#Summer Shortlist

[foxmulderautism]

the sexual tension between me and the short story prize that still says submissions will open in august 2023 on their site

[lessi-lover]

awfully mother like II l.williamson x l.walti

summary: you and leah spend the day at the museum ★ awfully mother like II l.williamson x l.walti

it hadn't been easy the past couple of weeks in your household. mummy is on crutches now because she hurt something in her knee that she described to you as an mcl. it sounded similar to what leah told you she had a few months ago, and you think that because mummy's injury is in her knee just like leah's then they must be a little similar.

your mummy needs assistance from you and leah so that she doesn't hobble around the house doing tasks that will hurt her, so you both helped mummy do the washing, buy the groceries for the week and cleaned the house together whilst mummy was at one of her appointments.

mummy has lots of appointments now, and you know that her injury is worse than her injury last year because it didn't last as many months as this one is. but you're happy that switzerland didn't make the olympics and she can rest her sore knee instead, even if you really would like to wear your mummy's olympic medal.

mu-. leah didn't make the olympics either, it was tough watching the highlights back with mummy, she looked sorrowfully at a mourning leah when you sat together to watch on the couch one night.

it had been a few weeks now since england failed to make the olympics shortlist and things were getting slower now that the season had ended and the international window had opened. it left a lot of time for you, leah and mummy to spend time together.

today the morning sun had filtered nicely through your windows, summer had almost arrived in england, the last few remnants of the harsh winter just disappearing every passing day. beside you, lia got herself ready for her appointment, her knee a persistent bother to her usually free weekends, and today she was getting another check up to see the progress of her mcl tear.

you watched her with worry as she fretted over her laces, checking the time on her watch before looking back at you. "don't worry, little stärnli," mummy assured you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "i'll be back before you know it, you and leah will spend the day together."

you nodded, lifting yourself out of the covers to press your own lips against your mummy's forehead. you had gotten used to being around leah, and you were excited to spend the day together. after all, mu-, leah always knew how to make things fun.

by the time the clock had passed nine, lia was ready to leave, her girlfriend replacing her at your bedroom door with a quick peck to her lips as she sent her on her way. "how about we visit the astronomy museum today little star?" leah suggested as she lifted you out of bed.

you nodded eagerly in response, slipping your hand into hers as you picked your clothes for the day together. leah had planned a special day for you, dressing you in the dress decorated with the moon and stars she knew you loved.

your eyes lit up with excitement at mu-, leah words, lifting your dress over your head quickly and putting your light up shoes on that glowed when tapped against the floor. "really! The one with the big moon in the centre?"

leah nodded with a grin, her smile widening at how excited you were to go to the planetarium. "yes, that one little star. We'll see the moon and all the different planets up close." the drive to the museum was filled with animated chatter as you talked her ear off about your favorite constellations and planets, leah listening attentively, surprised at the knowledge you told her about the different stars and constellations alike.

when you arrived at the museum, you could barely contain your excitement as mu-, leah took you through the checkout and gave you a special wristband with all the planets on it. she held your hand tightly as you both walked through the entrance.

it felt like a dream as she showed you through the different areas of the museums, your little body lighting up when you saw the huge models of the solar system and the screens showing the movement of the planets.

you spent hours at the planetarium, exploring from the towering model of saturn with its intricate rings and reading each and every fact on the wall, before walking over to the planetarium show.

mu-, leah watched with a smile as you eagerly pressed buttons that showed different stages of the moon, asked questions to every worker, and absorbed every bit of information you possibly could.

"look, mumma!" you exclaimed suddenly, pointing at a display about the characters of the solar system. leah froze for a moment, unsure if she was to correct you or respond as if nothing had happend. "wow, that’s amazing, little star," she responded, hiding the tears of joy in her eyes as she marveled at how naturally you called her 'mumma'.

you're not really sure why mama looks at you as if she will burst into tears, but she's listening to everything your little mind can come up with so you just choose to ignore it and continue showing her the display.

"you know so much little star," mumma smiled. her head pressed against yours, lifting you up high so that you could try and touch the model that was clearly not real but you didn't care, and neither did leah only lifting you up higher above her head.

leah took you to the entrance, letting you choose a few things from the gift shop and buying herself a coffee whilst she was waiting for you to have a look around.

soon enough you were back home on the couch, lying happily across leah's body as you held your new mond toy as well as your stärnli teddy tightly in your grasp. mumma had bought the teddy when you were leaving the museum, the toy catching her eye as she asked you if you wanted it.

"thank you for today, mumma, had lots of fun" you said sleepily, your head resting against her arm as she rubbed up and down your back. "you're welcome, little star," she replied, her heart swelling at how comfortable you were in her presence, it had never taken a lot for you to earn a place in her heart and she was so happy at how much she was able to bond with you.

you were exhausted from your day at the museum, almost falling asleep on the couch if leah hadn't seen your eyes almost close sooner. she helped you get ready for bed, changing you into your planet pyjamas and reading you your favourite story about the different stars as you snuggled under the covers with your teddies.

"i love you mumma." you said, your eyes shutting closed as you fell asleep. "i love you too my little star." leah responded, tucking the blanket up to your chin just like her girlfriend usually would.

not long after lia returned home to find you sound asleep, the soft glow of your star night light casting a gentle glare against the walls. she smiled as she approached your bed, noticing the content expression on her girlfriend's face as she sat down next to a fast asleep you.

"how was your day baby?" lia asked leah quietly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead as they both watched your sleepy breaths in and out. "it was so, so good," she replied, her voice filled with love as she took her eyes of you for a second to reach lia's own. "we went to the astronomy museum. she even called me 'mumma' today."

lia's eyes softened at her girlfriends words, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "she’s been thinking about that for a while, told me a couple of weeks ago when she was just about to fall asleep," she admitted. "we talked about it a bit, and she said she wanted to ask you, guess it just came out didn't it?"

"i love her so much, lia."

"i know, you treat her like your own," lia whispered, her head resting on leah's shoulder as they looked lovingly down at you, eyes shining with love. "and she loves you too. we're so lucky to have you lee." leah nodded, her gaze resting on your peaceful face. "she knows so much about the stars love, i'd be surprised if she doesn't do something to do with astrology."

"our little astronomist."

[la-galaxie-langblr]

IT WAS JOVER FOR A WHILE BUT WE ARE SOMEWHAT BACK AGAIN

job rant incoming

[thearchercore]

Lando’s comments about not being bffs with max is for sure directly related to lestappen gate. 

We’ve know since the summer that Charles is Ferrari’s priority to resign. (Remember we even thought it was going to be announced in the summer?) they’ve been working hard to make sure Charles feels positive about 2024 and comfortable in the 2024 car and feels like he can win a championship with Ferrari. And Charles was full steam ahead ready to renew.

It all changed in Singapore. Charles was shafted by Ferrari and Carlos was prioritized. Carlos prioritized Lando instead of his teammate - helping him stay in DRS even though he was a competitor. In the cool down room he said that what happened to Charles was “none of his business”.  Charles raises all fucking hell and Ferrari sees they’re about to lose their il predestinato.

Suzuka happens next week. And then there’s a break before Qatar - and Charles goes back to the factory in Maranello. He’s there for a week, while Carlos is no where to be seen and never shows up. Charles has a sit down interview in Qatar where he talked about feeling positive for the future and the developments for next year's car and genuinely seemed excited for the new car.

This was all before the mess of the last few races, when we saw the real development of lestappen gate. And the possibility of Charles going after Red Bull, not feeling like he can win with Ferrari. And the emergence of lestappen as being friends. publicly at least, cause we all know they’ve been close for ages. 

Ferrari gets desperate to keep Charles and will stop at nothing to retain him. Prioritizing his contact negotiations, giving him whatever he wants, making sure he knows he is the priority and they’ll do whatever they need. They hired Fred for him, and Fred is hiring and replacing like money is free to get a better team for Charles. And made it clear - the 2024 car will be suited to Charles and what he likes. 

Now who isn’t the priority? Carlos. His contract negotiations have basically stopped because they don’t care about him right now. There’s constant talks about how it’s likely he won’t reach a deal and Ferrari already has a shortlist of who they will pursue and why they’d be a great fit, to the point Spanish media is taking these so seriously that they’re shading Ferrari. Even the Spanish GP was talking shit about Ferrari on Twitter. 

Fred shades Carlos as the Vegas GP, saying Vegas was their best race of the season (even above their only team win). Fred shades Carlos again for his crash in practice in Abu Dhabi, saying that the Vegas pothole was bad luck but he said Carlos crashing in practice was “something else”. 

And with Singapore and everything that followed after, we see Charles and Carlos move from friends to barely interacting except for required events and videos. Carlos sees clearly that he is 2nd to Charles and will be considered that way with everything going forward, and is not happy about that. 

So that brings us back to: Max and Lando. Max respects Charles more than he does any other driver on the grid (hello he apologized to Charles in Vegas for turn 1?? When has he ever apologized for anything that happens on the track). Max is taking Charles’ side and even if he knows Charles is only using Red Bull to get a better Ferrari contract, he supports him cause he genuinely loves racing against Charles in a proper car. And besides the respect, they’re great friends. 

Lando’s allegiance is obviously to Carlos. And he’s hearing all of it from Carlos and his being pissed. And I can fully see it coming up in convo with Max (after all Max and Carlos were teammates and friends once upon a time) and Max not fucking having it and standing on Charles’ side. And suddenly there’s the divide and Lando refuses to say they’re friends, because he’s so behind Carlos. 

And it all just further enforces how powerful Lestappen is together. 

solid points! my little own theory was that lando wants to go into 2024 with an internal goal to be THE rival to max (how realistic that is, that's another discussion) and so the friendship with max no longer benefits him.

when lando was up and coming driver, the clout that he got by hanging out with max benefitted him. he was seen partying with the world champion, got more publicity thanks to that etc. it was in general a very appealing friendship to be in for lando.

fast forward, mclaren built a car in the second half of 2023 that could fight max in certain scenarios (singapore comes to mind). however, lando did not manage to maximise the potential due to little driver errors that always cost him a better starting position.

it's 2024 now, ferrari and mercedes have great drivers but they are fully dependent on the state of their car and the team strategy. mclaren seemed to work out some of that already so mclaren goes into this season maybe more confident than they should be.

lando's friendship with max no longer benefits him, he will be now seen as a rival, not a friend. he could be fighting him on track, and so he probably wants to push his own agenda and distance himself from max. in this scenario, carlos is a safe option as any other friend on the grid (i assume tensions will rise between carlos and oscar as oscar will no longer be a rookie)

on the other end, charles is doing the exact opposite, he maximised potential of ferrari's car and also stopped following ferrari's pr guidelines. in vegas or abu dhabi, he hung out more with max than his own teammate. during the winter break he had only one scheduled appearance with another f1 driver on the grid, again, max.

charles publicly connecting himself with max does no good for ferrari's image and how they're pushing the "friendship" between carlos and charles. in that sense, charles is not hanging out publicly with max because it benefits him, quite the opposite.

he's doing it to manipulate the narrative and take over some control himself.

that's how i see the situation right now. it will be definitely interesting to see how these grid dynamics develop because yes, they are co-workers but also in the season where so many contracts expire, it's also a big powerplay so there's definitely a lot of decisions behind the scenes

[makingqueerhistory]

Could you please give me recs for books that bi people should read at least once in their life?

I have a couple of questions about books about bisexuality, so I am going to use this ask to make a bit of a shortlist of great bisexual books that I have read.

You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty

Akwaeke Emezi

Into the Drowning Deep

Mira Grant

Jane Steele

Lyndsay Faye

Sadie

Courtney Summers

Body Work: The Radical Power of Personal Narrative

Melissa Febos

(Affiliate links above)

[thecouchsofa]

A shortlist of some of my favourite fics from Wireless Fest 2024, while they're still anonymous. Go read these (and the rest) here!

💿🎵🎷🎧📻🎼

💿How to Begin – Anonymous (8k, E) 💿

Harry is completely, pathetically besotted with his flatmate, Draco. Fuelled by liquid courage, he finally makes his move when he's absolutely sozzled. What could possibly go wrong?

Read for: Flatmates, Friends with Benefits, Mutual Pining

🎵Seasons – Anonymous (9k, E) 🎵 Seconds pass, and it’s like he can see Draco worrying the sliver of glass in his heart, looking for a way to press it out, to expose the wound to the sun. It’s life; Harry can be patient.

Read for: Snapshots over time, Older Drarry, Slice of Life

🎷The most he’s ever said – Anonymous (16k, E) 🎷 It takes them twenty years.

Read for: Down and Out to Redeemed and Competent Draco, Draco-centric, the Situationship of a Lifetime

Warning: Infidelity, but not between Drarry

🎧Closing Time – Anonymous (18k, E) 🎧 Draco’s been invited to Neville’s stag party in Bristol, and he's confident he knows what to expect. There’ll be too many Gryffindors, for starters, plus a few humiliating team-building activities, some dodgy clubs, and a truly preposterous level of alcohol consumption. But… a drunken Harry Potter climbing into Draco's bed when he’s having a wank? No, he definitely didn't see that coming…

Read for: Bristol, Stag Do, Draco & Neville Friendship

📻Heartbeat – Anonymous (22k, E) 📻 Harry hates Draco. Draco hates Harry. Only it's not hate, not even a little bit. Featuring: a cooperative independent study, golden hour on wrecked sheets, strawberries in the summer at Grimmauld Place, water from fountains of dubious origin, purple Mardi Gras beads, and a bird with silly legs. Also featuring: heated arguments, infidelity, unquenchable desire, and heartbreak. Over and over again.

Read for: Angst, Toxic Relationship, ‘Nobody else compares’ vibe

Warning: Massive amounts of infidelity, but mostly not between Drarry. There’s a scene that I interpreted as Harry emotionally cheating on Draco, although their relationship hadn’t been defined as exclusive.

🎼Antelucan Ruins – Anonymous (29k, E) 🎼 From the bloody Prophet, Draco discovers Harry Potter’s death splashed in grey ink printed on the front page. Potter is dead before Draco gets to see him again to fulfil a half-spoken promise. And yet, these days Draco has the power to bend the world to his heart’s desires, and that includes fucking Harry Potter even after he personally saw Potter’s pale, lifeless body lying in a coffin before it got buried under the soil. — "Do you realise that you're just as pathetic and insane? You're so hung up on the idea of me that you'd fuck a ghost, Malfoy. You risked your life for it." Draco puts an arm around Potter's body, "Whoever says I am sane? Certainly not me. It's calculated risk with more success rate than failure. And you are dead, Potter. You refuse to move on to the next realm because you crave for my cock."

Read for: BAMF Draco, Ghost Harry, a surprisingly hopeful tone considering one of them is fully dead

💿🎵🎷🎧📻🎼

Disclaimer: I have not read two of the longer fics, so they will not appear here

[frownyalfred]

Thank god that anon mentioned Superman, green lantern, and Batman cause now I get to remind everyone of the fic you wrote with all three of them and also remind youu that you mentioned a part two and hope that with a simple reminder you’ll somehow magically have the fic published without seeming like a rude person pushing for free entertainment

Anywho

@januariat is that you??? Jk. It’s on my shortlist for this summer! That fic was so fun. Poor Hal only got like .7 seconds of action so he deserves more.

I have a whole note in my phone with all the sequels I’ve promised people and I’m trying to tick them off one by one.

[tes-summer-fest]

Here’s the form to submit prompt suggestions for TES Summer Fest 2024!

Same as last year, we’ll have TWO prompts for each day of the festival to inspire writing, drawing, or any creative project.

ONE of these prompts will be an ADJECTIVE. For example from last year, ‘beloved’, 'starlit’, or 'forgotten’. Think words for strong feelings or words for descriptions of characters, places, or objects.

ONE of these prompts will be a NOUN. They can be an abstract idea or concept, for example, 'devotion’ or 'language’, or they could be something more concrete that you could find in-universe, such as 'tavern’ or 'sword’.

You can write in more than one prompt suggestion. If you’re not sure whether your prompts are adjectives or nouns, we recommend quickly checking a dictionary, e.g. https://dictionary.cambridge.org/

We will keep suggestions open for a few days, compile them and create a shortlist, then vote on them.

Thank you for participating! 🌹

[donora-ann]

Someone needs to splice together a clip of Oz with Robert Eggers set to Taylor Swift’s “The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived”: “If rusting my sparkling summer was the goal.” Oz ruled the year but got snubbed in the Oscars shortlists and then Eggers drops his absolute Oscar bait banger on Christmas. So here’s my friend just like “Anyway brother here’s The Monkey, gnarly kills, enjoy.” 🙃

[justforbooks]

Paul Auster, American author of The New York Trilogy, dies aged 77

The writer of The New York Trilogy, Leviathan and 4 3 2 1 – known for his stylised postmodernist fiction – has died from complications of lung cancer

Paul Auster, the author of 34 books including the acclaimed New York Trilogy, has died aged 77.

The author died on Tuesday due to complications from lung cancer, his friend and fellow author Jacki Lyden confirmed to the Guardian.

Auster became known for his “highly stylised, quirkily riddlesome postmodernist fiction in which narrators are rarely other than unreliable and the bedrock of plot is continually shifting,” the novelist Joyce Carol Oates wrote in 2010.

His stories often play with themes of coincidence, chance and fate. Many of his protagonists are writers themselves, and his body of work is self-referential, with characters from early novels appearing again in later ones.

“Auster has established one of the most distinctive niches in contemporary literature,” wrote critic Michael Dirda in 2008. “His narrative voice is as hypnotic as that of the Ancient Mariner. Start one of his books and by page two you cannot choose but hear.”

The author was born in Newark, New Jersey, in 1947. According to Auster, his writing life began at the age of eight when he missed out on getting an autograph from his baseball hero, Willie Mays, because neither he nor his parents had carried a pencil to the game. From then on, he took a pencil everywhere. “If there’s a pencil in your pocket, there’s a good chance that one day you’ll feel tempted to start using it,” he wrote in a 1995 essay.

While hiking during a summer camp aged 14, Auster witnessed a boy inches away from him getting struck by lightning and dying instantly – an event that he said “absolutely changed” his life and that he thought about “every day”. Chance, “understandably, became a recurring theme in his fiction,” wrote the critic Laura Miller in 2017. A similar incident occurs in Auster’s 2017 Booker-shortlisted novel 4 3 2 1: one of the book’s four versions of protagonist Archie Ferguson runs under a tree at a summer camp and is killed by a falling branch when lightning strikes.

Auster studied at Columbia University before moving to Paris in the early 1970s, where he worked a variety of jobs, including translation, and lived with his “on-again off-again” girlfriend, the writer Lydia Davis, whom he had met while at college. In 1974, they returned to the US and married. In 1977, the couple had a son, Daniel, but separated shortly afterwards.

In January 1979, Auster’s father, Samuel, died, and the event became the seed for the writer’s first memoir, The Invention of Solitude, published in 1982. In it, Auster revealed that his paternal grandfather was shot and killed by his grandmother, who was acquitted on grounds of insanity. “A boy cannot live through this kind of thing without being affected by it as a man,” Auster wrote in reference to his father, with whom he described himself having an “un-movable relationship, cut off from each other on opposite sides of a wall”.

Auster’s breakthrough came with the 1985 publication of City of Glass, the first novel in his New York trilogy. While the books are ostensibly mystery stories, Auster wielded the form to ask existential questions about identity. “The more [Auster’s detectives] stalk their eccentric quarry, the more they seem actually to be stalking the Big Questions – the implications of authorship, the enigmas of epistemology, the veils and masks of language,” wrote the critic and screenwriter Stephen Schiff in 1987.

Auster published regularly throughout the 80s, 90s and 00s, writing more than a dozen novels including Moon Palace (1989), The Music of Chance (1990), The Book of Illusions (2002) and Oracle Night (2003). He also became involved in film, writing the screenplay for Smoke, directed by Wayne Wang, for which he won the Independent Spirit award for best first screenplay in 1995.

In 1981, Auster met the writer Siri Hustvedt and they married the following year. In 1987 they had a daughter, Sophie, who became a singer and actor. Auster’s 1992 novel Leviathan, about a man who accidentally blows himself up, features a character called Iris Vegan, who is the heroine of Hustvedt’s first novel, The Blindfold.

Auster was better known in Europe than in his native United States: “Merely a bestselling author in these parts,” read a 2007 New York magazine article, “Auster is a rock star in Paris.” In 2006, he was awarded Spain’s Prince of Asturias prize for literature, and in 1993 he was given the Prix Médicis Étranger for Leviathan. He was also a Commandeur de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres.

In April 2022, Auster and Davis’s son, Daniel, died from a drug overdose. In March 2023, Hustvedt revealed that Auster was being treated for cancer after having been diagnosed the previous December. His final novel, Baumgartner, about a widowed septuagenarian writer, was published in October.

Auster is survived by Hustvedt, their daughter Sophie Auster, his sister Janet Auster, and a grandson.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[rimouskis]

1. What’s your favourite picture of Sid ever? (or a shortlist)

2. What are two things you’re looking forward to this week?

3. Can I have a tomato please?

if you want the full list, my friend, you merely have to click here to be transported to a land of wonder. but my shortlist is:

2. I am looking forward to.........................an event I have later this week that will remain nameless so as to maintain the very thin veneer of internet safety I practice, and I'm also looking forward to the many PACKAGES I have coming my way. I may have ordered a new lamp. I'm very excited about it. I've been in an interior design frenzy for like three months at this point.

3. I paid five damn dollars for this heirloom tomato and I've already used half of it in an excellent caprese salad. but you know what? come over and we'll use the other half. but I will warn you that I'm still going to be making a caprese salad with it. it's summer. we're all obligated to eat caprese salads.

[hairtusk]

[xinyuehui]

Hi besties! Some of you may know from a while back that I participated in a calligraphy contest. I've been shortlisted and I'm going to Beijing for it ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ

Wanted to share this exciting news with y'all and also mention that I probably won't be very active for the first time ever, I will try and log on with a vpn because how else will I survive without looking at gifs (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) requests are open as usual but it'll only get made after I come back (not that I get requests often anyways) In the meantime, hope y'all have a wonderful summer! I know mine is gonna be hot!!

-A some what lucky calligrapher, Xinjie (。・∀・)ノ

[sepdet]

@tangerinebonfire Rather than spam @headspace-hotel 's delightful pawpaw post further, I'm making my own primate post on my favorite target of foraging.

I grew up in rural Pennsylvania nibbling wild raspberries, blackberries, strawberries, and tiny blueberries on summer trips to Ontario, chewing sassafras and sipping on honeysuckle, but wineberries were queen. I probably haven't tasted wineberries in 30 years, as I moved away from the east coast in 1996. They're on my shortlist of things I miss after loved ones, lightning bugs, thunderstorms, and beech trees.

Lookit these beauties.

Unlike raspberries, they're meltingly soft. No crunchies. If you pick them unripe, they're tart, but still fairly tasty,

Unripe ones are amber-orange, ripening to lush crimson, which is the perfect blend of honey-sweet and tart/citrus, deepening to pomegranate seed red.

The NYT's Urban Forager blog describes wineberries as a "citrusy wild fruit which tastes like a cross between a raspberry and a California orange" (by which I can only assume they mean something like the 1930s Valencia orange tree in the back yard of my friends in Westminster, CA; store-bought oranges are a different animal). The Guardian's gardening columnist Alys Fowler says...

"…sherbert"

She also irresponsibly suggests planting some right after mentioning finding a forest overrun with them between Lakes Como and Maggiore, and noting her mom's own patch tended to get around. If you look them up in the US, you find a slew of articles lamenting wineberries as invasives, often while admitting ruefully that they're delicious.

Apparently they were/are planted in Japan, Korea and China as ornamentals, not just for the fruit, since the canes turn as red as the berries. Their invasiveness is the only thing keeping me from committing a deadly sin and buying seeds or plants online from unscrupulous suppliers. But I live in California now, and I mustn't.

[hausofmamadas]

| Our man in Mexico |

⁂

Pairing: Andrea Nuñez x Horacio Carrillo

For @narcosfandomdiscord Summer of Smut Alphabet: July 1 - [A] Angry sex

Word count: ≈ 2.5K

TWs: smut, biting, slapping, hair pulling andrea being her bestest, most cuntiest self

“Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you.” After the fall of Escobar in Colombia, everyone's favorite hot-headed, helicopter-shucking Colonel Horacio Carrillo has managed to make it out with not just his life in tact, but with a clean enough reputation to make the DOJ's shortlist of military officials to head up a new military investigation of the alleged collusion between General Jesus Guttiérez Rebollo and the Juarez cartel. He's stationed in Tijuana, Rebollo's last base of operations, where he personally and professionally crosses paths with rebel-with-many-causes journalist Andrea Nuñez, still reporting for La Voz. But when he puts a gag order on all things related to the Rebollo scandal in an effort to protect her, Andrea's fed tf up. And tells him as much. right to his face. Only one question remains: what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Carrillo fucks around and finds out.

⁂

“Señorita! N— no puedes entrar ahí, por favor! He’s in a meeting. I can’t— If you don’t have an appointment, I can’t let you back there!”

Andrea walked over to the door of the embassy office without a word and barged through, tearing down the hall. The secretary scrambled from behind the desk like a spooked rabbit, little kitten heels click-clacking on the tiled floor as she struggled to keep up with Andrea’s long, steadfast strides. And this, ladies, is why it pays to wear sensible footwear. The poor woman was just doing her job but her frantic puttering and cries of, “Señorita! You can’t be back here!” only served to build the rage in Andrea’s chest more.

She stopped so cold and turned around so fast, the woman’s forehead nearly slammed right into her own.

Andrea crossed her arms. “Mira, vieja. You haven’t even called security, so unless you’re going to tackle me to the ground and throw me out yourself, and—“ she glanced down at the woman’s heels, eyebrow cocked smugly, “—you could try but I don’t think you’d get far in those— I’m getting into that goddamn office one way or another.”

The woman sputtered something unintelligible. Andrea couldn’t be bothered to let her piece a proper sentence together before cutting her off with a curt, “ya eso es lo que pensaba.”

She turned back and kept on tearing down the hallway, closer and closer to the door marked, ‘Colonel Horacio Carrillo’ in block letters that were just as uppity and patronizing as he was. Or maybe it was just because it was his office, the arrogant prick.

Sure, he was a legend back in Colombia. Sure, he helped take down the biggest, baddest drug trafficker the world had ever seen. But if this asshole thought a gag order was gonna fly in the wake of Rebollo’s mess — which, oh by the way, she helped to expose — he was deader than General Jesus Gutiérrez Rebollo’s reputation. She refused to be cowed by the AFO goons who followed her to her car on late nights after work. She certainly wasn’t going to be intimidated by this Colombian haircut. He wasn’t even threatening to slash her tires. So, what was a bit of healthy confrontation between friendly colleagues? Making an appointment would’ve just spoiled the mood.

As her hand landed on the door handle, she smirked at the sound of muffled voices inside. Huh. So, he really was conducting business. In Mexico, “he’s in a meeting,” was usually code for he’s actually chain smoking at his desk, on the phone chatting away with his mistress on company time. But no, it seemed Carrillo hadn’t been dodging the press. Maybe just her calls.

For a split second and against her own will, the image of him sitting at the bar flashed in her mind. The night she met him. Well, not him, him. Not as she knew him now, no more than a stranger, dressed like a dad, but in well-tailored khakis and a grey polo that fit far too smartly for him to actually be anyone’s dad. She’d come to find out he was divorced, no kids, so a dad he certainly wasn’t which, if the rumors she’d heard about Search Bloc were true, made more sense and still wasn’t comforting in the slightest. But she didn’t know about any of that yet.

Around here, strangers in dimly lit bars were seldom safe and fewer troubled themselves to even establish a pretense of safety. But he was a different, safer kind of stranger. She didn't know how she knew but she didn't. He must’ve been anyway, since she didn’t usually make it a habit of taking strangers back to her car after some pleasant, cheap conversation and a few shots of even cheaper bourbon.

And yet, that’s where he ended up. The back seat of her stationwagon, his firm lips encased against hers, breath deliciously hot and sticky on her neck, fingers ruthlessly digging into the flesh of her hips as she ground them down onto his, car windows all smudged with insistent palm prints that said something along the lines of, ‘mmm, that’s right. Yes, just a little closer.’ A couple of months later and those stupid smudges were still there. She noticed them crossly when she’d parked outside, moments before accosting the man’s poor secretary. She'd wondered aimlessly if he’d even know what they were if he saw them. Would she want him to? Maybe that’s why she was in such a foul mood. She didn’t know.

Shaking her head, the indecent image dissolved noncommittally into thick, black ink behind her eyelids, like answers disappearing in a magic eight ball. Outlook not so good, ask again later. Oh whatever, fuck off. I don’t even have enough sense to regret the whole thing. So just fuck off.

The momentum of the door swinging open fueled her ire again, and she breathed it in, soaking it up., letting it fuel her. When the handle smacked against the wall, three heads whipped around to stare at her in shock. It looked so rehearsed, she couldn’t resist the urge to crack a sly smile. Carrillo’s nostrils flared. Yeah, that’s right. Fuck off. She strode between the two suits seated at each corner of his desk, to face him across it. He barely moved an inch, elbows propped up on the armrests of that big, obnoxious executive chair he sat in behind the desk.

Leaning forward, knuckles pressed flat on the papers strewn across like all of it was hers, she said cooly, “Sorry to interrupt, Colonel. But you’ve been dodging my calls, so thought it best to pay you a visit. Call it professional due diligence.”

He was fuming, dark eyes lit with indignation and what else was it? Maybe panic. But all that Boy-Scout-School-of-the-Americas training must’ve kicked in because he didn’t miss a beat. “Mm. Due diligence? About what, exactly?

“To ask you a simple but very important question.”

He waited.

“To ask how— after only a few months, just how is it that you think you already own the journalists in this city? I thought the point of bringing in an outsider was to avoid corruption, not perpetuate it by silencing the people’s right to free press. Or is that how you rolled back in Colombia? You and your Search Bloc.”

He knit his brows and, as if he just remembered they were there, glanced at the two men still seated, who watched them with a combination of confusion and the voyeuristic enthusiasm of a housewife watching her favorite novela.

“Gentlemen,” Carrillo cleared his throat and motioned to the door, “we’ll have to pick this up later.” His jaw hardened, eyes moving from the door to Andrea, going from resigned to livid in mere seconds. “It seems, despite her due diligence, Ms. Nuñez must not be that great a journalist because she doesn’t know how to take ‘no comment’ for an answer.”

That was a low fucking blow and he knew it. Well, what the man lacked for in hospitality, he more than made up for in emotional range. One of the men tipped his hat as he stood up and gave a sheepish shrug before heading to the door. The other nearly tripped over his chair on the way out, seemingly unable resist the temptation to observe them with wonder like a couple of zoo animals. Two fingers to her forehead, Andrea gave them a tiny salute filled to the brim with disdain.

Once the door closed, she rolled her head back around to face Carrillo, who looked like he could throttle her right there.

“If I were a man, you’d hit me right now, wouldn’t you?” she said like it was a dare. Ignoring the blaze of shock all over his face, she continued to press, still leaning over the desk. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Carrillo opened a drawer and rifled around for something. He came out with a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, lit it, and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

“Well?”

He took an infuriatingly long drag, and exhaled the smoke in her face, so that an opaque cloud now filled the space between them. On purpose. Naturally. This wasn’t his first rodeo with angry reporters. But this was his first rodeo with her. She straightened upright, waiting for him to speak.

“Well, before I can answer that, I have a follow-up question.”

She crossed her arms, swinging one hip out to the side, “O, sí?” inviting him to continue treading on dangerous conversational ground.

Nodding, “Sí, sí,” he flashed a cynical smirk that dissolved into a glare as he looked up at her and gave a perfunctory tap of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk. “Just who the fuck do you think you are, barging into my office like this?”

“Just who the fuck do you think you are, putting a gag order on all press inquiries relating to Rebollo’s trial?” she shot back.

He dragged long and deep from his cigarette again like it was an oxygen mask, then said dismissively, “It’s a big case. A lot of moving parts. You know the judge makes that call, not me.”

“Wow, you really must believe I am that bad at my job if you think I’m naive enough to buy that bullshit. As if you have no sway with Mexican judges who can be bought for less than a few pesos.” She laughed bitter as battery acid, “Venga ya pues. No me shingües con esas mamadas, cabrón.”

There was a beat of silence before he stood up, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray, saying through gritted teeth, “No. I don’t think you’re bad at your job.” He rolled his eyes, grumbling, “That’s the entire problem. Cierto? Sí porque eres una cachorra con un pinche hueso entre tus dientes.”

Her eyes narrowed. What the fuck was he playing at paying her a compliment like that.

“What? What am I supposed to say? Thank you?”

A tacit desperation crept under his glare now, an equal measure of anger and pleading for her to understand.

Oh, no. That’s when she put it together. Oh, hell no. Her face fell and she dropped her arms to her sides. No. No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

“No. No me digas que t—“

His glare melted, eyes full of nothing but pleading now as he stepped around the desk to join her on the other side.

“Okay, yes I talked to the judge. But Andrea, I only sugges—“

“No.” She backed away, dropping her bag on the ground. “Don’t do that. You don’t get to say my name like you know me well enough to patronize me this way.”

“You have to underst—“

“Understand?? What do I need to understand??? Hmm? What? That I might get hurt? That my job is dangerous? That journalists in this town have a short fucking shelf life? Or oh, that you what? You care now? You’re what? Trying to protect me?”

“Look, Andrea.” She wished he’d stop saying her name. “I know you're tough. You can take care of yourself. But this is bigger than you and you're not bulletproof. The pockets this Rebollo had his hands in? They’re more dangerous than some thugs following you to work or harassing you in the street. They’ll ruin your reputation, your livelihood, take anything you have, maybe even have you killed.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

Carrillo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Andrea. After you’re gone, they’ll come after your colleagues, friends, family.” She could tell he was growing more defensive by the way he strained to keep his voice level. “Corruption on this scale does more than just ruffle feathers. The more you uncover, the further you dig, the easier it is to bury you and anyone you care for. And that’d be too hard to bear for anyone who might be starting t— well, maybe— who does care for you.”

Her chest burned. She was roiling with indignant fury, practically breathing fire, nostrils flared, hands balled into fists at her side. Este pinshe pendejo. They’d been working together for weeks now, and not once did it step outside the confines of professional conduct with the exception of the— well, it was just the one time. She’d assumed they were moving on because of course they were. What was one night in the backseat of her car when they were nothing to each other? Nothing. But now this, all of a sudden, out of the blue. Why? Because. Because he cared. Well, he’d neglected to fill her in on the feelings and the caring before taking it upon himself to violate a boundary, meddling in her work ostensibly on her behalf.

Oh, she was positively— she wanted— but no, she couldn’t— oh, but she fucking could though. She would if she could— she really could actually fucking punch him.

As she stood there, vibrating, ready to go nuclear, he stepped closer. “Now who’s the one who wants to hit someone?”

Barely beyond strangers, and yet, he understood her implicitly. It only made the whole thing all the more aggravating. He stepped closer again, until they were nearly chin to chin.

“Do it.”

She looked up, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“Do it,” he said again quietly, eyes virtually unreadable. “If that’s what you really want. Hit me.”

He was inscrutable. There was no more pleading. No humor. No anger either. Something else. Something baser. She thought about those smudges on her car window.

Her hand moved so quickly, he didn’t even have time to flinch. She slapped him. Hard. Hard enough to send him back a couple of steps. The blood rushed to his cheek, angry and red, as he turned back to face her with an expression of something like dazed admiration. He began to speak but before he got a word out, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to bury him in a kiss so deep, the force of it nearly hurt her teeth. She inhaled the rumble that escaped from the back of his throat like it was a breath of life, before breaking away and shoving him back to sit on the desk.

Hooking his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans, he yanked her close, positioning her between his knees. She felt a tug at her hair as he pulled out her hair band. Catching his hand on its way down her shoulder, she brought it around her waist, sinking into another brutal kiss that had them both gasping for air. As one of her hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair and the other traveled down to palm the bulge in his pants, his hips bucked against hers and she felt a sharp sting as he bit her bottom lip. On reflex, she scrunched her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and pulled so hard, he hissed.

Oh yeah, that felt good. She’d liked how it sounded and how he looked, head back like that, chin up, throat exposed. Getting lost in those deep, dark brown eyes, she kept him pinned in that position, regarding him for a moment. She suddenly found herself thinking about those nature documentaries on the Discovery Channel, ones where the lions take down gazelles, sharp canines puncturing their throats right there. His skin tasted salty as she tongued his neck in that very spot. If she were a wild animal, he’d be bleeding out on the floor for what he’d done. Trying to save the poor damsel-in-distress reporter from her own recklessness because oh, she can’t possibly know what’s good for her. That wasn't what it was until he made it that way. Co;onel Horacio Carrillo, our man in Mexico, nothing but a mouse in her trap.

Then she said, sincere but grave, “Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you. I’ll never need you.” To soothe the wounded expression on his face, she planted a soft kiss on his mouth and trailed a few more along his jaw, mumbling as her lips made their way back down to his throat, “And that’s exactly why you love this.”

═

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[summerblueringo]

Ferrari-Raikkonen agreement and Vettel gives his blessing to the choice

The [Prancing] Horse announces the signing for 2016 in advance. Arrivabene: “Stability wins. Now repay us.” The Finn: “I’m ending my career at Maranello.”

Some saw it as a done deal. It had even been defined as “a business for the quoting of Ferrari in Wall Street.” And yet it has always been clear that Valtteri Bottas’ landing in red was anything but simple: the 20 million dollars requested by Williams to release him from an already-signed option danced around. Thus in the end Bottas will not drive for the Horse. Kimi Raikkonen will remain at Maranello next year as well. Yesterday Ferrari caught everyone by surprise with the official announcement. An early move, perhaps to avoid other speculations, since in F1 market games are done in the summer, but then the announcements usually straddle the Italian GP at Monza. Raikkonen’s signing instead happened much earlier, probably the day after the Hungarian GP, beautiful and unfortunate for the Finn.

STABILITY It was understood that Raikkonen’s confirmation was likely, although not certain. The team principal Maurizio Arrivabene never alienated him, trying at most to keep him on his toes to push him into giving his best. Then Sebastian Vettel has always shown a shameless cheering for his teammate, with whom he shares a great friendship. And the technical director James Allison hasn’t pushed against it, despite Raikkonen’s difficulty in adapting to the car or perhaps even because of it. Did it weigh in Kimi’s favour that there was also an assessment of the causes of apparently inexplicable incidents like the tailspin at the hairpin in Canada or the one on the straight in Zeltweg? “We are convinced that Kimi’s confirmation will contribute to give the team stability, counting also on the excellent relationship that binds him to Seb—” Arrivabene comments— “It’s a show of trust on our part which we hope is repaid.”

VERSTAPPEN & CO The fact remains that something must have been unlocked in the last month, bringing about the positive result of the renewal talks and thus the signing. In fact Ferrari had contacted many drivers: not just Bottas, for whom at the end a convenient financial mediation was not achieved with Williams, but also Nico Hulkenberg, Jenson Button and above all Daniel Ricciardo, bound by a long-term contract with Red Bull. Even the young phenomenon Max Verstappen was among the targets: Ferrari tried to immediately snatch him from Helmut Marko, but the baby figlio d’arte* has a contract for 2016 as well that he cannot get out of, so the talk is postponed to 2017 when there will be clauses to exploit. With this (more or less credible) shortlist of candidates, the red [team] could have waited for at least Spa-Francorchamps and Monza, two races which usually change the outcome of the championship and the fate of the drivers, before confirming Raikkonen. But no.

RENEGOTIATION? The acceleration, more than for a lack of alternatives (in the end neither Kimi had them), could therefore be connected to the renegotiation of Raikkonen’s contract, who returned to Ferrari last year with a 2-year contract (2014-2015) which foresaw an option for 2016. It is possible that the Horse managed to not consider that clause, signed when Montezemolo and Domenicali were still at the helm, and discussed Raikkonen’s engagement on other bases. Maybe with a reduction of the fixed part of his salary and an increase of the bonuses connected to results. So that Kimi, currently being paid 11 million euros excluding bonuses, will earn in proportion to the performance he offers next year. Hoping that it's better than the single podium (the second place in Bahrain this year) obtained so far after his return. “Staying at Ferrari for another season means that the dream goes on. For me this is like a family and it is with this team that I want to end my career,” said the 35-year-old Finn yesterday via the press release distributed by the Horse.

NURSERY NO Now it’s up to Kimi, like Arrivabene emphasised, to repay that trust. Already starting with the GP this Sunday in Spa, promised land of the 2007 Ferrari world champion, who has won four times in Belgium: twice with McLaren and twice in his first life at Maranello. We’ll see. There remains however the mourning for a Ferrari that once again does not “risk” and makes a convenient choice, refusing for example to launch a youngster from its nursery (Marciello or Fuoco) next to super Vettel and even going to look for the competition’s foreign talent (Verstappen.) The new management, it is evident, prioritises making a winning car and no longer believes in the project of the Academy of Maranello, whose future at this point seems scratched.

*[A/N: figlio d'arte = someone who's in the same profession as their parents]