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stiltonbasket · 1 day ago

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What is your flavor of "accidental sugar daddy SY"?

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When Shen Yuan first transmigrated into the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way some thirty years earlier, he knew nothing about the strange universe he had landed in.

He had heard about the novel before, albeit in no great detail. Shen Yuan watched it climb to the top of Zhongdian’s ranking page while he was busy catching up on A Chronicle of Primordial Wars: but he never bothered to read it, or join the fan forums—a decision he regretted immensely when he opened his eyes, a newborn again, and found the System’s welcome screen flashing over his head.

What was the premise of the plot? Where in the timeline was he? What was the main character’s name? What was his name?

Who knew? Not Shen Yuan! He could guess that the novel’s protagonist was some kind of demon, given the title: but in spite of his pleas to learn more about the story, the System was completely uninterested in enlightening him. According to his task list, Shen Yuan’s only mission—if it could be called a mission—was to educate himself about the world: and after it was assigned to him, the System disappeared.

It wasn’t a bad transmigration experience, so far as such things went. Shen Yuan was reborn as the only son of a wealthy merchant family with few members, and consequently more lands and money than it knew what to do with. He was indulged in all ways; his parents bought him every bestiary and cultivation manual they could get their hands on, and then hired a cultivation tutor after a passing daoshi examined him and exclaimed at Shen Yuan’s cultivation potential. His parents would not allow him to seek admission at one of the four great sects, since they had no second son to take over their jewelry business; but they did not object to him learning how to cultivate at home.

Shen Yuan’s life was as close to perfect as could be, until his parents were killed in a bandit raid two months before his eighteenth birthday.

The less said of that year the better, he thought.

When the funeral was over, Shen Yuan left the Shen estate in the hands of his father’s steward and spent the next months wandering the countryside as a rogue cultivator. After all, there was nothing left for him at the manor: and since that was the case, he might as well make himself useful elsewhere.

On the first anniversary of his parents’ deaths, he stumbled on a group of slavers hunting in the streets of Jinlan: and in that moment, Shen Yuan decided that he had found his life’s purpose.

The Shen-fu was far too grand for a household of one, anyway.

___

“A sponsorship for orphaned cultivators?”

Shen Yuan takes a sip of tea and eyes the Cang Qiong cultivator before him with some interest.

In the years since he dissolved the slavers’ gang in Jinlan, the Shen-fu has transformed from a tasteful merchant’s estate to a crowded academy for cultivation hopefuls and children from all corners of the country—most of whom had been slaves or street-children, like the first band of ducklings Shen Yuan brought back to the manor when he was eighteen. Others came to stay at the Shen-fu because they were orphaned, or because their families could not afford to educate them; but whatever their origins, Shen Yuan’s pupils are well-loved and well-tended, and attend to their studies with such diligence that the great sects would be lucky to have any one of them.

Shen Yuan himself has become a figure of some renown, by virtue of having taught several young disciples who distinguished themselves at Cang Qiong and Zhao Hua: and as a result of his success with his eldest students, the Shen-fu is among the estates being courted by the spokesmen of An Ding Peak’s new patronage program.

“Peak Lord Shang said you would be interested, Shen-daye,” his guest says earnestly. “In theory, cultivation sects provide for their disciples regardless of background, and reliance on family wealth is strongly discouraged—but in truth, it is difficult for disciples without family to find a place among their shixiongdi. Well-to-do households send money to pay for better materials and trips into town; and even if the children are willing to share treats among themselves, things often become awkward when the poorer disciples have nothing to give in return.

“And of course there are visiting days, when disciples without kin must remain at the sect while their classmates go to see their parents. Put together, all this can be hard to bear.”

“Say no more. This master understands,” Shen Yuan sighs. “Children without protectors are easy to bully. Such things rarely happen at my estate, for nearly all of my charges are poor, but at a great sect like Cang Qiong…”

The cultivator nods. “Exactly.”

Shen Yuan leans forward and replenishes the man’s cup of tea. “What would my part in this venture be, then?”

“That would depend on Shen-daye. Some of the patrons will send a fixed sum of money a few times a year, and others prefer to send supplies and invitations to dine on New Year—but it is possible for the patron and disciple to become adopted kin, of a kind. The disciple would receive coin and gifts and such; but they would also have a have a place at the patron’s home thereafter, and be considered the patron’s ward until one party wishes to end the agreement.”

Shen Yuan thinks for a moment.

“It would be no hardship for me to take the last option,” he says at length. “My estate is large, and the family business is doing well. Another child would hardly be a burden.”

“That is—most good of you,” the cultivator says, startled. “Shall we give you time to make arrangements, or…?”

“No need. I will set up a room by the next visiting day; but for now, I’ll give you a package to take back with you.”

“This one understands. Would Shen-daye like to see the list of children, so that he might choose which one to support?”

“I suppose I might as well.”

The cultivator reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a bamboo scroll.

“Here,” he says, handing it to Shen Yuan. “It lists the disciples’ ages and the peak they belong to, as well as the name of the shifu above them.”

Shen Yuan unrolls the scroll and runs a finger down the first column of names. Most of the disciples listed on the right side of the scroll are girls under Peak Lord Shang or Xian Shu’s Qi Qingqi, with some apprenticed to Mu-fengzhu of Qian Cao or to one of two senior cultivators on Bai Zhan; and the boys are listed on the left, with a greater number coming from Ku Xing and Mo Shou.

However, none of Shen Qingqiu’s former disciples appear on the list in spite of being orphaned��though this only surprises him for a moment, for he soon recalls that he asked them to name him as their next of kin upon arriving at Cang Qiong.

As he continues reading down the list of names, Shen Yuan realizes that two peaks are notably absent: Qiong Ding, which did not put forth a single name; and Qing Jing, whose title precedes the lone name of Luo Binghe, a fourteen-year-old boy studying under Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Yuan’s stomach twists in sympathy. Even he has heard of Shen Qingqiu: for the chief strategist of Cang Qiong Mountain is far better-known for his fondness for cruelty than his achievements as a tactician, and if this poor child is apprenticed to him…

“I’ve decided,” he says aloud. “You may put my name down under Luo Binghe, of Qing Jing Peak.”

His guest nods and makes a note on one of his papers. “And how would Shen-daye like to support him?”

“I’ll send packages once a month with letters to accompany them, unless—ah. Is once a month too often?”

“It is more often than most disciples usually hear from their parents,” the cultivator ventures. “But Shen-daye may write as often as he pleases.”

“That’s good, then. Let Disciple Luo know that he can write to me in turn,” Shen Yuan says, “and as far as visitation goes—tell him that he will be welcome at the Shen-fu for as long as I am the master of it.”

After this exchange, Shen Yuan is presented with a sheaf of papers to sign, all stamped with the seal of An Ding peak; and then he summons one of the servants and orders luncheon for his guest.

“If Daozhang would wait for a little while,” he entreats, rising from his chair, “this master must collect the things for the parcel and write a letter explaining matters to Disciple Luo. I should be finished by the time daozhang has eaten.”

He rustles out of the room without waiting for a reply, leaving two little manservants—the chief housekeeper’s twin sons, who do chores about the house after lessons in exchange for pocket money—to wait on Daozhang Wu.

“Now for the storeroom,” Shen Yuan sighs to himself, rubbing at his temples. “I hope I’ll find something to fit him.”

This is a question of some concern, for the Shen-fu has not hosted a male disciple above thirteen in the last decade. Knowing children as Shen Yuan does now, all that can be certain of any boy of fourteen is that he must be growing like a weed; and with that thought in mind, he makes his way to the storage compound and asks for a few boys’ clothes in the largest size.

“These might not be large enough. The boy is nearly grown,” the steward says doubtfully, as Shen Yuan examines a set of sturdy day robes. “Wang Yufan was the tallest boy we ever had, and he left the manor when he was twelve.”

“You’re right,” sighs Shen Yuan. “For now, fetch the longest robes we have. I’ll pack a few of my own in case the disciples’ clothes don’t fit him.”

But there will be money, too. Not a great deal, but more than enough to buy a few sets of robes from a tailor near Cang Qiong; so Shen Yuan gathers a box of thick-sewn clothes from the storeroom before adding a selection of never-worn garments from his own wardrobe. He takes the box to the hall of spiritual tools next, and then to the kitchen: and when the box is full, he writes a letter to his new charge and seals it before returning to the receiving room.

“Thanking daozhang for his patience,” he says, somewhat flustered. “The package took longer to assemble than this master expected.”

“No matter,” Wu-daozhang replies. He is sitting in Shen Yuan’s best armchair with the housekeeper’s boys on either side of him; for the three of them are half-way through a game of weiqi, which Wu-daozhang appears to be losing on purpose.

Shen Yuan’s mouth twitches. “Wu-daozhang has been well tended to in my absence, it seems.”

“Well-tended indeed,” his guest says, laughing. “From what this one has seen so far, Shen-daye, your disciples are a great credit to you.”

He frees himself from the chair with some difficulty, since Hua Ruoman’s sons are clinging to his coat and pleading with him not to go; but Shen Yuan chivvies the boys down the hall to their qin lesson before handing over Luo Binghe’s care package.

“Remind Disciple Luo that this master is awaiting his reply,” he says anxiously, as Wu-daozhang prepares to depart from the gates of the Shen-fu. “There are clothes in the parcel, but I did not know his size—so if they do not fit him, he should write back with a set of measurements or take some of the money I sent to change the clothes for better ones. And tell him that he should open the box as soon as he can; I packed some food in a reinforced shihe, and it should keep for the next fortnight—but the snacks will taste best if he eats them right away.”

A bewildered look comes over Wu-daozhang’s face. “Shen-daye—”

“He might try to ration the snacks, since most cultivation sects serve only simple food,” Shen Yuan entreats, wringing his hands. “Tell him that he must not worry about saving them. If he wants more, he need only ask, and this master will send another package. Children need treats now and then to help them concentrate on their studies.”

“Ah, Shen-daye, that isn’t really…”

“And the books—! I should have mentioned it in the letter. Listen, daozhang—this teacher has a tab for former students at the bookseller nearest Cang Qiong; so if Disciple Luo requires any texts for his own use, he should go down the mountain and buy what he wants. Ku Xing’s Wang Yufan can show him how. And—”

“Surely all this must be enough for the first month,” Wu-daozhang protests, backing away. “Thank you very much for your kindness, Shen-daye; but now this one really must be off, or I will be late back to An Ding.”

And then—without another word—he jumps onto his sword and flies off.

Presently, a small hand tugs at Shen Yuan’s sleeve.

“What was all that about, shifu?” says a little voice at his elbow. “What did that daozhang want?”

Shen Yuan stoops and lifts Hua Yun into his arms. “He was bringing a new shixiong for you and Cao’er,” he smiles. “He is to be this teacher’s ward; and if all goes well, we might get to meet him sometime in the next year.”

“A new shixiong?” Hua Cao squeals.

“En, just like your Yufan-shixiong and the rest of the big brothers.”

“What’s his name?”

“He is called Luo Binghe, and he is a disciple at Cang Qiong Mountain—where Yufan and your Feng’er-jie are studying, remember? When he comes to visit us, you and Yun’er must call him Luo-shixiong.”

With that, Shen Yuan closes the gate and takes the children’s hands; and as they walk back to the house, he realizes that he seems to have heard the name Luo Binghe somewhere before.

___

Dated: Taoyue 8

To Disciple Luo Binghe of Qing Jing Peak; Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, care of Wu Shaojiang

Luo-gongzi,

I do not know if your shixiongs and shishu on An Ding have explained matters to you; but in case they have not, this master is the patron assigned to you through An Ding Peak’s sponsorship scheme. I am called Shen Yuan, and am a cultivator nearly one-and-thirty years of age. I am writing from Shuizhai, a little country town on the western outskirts of Luoyang, where I run a cultivation academy for children between the ages of three and thirteen. Five of my former disciples are your shixiongjie at Cang Qiong, and Binghe should seek them out if he is ever in need. (I have written their names and peaks on the back of this page, so you will know whom to look for.)

The courier who offered me the chance to become your sponsor is waiting in the hall, so I will keep this letter brief. From now on, you are to have full rights as a member of the Shen estate; you may visit whenever you like, as my grown disciples do, and there will always be a place for you under my roof. This master will send you packages every now and then, as I do for your elder disciple-siblings; but since I do not know your tastes, I fear that Binghe will find this first parcel somewhat lacking. I put in a few clothes, since I know how quickly you disciples go through them, and a little coin so that you can buy replacements if the garments I sent do not fit. There is also a meal-box, and a few tools you may find useful in the absence of a good spiritual sword (which, if I am correct, you will not receive until your third or fourth year of study). Lastly, I packed a couple of books for Binghe to keep: though these will likely be no great help to you, since I hear your Qing Jing is home to the finest library at Cang Qiong.

If anything is unsatisfactory, Binghe should tell this master so at once; but either way, you must write back with a proper introduction, so that your new shidimei and I can become acquainted with you. You see, there are more than forty of them, some nearly as old as you and some barely bigger than babies in arms; and once the children hear that they have another shixiong, they will not let this old teacher rest until I can tell them something about you!

Yours,

Shen Yuan.

#svsss #the scum villain's self saving system #bingqiu #bingyuan #my fic #prompt fill #i didn't know what to do for this prompt for.....quite some time #and then it hit me #also for those who have been asking: no this is not based on daddy long legs #i heard about dll Today but now i would like to watch it haha

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collegetennisoriginstory · 2 months ago

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Idk if this has been asked before but is CT:OS a standalone game or will there be sequels?

Haha. It absolutely depends on whether I can continue writing interactive fiction for the next 2 years, 4 years, or way more. Finances and whether I end up writing full-time somehow are a big factor, as is interest/burn out :)

If I've only got another 2 years in me, likely CT:OS is a stand-alone game.

If I've got 4 years, probably substantial DLC content using some of the ideas in PT:OS (below) but I've got so many other games/plots I want to try my hand at.

If I've got way more years in me... definitely a CT:OS sequel (or two, to be exact). TLDR above the cut, long ramble below the cut.

Pro Tennis: Origin Story

Where MC is 4 or so years out of college, has turned pro, and has risen slowly, painstakingly through the challenger tour ranks, and is now trying to break into the Top 50. At their age, it's probably a make-it or break-it period, as if they don't succeed then, they'll probably never succeed.

While CT:OS is about found family and coming of age and pursuing one's dreams, which I love, I'd want PT:OS to be about losing faith in one's dreams or one's talent, wondering if their sacrifices are worth it, wondering if one's actually good enough (or crazy enough), building a family of people who are firmly in your player's box (who has faith in you even when you don't have faith in yourself.)

More about PT:OS

Choose what happened to their relationships after college and after the first couple of years on tour (I love writing exes: e.g. broke up in college or breaking up fresh out of college cause the tennis road-life/ambition etc. killed the relationship)

Additional stats to balance like money/sponsorships/media presence/fame, and just... normal adult struggles like cooking for yourself, doing your own laundry, booking your hotel rooms, making ends meet (see elaboration below)

I want to write a story about being in a long dark tunnel, wondering if one should keep pushing, keep grinding, keep sacrificing their life and youth and sanity and relationships for this insane dream of being a tennis player

I'd probably keep the original cast of ROs, but introduce maybe 2 more? Perhaps a celebrity e.g. actor/musician (we all know how those love to flock around tennis players, but only famous ones), and maybe one's coach for spiciness?

As someone whose favourite part of Challengers was not, in fact, Zendaya's hotness (gasp, blasphemy) and instead, the scene where Patrick Zweig's character is struggling to find a hotel room for the night & starving & desperate for calories, I really want to make a game where the player not only has to deal with playing tennis, but also all the other practical life bits that need to align in order for a Top 200 or Top 100 player to become a Top 50 player.

Like yes, there's the Nadals and the Williams sisters and even the Nishikoris (who never quite lived up to their potential) but what of the players whose names you've never even heard of?

I'm interested in class (how only rich people get to tough it out / stick it out for years without significant sponsorships) and also race/gender/sexuality and how that coalesces with finances and media presence etc.. and also how mediocre players scrounge together a team to support them, plus of course the emotional toll of always being on the road (and always being exhausted) without ever seeing much of a pay-off until they crack some invisible threshold of 'greatness'.

Finally, the trilogy would probably be rounded out with a final game.

Third game (no idea what the name would be)

MC is older, maybe 30? And has suffered some career-ending event (injury, horrific tailspin drop-off) after winning a grand slam, perhaps seeking one final shot at proving to the world that they do have what it takes to be a champion, a legend to be remembered as someone who isn't just a one-slam pony.

Themes explored would be:

Age (when is it too late to hang up one's boots?) and still feeling like you've got what it takes even though the world's telling you you're past your prime, the limits of physicality

Trying to rebuild something that has been broken, when everyone's telling you that it'll never be fixed

Leaving a legacy, fame, self-worth (figuring out what to do when one is stripped of something that has been a guiding star)

Maybe even addiction?

If you read all of that, wow, I'm impressed, and yep, that's what I'd foresee for CT:OS. A trilogy, if I've got it in me.

RO speculations:

Tobin could even become one's physical trainer or nutritionist/physiotherapist, though maybe that's a bit of a stretch.

Sam could become world's most biased sports podcaster/journalist

Rayyan continues as MC's rival/(possible lover)

G is ... still adamantly Not Part of the Tennis World even though they attend every game?

What do you guys think?

#ct:os #college tennis: origin story #if #interactive fiction #asks #sequel #CT:OS sequel

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usadvlottery · 1 year ago

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Obtaining a USA Green Card without the Diversity Visa (DV) Lottery involves alternative avenues for immigration. Non-DV pathways may include employment-based sponsorship, family reunification, refugee or asylum status, or specialized immigrant programs. These options offer individuals an opportunity to secure permanent residency in the United States based on specific eligibility criteria. By navigating these alternative routes, applicants can pursue their American dream through diverse immigration channels outside the traditional DV Lottery process. Each pathway has its own set of requirements and procedures, providing individuals with various routes to achieve permanent residency in the United States.

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dailyrothko · 1 year ago

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So here's the deal:

I just want to be transparent with my tumblr Rothko lovers. I applied and got fiscal sponsorship as a non-profit through Fractured Atlas.

Sadly, "Fiscal Sponsorship" is not what it sounds like, I pay them, they don't pay me. What it allows me to do is take donations and make them tax deductible and secure. I hope it's worth it.

I don't expect my poor pals on tumblr to donate, I don't think most of us have any money or we probably wouldn't be here, however, I am letting you know this because there's now a donate button on the blog.

I'm very poor and needed to do this to realize certain projects Rothko related projects. This is just a voluntary thing, i'm not going behind a paywall. Nothing is changing.

I mention this because their tacky donate button makes it look like I made a deal with the devil, but in actuality it's just for everyone's security.

I hate doing this at all but I am spread very thin. I spend a lot of time and money on this project and that's fine when i can do it, it's a labor of love. But some of it is just becoming impossible for me to maintain and so it goes.

Future projects include-

-I am writing a series of (three) articles I would like to publish about Rothko's impact in the modern world. Scholarly material on Rothko from art historians is good and I don't wish to retread old ground. However, there are some sides of the Rothko legacy I would like to cover based on my experiences, including interviews I have done with people on how they have come to the work (some of you guys), coverage of fakes and misattributions, and biographical impressions based on numerous interviews I have read with his family and friends.

-A bigger and ongoing project would be to create a website and central database that art enthusiasts can use to locate travelling Rothko exhibits and find which paintings are in which museums. Many people ask me these questions personally but if there was a place where all this information lived and someone to update it, people could look up available Rothko works in different cities they are travelling to.

We are living in a troubled world with many humanitarian concerns that should rightly take precedence over my little project, but I am trying to survive myself and lately it's pretty hard.

Thanks to all for 9 years of Rothko love.

(I realized no one can donate on the mobile app, so if you wish to, use this link below.)

#mark rothko #markrothko #rothko #daily rothko #dailyrothko #abstract expressionism #modern art #abstraction #colorfield #ab ex #colorfield painting #mid century

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bengiyo · 2 months ago

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Ben's Big BL Blurb 4: I Hope I See Jay Sorathon Again

New year, new blurb. Time to reflect on a few shows finishing, talk about some new shows, and see where we're at in January.

Haunted Hearts Sucked

Final Verdict: 5.5, Not Recommended. Y'all don't need to watch this weird mess of a show. Despite joking about "devirginizing" its lead multiple times, it was so chaste in the end. It also did some weird world shenanigans I was not feeling. The leads are supposed to be in another Oxin Films project soon, so we'll see if they're better there.

Caged Again Flopped

Final Verdict: 6, Recommended Only For Jay Sorathon. This one really hurts me, because I genuinely loved the first half of this show. Jay Sorathon as Junior was one of the most refreshing experiences I've had in a while. This young actor is charming in a way that felt different, and I found myself enjoying every scene he was in because he could deliver what he was asked to do. However, the show generally failed to do much with most of its themes, and I think it was a real waste of Nokia and Jaonine as a pair. There were interesting themes about how Junior and Sun wanted different things out of their relationship that didn't get resolved, so all of their skinship felt disconnected from the big themes they were teasing out.

I am sad that I cannot really recommend this as a complete viewing experience, but I do not want that to detract from how much I enjoyed the entire cast's chemistry. I just cannot pretend that this show didn't peak at the gif used above before floundering completely.

An Apology to City of Stars

Final Verdict: 8, Recommended. I skipped this show originally because I was overloaded and unmoved by the first episode. However, this show was actually one of the most consistent narratives we've had about the consequences of fan culture, sponsorship, and commercialization of queer actors we've had this year. Unlike Only Boo!, this show inflicted real consequences on Feuang for coming out to the point that he essentially had to change careers (which happens to real actors all the time, going back as far or further than William Haines).

The leads also kept having sex after getting together! A novel experience! I loved that Krom had almost no swag, and Feuang fell for him entire on family photos and his mom gushing over him. He really won as a tech worker. Watch this if you're interested in seeing a show with clear ideas about the entertainment industry and are willing to deal with some weak acting.

Our Youth Left Me A Bit Wanting

Final Verdict 8: Recommended With Reservations. I wrote my write up for this already, and will say here that I like parts of this show a lot even though I wasn't fully satisfied by the viewing experience.

See Your Love Got All The Important Things Right

Final Verdict: 8, Recommended for the Mains. I will admit that I didn't much care for the side couple, but I loved Shaopeng and Sean's relationship. I loved that this wasn't a story about fixing someone's hearing so they could be in a romance. I also love that one of our final scenes in Shaopeng's dad telling Sean's dad to go fuck himself. The leads reminded me of Jimmy and Tommy from Why R U and I loved their work together.

Love in the Air Koi Was a Genuine Delight

Final Verdict: 9, Highly Recommended. I liked it a lot. I think new and old fans will be able to enjoy it. I have high hopes about cross-cultural adaptations as a result.

Love is Like a Poison Was Spectacular

Final Verdict: 9.5, Highly Recommended. I had so much fun with this show. I love that this show blended multiple genres together, and I loved that Shiba was always in a legal drama. By blending this together this way, the show supports the idea that the different ways we love and see the world are not incompatible in relationships. Shiba and Haruto are one of the best couples we had this past year, because they each made the other better, and they each add something to their relationship. Also, this show was actively horny the entire time. Run, do not walk, to support this show (if you can) on Netflix.

Fragrance You Inherit Was The One of the Kindest Shows I've Ever Seen

Final Verdict: 9.5, Highly Recommended. Thanks to the constant efforts of @isaksbestpillow we were able to enjoy this incredible show. @twig-tea already wrote a great review. I will be thinking about Sakura and Touki for years. I will just add that I really loved that Hoshii was just a goofy dude that loved the women in his home. He respected both of them, and was just so happy to be included in their shenanigans. I cannot overstate how much the episode where we met him properly kicked this show into overdrive for me. I loved that he was a good dad and husband and that it was clear his wife and daughter felt safe and happy around him. I loved that this show was about kind people doing their best.

Okay, on to the currently airing stuff.

Your Sky is Faltering, but I Still Like It (8/12)

Look, I am just not keen on the Oh redemption arc. I'm also feeling the show dragging its feet at this point. I also am not sure what the relationship between the various sides are contributing to this story. That being said, I continue to enjoy the chemistry between the leads, and I am looking forward to seeing their dating era. This show has been riding the line on the bubble, and I am curious to see where it lands.

Ossan's Love Thailand (1/12)

I've grown to love Ossan's Love over the last year, and so I was cautiously optimistic about this adaptation. I don't think the humor is as tight or zippy as I would expect, and I think the branded pair component is hurting some of the initial setup. I also feel like the shower scene shifted in a way that doesn't entirely work. In addition, making Kongdetch a widower slows down his dramatic development. I'll check in again next month.

Call Me By No Name Started Weird (1/8)

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

This show got off to a moody and somewhat intriguing start. I am looking forward to our little gamer's interactions with this possibly-fey creature for the coming weeks. It's difficult when the show starts coy.

When It Rains It Pours Has an Uphill Battle (1/7)

I am personally interested in the journey this show wants to go on as what will more than likely be a double cheating narrative. I like that the show started with boy guys in relationships they feel a bit frustrated with due to a lack of intimacy that is being actively ignored by their respective partners. I'm also intrigued because both partners seem like they're overall committed to our leads. This one started off in a mild note, so I'm curious how it holds audience attention. Still, both leads had sad masturbation scenes, one explicitly remembering when his partner used to fuck him, so it has my attention.

That's all for now! I'll check back in with one of these in a few weeks and we'll see where we're at.

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malkusimmigration · 10 months ago

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Applying for a spouse visa in Canada is a significant milestone in bringing your loved one to join you in this beautiful country. However, navigating through the immigration process can be complex and daunting, especially when it involves reuniting with your spouse.

#Canadian Spouse Visa #Apply Spouse Visa Canada #Spouse visa for canada from india #Spousal sponsorship visitor visa Canada #Sponsor family visa Canada #Spouse visa Canada #Spouse visa for canada from US #Spouse visa for canada from Pakistan

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coochiequeens · 8 months ago

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Ladies don't travel to another country with a man if your legal status is uncertain. If you do hold onto your passport and make sure your ticket isn't a one way.

Exit trafficking: Western Sydney man abandons his wife overseas after she fell out with his mum

Western Sydney man convicted over 'exit trafficking'

He took his wife abroad, but only he had a return ticket

READ MORE: Human trafficking gang that operated a string of brothels jailed

By PADRAIG COLLINS FOR DAILY MAIL AUSTRALIA

PUBLISHED: 06:40 EDT, 27 June 2024

A western Sydney man who abandoned his wife overseas after she fell out with his mother has been convicted over what is known as 'exit trafficking'.

It is a type of modern slavery where women are tricked or coerced into leaving a country, in this case Australia, and prevented from returning.

The 44-year-old man, who lives in Merrylands in Sydney's south-west, took his wife on 'a charity mission' to their home country of Afghanistan in January 2018, police said.

But the man, known as AR to protect his family, only had a return ticket for himself. His wife did not realise that her ticket was one-way to Afghanistan.

The day after he returned to Australia, AR wrote to the Department of Home Affairs, cancelling the sponsorship of his wife's visa, the Sydney Morning Herald reported.

He did so because his mum didn't like his wife, and it resulted in the woman he had been married to for four years being stranded overseas.

The woman's relatives helped get her back to Australia, where she reported her husband to the police.

AR's conviction last Friday was the third such exit trafficking conviction in Australia.

He was sentenced to two years jail with 12 months of it to be served in the community on a good behaviour bond.

Human rights activist Helena Hassani said there has been an increase in such oppression of women, often in migrant communities, in Australia.

While there are many cases involving men from Afghan and other migrant communities taking their wives abroad and leaving them there, she said there are also many cases where 'Aussie men marry women from Asia, bring them here, but marry them into servitude, or treat them like sex workers'.

Many women, such as AR's wife, are only in Australia on partner visas, leaving them reliant on their husband's sponsorship to stay in the country.

Some women in these communities are discouraged from using money, getting an education or working outside the home because the men want a 'servant'.

'It's a cultural practice where the less educated women are, the happier men are, because then no one is challenging them, no one is confronting them, and they just live the way they want to live,' Ms Hassani told the publication.

Acting Detective Sergeant Sarah Manning of the Australian Federal Police (AFP) said exit trafficking often goes unreported.

No one has the right to 'cancel' another person's visa, including the visa sponsor,' she said.

'This type of behaviour is a Commonwealth offence and carries a potential 12-year jail term.'

The first exit-trafficking conviction was in 2021, when a man from Lidcombe in western Sydney threatened to murder a woman unless she boarded a flight to India with her infant child.

The horrific interaction was captured on Sydney Airport's CCTV after the anti-human trafficking group Anti Slavery Australia told the AFP what happened.

Anyone with information about potential modern slavery or trafficking is urged to report it to Australian Federal Police on 131 237.

#Exit trafficking #Human trafficking #Traveling with a man #Only a year for leaving his wife in Afghanistan?#Australia #Partner visa #Men marrying impoverished women to have a servant not a partner #Anti Slavery Australia

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thoughtsonkm · 6 months ago

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Mimi-san & Kookoo-san

This photo really fulfills my need for aesthetic shots

This episode (and probably the whole trip) is like the biggest, warmest, lingering hug someone could give you. Not letting go for a long time, until after it's over you're left with a full heart, teary eyes and a sense of unprecedented calmness.

So no Tokyo for us (as expected). That city really is theirs and theirs ONLY. (I read that ppl saw them with a camera in that ramen shop in Tokyo, so now everyone's thinking of a possible GCF #2 but that would be INSANE)

Jimin stop ruining the romantic moments JK creates, challenge failed! (he really does live up to the "conceal, don't feel" idea)

This ritual of Jimin singing Kook's new singles on each trip, is very very cute.

THE BABIEST OF THEM ALL another bean here⬆️

Did they lowkey have a gentle monster sponsorship? Way to go Jikook 👏🏻👏🏻

I know it's always been Jimin's go to brand for glasses so it feels kinda full circle. He should be some kind of brand ambassador for them.

Oh hello mister 'I can eat yo fingers but not yo potato peel' (I get it tho)

This is the single softest Jikook moment ever!! Period. End of discussion.

Sharing earphones, romantic music, beautiful scenery, calm setting, head on shoulder. - Who says romance is dead? 😭

Not even the background animation can ruin this for me. (ingenious idea nonetheless)

I CANNOT deal with the sweetness of this daughter talk. DO THEY KNOW WE'RE INSANE??

My guy starts talking about a family. The other guy he's gripping tight is already discombobulated, gulping, eyes going left and right lol

Jokes aside he really would be the most gentle, bestest, most caring dad ever 😭 (I promised myself to not get emo during this episode, I'm saving the waterworks for the inevitable last ep.)

I do remember they (especially Jimin) used to be pretty fluent in japanese so I'm guessing since they haven't done Japan promo since 2021, they forgot a little bit..

Imagine Jimin in a jazz bar with a 10 year old whiskey in hand, flirting with his bf.. Improv kings!

Happiness looks so good on them.

I love that from time to time they almost forgot they had a show to shoot. A DAMN JOB to do 😂

I present you a compilation of Jungkook saying how happy he is, how much he loves it and how good it is, during this episode.

LOL at them doing the english meme thing. Just two simple guys with ONE BRAINCELL. Looks like one of those random af videos they would watch while learning english.

Oh yes, we do indeed enjoy y'all gradually getting raggedy and fat 😂😂 He's hilarious, he's on a roll ladies and gents.

Jungkook half wishing they were the same age so they could "twin" even more (I'm sure that would be so convenient for you Jk 👀) as if it's possible for them to be even more on the same wavelength than they already are.

I do feel like in the distant future it would be such a good option for them to transfer and live in Japan cause it does seem like their favourite place in the whole world and the one place they feel themselves the most.

Sapporo in their 40es would be like a little hidden paradise for them to be somewhat free..

(let me dream)

#jikook #kookmin #jimin #jungkook #bts #bangtan #are you sure?!#jikook travel show #ep. 6 #september 2024

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probablyasocialecologist · 1 year ago

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Being the child of an influencer, Vanessa tells me, was the equivalent of having a full-time job—and then some. She remembers late nights in which the family recorded and rerecorded videos until her mother considered them perfect and days when creating content for the blog stretched into her homeschooling time. If she expressed her unease, she was told the family needed her. “It was like after this next campaign, maybe we could have more time to relax. And then it would never happen,” she says. She was around 10 years old when she realized her life was different from that of other children. When she went to other kids’ houses, she was surprised by how they lived. “I felt strange that they didn’t have to work on social media or blog posts, or constantly pose for pictures or videos,” she says. “I realized they didn’t have to worry about their family's financial situation or contribute to it.” Vanessa, who requested anonymity to speak freely about her family dynamics, says she helped create content for huge companies like Huggies and Hasbro when her mom landed endorsement deals. When she reached puberty and began menstruating, her mother had her do sponsored posts for sanitary pads. “It was so mortifying,” she says. “I just felt like I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.” Being part of an influencer family changed everything about her life, Vanessa says. “Sometimes I didn’t know where the separation was between what was real and what was curated for social media.” And her mother’s online presence indelibly warped their relationship. “Being an influencer kid turned my relationship with my mom into more of an employer-employee relationship than a parent-child one,” she says. “Once you cross the line from being family to being coworkers, you can’t really go back.” Vanessa will never get back the childhood that she gave up for the family business—not getting any of the money she helped earn is just another disappointment, even if it was entirely unsurprising. “My mom never led me to think there would be anything. She would continually remind me that the money she was getting from the blog or sponsorships was going toward us anyway through basic needs and that should be enough.”

#social media #vlogger #influencers #sharenting #how incredibly fucking dire

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mediocre-shark-tales · 6 days ago

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Racing Hearts, Fractured Bonds

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

The garage was eerily quiet as I lingered near the entrance. Above, the TV displayed the times from today’s FP1, and my stomach twisted as I saw that name paired with that time. Sure, I’d done decently again, but Jack—he was struggling. Alpine hadn’t been treating him the greatest, and with his contract situation hanging over him, I could only imagine the pressure that had to be weighing on him.

It was the third race of the season, and Jack hadn’t scored any points yet. The closest he’d come was 13th, and it was painful to watch from the sidelines. A few days ago, he called me, needing to vent, desperate for the support of his younger sister. I had to lie—pretend I was clueless about what was happening in F1. I spun some story about how my job was stressful, how I was so busy that I barely had time to catch my breath. He needed something to distract him, some reminder that he wasn’t alone in dealing with pressure, and I gave it to him.

I tried to weave in a little of what I dealt with in the garage, but twisted the details enough so he couldn’t catch on. He couldn’t know the truth—not yet. He couldn’t know that I was Ghost. This season wasn’t about me; it was about Jack, about what he could achieve. I couldn’t risk stealing his spotlight. It was too late to share my accomplishments with him anyway. The family had no idea that for the last five years, I’d been secretly racing. Thanks to my uncle, I had the chance to continue karting when our parents couldn’t afford to support both of our careers.

I had taken the fall back then for Jack. I played the part of the dutiful sister, stepping aside to make sure his dreams came first. So why not continue to do that now? He loved this sport, and I was determined not to let our family’s drama overshadow his passion. He deserved this chance, and I would help him get it. I could put my dreams on hold until I earned my own sponsorships.

My uncle had seen the favoritism, saw how my talent was being buried beneath it, and quickly stepped in to help me race in secret. With his guidance and support, I proved myself and managed to secure a sponsor in just one year of karting. It was my time to shine, but not yet. Not until Jack had his moment.

During the last race weekend, Jack had been asked about the growing friendship between him and Ghost. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched his quick, genuinely happy response on the screen. “I don’t know who he is behind that helmet, but he’s one hell of a driver. I’m just really happy to have this growing friendship between us. At first, I thought I was just going to learn that all the rumors about him were true, but after the first few minutes of talking to him? Ghost is someone worth the time and effort. He’s more than just racing talent behind that visor—he gives incredible advice and offers such a fresh perspective.”

Hearing Jack’s words felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. Even though my real identity couldn’t be there for him in the way I wanted, at least my secret persona could offer him something—the support, the advice, the genuine connection that I couldn’t show as myself. It was bittersweet, but it was something.

Suddenly, the TV cut to the Alpine garage. I watched as Jack’s car was rolled into his pit, and he got out, helmet still on, but his face was already etched with frustration. The expression on his face was unmistakable—he was angry, likely at himself. I knew how hard he could be on himself, but in this moment, I also knew that the harshest voice in his head wasn’t coming from anyone else—it was coming from within.

I turned away from the screen, my heart aching for him, and walked toward my driver's room. Once inside, I locked the door and turned on my TV. I grabbed a couple of towels to plug up the cracks in the door, trying to soundproof the room as much as I could. It wasn’t a perfect setup, but it would have to do. I needed to call Jack, to find a way to lift his spirits, and maybe, just maybe, if he asked, I could offer him the real advice I knew he needed.

The memories of seeing his face change from disheartened to energized—his expression lighting up with that newfound motivation whenever I gave him advice in the past—pushed me into action. I couldn’t waste time. He needed something now, and I needed to figure out how to help him find his way back to the confidence that made him the talented driver he was.

I took a deep breath and dialed Jack’s number, my heart pounding a little faster than usual. The phone rang a few times before his voice crackled through the line, sounding more strained than I’d ever heard.

“Hey, you okay? I’m watching the Practice Session right now. ” I asked softly, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest.

Jack let out a heavy sigh on the other end. “I don’t know, honestly. Just… struggling. The car’s not right, the team’s on me, and I feel like I’m falling short. Every time I think I’m getting close, something goes wrong, and I don’t know how much more I can take of this."

His frustration was clear, and it made my stomach twist. I’d always known he had a tendency to be hard on himself, but hearing him speak like this… It was like hearing a piece of my heart crack.

“Jack,” I said, my voice more firm than I felt. “You’re not letting anyone down. Trust me, I know it feels like it’s all piling up right now, but this is just part of the journey. You can’t rush the process. It’s gonna be tough, but you have to keep pushing.”

There was a long pause, and I could almost feel him processing what I was saying. I knew he didn’t want to hear clichés, but I wasn’t going to let him spiral.

“I don’t know, y/n,” he muttered, sounding defeated. “The pressure just keeps getting to me, and it’s hard to stay focused when the results just aren’t there.”

I bit my lip, choosing my next words carefully. “Look, I get it. It’s easy to get caught up in the frustration, especially when you’re putting in everything you have and not seeing the results. But the setbacks? They’re just lessons. They’re gonna make you better. You’ve got to use them to push yourself forward, not let them hold you back."

He was quiet for a moment, and I heard the faint sound of a chuckle. It was a small sound, but it was enough to make me feel a little lighter.

“Yeah… I guess you’re right,” he said, his tone softening. “I’ve been letting everything get to me more than I should. I needed someone to remind me of that.”

I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “Anytime, Jack. You don’t have to do this alone. You’ve got more people rooting for you than you realize.”

He was quiet again, and I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “Thanks, Y/n,” he finally said, sounding a little more like himself. “I’m gonna take a break, reset a bit. I’ll get back at it tomorrow. I’ll figure it out.”

I let out a quiet breath, feeling a weight lift off me. “You’ve got this. Just take it one step at a time. Don’t let the pressure eat at you. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he said again, his voice lighter. “Talk soon, alright?”

“Yeah, talk soon,” I replied softly, a warm feeling settling in my chest.

I ended the call, staring at the screen for a moment, letting the relief wash over me. Jack was going to be fine. I knew he would be. He just needed time to sort things out in his own way.

I glanced around the small drivers room I’d been staying in and grabbed my bag, the weight of everything still pressing down on me. The call had gone well. I’d said what he needed to hear. But now it was time to move on, to get ready for the next race, the next step in all of this. I couldn’t dwell too long on this moment.

I threw my comfy clothes on and headed toward the door, the familiar sense of purpose settling back into my chest. I wasn’t just Ghost in the car. I could be someone Jack needed, too. Even if he didn’t know it yet. With my helmet pulled back over my head, I walked out of the room.

Returning to the track the next day, I felt a surge of energy running through me. It was a fresh day, and I was determined to finish FP3 strong and carry that momentum straight into Qualifying. As I walked through the entrance of the paddock, I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander, scanning the familiar surroundings. The excitement of race weekend always felt like a breath of fresh air.

My gaze quickly locked onto the unmistakable bright orange of McLaren team gear near their garage. And just like that, I spotted the one person I couldn’t help but feel a bit more drawn to than most. Oscar.

I quietly jogged over, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips beneath my helmet. Oscar spotted me almost instantly and without missing a beat, he made his way toward me, his own grin widening as our gaze met.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Oscar teased, his voice light but his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

I gave a mock, dramatic sigh as I stopped in front of him, adjusting my gloves as if I were trying to appear serious. “I had to make sure you weren’t getting too cocky after all the hype from yesterday.”

He laughed, leaning in slightly as if to whisper a secret. “You’re just jealous. I’m the one people are talking about now. You’re just... mysterious."

I raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Mysterious? Oh please, you just wish you had my level of intrigue.”

Oscar chuckled and shook his head, clearly enjoying the banter. “I mean, it does give you a certain… allure, I’ll admit. But I think people would be more interested if you started hinting at who you were.”

I rolled my eyes beneath the visor but couldn’t hide the grin. “You know I’ve got my own idea of when that's happening. Besides, someone’s gotta keep the mystery alive, right?”

“Fair enough,” he said, giving a dramatic shrug. “I’ll just have to settle for the occasional secret chat when no one’s watching.”

We both laughed, and I felt the familiar warmth of friendship and camaraderie wash over me. Sure, we were competitors on the track, but off it, it felt easy. It was moments like this that reminded me why I loved being part of this world.

“Alright, alright,” I said, raising a gloved hand in mock surrender. “I’ll let you have your fun, but only because you’ve been so charming this morning.”

Oscar’s eyes twinkled, clearly enjoying the friendly banter as he patted me on the shoulder. “Just wait until you see me on the grid. I’ll be the one turning heads this time.”

I raised an eyebrow in challenge. “We’ll see about that. But good luck, anyway.”

“Luck? Who needs luck when you've got talent?” Oscar shot back with a grin, giving me a wink before turning to head toward the McLaren garage.

I stood there for a moment, watching him go, feeling lighter than I had in a while. Racing was intense, no doubt, but moments like these reminded me that it wasn’t all about the pressure—it was about the people you shared the track with.

I turned away from the McLaren garage, still feeling the lingering warmth of my conversation with Oscar. It was moments like those that reminded me I wasn’t entirely alone in this sport. But as I walked toward my own garage, that light feeling slowly faded, replaced by the usual tension that came with being in this space.

Stepping inside, I immediately noticed Franco standing near one of the engineers, engaged in a discussion about setup changes for FP3. Normally, I would have ignored it, heading straight to my driver’s room without a second thought. But something about him caught my attention today.

His expression.

It wasn’t sharp, wasn’t full of frustration or disdain like it usually was when our eyes happened to meet. Instead, there was… nothing. No irritation, no biting remarks waiting on the tip of his tongue. His face was calm—indifferent, even. It was such a stark contrast to what I had grown used to that it almost made me stop in my tracks.

For a brief second, I wondered if I should say something. A passing comment, a joke, maybe even a simple nod of acknowledgment. But just as quickly as the thought appeared, I shoved it away. Whatever had shifted in him, it wasn’t my concern.

Without a word, I walked past him, heading straight toward my driver’s room. I swore I felt his eyes on me as I passed, but I didn’t turn back to check.

Once inside, I shut the door behind me and exhaled. The quiet hum of the room wrapped around me, offering a brief sense of isolation from everything outside. I moved toward my locker, taking a moment to center myself before I started gearing up for FP3.

Whatever’s going on with Franco, it’s not my problem.

I had bigger things to focus on.

—

FP3 had been exactly what I needed—a confidence boost. The car felt dialed in, my times were consistent, and for the first time this weekend, I felt like I was fully in control. Every sector clicked, every adjustment I made felt natural, and by the end of the session, the data confirmed what I already knew.

I was fast.

Faster than I had been all weekend. Fast enough to believe that making it into Q3 wasn’t just a hope, but an expectation. My engineers were optimistic, the team was behind me, and even Diego had radioed in after the session, sounding genuinely excited about my pace.

"Keep this up, and you’ll be right in the fight today."

That was the goal. I was determined to deliver.

Now, sitting in my car during Q1, the world around me had faded into tunnel vision. My focus was razor-sharp, locked in on the track ahead as I pushed through my first flying lap. The tires were warming up well, grip levels felt solid, and every input I made was instinctual. The car responded exactly how I wanted, allowing me to carry more speed through the corners without hesitation.

This was it. The kind of feeling every driver chased—the harmony between man and machine.

But just as I was settling into that rhythm, my wandering thoughts were abruptly cut off.

Jack.

I spotted him in my mirrors first, then again just ahead as he threw his car aggressively into a corner. Too aggressively. His Alpine twitched under braking, barely catching itself before he powered out of the turn.

I frowned. That wasn’t like him.

Lap after lap, he was reckless, pushing way too hard, taking risks that didn’t make sense this early in qualifying. It wasn’t just a normal push for pace—there was an edge to it, a desperation woven into his driving. He wasn’t being smart about it, and that sent alarm bells ringing in my head.

And he wasn’t just fighting the track—he was fighting me.

I could see it in the way he defended, in the way he positioned his car in places that forced me to either back off or take the risk alongside him. Even when I wasn’t on a hot lap, he was making it difficult for me, as if he had something to prove.

To himself. To Alpine. To the entire grid.

And suddenly, I understood.

He was still chasing those first points. Three races in, and he hadn’t been able to put himself in a position to fight for them. Alpine had been struggling, his contract was in the air, and the pressure was mounting with each passing weekend.

He needed a result today, no matter what it took.

But if he kept this up? He was going to get himself into trouble.

Or worse—drag me into it with him.

"Diego, what’s Doohan doing? He’s driving like his life depends on this lap." My voice was calm, but there was an underlying concern I couldn’t shake.

There was a short pause before my engineer responded, his voice even. "We see it too. Just stay smart, you’re on a good time. Don’t get caught up in his mess."

Easier said than done.

I gritted my teeth as Jack lunged into the next turn, right as I was about to commit to the racing line. I had to adjust mid-corner, costing me a couple of tenths, and frustration flared in my chest.

"Come on, Jack…" I muttered under my breath.

I knew he was better than this. He didn’t need to drive like a man on the edge. He had the talent, the control—I’d seen it firsthand. But right now, that wasn’t what was driving him. It was something deeper, something clawing at him from inside.

I needed to be careful. If he kept up this aggressive approach, something was bound to go wrong.

And I couldn’t afford to be collateral damage.

Q1 wrapped up with a sigh of relief as my name remained above the cutoff line. I had made it through to Q2—barely. Jack had scraped through as well, his last-minute lap just quick enough to put him through. But the way he had fought for it? It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t calculated.

And it wasn’t over.

As Q2 began, I focused on my out lap, taking deep breaths to steady my mind. Jack had been reckless in Q1, but maybe now, with fewer cars on track and the pressure slightly eased, he would dial it back.

I was wrong.

The aggression was still there—worse, even.

Jack was everywhere. Blocking unnecessarily, moving unpredictably, throwing his car into corners as if I wasn’t even there. It was dangerous. He wasn’t just fighting for track position; he was fighting everything—the car, the circumstances, himself.

I was setting up for my push lap, giving myself space before the final sector when I saw him in my mirrors again. Too close. Too erratic.

"Ghost, be mindful of Doohan—he’s on a push lap." Diego’s voice was steady, but I could hear the edge of concern.

"Yeah, I know," I gritted out. "But he’s being a fucking menace right now."

I was about to back off slightly, let him go, when I saw the move coming—too late.

Jack dove down the inside at a speed that was never going to stick.

My heart jumped as my instincts took over. I tried to avoid him, turning wider to give space, but his rear snapped mid-corner. There was a split second of helplessness—nothing I could do, nowhere I could go.

The impact was violent.

The back of his Alpine clipped the front of my car, unsettling me at the worst possible moment. My tires lost all grip, and suddenly, I was a passenger. My car spun wildly, the world turning into a blur of colors and motion as I fought to regain control—but the speed was too high, and the barriers were too close.

I braced.

The moment of impact rattled my entire body. The left side of my car slammed into the Tecpro barrier, the force jarring through me. My head snapped forward against the restraints, my hands gripping the wheel instinctively even as the shock reverberated through my arms. Sparks flew, debris scattered, and the car jolted to a stop, leaving me pressed against the side of the cockpit, my heart pounding.

For a moment, all I could hear was my own breathing, harsh and uneven.

Then, Diego’s voice cut through. "Ghost, talk to me."

I pressed my head back against the seat, letting out a shaky breath.

I felt… okay. Nothing immediately hurt. Whether that was the adrenaline talking, I wasn’t sure, but I could move, I could think, and my vision wasn’t spinning. But I couldn’t speak—not yet. Not without risking the voice changer.

Instead, I used the failsafe we had set up.

My fingers found the pit confirm button on my steering wheel—two quick taps, a pause, then one more tap.

All okay.

There was a beat of silence before Diego responded. "Copy. Marshals are coming. Just sit tight."

I exhaled, trying to process everything. The replay was already playing on the big screens, and as I glanced up, I saw exactly what had happened.

Jack.

That fucking idiot.

He had completely ruined both of our laps. His car was limping in the runoff area, his best time now meaningless as yellow flags had been thrown in the final sector. My crash had messed up the track conditions, ensuring nobody else could improve before the session ended.

I was out. He was out.

And I was going to kill him.

I unclipped my harness as the marshals arrived, waving them off as they tried to help. I climbed out of the car myself, ignoring the stiffness in my muscles, and threw my arms up in frustration before stomping toward the escape road.

This was my chance. My first real shot at making it to Q3. And Jack had taken it from me.

I had sacrificed so much for him—so many years spent in the shadows so he could have the spotlight. And this was what I got in return?

By the time I reached the medical car, my hands were shaking—not from the crash, but from anger.

I didn’t care what bullshit excuse Jack had.

The moment I got back to the pit lane, I was going to let him have it.

The ride back to the pit lane was quiet.

I stared out the window, my arms folded across my chest, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away. The anger had dulled, no longer the white-hot fire it had been when I first climbed out of the wreckage. Now, all that remained was exhaustion and something else—something I hadn't noticed at first.

Pain.

At first, I thought it was just the stiffness that followed every big hit, but as I shifted in my seat, a sharp, pulsing ache spread through my side. Not just soreness. Something deeper.

Great.

Diego’s voice had already crackled over the radio, telling me to check in with the medical team the second I got back. I hadn't argued. I could walk fine, and I hadn't blacked out, but something definitely wasn’t right.

As soon as the car pulled into the paddock, I unbuckled and climbed out, biting down the wince as I straightened up. I took a deep breath and turned toward the medical tent, ignoring the curious looks from team members and journalists nearby.

I just needed to get through the checkup. Then I could deal with everything else.

But apparently, the universe had other plans.

I barely made it five steps before Jack Doohan was in front of me.

He wasn’t just walking toward me—he was storming.

His eyes were blazing, his jaw tight, and before I could brace for impact, he was right in my space.

"What the hell was that?!" he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs around us. "You completely ruined my lap! I had one shot to get through, and you—"

I closed my eyes for half a second, inhaling deeply.

"Jack." My voice was calm. Too calm. I wasn’t about to do this here, not when we were both still full of adrenaline and frustration. "We should talk later, when we’re actually thinking straight."

I tried to move past him, but he stepped in my way.

"Oh, so now you want to be rational?" he scoffed, arms thrown up. "After you wrecked and took me out with you? I needed that lap, Ghost!"

I clenched my jaw, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to keep myself from snapping.

"And you think I didn’t?" I asked, voice still steady. "Jack, I was on for Q3 today. This was my best shot at a points start, and now I’m out. But I’m not standing here blaming you, because—"

"Maybe you should." His voice was bitter. "Because I guarantee you, this was your fault. If you had just held your line, I—"

I let out a sharp laugh—one that wasn’t amused in the slightest.

"If I had held my line?" My calm shattered, fury creeping back in. I took a step forward, forcing him to meet my visor. "Jack, I saw what you were doing. I knew you were being reckless, and I gave you space because I didn’t want to crash. More than I didn’t want to ruin your lap, I didn’t want us both to end up in the wall. But guess what? You still managed to make that happen."

Jack’s mouth opened, but I didn’t let him speak.

"You think I don’t know what you’re going through?" My voice rose, frustration bubbling over. "You think I don’t understand what it’s like to fight for a seat, to feel the pressure of proving you deserve to be here? I do, Jack. More than you fucking know."

His expression flickered, something breaking through the anger for just a second. But I wasn’t done.

"I get it," I continued, shaking my head. "I get that Alpine has been screwing you over. I get that every race feels like a fight for survival. But this?" I gestured back toward the track. "This is not the way to prove yourself. Being reckless, making desperate moves—this isn’t going to convince anyone you deserve that seat. It’s only going to prove them right if they think you’re not ready."

Jack’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his anger still simmering, but there was doubt creeping into his eyes now.

"You don’t—"

"Yes, I do," I interrupted, my voice softer now, but no less intense. "You’re a damn good driver, Jack. But if you keep driving like this, you won’t just lose your seat—you’ll lose the respect of the people watching. You’ll lose the people who believe in you."

I took a steadying breath, my grip tightening at my sides.

"You think I don’t understand what it’s like to have people doubt you? I started in Formula E and IndyCar when I was barely more than a kid. Nobody thought I deserved those seats. They called me a risk, said I was too young, too inexperienced, that I was only there because of politics or sponsorships. But I didn’t prove them wrong by throwing myself into reckless moves. I didn’t try to force my way into respect—I earned it. I showed them that I belonged, that I had the skill to back up my place on the grid."

Jack’s expression wavered, the fire in his eyes dimming just slightly as my words sank in.

"That’s what you need to do," I continued, my voice unwavering. "Not by desperate lunges or risky blocks, but by proving to everyone—your team, the other drivers, the fans—that you deserve to be here. And you can’t do that if you’re too busy fighting the wrong battles."

For the first time since this argument started, he didn’t have a response.

He just stood there, staring at me, his chest rising and falling quickly.

I exhaled, the last of my fight leaving me, replaced once again by exhaustion. I adjusted my suit slightly, trying to ease the growing discomfort in my side.

"Look," I said, voice lower now. "I need to go get checked out. We can talk later, when we’re both thinking clearly."

Jack swallowed, still tense, but he gave a slow nod.

I didn’t wait for anything else. I turned and continued toward the medical tent, each step reminding me that something was definitely wrong.

But I had said what I needed to say.

And judging by the look on Jack’s face as I walked away, I knew it had hit exactly where it needed to.

The medical tent was colder than I expected, the harsh white lights overhead making everything feel too clinical, too still—like a place I shouldn’t be. I sat stiffly on the exam table, fingers gripping the edge as Nico stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his sharp gaze scanning for any unwanted intrusions. He had already made sure only one doctor would see me, someone willing to sign an NDA, ensuring that my identity remained a secret.

It wasn’t long before a nurse stepped in, clipboard in hand, a calm but no-nonsense expression on her face. “I’ll be your designated medical contact for the season,” she said, voice even, eyes flicking between me and Nico. “I’ve been briefed on the situation, and I’ve signed what’s needed. Now, let’s get this done.”

I gave a curt nod and let her do her job, staying silent as she pressed carefully along my ribs. Each touch sent sharp, burning pain through my side, and I had to fight to keep my expression neutral. When she reached the worst of it, I inhaled sharply through clenched teeth.

She sighed, setting down her clipboard. “Cracked ribs,” she confirmed, shaking her head. “Not the worst I’ve seen, but bad enough. I highly recommend you don’t drive for the rest of the weekend.”

I stiffened at that, already shaking my head before she could finish. “No.”

Her brows furrowed. “Ghost, be serious—”

“I am serious.” I met her gaze with unshakable resolve. “I can’t risk sitting out this early in the season. If it gets worse, I’ll deal with it then, but for now? Say nothing. Clear me.”

The nurse let out a long breath, clearly not thrilled with my stubbornness. But then she glanced at Nico, who remained silent, his expression unreadable, before looking back at me.

“Fine,” she relented. “But only under one condition.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Which is?”

“You follow a set of rules any time you’re off-track. No unnecessary movement, no overexertion, no lifting anything heavy. If I see you wincing or struggling outside of the car, we’re done. I will pull you.” She paused, voice softening just slightly. “I’m giving you a chance here, Ghost. Don’t make me regret it.”

I exhaled, biting back the protest that sat on my tongue. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a compromise I could live with.

“Alright,” I agreed. “Deal.”

The nurse nodded, scribbling something on the clipboard before stepping back. “Then you’re cleared. But don’t push your luck.”

Nico finally spoke up from his post by the door. “She’ll be careful,” he said, though there was an unmistakable edge to his voice that told me he wasn’t convinced.

I hopped off the table with only a slight wince, rolling my shoulders as I looked at him. “Come on, Rosberg. Let’s get out of here before someone starts asking too many questions.”

He gave me one last assessing look before nodding. “Let’s go.”

As Nico and I walked through the paddock, my thoughts drifted to Jack. What would he be like if he knew the truth? If he knew the driver he had just crashed into, the one he had stormed at in a rage, was actually his little sister?

I could picture it too easily—the hesitation, the guilt. Jack had always been protective, even when we were younger, even when he tried to act like he wasn’t. If he knew he was racing against me, he’d be too careful, too cautious. He’d hold back in battles, refuse to take risks, and in this sport, that was a death sentence. His chances at proving himself, at keeping his seat, would slip away. I couldn’t let that happen.

This was why he couldn’t know. Not yet.

When we finally made it back to my garage, I let myself wince as I moved, knowing that with my helmet still on, no one could see the pained grimace crossing my face. The adrenaline was fading now, and the ache in my ribs was creeping in, reminding me of the damage done.

One of the engineers came over, relaying what I already knew. “The crash put both you and Doohan in P14 and P15 for tomorrow. As long as nothing on your car needs replacing that would earn a penalty, that’s where you’ll start.”

I gave a small nod, unfazed. I had seen the aftermath on the screens before heading to medical—I knew where I was starting.

The garage buzzed with activity as people came and went, but eventually, I was left alone for a moment. I exhaled, letting my body relax ever so slightly, shutting my eyes behind the visor as I let the pain settle into something I could compartmentalize.

Then, the soft sound of something being placed in front of me pulled me out of it.

I opened my eyes and looked down. A small snack and a bottle of water sat on the table in front of me.

I frowned slightly and looked up, following the movement of the person who had left it there. Franco.

He was already turning away, walking off before I could say anything. But just before he disappeared from view, I caught the smallest shift in his expression—the slightest crease in his brows, the hint of something lingering in his eyes. Worry.

And then, just like that, he was gone. Not a word spoken.

I stared after him for a moment before shifting my gaze back to the water and snack, something unreadable settling in my chest. Then, without a word, I reached forward and picked them up.

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