your opponent. I know Liam would never intentionally hurt me, at least not severely. So without that extra layer, he was going to be more cautious and not go all out even though it's a subconscious thing, because he would never purposefully go easy on me."

I pause briefly as I tighten the corset, "Plus, like you guys pointed out, I'm hot. So there was a chance he'd be distracted by that as well."

"Incoming," Sawyer whispers, looking behind me.

I turn around to see what he's talking about and find Xaden's eyes locked on me and Liam marching over, a glare on his face. I open my mouth to tease Liam about losing but he beats me to it, "Never fucking do that again."

My eyebrows knit in confusion, "What? Win?"

Liam rolls his blue eyes, "Fight shirtless in a room full of horny cadets. Jack fucking Barlowe was eye fucking you and if I have to see him do that again I'm going to murder him than gouge my own eyes out. Don't even get me started on having to hear what my squad wants to do with you."

I smirk, "Oh, was it anything fun? Maybe I -"

"(Y/N)!" Liam scolds, grabbing my upper arm, but I only smirk more.

Before either of us can reply Garrick appears at our side, "I'm going to separate you two before you're brother comes over and hurts Liam." Garrick looks Liam in the eye and nods at him to get back to his Squad. Liam's jaw ticks once but turns on his heel, walking away from us.

"Why does Xaden want to hurt Liam?" I ask.

"He wants to hurt everyone that was looking at you, Smiley. He's showing a lot of restraint at the moment."

I snort, "I'm sure he is. Does that mean you weren't looking at me?" Garrick smirks but doesn't reply.

"Smiley?" Violet asks.

"She was always smiling and laughing as a kid so I started calling her Smiley." Garrick answers.

"If any of you try and use that nickname, I will break your nose. Garrick's the only one allowed." I say, watching the match in front of me.

"She's not lying. She broke Xaden's nose when we were thirteen because he tried to call her it."

Rhiannon laughs, "I would had loved to see that." The girl on the mat knocked out the other cadet with a swift kick to the head. She takes one of the cadet's daggers then moves back towards her squad.

"They were thirteen, I was eleven." I clarify.

"I'm sorry, Violet," Professor Emetterio speaks up, causing our group to face him, "You were supposed to challenge Rayma, but she's been taken to the healers because she can't seem to walk in a straight line."

Violet winces, "That's... Too bad," She pauses, "Should I just..."

"I'm happy to step in," Xaden says from across the room, causing me to smirk.

"You sure?" Professor Emetterio asks, glancing over his shoulder.

"Absolutely." Garrick and I exchange a look. We know he's already pissed because of my stunt so it's going to be fun seeing him against Violet. I know Violet is probably on the verge of a heart attack but Garrick and I both know he won't do anything on the mat.

Xaden steps forward, "You are all in for a treat," Professor Emetterio says, clapping his hands, "Xaden's one of the best fighters we have. Watch and learn."

"Well that's going to go right to his head," I mutter to Garrick, rolling my eyes.

Garrick's lips twitch into a smirk, "Please, he already has a big head, Emetterio saying he's one of the best fighters isn't going to change that."

Violet steps onto the mat, facing Xaden. "A little out of her league, don't you think?" Dain calls out, trying to protect her.

"Relax, Aetos." Xaden looks over his shoulder at Dain as he begins to take off all his weapons, handing them to Imogen. "She'll be in one piece when I'm finished with her."

Dain raises his voice, "I hardly think it's fair-"

Xaden cuts him off, "No one asked you to think, squad leader." Garrick and I both snort, turning away to hide our laughs.

"You don't think you'll need those?" Violet asks, watching Xaden remove the last of his weapons.

"Nope. Not when you brought enough for both of us." He grins, stretching out his hands, "Let's go."

"This is going to be fun," Garrick whispers.

"He's not going to hurt her, right?" Ridoc asks.

"No." Garrick and I both say in unison.

"You both seem confident about that." Sawyer says, watching the match.

Violet attacks Xaden, he blocks her easily, and slowly starts to disarm her, kicking each of her weapons towards Dain who stands at the edge of the mat. "We know Xaden, he won't harm her." Garrick replies.

Xaden and Violet are talking as they fight, Xaden offers Violet a hand, "Don't take it." I mumble.

"She's going to take it." Garrick says. Sure enough, Violet takes my brother's outstretched hand. He tugs her up then twists her arm behind her.

"Damn, thought she'd be smarter than that."

Xaden keeps disarming Violet until finally she snaps, "You've made your damn point." Imogen gasps, but I just smirk. Xaden crosses his arms, unbothered, and Violet starts letting her emotion into her fighting.

Xaden has Violet pinned to the mat, he moves her hands to grab her last dagger, showing her where to attack an opponent. "See, he's just teaching her. No harm done." Garrick says to the rest of the squad.

The two exchange a few more quiet words before Dain speaks up, "I think she's been taught enough today."

"Awe, he's jealous." I whisper to Garrick. Garrick's shoulder's shake in a silent laugh. Xaden stands, walking away from Violet and gathering his weapons from Imogen.

Violet moves towards Dain in order to collect her weapons, "Aetos," Xaden calls out, turning to look at the second year, "She could use a little less protection and a little more instruction." Dain nods.

Xaden makes a beeline for me, "Good luck." Garrick whispers to me, he nods at Xaden then walks away.

Xaden is glaring at me, he then grabs my arm, pulling me away from my squad and out of the gym. "Challenges aren't over you know." I say, a smirk on my face.

Xaden remains silent as he walks me through the halls, glare never leaving his face. I know why he's mad, but I don't care. We make it back to the dormitory, heading straight for his room. Once he closes the door behind us, he finally lets go of my arm. "Sit." He says, gesturing to the bed.

I sit on the edge of his bed, biting my lip to keep from smiling, but it's easy to tell that I find his anger amusing. Xaden's eyes flare, "It's not funny. What the fuck where you thinking?"

"I was thinking it's Liam and I could distract him. When you fight an opponent that's bigger and stronger than you you need to use everything in your arsenal to win. That's exactly what I did."

Xaden rolls his eyes, "Oh, so you'll just walk up to a random enemy, take your shirt off, and fight them in hopes they'll be distracted."

This time I roll my eyes, "If I know my enemy is attracted to me then yeah, maybe." Xaden's glare hardens, "Xaden, I'm not dumb. I know how to win and get what I want and that's exactly what I did. I'm still undefeated in challenges, you should be proud of me. I don't see what the big deal is."

Xaden raises his voice, "The big deal is that you were just shirtless in front of almost the whole quadrant and half those people were eyeing you like a piece of meat. You're my little sister, I don't want anyone looking at you-"

I cut him off, "That's why you sent Garrick to me. You wanted him next to me to scare off anyone eyeing me. Well, Liam already informed me about the colorful commentary on my behalf and I don't give a fuck. Let them talk. Let them look. More than half of those people are going to be too scared to do anything anyways."

"That's not the point!"

I stand up, "What's done is done, Xaden! We can't go back in time and stop me from taking my shirt off and you know what? Even if we could, I would do it again. Because I. Won. I did what I needed to do and I don't regret it."

Xaden pinches the bridge of his nose, "You're going to be the death of me." He says causing me to roll my eyes, "Just don't do it again. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Xaden's jaw ticks but he doesn't say anything else. 

[raavenb2619]

Can you talk more about aromanticism in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep :o But yeah as someone who read the book before watching the movie, I thought it was weird they didn't include how animals were super important in the world as a sign of empathy and showing empathy was a status symbol.

Yes, I would love to talk more about this! I have a bunch of incomplete thoughts rattling around in my brain about Blade Runner and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, including about the interesting parts of the book that were cut, like Mercerism, the importance of animals, the empathy boxes, the emotion dialing machines, the spider scene, the other police department, the use and non-use of the empathy test, the fact that multiple androids can share the same face, and the narrative/story treatment of Rachel. I'd like to organize and share my thoughts with other people, but first: I need to watch Blade Runner 2049 because I've heard it's got things for me to analyze, compare, and contrast with the original film and the novel; then I need to decide how many versions of the original film I need to watch and analyze (so far I've only seen The Final Cut, which seems to be the version most people like and recommend, but I think that having Deckard narrate sections could change the worldbuilding and potentially add roboticism that I felt was lacking in The Final Cut); then I probably need to spend some time piecing my ideas together into something coherent that other people can read and understand, but then I'd love to publish my thoughts (probably as an essay on Wordpress, though maybe something a bit more informal) and let people read it and have a conversation about it.

How long will that take? I don't really know. My Frozen essay took four months; DADoES + BR + BR 2049 might take longer because there's more material to analyze. But by asking for my thoughts, you've somehow given me the motivation and inspiration to actually write something about this. (So, thank you for that :).) I'd also like to try to share some of my progress, thoughts, realizations, and questions as they happen on Tumblr, because I'm interested in doing media analysis with other people (and because that might reduce the risk of me losing motivation while working on this), so I may end up rebranding my blog a bit at some point.

Here are some other media analysis/writing things that I'd like to do some day. It turns out that other people asking what my thoughts are on a thing is a really good motivator for me to write down what my thoughts are on a thing, so if anyone wants to encourage me to write an essay or blog post about any parts of any of the following topics, feel free to send me an ask:

Wicked (the musical). One angle I'd like to explore is looking at the musical through an aromantic lens, and reading Elphaba as alloaro/alloaro-aligned. I might broaden the scope to look at other Wizard-of-Oz media, and maybe also aro-aligned villains and aro-aligned anti-heros in media, but maybe that would be better served as a series of essays/blog posts and not an essay so long it should be a book. There's also so much musical/motivic analysis I need to do of Wicked, it has so much depth and I still find more things when I relisten to the music.

The portrayal of robots in fiction. One angle I'd like to explore is, "why are robots and aromanticism linked?" And I'm not happy with the shallow answer of "robots don't have emotions and people think aromantic means you don't have emotions"; I want to actually know "why are robots and aromanticism linked? How did the portrayal of robots evolve for there to be a link? Was that inevitable, or could robots have turned out differently so that they weren't liked to aromanticism? What does the linking of robots and aromanticism say about society and fictional depictions of humanity and lack thereof?" I also need to rewatch and actually finish Battlestar Galactica, though I think that might be more interesting through an ace lens than an aro lens.

Isaac Asimov's fiction and related works. I've been reading a lot of his fiction in publishing order in part because of my interest in the origin of robots and aromanticism, but there's definitely interesting things to be said about his novels and short stories, and also the Foundation TV series, such as how they treat love. (I also want an excuse to rewatch all the episodes just to answer nerdy music theory questions about Demerzel and does she have two musical motifs and why is one very legato and lilting and the other is staccato and halting and is that representing an inner struggle between her humanity and her roboticism?)

An analysis of @kernsing's aromantic sonnet #1 (this is still on my todo list, I got busy but didn't forget, but I have Things to say and I want to Find even More Things to say about this poem)

"Why Beauty and the Beast (1991) is fundamentally arophobic and can't be fixed." Okay, I haven't thought about this in a while so it's possible my perspective has changed and I'll find a way that the story could be changed to not be arophobic, but I know that the conclusion I came to a while ago was that the story structure itself was fundamentally problematic and that changing it enough to make it no longer be arophobic would require changing the story structure so much that it would be a fundamentally different story. This would not exactly be a fun essay to read or write, because I can't imagine many people enjoy someone digging into why a movie so many people love is arophobic to its core, but I'd still like to do it, some day.

Is "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" a distant relative of "Beauty and the Beast"? (I mean the story structure, not genetics/family trees.)

An analysis of Walt Disney Animation Studios films over the years. After my Frozen essay I spent like a month watching almost every Walt Disney Animation Studios film and tracking how the films treated a bunch of different aspects (e.g. sex, romance, marriage, third wheel, kissing, jealousy, love, true love, meet-cutes, queerness, gender, sexism, transmisogyny, homophobia, multiple concrete aspects of amatonormativity, queercoding). But I never really tabulated or aggregated my notes.

The discarded best friend trope (this is an arophobic trope I noticed and came up with a name for), and some examples and subversions of it.

Why does High School Musical (and HSM 2 and HSM 3) lack romantic love songs despite being a loose retelling of Romeo and Juliet that allegedly preserves the central romance? What are the queer things that can be found in the movies? What would I do if I could remake it as a multi-season TV show that was overflowing with explicit queerness that touched on things that weren't shown in the movies? Can I be normal about Kelsi? (I absolutely can't)

Why does Heartstopper (the TV show) make me read Tao as aro all the time?

Fairy tales! What is a fairy tale? Fairy tales through an aro lens! Do fairy tales have a distinct musical sound/style/identity? Has the musical sound of fairy tales changed over time?

Why do stories typically have room for a heroic love interest, but not a villainous love interest? (I'm not happy with the shallow answer of "because of amatonormativity/arophobia". I want to know, why are stories like this? Does it have to do with the structure and pacing of stories? How do pure narrative reasons interact with societal forces and expectations?)

"Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games has always felt aspec to me, and here's why." The last time I read through the trilogy, I felt she came across as demi I think? It might be interesting to compare the books to the movies and look at what and how the adaptation changes, especially with regards to romance, relationships, and aspec coding.

Something about how you can have in depth discussions about aspec politics without using aspec terminology, and maybe using too much aspec terminology makes conversations in the aspec community less accessible to new aspecs as well as well-meaning and open-minded allos who would be better allies to us if they could more easily understand what we talk about. When it comes to things like amatonormativity and allonormativity and the societal norms and issues we face, the more people who understand us and agree with us, the easier it'll be to shift society to be better for aspecs. So, sometimes it makes sense to try to talk about complicated, in-depth aspec issues using as little specialized terminology as possible.

Something something aro Celeste. A while ago a friend joked that I should do an aro analysis of Celeste, and then I started actually thinking about it and saying words and they realized they'd made a mistake, but I never wrote down any of the thoughts I had. Just brainstorming here, but there's probably something I could say about Crystal Hearts as collectibles that gate access to more difficult content and have three different art styles depending on where they appear and how they push you away unless you dash into them and break them and how you can die after collecting a Crystal Heart, Madeline's ex, Madeline and Theo's friendship and Grannie and Theo's grandfather's friendship, Madeline and Badeline's story arc through a "Show Yourself"-like aro lens, and Theo's instagram photos of Madeline doing archery. (This essay would be more on the silly side of things, basically proving that given enough disparate pieces in media I can cobble them together with thumbtacks and red string to make shapes that don't exist. And yes, I came up with the brainstorming list in about 5 minutes off the cuff while writing this bullet point)

An aro reading of Homestuck. I would need to finish Homestuck first, and I'm going to start from the beginning at...some point. I remember really liking and getting excited by the "troll QPRs", and I'm probably going to get nerd-sniped by trying to build my own understanding of how leprechaun romance can make sense. (Yes, I know this might be another thumbtacks and red string essay. No spoilers please)

Something about Gravity Falls, The Owl House, She-Ra, Steven Universe, or other similar TV shows?

Tron and Tron: Legacy? Idk I rewatched them semi recently, and expected to dislike the sequel because I had been listening to the album totally wrong. But then I disliked the original and liked the sequel a lot. There's potentially a music theory lens here, but I'm not sure if there's a queer lens here. But that's okay, maybe someone will suggest one, or maybe I'll just write up my thoughts even though there isn't any queerness to speak of, because my media analysis doesn't always have to be through a queer lens.

Something else that I haven't listed here because I don't have an actual list of things anywhere and I've probably forgotten multiple things?

Something I haven't thought of? If you want to know my thoughts on something or want me to analyze something, feel free to send an ask or a reblog or something. No promises I'll answer in a timely fashion (or ever), but I might

[pascaloverx]

BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Thank you and happy reading.

ONE THREE (+18)

TWO

Your wrists ache as you struggle to undo the knot Prince Aemond used to bind you to him. The damned knot is expertly tied, making it a challenge to free yourself without drawing his attention. The prince remains intensely focused on the path ahead. If only you could reach the likely Valyrian dagger at his waist, you might be able to use it to cut yourself free.

“If that naive little mind of yours is considering anything more creative than the foolishness you've been trying the entire way to free yourself from the rope binding your wrists, having your hands tied to me will be the least of your worries." The Prince’s voice, resonating close to your ear as he leans down slightly toward you, sends a shiver through your body.

"Tying me up won’t gain you any advantage. Do you plan to keep me bound to you when you’re forcing me to mount a dragon and fight by your side, all to secure your brother’s claim to the throne?" Your frustration over the pain in your wrists spills out before you can restrain yourself, the words slipping from your lips as if you weren’t speaking to a prince who could dispose of you as easily as he mounts a dragon.

"Understand this, gundjabo, you clearly have no idea what my plans are. The fact remains, I do not trust you. And I suggest that when you address me, you do so properly. I am the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, not your client." Prince Aemond's tone is formal, yet there's a clear undercurrent of irritation. He continues guiding the horse while your hands grasp tightly onto the rope, as holding onto his waist is not a viable option.

"I apologize for my impertinence, Ñuha Dārilaros. I will cease to trouble Your Highness with my ignorance," you reply, your tone dripping with cynicism. Prince Aemond lets out a low hum, as if murmuring "hm…" in response to your insincere apology. However, he appears to ignore your sarcasm, redirecting his attention to the path ahead. As you travel along the rarely used path, the journey is proving difficult. Your discomfort grows as the hours pass, and you’re painfully aware that your strength is waning. The thought of wrapping your arms around Prince Aemond for support crosses your mind, but you hesitate, knowing that he might push you off the horse or, worse, take pleasure in dragging you along the ground. The tension between you and Aemond remains palpable, adding to the strain of the journey.

"A servant who does not make her company pleasant must definitely be a useless servant. I wondered why I had never seen you in the brothel before, but now I have my answer." Prince Aemond says after a while, as if wanting to provoke you. You sigh, looking at the landscape, thinking about how to respond to his provocation.

"In reality, Ñuha DāRilaros, a good servant ensures that the finest clients desire her exclusively. If you never crossed paths with me at the brothel, it's because until I was taken by your guards, I was quite useful to someone." Your tone carries a hint of mystery, suggesting that someone more important than Prince Aemond Targaryen once valued your service.

"Vaogenka ābra. I could tear out your tongue for what you just said. But since you seem to enjoy deluding yourself with lies, do tell me—who could possibly stand above Prince Aemond Targaryen?" Despite the clear irritation in his voice, you can’t resist the urge to smile. Normally, you'd tread carefully to avoid bruising the ego of a one-eyed, arrogant prince, but considering he likely wouldn't kill you before feeding you to some random dragon, you allow yourself a small victory. Prince Aemond turns slowly, fixing his one-eyed gaze on you. You hesitate to speak further, realizing you may have gone too far. Instead, you direct your attention to the horizon, where you spot three men dressed in ragged clothes, their smiles malevolent.

"Unbind me, Your Grace," you say as the men draw closer. It's clear they intend to exploit the situation, and if Prince Aemond reacts poorly, it could mean the end for both of you.

"Pāsagon nyke, gundjabo."Prince Aemond murmurs forcefully as he dismounts from the horse. His confidence is unsettling, filling you with concern. If these men realize that Prince Aemond is heading towards Dragonstone while a war looms, it could spell disaster. You cannot let that happen.

"Who are you?" the men speak almost in unison, two of them eyeing you with a disturbing eagerness, likely lusting for a quick conquest. The third man, however, has his gaze locked on Aemond, suspicion growing in his eyes as he begins to piece together who stands before him. The rope binding your wrists bites painfully into your skin, worsening as it is pulled tighter while Aemond remains beside the horse. The tension in the air thickens, and you realize that it won't be long before they recognize his Highness.

"This good man is taking me to Queen Rhaenyra," you quickly interject, cutting off any chance for Prince Aemond to speak. "She’s been seeking bastards to try and claim dragons." You can tell that Aemond is deliberately keeping his hood low, trying to avoid recognition. You keep your hands as still as possible, careful not to reveal the rope that binds you to him. The tension between you and the prince is palpable, but you know that you need to maintain the ruse for both your sakes.

"Do you let a whore speak for you? Not man enough to explain yourself?" the most observant of the men sneers as he steps closer to Prince Aemond, his tone laced with contempt. The other two men begin to circle you and the horse, their intentions clear in their predatory gazes. You feel the tension in the air thickening, the situation teetering on a dangerous edge.

"I'll show you what kind of man I am," Prince Aemond declares, his voice cold and commanding. With a swift motion, he removes his hood, revealing his striking features and the unmistakable silver hair which falls perfectly into place despite the hood. The sight alone causes the men to falter, recognizing the power and danger they now face. Aemond then draws a beautiful, ornately crafted dagger from the sleeve of his cloak, its blade gleaming menacingly in the dim light. Aemond attacks the man in front of him, plunging the dagger into the man's eye. Prince Aemond pulls his dagger from the man's eye. The man screams in pain, as blood from his eye gushes onto the ground. Then the man falls in front of Aemond who wastes no time, leans over the man and he thrusts the dagger back into the man on the ground, stabbing him in the brain. Prince Aemond is swiftly kicked by one of the men standing near you. It happens so quickly that you only realize it when the rope pulls you down. The third man tries to grab you from the ground, but you swing your bound hands toward his face. A light laugh escapes you as you see blood starting to drip from his face.

You try to get up, but the rope holds you back, fueling your hatred for the One-Eyed Prince who tied you to him. The man, enraged, storms toward you, shouting slurs and threats like "Whore" and "You'll pay for this." Desperately, you crawl as quickly as you can toward Aemond, who appears to be gaining the upper hand against the second man, though the horse obstructs your view.

"Open your eyes, gundjabo. You do not have my permission to die. Ao issi ñuhon, and everything that belongs to me must not be touched by others," Prince Aemond murmurs as he approaches you. The body of the third man lies on the ground, Aemond's dagger embedded in his face. You remain stunned, standing near the horse, as Aemond's single eye fixes on you. It's as if you lack the strength to respond.

"He… he…" you murmur with a trembling voice, weak and looking down. Your hands ache, and your gaze is lowered. Then you feel Aemond’s cold hands touch your face, lifting it up to meet his gaze. His eyes lock onto yours as if he’s trying to analyze your soul, and you look back at him, perhaps in your most vulnerable state.

"He met the end he deserved for attempting to harm what belongs to me. I consider myself merciful in this regard. You are permitted to die only by my hand or by dragonfire. Remember that." Prince Aemond says, wiping a bit of the blood from the man’s face away from yours. The proximity between you is such that you can feel his warm breath against your face. He smells of blood and wine. There is something so primal in his gaze that makes you almost want to taste his lips. Yet, all you do is nod in understanding of what the one-eyed prince has just conveyed.

"I understand, Your Highness. I will only die by your hand or by dragonfire," you say, meeting Aemond's gaze. He gives a half-smile, then crouches to retrieve the bloodied dagger from the body of the third man. Rising, he firmly holds your hands and cuts the rope, freeing you.

[rosenclaws]

Do Mutants Dream of Two-Headed Sheep? Chapter 1 || Logan x Cyborg!Reader

Summary: You find yourself in a strange place after being rescued and you don't feel very welcome here.

Warnings: Body horror, angst, blood, medical stuff, injury, angry reader, defensive Logan, reader has a panic attack

wc: 2.2k

a/n: Here's the first chapter! Its mostly set up with a lot of angst but I'm excited to take this story and explore more about both Logan and the reader.

Series Masterlist

They were called the X-Men. They’re mutants. Just like you. You didn’t know anything. They asked you a million questions. Hooked you up to machines. Took X-Rays. Ran tests. Their scientist. Beast. Hank as he asked you to call him. He poked and prodded you for hours.

You hated every moment of it. You were a fucked up creation. He apologized but you paid him no mind. All you could stare at was your new robotic body. What did they turn you into? Hank starts talking.

The people who did this to you, they replaced half of your body with machine parts. But it was incomplete. They meant to turn you fully into a robot, a heartless, cold dead weapon who would listen to their every command. But by the time the X-men had gotten there they had only gotten half way through.

“It’s incredible really.” Hank mumbles and your head whips to the side.

“Incredible? You call being torn apart and replaced by metal incredible?” You spit. His eyes widen as he starts to back peddle, apologizing for his insensitive language but you don’t want to fucking hear it.

“Leave me alone. I’m done being your little show pony.” You snarl.

“I…I’ll be back later to check on you.” Hank offers you a small smile but you just stare ahead of you.

You look at your hands, your arms, your legs. You can barely differentiate between your new body and the medical IV’s that Hank and stuck in you. You had no memories, no clue who you were, how you got there in the first place. The only thing you remember is pain. Only pain.

You hated it. In a fit of rage you grab the IV wires and rip them out of your arm. You watch as blood drips down your arm. The only reminder you have that you’re still made of flesh. 

Upstairs Charles had called a team meeting. All of them for the lack of a better term were unsettled. They’re mutants. They’ve seen a lot of things in their life. People who don’t look human or have some mutation that changes their physical appearance. But this. This was utterly new and horribly cruel. 

“According to the files we extracted from their computer, the mutant you found is known as Project G.H.O.S.T.” Charles sets down the files on his desk.

“Doctor Peter Crane is the lead scientist hired by Section K. Unfortunately, we were unable to capture him or the leader of a mutant experimentation group. But we were able to get their information and future plans all while destroying their current base of operations.” Scott follows while skimming through the amount of information gathered on the mission.

“Who are they? Why did Crane want them?” Storm asks as she looks at the folder with all your information.

“We don’t know. Most of the information had already been destroyed, not even a name. But from what…” Scott trails off, unsure of how to phrase it. He glances at Logan for just a second before turning back to Charles.

“What we do have, we think they were planning on turning them into a living weapon. Strip them of their humanity and turn them into a puppet.” That struck a chord with Logan. Living weapon, yeah he’s heard that one before. He was one before.

“Did they?” Logan asks gruffly.

“We don’t know. It looks like they only got half way through before we found them.” Scott replies.

Logan grunts in response. He stops listening to Scott once he moves on, something about plans or whatever. He doesn’t care. His thoughts drift back to you. Just what are you? Charles didn’t mention anything about a mutant like you. Half machine. Logan was the one to save you, to cut you free and try to get you out but now he’s wondering if it was a mistake.

What if they had turned you already? Destroyed your humanity and they brought you right into the heart of the X-Men. Are you dangerous? He knows what it’s like to be experimented on, to be turned into a puppet for the masters to play with.

Anyone else would feel a connection, a level of understanding. But Logan, he can’t trust that easily. This is his home and the people living in this mansion are his family. He knows what you could possibly be.

And he doesn’t trust it one bit.

“You’re all dismissed, we’ll try and find out more and plan for next week.” Charles says. He turns his head to stare directly at Logan.

“Logan. Come with me.” Logan grumbles as he gets out of his chair and follows the professor through the halls.

“I know you’re distrustful of our new guest,” Charles starts making Logan scoff.

“Your thoughts are louder than you think Logan. I would have assumed you would be more…understanding.” Charles says carefully. Understanding isn’t exactly the word anyone would use to describe Logan but it was the best choice.

“I understand how dangerous people like us can be.” Logan states plainly. The destruction he caused as Weapon X, he doesn’t remember most of it but he can still smell the blood and sometimes he catches glimpses in his nightmares.

“I see.”

Logan steps in the elevator with Charles and stays quiet as it brings them down to the laboratory. When they enter your room they just see you sitting on the bed. Your eyes staring at the small TV in front of you. The channels flipping back and forth rapidly.

“Hello my dear, my name is Charles Xavier.” You glance at him, then at Logan before turning your attention back to the TV.

“I know this is a lot to process but I promise you we’re here to help you.” Still silent.

“When you’re ready, we have a room ready and we’d like to ask you some questions.” Still nothing. Logan grows irritated at your lack of response.

“Hey. He’s talking to you bub.” Logan snaps, the words tumbling out of his mouth without even thinking. You glare at him as he slams his hand against the TV, shutting it off. With a flick of your wrist it turns right back on.

“Technopathy, a rare mutation indeed.” Charles notes.

“Logan, show them to their dorm room. I think they’ve spent enough time down here.” Charles leaves, stranding you alone with Logan.

He’s the one who found you. You recognize his voice. Though this time he’s much angrier than he was before. He’s hostile and it looks like he might claw you right where you sit.

“Alright kid-”

“I’m not a kid.” You snap. Your robotic hand clenching around the rails of the bed, crushing the metal with ease.

“Fine. I want to know exactly what they did to you. Give me one reason I should let you near any of those kids up there.” Logan growls. You just laugh at his audacity, he doesn’t scare you for a second.

“Aren’t you a warm welcome? Is this typical X-Men hospitality? Stick needles and threaten my life? ” You spit and Logan’s claws come out instantly.

“Listen bub, I know their plans and I want to make sure you aren’t already the weapon they wanted to create.”

“What if I am Logan? A trojan horse to spy on your little friends.” You’re not, you have control but he was pissing you off. If he was going to treat you like a threat you sure as hell weren’t going to spare him any real explanation.

“Then I’ll slice you to pieces in a heartbeat.” He says, brandishing his claws.

Without thinking you flinch just seeing them. They remind you of the blades, the pain as you went in and out of consciousness. Your heart starts to race as flashes of broken memories. The pain shoots through your body, both sides. You don’t understand. You push yourself off the bed and flee to the corner of the room. Logan’s eyes widen as you start to mumble. Your fingers digging into your hair as you try and calm yourself down.

“Hey kid I-” Logan’s cut off by the TV exploding next to him.

“Fuck!” Logan hisses as the parts of the screen dig into his skin.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I didn’t mean it.” You cry.

Logan reaches out but the sight of his claws send you deeper into your spiral. With your right hand you push him into the wall and run.

You hear him shouting but you keep running. Grabbing a jacket from one of the lockers you hurry into the elevator, putting it around you and hoping it covers some of your robotic body. When the doors open you leap out of sight, maneuvering your way through the halls as you hear the sound of children laughing and footsteps getting too close. You can’t think straight, you want to leave. You don’t want to be here anymore, you just want to go home.

What even was home? Did you have one? Did you have a family? You see a group of kids approaching your hiding spot and you bolt. You see a large open door and throw it open, slamming it shut and leaning against it. Closing your eyes you try to focus on your breathing. Your lungs had been replaced too, with each breath you hear the turning of the gears and the squeaking of the air pump.

“I may owe you an apology my dear, perhaps Logan was not the right person to leave you with.” You open your eyes to see Charles at this desk. Fuck the room you went into was his office.

“You think?” You bite back, though you feel yourself a little more relaxed around this man. He chuckles and beckons you over to sit.

“I apologize. You see, you and Logan share more than you may think.” You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything about it.

“He thinks I’m a threat.” You close the jacket tighter around you. Charles stares at you and you feel something off in your head.

“Please don’t read my mind.” You mumble, trying to shut him out. To his surprise you do.

“I’m sorry, your thoughts are just very loud.” From Hank's scans Charles had discovered that your body was an odd mix of human and machine.

Your heart and lungs had been replaced but your brain remained intact. The neurons that controlled your bodily movements had been expertly attached and morphed with the wires that ran through the right side, the robotic side. Your thoughts were loud and clear that even if he tried not to he could still read them.

The conclusion?

You were not an immediate threat, but you could pose danger if you were to give in to your machine side. You carried the capacity for both great good and great evil. Your humanity was out of touch which is exactly what Crane wanted. The doors to his office slam open to reveal a pissed off Logan. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees you sitting there, for a moment you swear you saw his eyes. turn soft. But you blink and the softness is gone. Replaced by complete apathy.

“Look, I appreciate the rescue but I think it’s best if I leave.” You say while looking at Logan.

“If you want to leave, I will not stop you. But I believe you would do well here. This is a place to learn how to operate your new self safely. We’ll protect you, take care of you.” Charles offers.

The truth is he wants to keep you here so they can guide you to the right path. The fear is radiating off of you. He doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know that you’re afraid of becoming exactly what they wanted you to be. There’s one question swimming around in your mind, projecting itself to everyone who looks at you.

Are you human? Or are you a weapon? Can those people have truly stripped away your humanity, by taking your heart, your blood, your limbs?

If they were to find you again they could finish what they started. But if Charles could keep you here, he can help you find your humanity again, help you become yourself.

“I know what you fear and we can help. I promise.” Charles whispers.

“It might be too late.” You whisper back. Staring at your hands once again, watching yourself in the reflection of your metal hand.

“Nonsense my dear, you’re not the first person who’s come here with a past like yours.” Charles says while looking at Logan.

Logan shifts on his feet, there is guilt for sending you into panic but he doesn’t trust you fully yet. But if Charles does, he’ll at least stay out of your way.

“Give us a month, a month to guide you, to help you and I promise the team will do everything in our power to find the people who did this.” You think for a moment.

There’s so much of your life missing and there’s a desperate need to know growing inside of you. If he’s telling the truth, if he can really help you. Then you don’t have a choice.

“Deal.” Charles smiles and places a hand atop your metal one.

“Welcome to the X-Men.” 

[glowettee]

analyzing what went wrong (like actually wrong) - part 2/5 🎀

1st post

posted by: glowettee

hey study besties! ♡ mindy here!!!!!

welcome back to my little grade recovery series! now that we've processed our feelings and dried our tears, it's time to put on our detective hats (make it pink, obviously) and figure out exactly what happened. this is where we get super real but super helpful!

♡ the pre-test investigation

let's look at everything that happened before the test/assignment:

study method audit:

were you just reading and highlighting? (spoiler: that's not actually studying)

did you try to memorize instead of understand? (guilty of this in my first year)

were you doing practice problems or just looking at them?

did you create your own study materials or just rely on reading?

i learned this the hard way - highlighting things in pretty colors isn't the same as actually learning them. what helped me was creating my own practice questions and pretending i was teaching the material to my stuffed animals (don't judge, it works!).

♡ the time management tea (sorry for these weird titles, lol <3)

be brutally honest about your study timeline:

last-minute cramming or consistent studying?

how many actual focused study hours? (scrolling through #studytok doesn't count)

did you have a study schedule?

were you taking proper breaks?

i started tracking my actual study time using a cute timer app and realized i was only doing about 20 minutes of real studying in what i thought was a "2-hour study session." yikes!

♡ the environment check

your study space matters so much:

where were you studying? (your bed doesn't count, bestie)

how was the lighting? (dim lighting = sleepy brain)

what distractions were around?

did you have all your materials organized?

i created a dedicated study space with good lighting, my favorite scented candle, and zero phone access. it literally changed everything.

♡ the content breakdown

this is where we get super specific:

which topics gave you trouble?

what patterns do you see in wrong answers?

were there specific types of questions you missed?

did you understand the basics before moving to complex stuff?

(IMPORTANT) make a chart (make it cute but functional) listing every topic and rate your understanding from 1-5. this becomes your study guide!

♡ the test-taking trauma

let's analyze the actual test experience:

did you read all instructions carefully?

how was your time management?

did anxiety take over?

were you physically prepared? (proper sleep, food, etc.)

i started doing mock tests under real conditions and found out i was spending way too much time on early questions and rushing through the rest.

♡ the resource reality check

what help did you actually use?:

did you go to office hours? (they're literally free tutoring)

did you use study groups effectively?

were you using all available resources?

did you ask for help when needed?

confession: i used to skip office hours because they scared me. now they're my literal secret weapon for acing classes.

♡ creating your analysis document

grab your favorite notebook or digital doc and create these sections:

concept confusion list

study technique evaluation

time management analysis

resource gaps

test-taking troubles

improvement ideas

♡ the action plan prep

based on your analysis, start thinking about:

which study methods you'll keep/change

what new resources you'll use

how you'll manage time differently

what help you need to seek out

how you'll prepare differently next time

this analysis isn't about beating yourself up - it's about creating the perfect strategy for your comeback. think of it like analyzing why your skincare routine isn't working - once you know what's wrong, you can fix it!

xoxo, mindy 🎀

[cherryfyre]

Speed Dating, Figure Eight Style

The sun dipped low over Figure Eight, casting a golden hue over the sprawling lawn of the Cameron estate. The event—hosted by one of the Kooks’ most prominent families—was as absurdly extravagant as you’d expect: a speed-dating competition, Kook-style. The twist? It wasn’t just awkward small talk. Participants would be paired up at random and forced to complete a series of ridiculous couple’s challenges. The grand prize? Bragging rights, free dinner at The Pearl, and a bottle of Dom Pérignon.

Martini!Reader had no idea why she was here. Technically, she wasn’t even supposed to be. But Pope and JJ thought it would be hilarious to infiltrate the event. While they snuck into the catering tent to swipe hors d’oeuvres, you were left to fend for yourself in a sea of Kooks, feeling every bit the fish out of water.

That’s when you saw him: Rafe Cameron, standing by the check-in table, radiating smug entitlement in his crisp white polo and tailored khakis. His sharp jawline tightened when his eyes landed on you.

“Great,” he muttered, running a hand through his perfectly-coiffed hair.

“Trust me, I’m not thrilled either,” you shot back, folding your arms.

It turned out, through some cruel twist of fate—or maybe just Kelce’s bad handwriting—you and Rafe had been paired together.

“Let’s make one thing clear,” he said, stepping closer. His cologne was annoyingly intoxicating. “I’m only doing this to win. Don’t get in my way.”

“Likewise,” you snapped, squaring your shoulders. “Try not to screw it up.”

The First Challenge: “Newlywed Trivia”

The first event was a rapid-fire trivia game where couples had to answer questions about each other, despite having just met.

“Alright, Cameron,” you said, grabbing a clipboard. “Let’s make this quick. Favorite color?”

“Blue. Yours?”

“Green,” you lied, just to make it harder.

The game began, and to your frustration, Rafe was ridiculously good at guessing. He nailed your fake favorite color, guessed your favorite season (“Summer. You look like the type who likes sunburns”), and even got your dream vacation right (“Italy? That’s so basic.”).

Meanwhile, you struggled to read him.

“Favorite hobby?” you asked, scribbling.

“Winning,” he said, smirking.

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re stuck with me.”

Despite the bickering, you somehow scored the highest points, advancing to the next round.

The Second Challenge: “Obstacle Course”

The obstacle course was set up along the Cameron property, complete with water balloons, rope swings, and a three-legged race section.

“Try to keep up,” Rafe said as the whistle blew.

“Oh, please. Don’t trip over your ego,” you shot back.

It was chaotic from the start. Rafe was fast—annoyingly so—but you were nimble, darting under ropes and dodging water balloons like a pro. When it came time for the three-legged race, things got… complicated.

“Stop pulling!” you yelled, nearly falling as Rafe’s long legs dragged you forward.

“Stop being slow!”

By some miracle (and a lot of yelling), you crossed the finish line first, collapsing into the grass, breathing hard.

“Not bad, Pogue,” Rafe admitted grudgingly, offering you a hand.

“Not bad yourself… for a Kook,” you replied, taking it.

The Final Challenge: “Trust Falls”

The last challenge was designed to test trust. One partner would be blindfolded and guided through a maze by the other.

“You trust me?” Rafe asked, tying the blindfold over your eyes.

“About as far as I can throw you,” you muttered.

“Cute. Let’s go.”

Surprisingly, Rafe’s guidance was steady, his voice calm as he navigated you through the maze. “Left. No, your other left. Watch the step. There you go.”

When you finally reached the end and removed the blindfold, you were face-to-face with Rafe, his smirk replaced with something softer.

“Not bad,” you said, brushing off your hands.

“You weren’t completely useless either,” he replied, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

By the end of the event, you and Rafe had somehow managed to win, much to everyone’s shock—and your own. The cheers and applause were almost drowned out by your mutual bickering as you accepted the prize.

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” you said, clutching the Dom Pérignon.

“Good,” Rafe replied, leaning in closer. “Because I definitely still don’t like you.”

But the way his eyes lingered on yours told a different story….

[suomeen]

Finnish Learning Resources

Idk who needs it but I thought I might share some free online resources that I found helpful for other broke overwhelmed learners.

Updated 2025/06/08

I'm pinning this for now since I keep adding new resources.

Best resource for grammar:

A short but nice course in Finnish, has multiple vocabularies:

This is just a demo but still useful:

https://materiaalit-koosto.otava.fi/web/state-jurdmmbvgaydeirmj4yq/649acb7ce5b1d718f439f971

Nice course on grammar with test tasks at the end:

https://openlearning.aalto.fi/course/view.php?id=158#section-0

Other courses at Aalto Open University:

https://openlearning.aalto.fi/course/index.php

Some good learning materials and tests:

https://openlearning.aalto.fi/course/view.php?id=59§ion=8

Very good series of basic videos for immigrants:

Another interactive learning site:

http://tasteoffinnish.fi/

Some listening exercises for learning basic words and phrases.

https://visnakker.no/tema.html

Very good short videos on basic word and phrases:

An online phrasebook with audio:

https://www.goethe-verlag.com/book2/EN/ENFI/ENFI002.HTM

English/Finnish tests from the same site:

https://www.goethe-verlag.com/tests/test/EN/FI/1/easy

A curious site where short news headlines are transcribed in pictures:

https://selkosanomat.fi/kuva/

Vocab quizzes:

http://iteslj.org/v/f/

Numerous Quizet vocab quizzes:

https://www.scoop.it/topic/oppitori/?tag=quizlet-mamu

A very nice short course, includes glossaries in English, French, Persian, Arabic and Russian:

A course of spoken Finnish:

https://extreme-finnish.teachable.com/

Finnish verb conjugator:

https://www.verbix.com/languages/finnish

A really good learning channel that has up to 15 subtitles in different languages:

A number of Free online courses:

https://www.savonia.fi/paivita-osaamistasi/muu-jatkuva-oppiminen/maahanmuuttajalle/suomen-kielen-kurssit-savoniassa/

A great resource for practicing grammar:

Free courses at the Open University of Vaasa:

Online learning materials, exercises, including audio ones:

https://salpro.salpaus.fi/hotpotatoes/

A nice channel with videos on language and also useful tips about life in Finland.

https://www.youtube.com/@MahdollisuuksienMatkalaukut

[mono-dot-jpeg]

the witch's diner [w.i.p] - a. azul

summary; in which a new witch comes to nrc, ready to take over the restaurant business

genre; rivals to lovers (probably), witch is used as a gender neutral word, reader is a piranha mer-person (i think at least), magicless! reader, reader is not yuu (i hope that much is obvious), written at least a year ago, and now impulse posted bc i want to, possible series if im feeling silly, READER'S PERSONALITY IS [slightly] INSPIRED BY KDRAMA WITCH'S DINER

[gender neutral reader] [TEST RUN PREVIEW]

a/n; this has been sitting in my google docs for a while and never posted bc i just do that and also i never post even half of my drafts so that's just a given really. if i find it in myself to continue this maybe i will. but i wanted to post this as like a test run or a wip.

you dont need to watch witch's diner to understand reader's story but i like the show so if you have time, watch it. i love song ji hyo sm. anyways i dont know what kind of fish i made reader, this was written in like sept of last year KSHSKDJEK it was probably between a shark or a piranha but im like 60% sure it's a piranha.

imagine azul's surprise when he found out about the latest witch of the sea.

how they made the most delicious of dishes and granted a wish with them. were they free of charge? no, that would put far too much weight on the balance of the world, they would explain.

then what about it being a signature spell?

they would simply laugh in their face, claiming that, "not anyone can simply be born with magic so powerful. why, i'm magicless."

no one really believed those claims… right?

it was such a big title to steal, and yet.. some random magicless person just happened to have such a power? azul didn't believe it when he heard about it at first, but then they arrived.

clearly they were of mer-person descent, their skin shiny, their teeth almost as sharp as a piranha, the side locks of their hair were a metallic-like blue gray and their height almost as tall as the twins that stand beside him. he can't quite figure out what kind of mer-person they were, but it was obvious enough that they were from his homeland. and then he heard the whispers from the other first years.

"wait! that's the person all the rumors were talking about!"

"what? the sea witch rumor!?"

"no way! they wouldn't be here, they're magicless, aren't they?"

"is it really them?"

"shh! we don't know yet!"

with a calm smile, they stand in front of the mirror.

"state thy name."

"y/n l/n."

"y/n, the nature of thy soul is sharp and intelligent and yet.. they possess no magic." quiet gasps and whispers erupt again but their smile stays calm, there's a smug glint in their eyes that only a few can see. "the shape of thy soul is octavinelle." the section of the octavinelle students freezes cold as they take their spot in their respective section.

they ignore the curious stares with ease. azul can't help but wonder what kind of talent they truly possess. he almost feels envious if he were to find out that they were just handed this with ease. and he was jealous of their lack of care for the gossip and whispers of their name after that announcement of their magicless self.

but a pair of twins watch them with sharp and amused eyes, one more mischievous than the other.

"hm, what an interesting fishy! don't you think so, jade?" one speaks.

the other hums in agreement, "yes, floyd. i wonder if those rumors were of any truth. how amusing that would be."

[joshfutturman]

ੈ♡˳ 'home' josh futturman x gn!reader

summary: arriving in the year 2000 brought along a host of new challenges for josh, and intensified the ache for a home he can never have again. but maybe, there's a chance for him to find that feeling again, in you. (1.4k words) tags: set at the end of the series, angsty for josh, kinda silly, from josh's perspective, x reader, cute, first meeting, for the 'timetravel' prompt for josh promptober.

josh knew it wasn't going to be easy, but he foolishly never realised how very hard it would be - to come into a world that wasn't meant for him. or. . . at least, not this version of him.

it's like, loading a save of a game you played years ago and forgot to come back to, trying to navigate a world that's familiar yet so fucking alien at the same time. and there's no free lives this time - he hopes he won't need them anyway.

yeah, everything was fixed. or, well, supposed to be.

but he can't help but feel like he got the short end of the stick. seriously, like what the fuck? no family - no, actually he had a family, just one that wasn't aware of his existence and if they did become aware of his existence he was sure they'd die. or something.

life is difficult, but josh is still grateful. there could be no life to live, after all, if he hadn't sacrificed what he did. he can't complain, shouldn't. but. . .

well, he's lonely. plain and simple. he feels like he doesn't really fit in with the crowd here, his jokes are too far advanced - can you believe it? and he can't bring himself to crawl back to early 2000s humour. fuck no. he might still unironically use XD's but rofling is a step too far.

it's all. . . too much, too different, and he kicks himself for ever complaining. he saved everyone, right? he finally put things right, wasn't he supposed to be happy?

josh guesses, but if this is what happy truly feels like then he doesn't want it.

video game stores were kind of cool though, finding all this retro shit that would go for thousands of dollars on ebay. . . maybe he could become a millionaire that way, hoard it all and then buy a yacht. would be kind of cool. he's lost in thought browsing the playstation two section. . .

when he sees you.

and fuck, he's not sure he's ever seen someone so. . . so. . . pretty? handsome? no, that's not the right word. beautiful. that's it. you're beautiful. and he's- shit. he's staring, you've caught him staring. fuck, he's a creep.

but to his surprise, you smile, turning back to the screen in front of you. you're posted up at one of those display boxes, testing a game. looked like resident evil - code veronica? but he couldn't be sure. he'd never tell anyone this but he got too freaked out during the first zombie cutscene in the classic that he never completed it, or any of the sequels.

augh, that smile though. he's sure he's blushing, he must be. it stirs up a feeling he hasn't had in a while, though he's not sure he can place what that feeling truly is.

your concentration is admirable, the focus in your gaze undeniable, it's like your lost in that world. . . maybe lost isn't the right word, you're not lost, not like he is.

josh is too chicken shit to do anything about the feelings you stir up within him, but what else is new? he sighs and exits the store empty handed, there's plenty of time to hoard retro games. . . or, josh supposes they're not retro right now. future retro games? is that a thing? man, his head is fucked.

when he returns a few days later, it definitely isn't in the hopes of seeing you again. he just. . . likes to browse. the same games. over and over. the stock isn't new. but he likes it that way, the familiarity and- yeah, he's bullshitting. he definitely came here to see you.

and there you are, posted up at the display box once more, hands firmly on the controller, resident evil on the screen.

his palms are sweaty, and his knees are most definitely weak. but he steels himself, he has to say something, right? like, this isn't normal. you've been on his mind constantly and he'll kick himself if he doesn't at least like. . . say hi or something.

hi is fine, hi is enough. he'll be proud if he can say hi.

"hey."

good start. you look up at him and smile.

"nice to meet me."

FUCK.

"i mean, no - shit, i mean nice to meet you. uh. fuck, sorry." josh fumbles over his words, cheeks immediately blazing a deep pink. this was why he'd vowed to keep to himself in this world, cause he can't help but fuck things up no matter where he goes or what he tries. it's inevitable, he just can't get shit right.

to his surprise, you laugh, a soft laugh, not a 'haha you fucked up you're so stupid laugh' that josh is so accustomed to. no, it's a sweet laugh. one that has his stomach doing flips.

"nice to meet me too," you grin, pausing the game as your eyes meet his, properly this time.

he can't help but smile in return, a big smile that takes over his whole face. he looks kinda goofy, but he can't help it. josh glances to the game, "saw you playing this the other day - uh, not that i was watching. or like, stalking, or anything. . . i mean, i just - i was here the other day and you were here and you were playing this and i noticed and now i'm back today and you're here and so am i-"

your eyes widen as he rambles on and on, seemingly not able to stop, until you speak up, "yeah, it comes out in a few months and i'm a big fan of the games and i know the dude who runs the store, lets me kick around most of the day."

josh is thankful for your intervention, he'd probably still be rambling if you hadn't. "yeah? it's a pretty scary game to wanna play so much." he smirks, though he knows he's probably just exposed that he's a bit of a pussy when it comes to horror.

you shrug, looking back to the screen, "i dunno, there's something kinda. . . comforting about it, y'know? i can get kind of lost in it, and claire's just as clueless as me when it comes to figuring out what the fuck to do."

his eyes widen a little, watching as your eyes scan the screen. this was your escape, coming back to the familiarity of it all. he can sympathise with that. maybe you're not too different after all, and maybe he's not as alone as he thought he was. here he is, a stranger to this time, and someone who's born here is having as much trouble as he is navigating the world.

"never. . . saw it like that before i guess," josh hums, looking to the screen with you, "is it stupid of me to ask if you like games, then?"

you laugh once more, looking back to him and his crooked smile, "maybe a little stupid, yeah, i like games."

he stuffs his hands in his pockets, feeling his awkward laugh spill out, was he really gonna do this?

"would you. . . i dunno, maybe wanna hang out at the arcade or something some time?" josh tilts his head. god, you were so cool. he'd be content with just getting to know a little more about you. it would be nice, he thinks, to finally have a friend again.

and. . . you're staring. shit, did he mess up? he shouldn't have asked. it's weird. you don't even know each others names for christ's sake.

but if he could peer into your mind, he'd see that you're actually shocked that someone noticed you. you've been coming to this store for years, idling away, in your own world. and this guy noticed you, like really noticed you.

"i'd love to," you admit, softening your smile further, "it's a date."

his eyes widen, you agreed. you actually agreed. holy shit! yes! this was awesome! a date? holy fuck!

"a date." he agrees, cheeks hurting from smiling so much.

and josh begins to wonder if somehow he can finally begin to have a place in the world again, a world that wasn't meant for him. even in his own timeline he felt lost, nevermind a timeline that was never meant to house him.

he hasn't felt 'at home' in a long time, not since that day. he's homesick, almost all the time. all he wants is to belong.

something about your smile feels like home. the warmth of it, void of any judgement.

maybe home doesn't have to be a place. maybe, he thinks, home can be a person, too.