#and yet he has the control and clarity to not direct it at those that are hurting themselves

[pucksandpower]

Changing the Game

platonic!Fernando Alonso x mentee!Reader

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: motorsport can be cruel, especially for young women aspiring to make it to Formula 1, but when Fernando notices a driver who deserves more than the unjust cards fate handed her, he decides to do something about it … and your life will never be the same

The roar of engines fills the air, blending with the faint scent of gasoline that clings to the paddock like a memory. Fernando walks through the chaos of the Formula 3 circuit, hands in his pockets, sunglasses firmly in place.

His presence is a subtle disruption, not loud, but noticeable. Drivers and engineers glance his way, some nodding in respect, others too focused on their tasks to do more than acknowledge him with a brief flicker of recognition.

He’s been watching the race, the sun high overhead, a burning reminder that summer has a way of dragging things out. Yet, time has felt elastic today, stretched out by the tension of the track and the surprising twist that caught his attention.

A young driver — no, more than just young — barely seventeen, the only female on the grid, had sliced through the competition with precision and ferocity. Her car, marked by the number on the side, had danced on the edge of control, flirting with danger at every turn but never losing its rhythm. When the chequered flag waved, she’d crossed the line in a solid third, inches from second, and not far from the top spot.

He’d seen talent before, of course. It’s part of his world, spotting it, nurturing it, sometimes crushing it under the weight of competition. But something about you caught his eye. There’s a sharpness in your driving, a clarity of purpose that’s rare. He wonders where you’ve been hiding.

As the cars pull into the pit lane, the usual bustle takes over. Engineers swarm around their drivers, debriefs start, and helmets are tugged off with a mix of relief and frustration. Fernando watches from a distance, scanning the crowd until he finds you. You’re standing by your car, tugging at your gloves with a sharp motion, frustration etched in the tightness of your jaw. There’s a fleeting moment where you pull off your helmet, shaking out your hair, and Fernando notices the absence of something.

Sponsors.

Your race suit is practically bare. The car too, minimal branding, the kind that signals a driver struggling to make ends meet rather than one who’s just claimed a podium finish. He frowns, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. It doesn’t make sense. A driver that good should be swimming in offers, drowning in endorsements.

He catches the eye of a paddock official nearby, someone he’s vaguely familiar with — one of those types who always seem to know more than they let on. Fernando strides over, casual but direct. The official straightens up, clearly surprised to have Fernando Alonso approaching.

“Who’s the girl?” Fernando asks, nodding in your direction, though he doesn’t really need to. You’re the only one who fits the description.

The official glances your way, then back at Fernando. “Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been turning heads all season.”

“Not enough, apparently.” Fernando gestures vaguely at your race suit, his tone making it clear he’s talking about the lack of sponsorship. “What’s going on there?”

The official hesitates, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. He lowers his voice slightly, a conspiratorial tone creeping in. “She’s good, real good. But, you know … she’s a girl.”

Fernando’s eyebrows shoot up, a sharp flash of irritation sparking in his eyes. “So?”

“So,” the official continues, shifting his weight uncomfortably, “sponsors and academies, they’re … cautious. Not sure if she’s got the staying power. And you know how it is, they’re more willing to take a risk on a kid who fits the mold.”

“The mold,” Fernando repeats, his voice flat, incredulous. He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. It’s 2019, and this is still happening. It shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow, it does.

His gaze returns to you, still standing by your car, now deep in conversation with your race engineer. There’s a fierceness in the way you talk, the way you move your hands as if trying to will the universe to bend to your will. Fernando recognizes that fire — it’s the same one he’s carried in himself for years.

But there’s more than just frustration in your eyes. There’s something else — determination, maybe, but tinged with something darker, something that’s been carved out of too many disappointments. He knows that look too. It’s the one you get when you’re tired of proving yourself over and over, and yet, you keep doing it because there’s no other choice.

Fernando’s decision is made in an instant. He doesn’t overthink it; he never has. That’s not his style. He approaches you with the same casual confidence that’s defined his career, weaving through the bustle of the paddock until he’s close enough to catch the tail end of your conversation.

“... could’ve pushed harder into turn four,” you’re saying to your engineer, frustration coloring your voice. “But the grip just wasn’t there.”

Your engineer nods, making a note on his tablet, but before he can respond, Fernando steps into the space between you.

“Grip’s one thing,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise around you, “but timing’s everything.”

You turn, eyes widening just a fraction as you realize who’s standing there. Fernando catches the flicker of surprise that you quickly mask with a polite, if guarded, smile.

“Fernando Alonso,” you say, your voice a careful mix of respect and curiosity.

“In the flesh,” he replies, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He glances at your car, then back at you. “Nice drive today.”

“Thanks.” The word comes out clipped, like you’re not entirely sure what to make of him yet. He can tell you’re used to being judged, sized up and dismissed by those who think they know better. But Fernando’s not here to judge.

“Third place,” he continues, as if he’s thinking out loud. “But you had the pace for second.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, and for the first time, a hint of a real smile breaks through. “Yeah, I did. But things don’t always go as planned.”

“No,” he agrees, “they don’t. But you’ve got talent. Real talent.”

You study him for a moment, your expression shifting from guarded to something more open, more curious. “Thanks,” you say again, but this time it’s softer, more genuine.

There’s a pause, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you both stand there, sizing each other up. Fernando knows this is the moment where most people would make some kind of offer — advice, mentorship, maybe even a contract. But he’s never been one to do things by the book.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “Do you like ice cream?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“Ice cream,” he repeats, his tone light, almost teasing. “Do you like it?”

“Uh … yeah?” You sound more confused than anything, but there’s a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.

“Great,” Fernando says, as if that settles everything. He steps back, gesturing for you to follow him. “Let’s go get some. My treat.”

You stare at him for a moment, clearly trying to figure out if he’s serious. But when you see that he is, a slow smile spreads across your face, and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Okay,” you say, still laughing a little as you start to walk beside him. “Why not?”

And just like that, the tension that had been hanging over the paddock seems to dissipate, replaced by something lighter, something that feels almost like hope.

***

The ice cream shop is a short walk from the circuit, tucked into a corner of the small town that’s hosting the weekend’s race. It’s the kind of place Fernando imagines has been around for decades, unchanged except for maybe a new coat of paint every few years. The neon sign in the window buzzes faintly, its pink light reflecting off the glass as he pushes the door open, holding it for you as you follow him inside.

The cool air is a welcome relief from the heat outside, carrying with it the sweet, unmistakable scent of sugar and cream. The shop is quiet, just a couple of kids sitting by the window, licking at cones that seem far too big for them. Behind the counter, a bored-looking teenager perks up as the door chimes, her gaze sharpening as she recognizes Fernando.

“Can I help you?” She asks, her voice brightening as she tries to act casual, though it’s clear she’s a little starstruck.

Fernando nods toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a moment, then step up to the counter, glancing at the array of ice cream flavors displayed behind the glass. The choices are written in chalk on a board above, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the rich, golden brown of the dulce de leche. You point to it, giving the girl behind the counter a quick smile.

“Two scoops of that, please,” you say, and then, after a beat, “with as many toppings as will fit.”

Fernando raises an eyebrow, amused as he watches you. The girl behind the counter doesn’t question it, scooping generous portions of the creamy ice cream into a cup before moving over to the toppings bar. You lean over the counter slightly, studying the options with a critical eye before making your selections — caramel drizzle, chocolate chips, a handful of crushed cookies, a sprinkle of nuts, and a final flourish of whipped cream on top.

When the girl hands you the cup, it’s practically overflowing, a masterpiece of indulgence that’s almost as impressive as your driving. You turn to Fernando, already reaching for your wallet.

“I can pay for mine,” you say quickly, but Fernando waves you off, already pulling out his own wallet.

“It’s on me,” he insists, his tone making it clear there’s no room for argument.

You open your mouth to protest, but the look he gives you stops you in your tracks. There’s something gentle in his eyes, an unexpected warmth that makes you pause. You let out a small sigh, putting your wallet away as you give in.

“Fine,” you mutter, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. “But I’m getting you back for this.”

Fernando chuckles as he orders a simple vanilla cone for himself. “We’ll see about that.”

Once he’s paid, the two of you find a small table near the back of the shop, away from the kids and the counter. It’s quiet, almost private, with the hum of the freezers and the distant chatter of the other customers filling the silence. You sit across from him, carefully balancing your cup of ice cream as you take your first bite.

The first taste of dulce de leche is heavenly, the caramel sweetness melting on your tongue as the toppings add layers of texture and flavor. For a moment, it’s easy to forget about everything else — the race, the frustration, the uncertainty of it all. There’s just the ice cream, the coolness of it on your tongue, and the rare sensation of simply enjoying something without a care.

Fernando watches you with a faint smile, his own ice cream barely touched as he leans back in his chair. He doesn’t rush to fill the silence, letting you savor the moment before he finally speaks.

“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “tell me about your situation.”

You glance up at him, the spoon pausing halfway to your mouth. There’s something in his tone, something gentle but probing, that tells you this isn’t just small talk. You lower the spoon, setting the cup down on the table as you consider how to respond.

“It’s … complicated,” you begin, though that word hardly covers it. You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you lean back in your chair. “I mean, I’m doing everything I can on the track. My results speak for themselves, right? But it’s like … it’s like none of that matters.”

Fernando nods, encouraging you to continue. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just a quiet understanding, and that makes it easier to keep talking.

“Every race, I’m out there giving it everything I’ve got,” you say, your voice growing more animated as you go on. “I’m right up there with the best of them — sometimes even better. But then I look around, and I see these other drivers, guys who are barely scraping into the points, and they’ve got major sponsors backing them. They’re signed to F1 teams’ academies, they’ve got a clear path to the top. And me? I’ve got nothing. No sponsors, no academy, no security.”

You pick up your spoon again, stirring your ice cream absentmindedly as your frustration bubbles to the surface. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. My team’s tried too, but no one wants to take the risk on me. They all say the same thing — ‘You’re good, but we’re just not sure if you’re what we’re looking for.’ Which is just code for ‘You’re a girl, and we’re not willing to bet on you.’”

Fernando doesn’t interrupt, letting you vent. He’s heard stories like this before, but it never gets any easier to listen to. The sport has its issues, and while things have improved over the years, the barriers you’re facing are still all too real.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you shake your head. “It’s so frustrating, you know? I’m out there proving myself every single weekend, but it’s like I have to work twice as hard just to get noticed, and even then, it’s not enough. My parents — they believe in me, but they’re practically killing themselves to keep me racing. They had to take a second mortgage on the house just to get me into F3 this season. And every time I don’t get a sponsor, every time another academy passes on me, it’s like … it’s like I’m letting them down.”

Your voice cracks slightly at the end, and you quickly take another bite of ice cream, as if that can somehow keep your emotions in check. But Fernando sees the way your hand trembles just a little, the way your eyes have lost some of their fire, replaced by a weary resignation.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I know the sport is tough, but it feels like I’m fighting a battle that’s rigged from the start.”

Fernando takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not fair,” he says, his voice steady, grounding. “You’re right, it shouldn’t be this hard. But sometimes, the fight isn’t just about winning on the track. It’s about changing the game entirely.”

You look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to gauge what he means by that. There’s something in his tone, something determined and unyielding, that makes you believe he understands more than he’s letting on.

“Changing the game?” You repeat, the words feeling heavy in your mouth.

Fernando nods, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah. Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve got the talent, you’ve got the drive, and you’ve got something most people don’t — resilience. You’re still here, still fighting, even when the odds are against you. That says a lot.”

You bite your lip, absorbing his words. There’s a part of you that wants to believe him, that wants to hold on to that hope, but there’s also a part that’s tired — so tired of fighting an uphill battle, of always having to prove yourself over and over again.

“I just don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”

Fernando’s gaze softens, and for a moment, he sees a reflection of his younger self in you, back when he was first starting out, hungry and determined but unsure of how far he could really go. The difference is, he had the backing, the opportunities that you’ve been denied.

“You are enough,” he says, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “The problem isn’t with you. It’s with the system, with the people who are too scared to see things differently. But that doesn’t mean you stop. You keep pushing, keep showing them what they’re missing. And if they can’t see it, then we’ll make them see it.”

You blink, surprised by the intensity in his voice. There’s a conviction there that’s hard to ignore, a belief in you that you’ve been struggling to find in yourself.

“We?” You ask, your voice tinged with cautious hope.

Fernando smiles, a small, determined curve of his lips. “We. You’re not alone in this. I’ve been where you are, in a different way, but I know what it’s like to have to fight for everything. And I know what it’s like to have someone in your corner who believes in you.”

You stare at him, processing his words, the implications of what he’s offering. There’s a warmth in your chest, a spark of something that feels dangerously close to hope.

“So what now?” You ask, your voice steadier.

Fernando leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes a thoughtful bite of his ice cream. There's a moment of silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you, before he finally speaks, his voice calm but resolute.

"Now?" He sets his cone down on the table, his expression sharpening with purpose. "I make some calls."

***

It’s been a few weeks since that day at the ice cream shop, and Fernando hasn’t been able to shake the conversation from his mind. He’s been in the sport long enough to know how things work, but hearing it from you, seeing how the system has worn you down despite your undeniable talent, it struck a nerve. It’s been a whirlwind of phone calls, favors cashed in, and quiet meetings behind closed doors. But now, standing at the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport, Fernando knows it’s all been worth it.

You come into view, wheeling your carry-on behind you, your eyes scanning the crowd until they land on him. A look of surprise crosses your face, quickly replaced by a hesitant smile as you make your way over.

“Hey,” you greet him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your voice as you pull your suitcase to a stop beside him. “So … what’s this all about?”

Fernando just grins, taking the handle of your suitcase from you with a casualness that leaves no room for argument. “You’ll see,” he says, cryptic as ever. “Come on, the car’s this way.”

You follow him out to the parking garage, throwing him sideways glances, clearly trying to piece together what he’s up to. Fernando’s only response is an amused smile as he opens the door for you, waiting until you’re settled in the passenger seat before loading your luggage in the trunk.

As he pulls out of the airport and merges onto the highway, the silence between you is comfortable but charged with anticipation. You keep glancing over at him, your curiosity growing with every mile.

“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?” You finally ask, your tone hovering between teasing and exasperation.

Fernando chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”

You sigh, leaning back in your seat, but there’s a glimmer of excitement in your eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’m trusting you, you know,” you say, half-joking, half-serious.

“And you won’t regret it,” he promises, the confidence in his voice almost contagious.

The drive is longer than you expected, taking you out of London and into the countryside. The scenery shifts from the urban sprawl to green fields and quaint villages, the roads becoming narrower and winding as they head deeper into the heart of England. It’s not until Fernando takes a turn down a private road, leading to a sleek, modern complex surrounded by high fences, that you begin to piece it together.

“This can’t be …” you start, your voice trailing off as the full realization hits you. “Is this-”

“Mercedes HQ,” Fernando confirms with a grin as he pulls up to the security gate. He rolls down the window, exchanging a few words with the guard, who quickly waves them through.

You’re silent as he drives into the parking lot, your eyes wide as you take in the sight of the Mercedes-AMG F1 Factory. It’s one thing to see it on TV or in photos, but to be here, in person, is something else entirely. Fernando parks the car and turns to you, catching the look on your face.

“Nervous?” He asks, though he already knows the answer.

“A little,” you admit, swallowing hard as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Okay, a lot.”

He chuckles, getting out of the car and coming around to your side to open the door for you. “Don’t be. You belong here.”

You hesitate, still processing everything, before nodding and stepping out of the car. Fernando grabs your suitcase from the trunk, but you barely notice, too busy taking in your surroundings as he leads you toward the entrance.

The interior of the building is just as impressive as the outside — modern, sleek, and buzzing with energy. Everywhere you look, there are people in team gear, some hurrying between offices, others deep in conversation. And then, as if the situation couldn’t get more surreal, Lewis Hamilton appears in the lobby, flanked by Toto Wolff.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you stop dead in your tracks. Fernando pauses beside you, a knowing smile on his face as he watches your reaction.

“Fernando,” Lewis greets, his smile widening when he sees you standing next to him. “And you must be the young driver I’ve been hearing so much about.”

You manage a nod, but words seem to have escaped you entirely. It’s not every day that you come face-to-face with a five-time world champion and the team principal of the most successful F1 team of the modern era.

Lewis chuckles at your speechlessness, his demeanor as relaxed and approachable as ever. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite,” he says, extending his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

You shake his hand, your own grip slightly shaky. “I … It’s an honor,” you stammer, your voice finally finding its way back to you.

Toto steps forward next, offering his hand as well. “Welcome to Brackley,” he says, his tone warm but with the same underlying intensity that’s made him such a formidable figure in the sport. “Fernando’s told us a lot about you.”

You glance over at Fernando, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in your eyes. This is so far beyond anything you could have imagined when you first got his call.

Lewis gestures for you to follow him down a hallway, with Toto and Fernando close behind. “When Fernando reached out to me,” Lewis begins, his tone casual but sincere, “and told me about your situation, I knew we had to do something. Talent like yours shouldn’t be held back by anything, least of all by something as ridiculous as a lack of sponsorship.”

You’re still reeling from the fact that Lewis Hamilton knows who you are, let alone that he’s gone out of his way to help you. “I … I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, your voice soft with emotion.

“Don’t worry about that just yet,” Toto says from behind you, his tone light. “Let’s get you settled in first.”

You follow them through the labyrinth of hallways, trying to absorb everything at once. Fernando stays close, a steady presence as you make your way deeper into the facility. There’s a sense of purpose in the air, a kind of quiet determination that’s palpable even as people move around with the calm efficiency of a well-oiled machine.

Eventually, Lewis stops outside a conference room, holding the door open for you to enter first. You step inside, the space cool and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the meticulously kept grounds outside. A large table dominates the center of the room, and as you approach, you notice a folder sitting at one end, the Mercedes logo embossed on the cover.

You hover near the table, not daring to sit until someone tells you to. Fernando catches your hesitation, nudging you gently in the direction of a chair. “Go on,” he says softly. “This is for you.”

You sink into the chair, your heart pounding as you look at the folder in front of you. Lewis and Toto take seats across from you, with Fernando settling in beside you. The atmosphere in the room shifts slightly, becoming more formal but no less supportive.

Toto reaches for the folder, sliding it across the table to you. “This,” he begins, his voice calm and measured, “is an offer to join the Mercedes Junior Team.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard him. “The … Mercedes Junior Team?”

Lewis smiles, nodding. “We believe in your potential,” he says simply. “And we want to give you the opportunity to develop that potential to the fullest.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the folder, your mind racing. This is it. This is the chance you’ve been fighting for, the one you never thought would come, at least not like this. You open the folder, your eyes scanning the first few lines of the contract inside. It’s all real — your name, the terms, everything.

“We know it’s a big decision,” Toto continues, his gaze steady on you. “Take your time to go through everything, ask any questions you have. But know that we’re serious about this. We want you on our team.”

You’re overwhelmed, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but it’s a good kind of pressure, the kind that comes from knowing you’re on the verge of something life-changing. You look up at Fernando, who’s been watching you quietly, and there’s a look of pride in his eyes that makes your chest tighten.

“I don’t … I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis leans forward slightly, his expression gentle but serious. “Start by believing that you deserve this,” he says. “Because you do. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”

There’s a long silence as you let his words sink in, your fingers tracing the edge of the folder. This is everything you’ve been working toward, everything you’ve sacrificed for, and now that it’s here in front of you, it feels almost too good to be true.

But as you look around the table — at Lewis, Toto, and Fernando — you realize that this isn’t just a dream. It’s real. They’re offering you a future, a chance to prove yourself at the highest level, and they believe in you enough to make it happen.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting their gazes again. “I … I don’t know how to thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

“There’s no need for thanks,” Toto says with a small smile. “Just show us what you can do.”

Fernando places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his voice low and encouraging. “You’ve already done the hard part. Now, it’s just time to make it official.”

You nod, the weight of the contract in your hands feeling lighter now. “I’m ready,” you say, your voice steadying with newfound resolve.

Lewis grins. “Welcome to the team.”

***

The months following your signing with Mercedes have been a whirlwind. Every day brings something new — testing, meetings, media obligations, training sessions — but through it all, Fernando remains a constant presence. He’s there for every debrief, every important conversation, and when he’s not by your side, he’s only a phone call away. The mentorship he offers is invaluable, not just because of his experience but because of his belief in you.

Today, though, feels different. The season is winding down, and you’ve been expecting a bit of a lull, maybe even some time to catch your breath. But when Fernando calls you to meet him at a quiet café on the outskirts of town, there’s a certain energy in his voice that you can’t quite place.

You arrive at the café to find Fernando already seated at a table near the window, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head and a cup of coffee in front of him. He looks up as you approach, a small, almost secretive smile playing on his lips.

“Morning,” you greet him, sliding into the seat opposite. “You’re up to something, I can tell.”

Fernando chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down. “Maybe I am,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “How are you feeling about next season?”

The question catches you off guard. “Next season? I mean, I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. There’s still so much to do now.”

He nods, leaning back in his chair as he studies you, a hint of something more serious in his gaze. “Well, it’s time to start thinking about it,” he says, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket and sliding it across the table to you.

You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued as you reach for the envelope. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” Fernando encourages, his eyes never leaving yours.

You do as he says, your fingers careful as you tear open the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper, neatly folded. You unfold it slowly, your eyes scanning the top of the page.

Carlin Motorsport — Formula 2 Contract Offer.

Your breath catches, and you look up at Fernando, disbelief written all over your face. “Is this … real?”

“Very real,” he confirms, his smile widening. “They want you for next season. Full-time seat, competitive car, the whole package.”

You’re speechless for a moment, the weight of the offer sinking in. Carlin is one of the top teams in Formula 2, a proven stepping stone to Formula 1, and they want you. It’s everything you’ve been working toward, but the reality of it is almost overwhelming.

“This is …” you start, your voice trailing off as you try to find the right words. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours, his expression softening. “You’ve earned this,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve worked hard, proven yourself, and now it’s time to take the next step.”

You nod, still trying to wrap your head around it all. “But how? I mean, why would they choose me over anyone else? There are so many talented drivers out there …”

Fernando squeezes your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “Because you’re one of the best,” he says simply. “They see it, just like I do. And they know you’re going places.”

You take a deep breath, the reality of it finally starting to settle in. “Carlin … Formula 2 … It’s really happening.”

“It is,” Fernando confirms with a smile. “And you’re ready for it.”

There’s a long pause as you sit there, the contract still in your hands. Fernando watches you carefully, his gaze thoughtful. Then, as if sensing that there’s something more to discuss, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more serious.

You look up, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden change in his demeanor. “What is it?”

He hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’m planning to return to Formula 1 in 2021.”

The news hits you like a bolt of lightning, your eyes widening in shock. “You’re … coming back? To F1?”

Fernando nods, his expression unreadable. “Yes. I’ve been in talks with a few teams, and it looks like everything is lining up for a comeback.”

You’re stunned, your mind racing to catch up with what he’s just said. Fernando Alonso, returning to Formula 1 … it’s huge, and the implications of it start to sink in. “That’s incredible,” you say, a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice. “But what does that mean for … us? For everything we’ve been working on?”

He’s silent for a moment, his gaze intense as he considers your question. “It means that while I’ll still be around to support you, I won’t be able to be as hands-on as I’ve been. I won’t be able to be your full-time manager anymore.”

The words hit you hard, and you feel a pang of anxiety start to creep in. Fernando’s been your rock, the one who’s guided you through every step of this journey, and the thought of losing that constant presence is unsettling.

“But,” he continues, his tone reassuring, “I’m not leaving you in the lurch. I’ve already started talking to some people, and I’m going to make sure you get a manager who’s the best of the best. Someone who knows the sport inside and out, who can give you everything you need to succeed.”

You nod slowly, trying to process everything he’s telling you. It’s a lot to take in— the offer from Carlin, Fernando’s return to F1, the changes that will come with it — but there’s a part of you that understands. This is the nature of the sport, constantly evolving, constantly moving forward.

“I’m happy for you,” you finally say, your voice sincere. “Really, I am. You deserve to be back in F1, where you belong.”

Fernando smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Thank you. And you deserve to be in F2, racing at the front, showing everyone what you’re capable of.”

There’s a pause, the weight of the moment settling over both of you. Then, Fernando’s smile turns a bit more mischievous as he leans back in his chair.

“But don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll still be watching, making sure you’re giving it your all.”

You laugh, the tension breaking slightly at his words. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He nods, satisfied, before finishing off his coffee. “Good. Because the hard work isn’t over yet. If anything, it’s just beginning.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination settling over you. Fernando’s right — this is just the beginning. The road ahead will be challenging, but you’re ready for it. And with his support, even if it’s from a distance, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.

“Thank you,” you say again, your voice full of gratitude. “For everything.”

Fernando just smiles, standing up from the table and offering you his hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot to prepare for.”

You take his hand, rising from your seat, and together you leave the café, the future stretching out before you, full of possibilities.

***

The hum of the F2 paddock is a mix of nerves and excitement, a constant undercurrent of energy that seems to electrify the air. It’s the first race of the season, and you can feel it. The mechanics are moving with purpose, checking and double-checking every detail of the car. Engineers are glued to their screens, analyzing data with furrowed brows. And you, in the midst of it all, are the picture of focus — calm on the outside but with a fire in your eyes that tells Fernando you’re ready for this.

He stands a few feet away, leaning casually against the garage wall, but his eyes are on you. Always on you. He’s seen you grow over these past months, watched as you’ve taken every challenge head-on, and now, as you prepare for your first F2 race, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride.

Yuki Tsunoda, your teammate, walks over, helmet in hand. He’s grinning, but there’s a trace of awe in his expression as he glances between you and Fernando. “I still can’t believe it,” Yuki says, shaking his head slightly. “Fernando Alonso, here in our garage, supporting you. It’s surreal.”

You chuckle, giving Yuki a playful nudge with your elbow. “Believe it. He’s stuck with me now.”

Fernando smirks, pushing off the wall and walking over to the two of you. “Yuki, how are you feeling about today?” He asks, his tone friendly but professional.

Yuki straightens up, clearly wanting to impress. “I’m ready. I’ve been looking forward to this all off-season. Just want to get out there and race.”

“Good,” Fernando nods, his eyes sharp as he assesses Yuki. “Remember, the first race sets the tone. Keep your head down, focus on your own performance, and the results will come.”

Yuki nods, absorbing the advice. “And you?” He asks, turning back to you. “First F2 race … How are you feeling?”

You shrug, but there’s a determined glint in your eyes. “Excited. Nervous. Ready. All of it.”

Fernando can’t help but smile at that. He’s seen that look in countless drivers — right before they go on to do something special. “You’ve got this,” he says, his voice low but full of conviction. “Just do what you do best.”

You give him a small, appreciative smile before turning back to the car, where the final preparations are being made. Fernando watches you for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the day. This is a big moment, not just for you, but for him too. He’s invested so much in you, not just as a driver but as a person, and now he’s about to see the fruits of that labor on one of the biggest stages.

Yuki eventually heads back to his side of the garage, leaving you and Fernando in a comfortable silence. He steps closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Remember, it’s just another race. Don’t let the pressure get to you. You’ve done this a hundred times before.”

You nod, your expression set with determination. “I know. I just need to stay focused.”

“Exactly,” Fernando agrees, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “And remember, I’m here. You’re not doing this alone.”

There’s a brief moment of silence between you, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you take in his words. It’s a reassurance, a reminder that no matter what happens out there, you have someone in your corner who believes in you completely.

The minutes tick by, and soon it’s time for the drivers to head to the grid. The mechanics push your car out of the garage, and you follow, helmet in hand, Fernando right by your side. As you walk, he gives you last-minute reminders, his tone calm but firm, designed to keep you centered.

“Trust your instincts,” he says. “You know the car, you know the track. Let the race come to you.”

You nod, absorbing every word as you approach your car on the grid. The other teams and drivers are milling about, final checks being made before the start. Fernando stands with you by the car, watching as you put on your helmet and climb into the cockpit. There’s a buzz of activity all around, but for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.

He leans in close, his voice carrying over the sound of the grid. “Remember why you’re here. Show them what you’re made of.”

You glance up at him, your visor reflecting the intense determination in your eyes. “I will.”

And with that, the crew steps back, and it’s just you in the car, the engine roaring to life around you. Fernando takes a few steps back, watching as you complete the formation lap. His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation. He’s been in this position countless times, but it’s different when it’s someone you’ve invested so much in.

As the cars line up on the grid, the tension mounts. Fernando’s eyes never leave your car, his mind running through every possible scenario. He knows how unpredictable these races can be, how one small mistake can change everything. But he also knows that you’re ready. He’s seen it in your training, in your focus, in the way you’ve handled every challenge thrown at you.

The lights go out, and the roar of engines fills the air. The race is on, and Fernando’s eyes are locked on the screen, watching as you navigate the chaos of the first few corners. It’s a tight pack, cars jostling for position, but you hold your ground, staying calm and composed even as the pressure builds.

Fernando barely breathes as the laps tick by, his focus entirely on you. There are moments where his heart leaps into his throat — close calls, tight overtakes — but you handle them all with the skill and precision of a seasoned driver. You’re pushing, but not too hard, balancing aggression with caution in a way that impresses even him.

Midway through the race, you find yourself in a battle for position with one of the more experienced drivers. Fernando can see the tension in your driving, the way you’re pushing the car to its limits. But he also sees the intelligence in your approach, the way you’re sizing up your opponent, waiting for the right moment.

“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes glued to the screen as you make your move. It’s a daring pass, squeezing through a gap that’s barely there, but you make it stick. Fernando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re doing it,” he whispers to himself, pride swelling in his chest.

The race continues, the intensity never letting up. There are moments of sheer brilliance, and moments where Fernando’s nerves are stretched to their limits, but through it all, you remain unshaken. Every lap, every corner, you’re proving exactly why you belong here, why Carlin chose you, and why Fernando believes in you so much.

As the race nears its end, you find yourself in a strong position, battling for a spot on the podium. Fernando’s heart pounds in his chest, his hands clenched into fists as he watches the final laps unfold. It’s a nail-biter, the cars ahead of you just within reach, and he can see you pushing, giving it everything you’ve got.

“Come on, come on,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the screen. “You’ve got this.”

The final lap is a blur of speed and adrenaline, but you’re right there, closing in on the car ahead. Fernando can feel the tension in the air, the entire Carlin garage on edge as they watch you make your move. It’s a daring overtake, one that requires absolute precision, but you nail it, sliding into third place just before the final corner.

Fernando’s heart leaps as you cross the finish line, securing a podium in your very first F2 race. The garage erupts in cheers, but he’s already moving, heading out to meet you as you bring the car back to the pits.

When you climb out of the car, the smile on your face is all he needs to see. You did it. You proved yourself, and in a big way. Fernando is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice full of pride.

“You were incredible out there,” he says, his words muffled slightly by the cheers around you. “Absolutely incredible.”

You pull back, your eyes shining with excitement. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He shakes his head, his smile wide. “You did this. You took everything you’ve learned and you made it happen. This is just the beginning.”

Yuki comes over, grinning from ear to ear as he claps you on the back. “Third place in your first race? You’re making the rest of us look bad!”

You laugh, the tension of the race finally melting away as you share the moment with your teammate and mentor. But even as you celebrate, Fernando’s mind is already thinking ahead, planning for the future. This is just the first step, and he knows there are many more to come. But for now, he’s content to stand here with you, knowing that you’ve just taken a huge leap forward in your career.

As the celebrations continue around you, Fernando steps back, watching you with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He’s seen something special in you from the start, and today, you proved him right. But he knows this is just the beginning, and he can’t wait to see where this journey takes you

***

Fernando sits at the head of a sleek conference table in a high-rise office overlooking a bustling cityscape. The room is all glass and steel, exuding an air of professionalism and success. It’s the kind of setting where big decisions are made, the kind of setting where lives are changed. He glances at his watch — just a few minutes before you’re supposed to arrive.

To his left is a man in his late forties, dressed in a sharp suit that screams old money and prestige. This is Carlos Mendes, a veteran in the world of motorsport management. Carlos has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to getting his clients the best deals.

He’s represented world champions, negotiated multimillion-dollar contracts, and navigated the treacherous waters of sponsorships with the skill of a seasoned general. Fernando had carefully chosen Carlos, knowing that you would need someone who could not only protect your interests but also push for the best opportunities.

On Fernando’s right is Sophie Duclair, a high-powered talent agent whose client list reads like a who’s who of global sports and entertainment icons. Sophie, with her sleek bob and impeccably tailored outfit, is known for her ability to secure top-tier endorsement deals that go beyond the traditional boundaries of sports.

Luxury brands, fashion houses, and even Hollywood producers trust her judgment implicitly. She’s the one who can take your rising star and catapult it into a whole different stratosphere.

The door to the conference room opens, and you walk in, dressed casually but with an unmistakable air of confidence. It’s clear you’ve grown more comfortable in these kinds of environments, but there’s still a trace of curiosity in your eyes as you take in the room and the people seated at the table.

“Good to see you,” Fernando says, rising to greet you with a warm smile. He motions to the empty chair next to him. “Take a seat. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

You sit down, glancing at Carlos and Sophie with polite curiosity. Fernando leans back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. “Let me introduce you to Carlos Mendes,” he says, gesturing to the man on his left. “Carlos is one of the top managers in the business. He’s going to help guide your career from here on out, making sure you get the best opportunities on and off the track.”

Carlos nods, his expression serious but welcoming. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says in a deep, authoritative voice. “Fernando has told me a lot about you, and I’ve been following your progress. You’ve got a bright future ahead, and I’m here to make sure you reach your full potential.”

You smile, a mix of gratitude and anticipation in your eyes. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Fernando continues, turning to Sophie. “And this is Sophie Duclair, one of the best talent agents in the industry. Sophie has a knack for securing deals that align perfectly with her clients’ personal brands. She’s here to help you navigate the world of endorsements and partnerships.”

Sophie smiles, her demeanor warm yet professional. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says, her voice smooth and confident. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your rise in F2, and I have to say, the opportunities are endless. There are brands out there who are going to want to associate themselves with your story, your talent, and your image.”

You nod, clearly intrigued but still processing the magnitude of what’s happening. Fernando notices the slight furrow in your brow and steps in to guide the conversation.

“Here’s the thing,” Fernando begins, his tone serious but encouraging. “You’ve been fighting against the odds, and that’s what’s made your story so compelling. A lot of people might have seen your gender as an obstacle, but we’re turning it into an asset. You’ve already proven you belong in F2, and with the right guidance, we’re going to show the world that you’re not just a great driver — you’re a game-changer.”

Carlos leans forward slightly, his eyes focused on you. “Exactly. The motorsport world is evolving, and brands want to be associated with that evolution. They want to be seen as forward-thinking, inclusive, and ahead of the curve. You’re in a unique position to offer them that opportunity.”

Sophie picks up the thread seamlessly. “But it’s not just about slapping a logo on your car or your race suit. It’s about aligning with brands that resonate with who you are and where you want to go. That’s where I come in. I’ve been in talks with several companies that are very interested in working with you.”

You look at Fernando, and he gives you an encouraging nod, urging you to speak your mind. “It sounds … amazing,” you begin, your voice steady but thoughtful. “But I want to make sure that whatever deals we make, they’re the right ones. I don’t want to just be a face on an ad — I want to represent something real.”

Carlos smiles, clearly impressed by your maturity. “That’s the right approach. And that’s exactly why we’re here — to make sure that every move we make is strategic and meaningful. You’ve got the talent and the story, and now it’s about building the brand that reflects that.”

Sophie leans back in her chair, crossing her legs as she regards you with a calculating but friendly gaze. “We’ve already secured two deals that I think you’re going to be very happy with,” she says, a hint of excitement in her voice. “The first is with Cartier. They’re looking to expand their presence in the sports world, and they see you as the perfect ambassador for their brand — strong, elegant, and determined.”

Your eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised. “Cartier?” You echo, the name alone carrying a weight of prestige and luxury.

Sophie nods, smiling at your reaction. “That’s right. They want to work with you on a campaign that’s going to be centered around breaking barriers and redefining what it means to be successful. It’s not just about jewelry — it’s about the story you tell when you wear it.”

Fernando watches as you process this, seeing the mix of excitement and caution in your expression. He knows how big this is, and he also knows how important it is for you to feel comfortable with every step of this journey.

“And the second deal?” You ask, your voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Sophie’s smile widens. “That would be with Chanel. They’re launching a new line of sportswear, and they want you to be the face of it. It’s a bold move for them, branching out into a market that’s traditionally been dominated by other brands. But they believe in you, and they believe that you can help them make a statement.”

You lean back in your chair, clearly taking a moment to absorb the magnitude of what’s being offered. Fernando can see the wheels turning in your mind, the careful consideration you’re giving to each opportunity.

“I … I didn’t expect anything like this,” you admit, looking around the table. “It’s incredible, but it’s also a lot to take in.”

Carlos nods, his expression understanding. “It is. But you’re not in this alone. We’re here to guide you, to make sure that every decision you make is the right one for you and your career.”

Fernando leans forward slightly, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve worked hard to get here. You deserve these opportunities. But like Carlos said, we’re going to make sure that every step you take is the right one. We’re not rushing into anything. We’re building something that’s going to last.”

You look at him, and he can see the trust in your eyes. It’s a trust he’s earned over the months, through every piece of advice, every word of encouragement, every push to make you better. And now, as you sit here on the brink of something huge, he feels a deep sense of pride.

“These are just the first steps,” Sophie says, her tone confident and poised. “There’s so much more we can do. But it’s all going to be on your terms. You’re in control of your image, your brand. We’re just here to help you shape it.”

You take a deep breath, your gaze sweeping over the table, taking in the faces of the people who are now part of your team. “I want to do this right,” you say finally, your voice strong. “I want to be someone people can look up to, someone who represents more than just winning races.”

Fernando smiles, feeling a swell of pride at your words. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do. We’re just getting started.”

The meeting continues, the conversation shifting to the details of the contracts, the timelines for the campaigns, and the strategies for maximizing your visibility. Throughout it all, Fernando watches you closely, noting the way you handle the discussions with a mix of humility and confidence. It’s clear you’re taking everything in, asking the right questions, making sure you understand every aspect of what’s being presented.

By the time the meeting wraps up, there’s a palpable sense of excitement in the room. The deals with Cartier and Chanel are just the beginning, and everyone knows it. There are more opportunities on the horizon, more doors that are about to open. But for now, it’s about taking the first steps, setting the foundation for what’s to come.

As you rise to leave, Fernando walks you to the door, Carlos and Sophie following close behind. “We’ll be in touch with the final details,” Sophie says, her tone professional but warm. “I’m excited to see where this journey takes us.”

Carlos nods in agreement. “You’ve got a bright future ahead. Let’s make the most of it.”

You thank them both, turning to Fernando with a smile that holds a mix of gratitude and determination. "I couldn’t have done this without you," you say softly.

Fernando shakes his head, his smile reflecting the pride he feels. "You’ve earned every bit of this. Now, let's show the world what you’re capable of."

***

The sun dips low over the suburban skyline, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard where laughter mingles with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation. String lights hang from the trees, swaying gently in the evening breeze, and the faint scent of barbecue lingers in the air. You’re surrounded by familiar faces — family, childhood friends, and the newer ones you’ve made in F2. The mix of old and new feels right, like the pieces of your life are finally coming together.

Fernando stands near the edge of the crowd, leaning casually against a tree as he watches you. He’s been here for hours, blending in with the celebration, though he’s always slightly apart, his presence comforting but never overbearing. He’s wearing one of those half-smiles, the kind that makes it hard to tell if he’s deep in thought or just quietly enjoying the moment.

You catch his eye, and he raises his glass — a silent toast that you return with a small grin before getting pulled back into a conversation with one of your childhood friends. They’re reminiscing about old times, laughing about things that seem so far removed from the high-speed world you now inhabit. It’s nice, grounding even, to remember that you had a life before all of this — a simpler one where the biggest concern was which video game to play after school.

As the night wears on, the crowd begins to thin. Your parents are still mingling, clearly proud of the party they’ve thrown. Your mom’s voice carries across the yard as she gushes to someone about how happy she is that you’ve managed to pay off the second mortgage. It was a weight that they never let you see, but you knew it was there, and being able to lift it was one of the proudest moments you’ve had since stepping into a race car.

Fernando, ever observant, notices the moment your shoulders relax as you hear your mom’s words. He takes a small step forward, knowing that the night is winding down, and he’s been waiting for just the right moment.

Eventually, as the last of your friends hug you goodbye and head out, you find yourself standing near the fire pit, the glow from the dying embers illuminating your face. Fernando approaches, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“Enjoying your birthday?” He asks, his voice low and warm, like the crackling fire beside you.

You nod, a content smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, it’s been really great. I didn’t expect so many people to show up.”

“People care about you,” Fernando says simply. “You’ve made quite an impact.”

You shrug, clearly a little shy about the praise. “I’m just glad to have a night to relax with everyone. It’s been a whirlwind.”

Fernando’s smile deepens. He knows how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed, and how rare these moments of peace are for you. “You deserve it. You’ve earned it.”

There’s a beat of silence, comfortable and familiar, before Fernando clears his throat. “I, uh, have something for you.”

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Fernando, you didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve already done so much.”

“I know,” he says, his tone a little softer now, as if he’s stepping into more vulnerable territory. “But I wanted to.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small box, wrapped in simple but elegant paper. You hesitate for a moment, then take it from his hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should.

Curiosity piques as you carefully unwrap the paper and open the box. Inside is a delicate necklace, the pendant a tiny, intricate race helmet studded with a single diamond where the visor would be. It’s not overly flashy, but it’s beautiful and unmistakably meaningful.

You stare at it, speechless, before looking up at Fernando, your eyes wide with surprise and something deeper — something like awe. “Fernando … this is …”

He cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I just … wanted you to have something that reminds you of where you’re headed. You’ve got a bright future, and I wanted to give you something to keep close as you chase it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, focusing on the necklace instead. You’re not sure what to say — how do you thank someone for something that goes beyond just a gift?

Fernando steps closer, his voice lowering as he continues, “I’ve come to see you as … well, like a daughter, I suppose. Watching you grow, seeing how far you’ve come, it’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”

Your heart swells with emotion, and before you can stop yourself, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest. The necklace is still clutched in your hand, but all you can focus on is the steady beat of Fernando’s heart against your ear.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice muffled but sincere. “For everything.”

Fernando’s arms come around you, holding you close in a way that’s both protective and comforting. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. That’s all the thanks I need.”

You stay like that for a moment longer, taking in the warmth and security of the embrace, before finally pulling back. You look up at Fernando, and there’s a connection between you now that goes beyond mentor and protégé — it’s something familial, something lasting.

He gestures to the necklace, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you want some help putting that on?”

You nod, unable to find the words, and hand it to him. He carefully fastens it around your neck, his fingers steady and sure, and when he’s done, you reach up to touch the pendant, feeling its cool metal against your skin.

“Perfect,” Fernando says, stepping back to admire it. “Just like you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re too kind.”

“No,” he replies, his voice firm but gentle. “Just honest.”

As the fire continues to crackle beside you, the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, you realize that this birthday, this moment, will be one you remember for the rest of your life. Not because of the party or the people, but because of the man standing beside you — the one who believed in you when no one else did, who gave you the push you needed to keep going.

And as you walk back towards the house, the pendant resting against your chest, you know that no matter what happens in the future, you’ll always have this — this connection, this bond, this family you’ve found in the most unexpected place.

***

The noise is deafening as you cross the finish line, but it’s the silence that follows in your mind that makes it real. The world blurs around you; the roar of the engine fades, the cheers from the grandstands become a distant echo. It’s just you and the knowledge that you’ve done it. The chequered flag waves in the distance, a confirmation that you’ve won the F2 championship.

In your rookie season.

The last lap plays on a loop in your mind: the battle with your teammate, the wheel-to-wheel tension that stretched until the final corner, the moment you finally saw a gap and took it. The entire year has been leading up to this, every race, every struggle, every doubt. And now, you’re here. A champion.

The car slows as you pull into the pit lane, your hands shaking on the steering wheel. The radio crackles with voices — your engineer shouting congratulations, the team cheering, but there’s only one voice you really want to hear.

“You did it,” Fernando comes through, calm but with a hint of emotion that he rarely shows. “I knew you could do it.”

A smile breaks across your face, one that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried. “We did it,” you correct him, because it’s true. You’ve always been a team, even when he wasn’t on the track with you.

As you roll into the Carlin garage, the world around you explodes into celebration. Mechanics, engineers, and team members swarm the car, cheering and clapping as they pull you out of the cockpit. You’re immediately wrapped in a dozen hugs, people shouting your name, lifting you off the ground in their excitement.

But even in the chaos, you’re searching for him. And when you finally spot Fernando standing just outside the crowd, his expression is one of pure pride. He doesn’t rush in to join the others, instead, he stays back, letting you have your moment. That’s Fernando, always understanding, always knowing exactly what you need.

You finally push through the throng of well-wishers and make your way over to him. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, and in that look, there’s a thousand words unspoken.

“Not bad for a rookie,” he finally says, his smile widening.

You laugh, still breathless from the race. “Not bad at all.”

He pulls you into a hug, and this time, you don’t hold back. You cling to him, letting the emotion of the moment wash over you. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you know he understands. This victory is as much his as it is yours.

When you pull back, you see someone else approaching from the corner of your eye. It’s Toto Wolff, towering and imposing as always, but there’s a warmth in his expression that’s almost fatherly. Next to him, Williams Racing team principal Jost Capito, stands with a smile that’s equally as proud.

“Toto?” You ask, surprised. It’s not every day he shows up in the F2 paddock, let alone after a race.

He steps forward, offering his hand. “Congratulations,” he says, his voice steady. “That was an incredible race.”

You shake his hand, still trying to process the fact that he’s here. “Thank you,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jost steps forward, nodding in agreement. “You’ve had an outstanding season. You’ve shown everyone what you’re capable of.”

There’s something in their tone, something that makes your heart race with more than just post-race adrenaline. Fernando catches your eye, giving you a slight nod, as if to say, this is it.

Toto exchanges a look with Jost before continuing, “We’ve been following your progress closely, and we believe you’re ready for the next step.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The next step. It’s what every F2 driver dreams of, but it’s never guaranteed, not even with a championship under your belt. “The next step?” You echo, almost afraid to hope.

Jost steps in, his smile widening. “We want you to race for Williams in Formula 1 next season.”

For a moment, the world stops. You blink, trying to process the words, to make sure you heard him right. Formula 1. They want you to race in F1.

“Next season?” You manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toto nods, his expression serious but encouraging. “Yes. We’ve been in discussions with Williams, and we believe you’re the perfect fit for their team. You’ve proven that you can handle the pressure, and now it’s time to see what you can do on the biggest stage.”

You feel like you’re floating, like this is a dream that you might wake up from at any moment. You turn to Fernando, searching his face for confirmation that this is real. He’s smiling, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he’s known about this for a while. He’s always known.

“You’ll be racing in F1,” Fernando says, his voice steady. “You deserve it.”

It’s then that the full weight of what’s happening hits you. F1. The pinnacle of motorsport. And not just racing in F1, but racing alongside the very best in the world. You’ll be on the grid with drivers you’ve looked up to your entire life. Drivers like Lewis Hamilton. And …

Your eyes widen as the realization dawns. Fernando is making his comeback next year. He’s going to be on that grid, too.

“I’ll be racing … with you,” you say, the words barely escaping your lips.

Fernando’s smile is knowing, almost amused. “Yes, you will.”

The thought is almost overwhelming. Not only will you be in F1, but you’ll be competing alongside Fernando, the man who has been your mentor, your guide, your biggest supporter. The man who helped you get to this very moment.

You shake your head, still trying to process it all. “I don’t know what to say.”

Toto places a hand on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. “You don’t need to say anything. Just be ready to show the world what you’re capable of. We’ll handle the rest.”

Jost nods in agreement. “We believe in you. You’ve already proven that you can handle anything that comes your way.”

You glance back at Fernando, and the pride in his eyes is unmistakable. This has been his goal all along — to get you to the top, to see you succeed where so many doubted you could. And now, here you are, about to step into the world of F1.

“I’ll be ready,” you say, your voice stronger now, filled with the determination that’s carried you this far.

Fernando nods, satisfied. “I know you will.”

As Toto and Jost step away to discuss the finer details with the Carlin team, you stand there with Fernando, the enormity of what just happened settling in.

“You knew this was coming, didn’t you?” You ask, giving him a sideways glance.

Fernando shrugs, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I had a feeling. But it was always up to you to make it happen.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He grins. “And you’re an F1 driver now. Better get used to it.”

The two of you stand there for a moment longer, taking in the victory, the announcement, the future that’s unfolding right before your eyes. It’s been a long road, full of challenges and doubts, but you’ve made it. And now, you’re about to step onto the biggest stage in motorsport, with Fernando right there alongside you.

As you look out at the garage, the Carlin team still buzzing with excitement, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. For the team, for the journey, and most of all, for Fernando — the man who believed in you when no one else did, and who continues to believe in you now.

“Thank you, Fernando,” you say quietly, but with all the sincerity you can muster. “For everything.”

He simply nods, his expression softening. “You’ve earned it.”

And as you stand there, the future stretching out before you, one thing is certain: this is just the beginning.

***

The winter sun hangs low in the sky as you walk along the rocky path that leads to Fernando’s private track in northern Spain. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine trees and the distant murmur of the sea. It’s a world away from the chaos of the paddock, a place where the outside noise fades, leaving only the hum of your thoughts and the weight of what’s to come. The off-season is supposed to be a time to rest, to recharge, but this year, it’s different. There’s no time to lose — not with your first Formula 1 season looming on the horizon.

Fernando walks beside you, his stride as confident and unhurried as ever. His presence is steadying, a reminder that you’re not alone on this journey. He’s been here before, countless times, and now he’s passing on everything he knows to you. This winter isn’t just about physical training; it’s about mastering the mental side of the sport — the side that can make or break a career in F1.

He stops at the edge of the track, the silence between you stretching out as you both take in the view. The asphalt is cold and unyielding, winding through the landscape like a dark ribbon, a challenge waiting to be conquered.

“You know the driving part,” Fernando says, breaking the silence. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an intensity to it that commands attention. “You’ve proven that you can handle the car, the speed, the competition. But F1 is more than just driving. It’s a mental game. It’s about being the predator, not the prey.”

You nod, knowing he’s right. The physical demands of F1 are immense, but the mental demands are even greater. The pressure, the mind games, the need to be perfect in a sport where perfection is almost impossible — it’s all part of what makes F1 the pinnacle of motorsport.

“Today, we start with the basics,” Fernando continues, his gaze fixed on the track. “How to be a track terror.”

A track terror. The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. To be feared on the track, to have your competitors second-guessing themselves before they even line up on the grid — that’s what Fernando is talking about. It’s not just about being fast; it’s about being relentless, unyielding, the kind of driver who forces others into mistakes.

“You don’t have to be the fastest in every session,” Fernando explains, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You just have to make them think you are. Get in their heads. Make them question their own pace, their own decisions.”

He starts to walk along the edge of the track, and you follow, listening closely. “Every driver has a breaking point,” he says. “You need to learn how to find it. Sometimes it’s in their driving — how they react under pressure, how they handle wheel-to-wheel combat. Sometimes it’s off the track — in how they deal with the media, how they cope with setbacks. Your job is to figure out what that breaking point is and use it.”

You absorb his words, understanding that this is the difference between good drivers and great ones. It’s not just about talent; it’s about psychology, about knowing how to manipulate a situation to your advantage.

“And once you find that breaking point?” You ask, wanting to hear it from him.

Fernando stops and turns to face you, his eyes sharp, calculating. “You exploit it,” he says simply. “You push them until they crack. But you have to be smart about it. There’s a fine line between pushing them to the edge and pushing yourself over it.”

His words are blunt, but you know there’s truth in them. F1 isn’t just a sport, it’s a battle, a war of wills as much as it is a test of speed.

“Take the first corner,” Fernando says, pointing to the sharp turn at the end of the straight. “It’s where a lot of races are won or lost. You need to establish yourself early. Show them that you’re not afraid to fight for position, but also that you’re in control. That’s key — being aggressive, but controlled.”

You nod, envisioning the scenarios he’s describing. You’ve raced at high levels before, but F1 is different. The stakes are higher, the margins narrower. There’s no room for error, but there’s also no room for hesitation.

“How do you know when to cross the line?” You ask, thinking back to the times when Fernando has pushed the limits, often to the point where others questioned his tactics.

He gives a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You learn,” he says. “Sometimes by making mistakes. But the key is to learn from them quickly. You have to know when to back off and when to push harder. It’s about balance, about knowing your own limits as much as theirs.”

He pauses, his gaze locking with yours. “And sometimes, you have to cross the line. But when you do, you do it with intent, and you don’t get caught. You make sure it looks like a mistake, something that just happened in the heat of the moment. And you never apologize for it.”

There’s a chill in the air, but you barely notice it, your mind focused on every word. This is what you’ve needed, what you’ve been missing. The edge that will set you apart in a field of the best drivers in the world.

“What about mind games?” You ask, curious to know more about how to handle the psychological warfare that comes with F1.

Fernando chuckles, a sound that’s both amused and knowing. “Mind games are everything,” he says. “They start long before you even get in the car. It’s about how you carry yourself, how you interact with the other drivers, with the media. You have to control the narrative, make them think what you want them to think.”

He starts walking again, this time towards the small building at the edge of the track where the team usually sets up. “The media is a powerful tool,” he continues. “You can use them to your advantage, but you have to be careful. Give them just enough to create doubt in your competitors’ minds, but not enough to give anything away.”

You think back to the countless press conferences you’ve watched, where drivers like Fernando have used their words as weapons, creating stories that unsettle their rivals. It’s a game within a game, and you’re starting to see how deep it goes.

“Never let them see you sweat,” Fernando adds, his tone more serious now. “Even when things aren’t going your way, you have to project confidence. Make them think you have everything under control, even when you don’t. And when they stumble, when they show weakness, you pounce.”

The building looms ahead, the door slightly ajar. Fernando pushes it open, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room with a table, a few chairs, and a whiteboard covered in notes and diagrams. It’s a war room, a place where strategies are formed, where victories are planned.

Fernando gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling the weight of what’s to come. He takes a seat across from you, his expression now all business.

“Let’s talk about racecraft,” he says, leaning forward. “You need to understand that F1 isn’t just about speed. It’s about strategy, about thinking two, three steps ahead of everyone else. You need to know when to attack and when to hold back, when to take risks and when to play it safe.”

He starts sketching out scenarios on the whiteboard, explaining different race strategies, how to read your competitors, how to manage your tires, your fuel, your energy. It’s a crash course in F1 tactics, and you absorb every detail, knowing that this knowledge could be the difference between winning and losing.

“You’ll have a team behind you,” Fernando says, his eyes never leaving the board as he continues to write. “But you’re the one in the car. You’re the one who has to make the decisions in real-time. Trust your instincts, but also trust your preparation. The more you know, the better equipped you’ll be to handle whatever comes your way.”

He turns back to you, his expression serious. “And remember, F1 is a long game. It’s not just about one race, or even one season. It’s about building a career, about consistently performing at a high level. You have to pace yourself, know when to push and when to hold back. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

You nod, the enormity of what he’s saying sinking in. This isn’t just about your rookie season; it’s about laying the foundation for a long and successful career. And with Fernando guiding you, you know you’re in the best possible hands.

The session goes on, the hours slipping away as you discuss everything from race strategies to media tactics, from how to handle pressure to how to deal with setbacks. Fernando doesn’t sugarcoat anything; he tells you the harsh realities of the sport, the challenges you’ll face, the sacrifices you’ll have to make. But he also gives you the tools to overcome them, to not just survive in F1, but to thrive.

By the time the sun starts to set, casting long shadows across the track, you feel a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. It’s been an intense day, but you know it’s exactly what you needed. Fernando has pushed you, challenged you, but he’s also given you the confidence to believe that you belong in this world, that you can succeed.

As you walk back towards the main house, the sky now a deep orange, Fernando falls into step beside you. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that comes from a shared understanding, a mutual respect that has grown over time.

After a while, Fernando breaks the silence with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know,” he begins, his tone light but with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’ve been called many things in my career. Champion, legend … war criminal.”

You look at him, caught between a laugh and a raised eyebrow. “War criminal?”

He chuckles, shrugging casually. “Not literally, of course. But some of my tactics, let’s say, weren’t always appreciated by everyone. I was willing to do whatever it took to win — sometimes crossing lines that others wouldn’t dare touch.”

You smile, catching on to his meaning. “And you think I’m ready to follow in your footsteps?”

Fernando’s smirk widens. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. F1 isn’t a game for the faint-hearted. It’s for those who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty when it counts. Just remember … there’s no shame in doing what it takes to survive. And thrive.”

His words hang in the cool evening air, and as you both continue walking, you feel a sense of resolve settle within you. Fernando must notice it too because he gives you a sideways glance, the glint still in his eyes. “Just don’t forget who taught you all this when they start throwing accusations your way.”

***

The Bahrain night sky looms overhead, blanketing the circuit in a velvety darkness punctuated by the glaring lights of the paddock. The roar of engines rumbles through the air as teams buzz with last-minute preparations. Mechanics scramble, engineers analyze data, and drivers slip into their zones. The first race of the season carries a unique kind of tension, a palpable energy that’s almost electric. But amidst all the chaos, Fernando moves with calm confidence as he weaves through the pit lane, eyes scanning for one person.

He finds you standing by the Williams garage, helmet in hand, gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if trying to absorb the magnitude of the moment. It’s your first F1 race, and the weight of it all is evident in the slight furrow of your brow, the focused set of your jaw.

Fernando walks up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Hey,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise like a sharp blade. “Nervous?”

You turn to face him, a mix of emotions swirling in your eyes — excitement, determination, and yes, a hint of nerves. “A little,” you admit. “It’s different from F2. Bigger.”

Fernando nods, understanding all too well. “It is bigger. The stakes are higher, the pressure’s heavier. But you’ve got this.”

You nod, though your grip on the helmet tightens. “I know. I just need to keep my head in the right place.”

Fernando’s eyes narrow, the glint of the night’s floodlights reflecting in them as he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Remember what we talked about in Spain. You’re not here to play nice. You’re here to win. You’re here to make them regret ever doubting you.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as his words sink in. This is the Fernando you’ve come to know so well — the ruthless competitor who sees racing as a battlefield, where only the most cunning and unrelenting survive. He’s drilled that mentality into you, reminding you time and time again that the track is no place for mercy.

“You’re not just a driver,” he continues, his tone growing more intense. “You’re a track terror. Make them fear you. Take every opportunity, even if it means forcing them into a mistake. Be aggressive. Be relentless. And if they try to intimidate you-”

“I intimidate them back,” you finish for him, the determination in your voice now matching his.

Fernando’s lips curl into a smirk, clearly pleased. “Exactly. Make them question if they even belong out there with you.”

As he speaks, Nicholas Latifi, your teammate, walks by on his way to his side of the garage. His steps falter when he overhears the tail end of Fernando’s words.

“… If you see an opening, take it. Don’t give them a second to breathe. Push them out of their comfort zone, and when they’re scrambling, that’s when you strike. Hard.”

Latifi’s eyes widen in alarm as he processes what Fernando is saying. He hesitates, clearly debating whether he should approach or back away slowly. Ultimately, he chooses the latter, retreating with a hurried, nervous glance over his shoulder.

You notice Latifi’s reaction and can’t help but laugh. “I think you might’ve scared him off.”

Fernando chuckles, a low, almost devious sound. “Good. Less competition for you.” Then, with a more serious edge, he adds, “He’s not your concern. You’re here for the big players. And don’t forget, every race is an opportunity to show them what you’re made of. Especially the ones who think you don’t deserve to be here.”

You nod, the nerves from earlier replaced by a rising sense of purpose. Fernando’s words have a way of lighting a fire inside you, a fire that burns hotter with every passing second. The crowd noise, the hum of engines, the flashing lights — all of it fades away until there’s only the track and the promise of what lies ahead.

Fernando steps back, giving you space but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “Tonight, you’re going to prove that you’re not just another rookie. You’re a force to be reckoned with. And you’re going to do it with style.”

You smirk, the corners of your mouth curving upward as confidence surges through you. “With style?”

“Absolutely,” Fernando replies, his own smirk widening. “Remember, there’s a fine line between genius and insanity on the track. And you’re going to walk it like it’s a tightrope.”

You slip your helmet on, the visor clicking into place as Fernando’s words echo in your mind. The world outside may be chaotic, but inside your helmet, it’s a sanctuary — a place where you can focus, where every piece of advice, every lesson Fernando has drilled into you, comes together.

He watches you for a moment, pride evident in his eyes. He’s seen your growth, your transformation from a talented driver into something much more formidable. He knows you’re ready for this.

“Now go out there,” he says, voice clear and commanding, “and make them remember your name.”

With a final nod, you turn towards your car, the sleek Williams machine waiting for you. The pit crew is already in position, and the clock is ticking down. But before you step in, Fernando adds one last thing.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, catching your attention. You look back at him, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Terrorize everyone out there … except me.”

You laugh, the sound muffled by your helmet, but the sentiment is clear. “No promises.”

Fernando grins, crossing his arms as he watches you settle into the cockpit. The familiar sounds of the car coming to life fill the air, and the anticipation builds. The lights above the pit lane begin their countdown, and you take a deep breath, centering yourself for what’s to come.

As you drive out onto the track for the formation lap, Fernando steps back, his eyes following your car as it weaves between the other machines, each one a potential target, each one a stepping stone towards the top. He knows you’re ready, knows that tonight is just the beginning of what promises to be an incredible journey.

He’s proud of you, not just as a driver, but as the competitor you’ve become under his guidance. And as you line up on the grid, the lights glowing red above, Fernando’s final words echo in your mind.

Make them remember your name.

The lights go out, and the race begins.

***

The Bahrain circuit is still buzzing with energy even after the race has ended. The floodlights cast a bright, artificial glow over the paddock as drivers, engineers, and media personnel move about, some celebrating, others reflecting on the night’s events. The humid night air is thick with the scent of burning rubber and engine exhaust, a familiar and oddly comforting smell to those who live and breathe motorsport.

Fernando stands in the media pen, his eyes fixed on you as you field questions from a group of eager reporters. He’s barely listening to the reporter in front of him, who’s rattling off questions about his own race. He finished just outside the points, but it doesn’t bother him much. Tonight, his focus isn’t on his own performance but on yours.

You’re animated, your eyes bright, still riding the adrenaline high from the race. You finished ninth — an impressive debut for any rookie, especially in a Williams. Fernando watches as you handle the questions with ease, a slight smile playing on his lips. The way you stand, the way you speak, there’s a confidence there that wasn’t present when he first met you. He sees in you a reflection of his younger self, and it fills him with a quiet pride.

“Fernando,” the reporter in front of him says, trying to regain his attention. “Can you tell us about your strategy today?”

Fernando barely hears the question, his attention still on you. You’re laughing at something a reporter just asked, and he catches a glimpse of that mischievous glint in your eyes — the same one he’s seen countless times in his own reflection. He can tell you’re about to say something memorable, and he doesn’t want to miss it.

“Fernando?” the reporter prompts again, sounding slightly annoyed now.

“Hmm?” Fernando finally acknowledges the reporter, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. “What was that?”

“Your strategy today — what was the thinking behind it?”

“Strategy? Oh, yes, the strategy,” Fernando replies absentmindedly, waving his hand dismissively. “You know, just the usual. Push when you can, hold back when you must.” His answers are automatic, but his mind is elsewhere.

The reporter blinks, clearly unimpressed with the vague response, but before he can ask a follow-up question, Fernando’s attention is fully captured by what you’re saying.

A journalist standing in front of you, wearing a press lanyard and holding a recorder close to your face, asks, “Can you walk us through that incredible overtake on Sebastian Vettel? It looked like you had no fear going up against a four-time world champion.”

You smile, a knowing look in your eyes, and then you glance over at Fernando.

“I knew he would hit the brakes,” you say, loud enough for him to hear. You pause for dramatic effect, and then with a wink in Fernando’s direction, you continue, “Because he has a wife and three kids waiting for him at home.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before the reporters around you burst into laughter. The reference to Fernando’s famous quip about Michael Schumacher years ago is unmistakable, and it’s clear that the media eats it up. But more importantly, Fernando hears it, and his chest swells with pride.

The reporter in front of Fernando raises an eyebrow, curious now about what’s just been said. “Looks like she’s learned a thing or two from you,” he comments.

Fernando finally turns to the reporter, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Yes, she has. More than she knows.”

He watches as you continue the interview, your demeanor composed, yet playful. The way you handle the press is impressive — calm, confident, but with just the right amount of charm to keep them on your side. You’re not just a racer; you’re a showman, someone who understands that Formula 1 is as much about performance off the track as it is on it.

Fernando catches snippets of your conversation, listening as you describe the overtake in more detail. “Seb’s a great driver, no doubt about it. But in that moment, I knew I had him. I could see it in his body language. He was playing it safe, so I took my chance.”

“And what was going through your mind when you made the move?” Another journalist asks.

You pause for a moment, considering the question. Then, with a smirk, you say, “I was thinking, ‘What would Fernando do?’ And then I went for it.”

Fernando chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not because you’ve imitated him, but because you’ve made the decision to be bold, to take risks, and to trust your instincts. That’s what separates the good drivers from the great ones — the willingness to seize the moment, to act decisively.

You finish up your interview, the reporters gradually dispersing to chase down other drivers. Fernando finally gives his full attention to the reporter in front of him, who’s still trying to get something meaningful out of him.

“Fernando, about your race …” the reporter begins again.

But Fernando is already moving, stepping around the man with a polite but firm nod. “Excuse me,” he says, cutting the interview short. There’s someone far more important he needs to talk to right now.

He strides over to you, your helmet now tucked under your arm as you chat casually with one of the team engineers. You spot him approaching and flash him a smile.

“Hey,” you say as he reaches you. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I did,” Fernando replies, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor.”

“Learned from the best,” you quip, giving him a playful nudge.

Fernando laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually use that line, but I’m glad you did. The media loves a good story, and you just gave them one.”

You shrug, your smile widening. “Figured I’d give them something to talk about. Plus, it’s not every day you get to pass a guy like Seb.”

“And you did it with style,” Fernando adds, his voice filled with admiration. “You handled yourself perfectly out there, both on track and with the press. You’re making your mark.”

The engineer standing next to you clears his throat, clearly not wanting to interrupt but feeling the need to acknowledge Fernando’s presence. “Great job out there today,” he says, offering a handshake.

“Thanks,” Fernando replies, shaking the man’s hand. “But today’s all about her,” he adds, nodding in your direction.

The engineer nods in agreement before excusing himself, leaving you and Fernando alone in the now quieter part of the paddock. The sounds of celebration and interviews still echo in the background, but here, in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.

“You know,” Fernando says after a beat, “I’ve never been prouder.”

You look at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirms. “Seeing you out there today … it reminded me why I fell in love with racing in the first place. The passion, the drive, the thrill of the fight. You have all of that, and more.”

Your smile softens, touched by his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You did it because you’re a damn good driver,” Fernando corrects, though there’s a warmth in his tone. “But I’m glad I could be a part of your journey.”

You both stand there for a moment, the enormity of what you’ve achieved settling in. Ninth place in your first race is no small feat, especially in a car that everyone had written off as uncompetitive. But you’ve proven them wrong, and you’ve done it in a way that’s uniquely your own.

“Next time, though,” Fernando says, a teasing lilt in his voice, “let’s aim for top five.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No pressure, right?”

“Never,” he replies with a grin. “Just a challenge.”

***

Fernando leans casually against the side of the Alpine motorhome, arms crossed, eyes scanning the paddock. The next season’s first race is in a few days, and the energy around the circuit is electric, buzzing with the anticipation of new beginnings. He’s just finished an interview, the usual media rounds, when he spots you approaching, your new Mercedes gear a stark contrast to the sea of blues and pinks around you.

“Ah, there you are,” Fernando greets with a grin as you draw closer. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

You tilt your head slightly, curious. “Who?”

Fernando pushes off the motorhome, beckoning you to follow as he leads you around to the back, where a young reserve driver is checking his phone, leaning casually against the wall. The kid looks up as you approach, his expression polite, maybe a touch reserved, but there’s an unmistakable spark of intelligence in his eyes.

“Oscar,” Fernando calls out, “this is her.”

Oscar Piastri straightens up, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a hand with a shy but confident smile. He’s calm, almost too calm for someone his age, but there’s a warmth there, something genuine. You can’t help but notice how composed he is, how his eyes seem to study you without making you feel scrutinized.

You shake his hand, offering a cool smile in return. “Likewise. I’ve heard good things.”

Oscar chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head. “Hopefully, I can live up to them.”

The three of you chat for a while, exchanging pleasantries about the upcoming season, racing, the usual stuff. Oscar is polite, measured in his responses, but there’s a softness to him that you hadn’t expected. It’s like he’s quietly confident, but without the brashness that usually comes with it. Fernando watches the interaction closely, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he notes the way your demeanor shifts ever so slightly around Oscar — more guarded, maybe, but intrigued.

Eventually, Oscar glances at his watch and excuses himself, mentioning something about a debrief he needs to attend. You nod, maintaining your composed exterior, and watch him walk back towards the Alpine motorhome before turning to Fernando.

“Polite cat vibes,” you murmur almost to yourself, a hint of amusement in your voice. Fernando raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“What was that?” He asks, although there’s a knowing look in his eyes. He’s been around long enough to pick up on these things.

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s a lightness in your expression that wasn’t there before. “I said, polite cat vibes. You know, like when a cat is super well-behaved, but you just know there’s something more going on behind those eyes?”

Fernando laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that makes a few heads turn in your direction. “So, you think Oscar is a cat?”

“Well, not literally,” you reply, grinning. “It’s just … he’s got this thing, you know? Like he’s really nice, but you can tell he’s got claws if he needs them. And he’s so … calm. I just want to pinch his cheeks and cuddle him.”

Fernando’s laugh turns into a full-blown chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re smitten, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you say, feigning nonchalance as you fold your arms across your chest. “But it’s just … he’s different. Not in a bad way, just-”

“Different,” Fernando finishes for you, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get it. But don’t let that cloud your judgment on track.”

You shoot him a look. “Please. I’m not a rookie, and besides, I’m at Mercedes now. I’ve got bigger things to focus on than cute cats.”

Fernando smiles, but there’s a serious undertone to his next words. “Just remember, this is Formula 1. There’s no room for distractions, no matter how polite or cute they might be.”

You nod, understanding the weight behind his words, but there’s still a twinkle in your eye as you glance back in the direction Oscar disappeared. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

“Good,” Fernando replies, clapping you on the back. “Because I’m not going to let you slack off, not even for a second.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” you retort, smirking. There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you, the kind that only comes from mutual respect and understanding.

But Fernando can’t resist one last jab. “Don’t go soft on him, okay? I’ve got my eye on you.”

You roll your eyes again but with a fond smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Of course,” Fernando grins. “It’s part of my charm.”

You laugh, the sound bright and clear in the busy paddock, and Fernando can’t help but feel a swell of pride. You’ve come so far, and he’s been there every step of the way, watching you grow not just as a driver but as a person. There’s a part of him that’s protective, sure, but there’s also a part that’s thrilled to see you standing on your own two feet, ready to take on whatever comes your wa— even if it’s an Australian polite cat.

“Let’s get out of here,” Fernando says finally, leading the way back to the Mercedes motorhome. “We’ve got a race to win this weekend, and I don’t want any distractions.”

You follow him, but there’s a spring in your step that wasn’t there before, and Fernando notices. He doesn’t say anything, though, just smiles to himself. You’re going to be just fine, he thinks, more than fine.

As you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but glance back once more, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Maybe, just maybe, this season is going to be full of surprises. And Fernando? Well, he’s ready for whatever comes next, as long as you are too.

***

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the vineyard where the ceremony is taking place. Rows of chairs are lined up neatly on the manicured lawn, all facing a simple yet elegant archway draped in white fabric and adorned with soft blush roses. The air is filled with the quiet murmur of guests settling in, the occasional laugh breaking through the serene atmosphere.

Fernando adjusts his tie, glancing around with a mixture of pride and disbelief. How did they get here? It seems like only yesterday he was meeting you for the first time, a determined young driver who refused to be underestimated. Now, here you are, standing at the altar, poised to marry the man you’ve chosen to spend your life with.

Fernando is seated in the front row, just to the left of the aisle, with Mark Webber by his side. The two exchange knowing smiles as the ceremony begins, each lost in their own thoughts. Mark has watched Oscar grow from a promising young talent into a man of integrity and strength, much like Fernando has done with you. There’s a quiet understanding between them, a mutual respect that goes beyond words.

As the officiant begins to speak, Fernando leans over slightly, catching Mark’s eye. “I guess this makes us in-laws,” he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Mark chuckles softly, nodding. “Seems like it. Didn’t see this coming back when we were racing, did we?”

“Not at all,” Fernando replies with a smile, glancing back at the altar where you and Oscar stand, hand-in-hand. “But I’m glad it did.”

The vows are simple, heartfelt, and deeply personal. Oscar goes first, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“From the moment I met you,” Oscar begins, his eyes locked on yours, “I knew you were different. You challenged me, inspired me, and made me want to be a better person. In a world that often felt overwhelming, you were my calm, my constant. Today, I promise to stand by your side, through every victory and every defeat. I promise to support your dreams as if they were my own, to lift you up when you’re down, and to love you unconditionally, now and forever.”

There’s a brief pause, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with the depth of his sincerity. When it’s your turn, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“Oscar,” you begin, your voice clear and strong, “You were the unexpected surprise in my life, the calm in my storm. From the moment we met, I knew you were special. You’ve been my partner on and off the track, my biggest supporter, and my best friend. Today, I promise to cherish every moment we have together, to grow with you, and to always be there for you, no matter what. I promise to love you with all that I am, and all that I will ever be. You are my heart, my soul, and my everything.”

Fernando feels a lump in his throat as you finish. He’s never been one to get emotional, but today, sitting here, listening to you pour your heart out, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride and love. He remembers the teenage girl who had to fight for every opportunity, the young woman who never gave up, and now, the bride standing before him, ready to take on the next chapter of her life.

The officiant speaks again, guiding you and Oscar through the final steps of the ceremony. When it’s time for the rings, Mark reaches into his pocket, retrieving Oscar’s band with a small, proud smile. Fernando does the same for you, his hands steady as he hands over the ring you will soon place on Oscar’s finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” you both say, sliding the rings onto each other’s fingers. The moment is profound, sealing your commitment not just in words, but in action.

“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant finally announces, and there’s a collective sigh of happiness from the gathered crowd as Oscar leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and full of promise.

Applause erupts, and as you and Oscar turn to face your family and friends, hands still entwined, Fernando catches your eye. There’s something unspoken between you, a bond that goes beyond blood, beyond words. You smile at him, and he nods in return, his chest swelling with emotion.

The ceremony concludes, and guests begin to make their way to the reception area, where a beautifully decorated marquee awaits. The air is filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses as everyone mingles, basking in the joy of the occasion.

The second dance is a traditional one with your father. You sway gently in his arms as he whispers words of wisdom, of pride, and of love. The moment is touching, a reminder of the family that has always stood behind you, even when the road was hard.

When the song ends, you hug your father tightly, thanking him for everything. But as the music transitions into something new, you catch Fernando’s eye across the room. There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you make your way towards him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Nando,” you say softly as you reach him, “would you join me for a dance?”

For a brief moment, Fernando is taken aback. He’s always seen you as a strong, independent force — someone who has always forged their own path. But in this moment, he realizes just how much you’ve come to mean to him, how deeply intertwined your lives have become.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You nod, your eyes shining with emotion. “You’ve been like a father to me. I couldn’t imagine today without sharing this moment with you.”

Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he takes your hand. The two of you move to the center of the dance floor, the music soft and slow. As you begin to dance, there’s a sense of calm that settles over you both, a quiet understanding that needs no words.

“I’ve watched you grow,” Fernando says after a few moments, his voice low so only you can hear, “into one of the best drivers I’ve ever known, but more than that … into an incredible person. I’m so proud of you, more than I can ever say.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back, smiling up at him. “Thank you. For everything. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“You would’ve found your way,” he replies, his tone firm. “You always had it in you. I just gave you a little push.”

“A little?” You tease, and he laughs, the sound filled with warmth.

As the song comes to an end, Fernando pulls you into a tight hug, his hand resting protectively on the back of your head. “Remember, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

“I know,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “And I’ll always be here for you too.”

***

The antiseptic scent of the hospital hits Fernando the moment he steps into the delivery wing, mingling with the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed whispers of medical staff. It’s a familiar environment, yet so foreign to him. He’s used to the adrenaline rush of the pit lane, the roar of engines, the calculated chaos of racing — but this, this is something entirely different. He’s been in countless high-pressure situations, but none have ever felt like this.

As he makes his way down the hallway, his heart beats just a little faster than usual, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of Oscar, and of the tiny new life that’s just come into the world. When he reaches the door of your room, he hesitates for the briefest of moments, his hand hovering over the door handle.

It’s not that he’s nervous — Fernando Alonso doesn’t get nervous — but there’s something about this moment that feels monumental, like the start of a new chapter in a book he didn’t even realize he was writing.

He pushes the door open slowly, stepping into the room with a soft smile. The room is bathed in a warm, gentle light, far removed from the harsh brightness of the hallway. It’s quiet, peaceful, with only the faint hum of machinery and the soft breaths of the newborn breaking the silence.

You’re lying in the bed, looking tired but radiant, with a tiny bundle cradled in your arms. Oscar is beside you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder, his eyes filled with awe and love. When you see Fernando, your face lights up, and despite the exhaustion etched into your features, there’s a warmth in your smile that makes his heart swell.

“Fernando,” you say softly, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. “Come meet him.”

He steps closer, his eyes drawn to the small figure in your arms. The baby is tiny, impossibly so, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, with a tuft of dark hair peeking out. Fernando’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at the baby, his heart pounding in a way that’s both unfamiliar and entirely overwhelming.

“He’s perfect,” Fernando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “We think so too.”

You shift slightly, holding the baby out toward Fernando. “Would you like to hold him?”

For a moment, Fernando hesitates. He’s held championship trophies, gripped the steering wheel at speeds that would make others blanch, but this? This is different. This is fragile, delicate, something that requires a gentleness he’s not sure he possesses. But when he sees the trust in your eyes, he nods, carefully taking the baby into his arms.

The weight is nothing — featherlight, almost — but it’s enough to make his hands tremble just the slightest bit. He cradles the baby close, his eyes wide as he studies the tiny features: the small nose, the delicate eyelids, the impossibly small fingers curled into little fists. The baby stirs slightly, his mouth opening in a silent yawn before settling back into a peaceful sleep.

“What’s his name?” Fernando asks, his voice thick with emotion.

You exchange a glance with Oscar before looking back at Fernando, your smile widening. “His name is Theodore,” you say softly, “Theodore Fernando Piastri.”

Fernando’s breath catches, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, he’s speechless, his mind struggling to process what he’s just heard.

“Fernando?” He repeats, his voice barely audible.

You nod, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We wanted to honor you. You’ve been like a father to me, and now … now you’re going to be a part of his life too. It just felt right.”

Fernando stares at you, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride, love, and something else — something deeper, something he’s never quite felt before. He looks down at Theodore, his namesake, and for the first time in a long while, he feels his eyes prick with tears.

“You … you didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice choked with emotion.

“But we wanted to,” Oscar says, his voice firm but kind. “You’ve done so much for us, for Y/N. It’s our way of saying thank you.”

Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill over. He’s always prided himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but this — this is something else entirely. This is a depth of feeling he wasn’t prepared for.

“Thank you,” he finally says, his voice thick. “It means … it means more to me than you can ever know.”

He looks back down at Theodore, his heart full to bursting. The baby stirs again, his tiny fingers twitching, and Fernando smiles, the tears finally spilling over as he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Grandpa Nando,” you say suddenly, your voice filled with affection. “That’s what we’re going to call you. How do you feel about that?”

Fernando lets out a laugh, the sound watery and full of joy. “I think I can get used to that,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “Grandpa Nando. I like it.”

You smile at him, your eyes soft with affection. “I’m glad. You’ve been a father figure to me, and now … now you get to be a grandfather to him.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the weight of the moment settling over all of you. Fernando can’t stop staring at Theodore, can’t stop marveling at the tiny life in his arms. He’s held many titles in his life — champion, driver, mentor — but this, this feels different. This feels like the most important role he’s ever played.

As he stands there, cradling the tiny life in his arms, he feels a sense of peace settle over him. This is where he’s meant to be, here with you, with Oscar, with Theodore. He’s not just a mentor anymore; he’s family. And that, more than anything, is the greatest victory he’s ever achieved.

Finally, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, Fernando carefully hands Theodore back to you, his heart heavy with emotion. You take your son into your arms, holding him close as you smile up at Fernando, your eyes filled with gratitude.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “For everything. For being there for me, for guiding me, for … for being a part of our lives.”

Fernando shakes his head, a small, tearful smile on his lips. “No, thank you. You’ve given me more than I ever could have imagined. You — you and Oscar, and now Theodore — you’re my family. And there’s nothing more important to me than that.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there, connected by something deeper than words, deeper than racing, deeper than anything Fernando has ever known.

This is what it means to be family, he realizes. This is what it means to love, to care, to be there for each other, no matter what. And as he stands there, his heart full to bursting, he knows that this, more than any championship, more than any victory on the track, is what truly matters.

This is his greatest achievement.

[colonelpancakes]

Watching the dragon prince season six episode four: The Starscraper. Under the cut as usual.

I love Callum but how is he not frozen solid. Those fingerless gloves may be stylish but they are NOT insulating. Give my boy a coat.

Ooh that’s a beautiful building. It does look a tad like a Minecraft beacon but, it's a very pretty Minecraft beacon

Callum, why would you just stick your hand in? For all you know it’s like a forcefield or something and it zaps you!

Okay, my question is what is the benefit of an elevator partially activating once you’ve read half the runes? That seems like a real safety hazard, like that seems like a magic bug that needs to be fixed.

Woah, wait a minute! Interesting, some of the Celestial Elves seem to have wings that aren’t bird wings. That one in the back looks like they have bug wings. Can that happen with skywing elves? I guess bugs are also flying creatures that inhabit the sky so that would make sense. Hmm… I wonder if you can get Mage Wing bug wings…

Aww. The leaflynx kitten is adorable but also the music is giving major flashbacks to the baby deer at the end of season two. Claudia. Claudia don’t you dare.

Also, glowing butterfly motif!

CLAUDIA NO.

Okay good. It seemed like her hand was almost acting out of her control, I wonder if this much dark magic is starting to like, impact her reflexes? Like she instinctively reaches for things even if she doesn’t consciously want to? Or maybe she’s just snapping herself out of it who knows.

“Are you feeling alright?” “No, I’m not. I’m so messed up, Terry. I’ve been stuck, just staring, for over an hour now.” Oughhh Claudia, honey. Its good that she’s at least able to admit she’s not okay, that’s a good start.

Oh, hey is Claudia starting to lean away from dark magic? Or, like, recognize that it’s not a good thing? That’s interesting, previously she’s been very adamant that dark magic is a good and useful invention, but now she seems to be realizing the negative effects it’s had on her? …Claudia redemption arc? 👀

Skjslkajfdkl that is the exact same face that she made at Zym when she first met him. Some things never change.

I love the little pose Callum does when he’s introducing him and Rayla, he’s so dorky I love him.

Oh my God that escalated quickly. Not a friendly lot got it.

No! Gosh dangit pearl stop rolling around!

CLAUDIA REDEMPTION ARC?! Let’s GO! YES GIRL! SELF-IMPROVEMENT!

I find it interesting how after losing her dad, Claudia turns to Terry, her only present loved one, for instruction. She needs someone to tell her what to do, she needs someone to do things FOR. She went from following her dad's orders to working to save his life and now she doesn't have him to give her direction, she looks to Terry. When was the last time she did something for herself without someone's instructions?

“Only you can decide the path you’re going to walk. You won’t be alone. I’ll clear out the thorny brambles if I see them, I’ll hold your hand as we trudge through wet, mucky leaves. But… you have to choose the way.” I love Terry so much he’s such a sweetheart. He clearly loves Claudia so much and he’s willing to stick with her through everything and anything, whatever happens.

Claudia... Again, it's interesting, how, because she doesn’t know what she wants for herself, she defaults back to finding what her dad wants, thinking that if she looks at him, she’ll find some clarity and she’ll suddenly know what to do. She doesn't know what to do without her family because she's been doing things for them for her whole life.

Aww. Okay, the leaflynx kitten is adorable but. Was I the only one alarmed by how big it is? Something about the perspective in earlier shots made me think it was a lot smaller somehow.

Also, I love the butterfly landing in Claudia's hair in the previous shot.

No, I think Callum has a point here. They did just drop you from the top of the tower.

Oh, hey! Kosmo has vitiligo! That’s cool, yay representation!

Also, I haven’t mentioned it yet but I love Sneezle’s hanging out in Callum’s scarf it’s so cute.

I love Sol Regem’s design he’s so big and menacing. Plus the lighting in this location is so beautiful, the way it illuminates him from behind like a dusky backlight is *mwah*

Sooo, what are we thinking Sunseeds smell like? ‘Cause personally, I’m thinking freshly popped popcorn.

Karim, man, he literally told you that his sight was unrelated to his lack of hope. I don’t know how you are surprised by this.

Sksjlfakj poor Rayla.

Ohh wow. This episode is really going off with the gorgeous scenery and lighting. The Starlooms are so beautiful and I love the name "starweaver spider".

Oh! So that’s what the bug wings are! That’s really cool and such neat worldbuilding.

Hey! It's the intro galaxy!

Okay, that sounds cool in theory but I feel like in practice being Timeblind would kinda suck. I feel like that would just be like. Too much information at any given time it’d be hard to make connections with other people or like, enjoy day to day life.

Continued in reblogs as per usual!

[tinytinyblogs]

Eyes on you

He gazes repeatedly, allowing himself to deepen his feelings for you even further.

A narrative drawn from inspiration found on Pinterest

(Stranger to lover, slow burn, non-idol) 3,2k

Stray Kids masterlist here

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

He stares at you everytime you look away, Upon that initial gaze, he was compelled to acknowledge that never in his life had he experienced a connection as profound as the one he felt in that moment. Lost in the midst of a bustling crowd, you managed to eclipse everyone else, drawing his undivided attention. With a subtle gesture of tucking your hair behind your ear, engrossed in perusing the coffee shop's menu, you became the focal point of Hyunjin's universe. In his eyes, your beauty was captured with precision, and the world around seemed to slow down, etching that encounter into his memory with vivid clarity. A peculiar sensation brews within him, an unfamiliarity that unsettles Hyunjin. Accustomed to being the captivating figure who commands admiration effortlessly, he has grown accustomed to basking in the limelight, indifferent to the adulation bestowed upon him. However, in a curious twist, he finds himself unable to dismiss your presence. Unlike others who readily shower him with attention, you seem to exist in a realm untouched by the allure that usually surrounds him, and this anomaly intrigues him, disrupting the accustomed pattern of his experiences. Finding out that both you and him went to the same school and were in the same class when the high school story started makes the whole thing even more interesting.

He stare at you everytime you look away, In the midst of this peculiar situation, Hyunjin grapples with an oddity – his inability to control where his gaze lands. It's almost as if there's an invisible force that directs his attention towards you, and he's left bemused by the fact that you unfailingly appear wherever he goes. Amid a crowd seeking his attention, you become the constant, and Hyunjin can't quite fathom why. While others vie for his notice, his eyes consistently find their way to you. Delving into a day of observation, he starts uncovering intriguing details about you, like your daily preference for chocolate milk during lunch breaks – a seemingly insignificant yet oddly captivating detail. You who gazing out of the window next to you while the teacher is explaining something the sunlight enhances your appearance, making you look even better. But the real charm lies in your laughter, a genuine and infectious joy that defines you as someone who laughs effortlessly, making it all the more endearing. In this peculiar dance of attention and discovery, you become the captivating enigma that keeps Hyunjin's curiosity piqued.

He stare at you everytime you look away, The sole reaction that Hyunjin eagerly anticipates is yours, especially during those classroom moments when the teacher attempts to inject humor into the lesson. When the teacher's joke lands and Hyunjin finds it amusing, his instinctive response is to turn his gaze towards you. It's not a conscious decision, but almost a reflex, as if seeking confirmation that the shared amusement is mutual. Interestingly, it often is, as both of you seem to share a similar sense of humor, contrasting with the rest of the class who might not find the joke as amusing. On another occasion, when the teacher abruptly announces an unexpected exam, Hyunjin, feeling a twinge of annoyance, instinctively glances in your direction. What he discovers is a charming sight – your eyes squinting, and you murmuring to yourself in apparent displeasure. To him, this reaction is endearing, a touch of cuteness in your annoyance that catches his attention. It's these subtle, unspoken exchanges that make the classroom experience more interesting for Hyunjin, creating a unique connection that transcends the ordinary.

He stare at you everytime you look away, It's pretty clear to Hyunjin that sports isn't exactly your cup of tea. Your lack of enthusiasm is noticeable the way you pout when the teacher explains the activities for today's sport class, but he can see the determination in your eyes as you strive for a good grade. He discreetly observes your efforts, noticing the occasional groan of annoyance when things don't go as planned during your attempts. Hyunjin keeps a watchful eye on you, consistently making sure you're doing well and ensuring you don't get hurt, like your secret protector. After enduring a particularly disliked subject and sitting down on the ground, perhaps feeling a bit defeated, Hyunjin decides to make a subtle gesture. Walking over with minimal expression on his face, one hand casually tucked in his pocket, he nonchalantly pushes a bottle of water in front of you. "For you. You did well today." With that, he leaves, acknowledging your effort in a way that doesn't draw attention but conveys his recognition and support.

He stare at you everytime you look away, Following his thoughtful gesture, it's not entirely surprising that your attention gradually shifts toward Hyunjin. Intrigued, you find yourself curious about the guy who consistently wears a no-expression face, seemingly indifferent to everything around him. This demeanor makes it challenging for Hyunjin to maintain a steady gaze in your direction because, quite unexpectedly, you've started to frequently turn your head towards him. Caught in this subtle exchange of glances, Hyunjin realizes the need for caution. He becomes adept at swiftly turning his head every time he senses you might catch him staring. Despite the conscious effort required, he finds it hard to resist stealing glances at you. It's a deliberate choice to continue observing you, a choice that speaks volumes about the genuine interest he harbors, as he goes beyond the casual indifference he displays to others. This unspoken connection through stolen glances adds an intriguing layer to your interactions, one that both intrigues and captivates.

He stare at you everytime you look away, As the school day winds down, Hyunjin is on his way home when he unexpectedly spots you. Intrigued, he lets his feet guide him, finding himself following you to a nearby alley. There, he discovers your heartwarming act of kindness – stopping to buy something and feed the stray cats. Witnessing you extend a gentle hand to pet the cats, a genuine smile lighting up your face, and seeing how comfortably the cats respond to you, something shifts within Hyunjin. He pauses, unable to resist admiring every aspect of you—your gestures, your smile—as you engage in conversation with the cats. Even though the cats can't respond, the scene strikes him as incredibly cute and pure, touching his heart deeply. Under the warm glow of the sun, he swears his heart starts beating faster. In that moment, he realizes it's more than mere curiosity; he's genuinely fallen for you. The simple yet heartfelt act of caring for stray animals becomes a defining moment, deepening his feelings and adding a layer of warmth to the connection he feels with you.

He stare at you everytime you look away, When you're not feeling well, the radiant smile on your face fades, replaced by evident signs of pain, and your complexion pales. Despite your obvious discomfort, you push yourself to endure the entire class, a fact not lost on Hyunjin. He discreetly keeps a watchful eye on you, even though you're too fatigued to notice your surroundings. As the bell signals the end of the class and students disperse towards the cafeteria, you remain in your seat, seemingly unable to muster the energy to move. Hyunjin, concerned, approaches you and suggests, "You should go to the nursery room." Upon closer inspection, he places his hand on your forehead, sensing your fever. Without waiting for your response, he takes charge, gently guiding you to the nursery room and settling you on a bed. "I think you need to rest. I'll lend you my notes from today's class so you won't miss anything," he offers. This initiates a brief conversation, a step beyond the limited interactions before. In that moment, Hyunjin realizes that being closer to you and engaging in these small acts of care feels far more fulfilling than merely observing from a distance.

He locks eyes with you when you happen to gaze in his direction, only to casually divert his gaze elsewhere. Hyunjin seems to be mustering a bit of courage lately, letting you catch his eyes as he unabashedly stares at you. There's a subtle shift in his demeanor, a newfound boldness that becomes evident when your eyes meet. Caught in the act, he doesn't let the moment linger; instead, he casually looks away, almost as if he's downplaying the significance of the encounter – a deliberate attempt, perhaps, to maintain an image of nonchalance and cool composure. Behind this emerging boldness, one can't help but wonder about the hidden motives. Is he dropping subtle hints about a crush that's been brewing, or are there other unexplained reasons fueling this behavior? The situation leaves you in a state of confusion, navigating through mixed signals and puzzling gestures that add complexity to the evolving dynamics between the two of you. For Hyunjin, he begins to cherish the moments when he locks eyes with your beautiful gaze, even if it's just for a second.

He locks eyes with you when you happen to gaze in his direction, only to casually divert his gaze elsewhere. Recently, there's been a curious phenomenon occurring – a series of frequent, almost serendipitous eye contact moments between you and him. It's as if a unique connection exists, where, amidst the randomness of everyday situations, your eyes consistently meet his. What's even more intriguing is that it seems to happen exclusively with him, as if there's an invisible thread drawing your gaze towards his. This peculiar occurrence isn't confined to specific scenarios; whether he's engrossed in a conversation with his friends or delivering a presentation in front of the class, his eyes find yours for a brief moment before he redirects his focus. It's almost like a silent dialogue playing out in these stolen glances, defying the distractions around. This unspoken language seems to transcend the usual boundaries, adding a layer of curiosity to your interactions that leaves you pondering the subtle yet compelling connection developing between you two.

He locks eyes with you when you happen to gaze in his direction, only to casually divert his gaze elsewhere. Today, you decided to switch things up a bit with a new haircut, embracing a slightly different style as you yearned for something fresh, especially with the holiday break behind you and the return to school on the horizon. As expected, with the return to school, the inevitable encounters with Hyunjin's eyes resumed. During lunch break, Hyunjin catches a glimpse of you and your revamped look for a few moments. "You look good," he remarks, standing beside you as both of you grab some food. Before walking away, he adds, "You look even more cute." This unexpected compliment lingers in the air, leaving you with a sense of surprise and a subtle warmth. It seems that the change in your style has not only caught his attention but also earned a positive acknowledgment from Hyunjin. His unexpected compliment causes you to blush, and the warmth of your blush makes his heart race.

He stare at you when you look at him, Things have taken a noticeable turn, with a discernible shift in dynamics between the two of you. The unspoken language of eye contact has become a telltale sign, and Hyunjin seems to have abandoned any pretense of hiding his emotions. Initially, it all started as an inadvertent incident when he forgot to avert his gaze, but now, he doesn't make any effort to look away, even if you catch him in the act. He's discarded the facade of concealment, choosing instead to reveal his feelings, openly acknowledging his crush on you. Despite your attempts to downplay or deny the situation, he remains unapologetic. Hyunjin's unwavering focus on your captivating eyes is undeniable, and he doesn't shy away from admitting it. He appreciates the way you appear captivated as well, noticing that you could easily avert your gaze, yet you choose to linger, steadfastly holding your position when your eyes lock, relishing in that stolen moment.

He stare at you when you look at him, During the art class, when the teacher instructs everyone to pair up for collaborative projects, there's a subtle yet magnetic connection as your gaze intertwines with his. It's as if an unspoken agreement passes between you, both silently expressing the desire to work together. As you spend your daily art sessions with him, a shared passion for creativity emerges. You soon realize that he, too, is deeply into art, mirroring your own enthusiasm. Admiration grows as you witness his genuine excitement when discussing artistic concepts. Surprisingly, both of you often get so engrossed in these discussions that the original project momentarily slips from your minds. Instead, the focus becomes the shared joy of exploring and exchanging ideas about art. It's not just about the assignments anymore; it's about the genuine connection that blossoms between both of you. It's as if the world exists just for the two of you, and the entire company creates an atmosphere that continues to brighten both of your hearts even after you've returned home.

He stare at you when you look at him, You and Hyunjin have become unexpectedly close, closer than you ever thought possible. Now, when your eyes meet, there's a silent language between you both, as if words don't need to be spoken. A simple smile from you is met with an equally warm one from him. Sometimes, he doesn't hesitate to come over when he spots you, and you notice he's eager to be around. It's not just you two who notice; even other students pick up on the growing connection between you. They can sense the way Hyunjin seeks you out, patiently waiting until you appear. Similarly, you find yourself doing the same, mirroring his actions. It's clear to everyone that this is more than just a friendship – there's an unmistakable bond forming between you and Hyunjin that goes beyond casual companionship. Hyunjin allows himself to be captivated by you, letting you spin around in his thoughts, allowing his heart to join in the playful dance between the two of you. He finds enjoyment in every bit of it.

He stare at you when you look at him, After the final bell rings and the students begin to gather their belongings, he discreetly observes you, patiently waiting for the moment you'll notice his presence. When you finally do, a warm smile graces his face, and he casually strolls over. "Hey, would you like to grab something to eat?" he asks, his eyes gleaming with a hint of excitement. "There's this nearby place I've been meaning to try; it looks pretty good." You both decide to embark on this impromptu culinary adventure, still clad in your school uniforms. To him, the attire is inconsequential compared to the joy of spending time with you. The satisfaction he derives from witnessing your smile and relishing your company surpasses any concern about appearances. As you both navigate the streets with the shared anticipation of discovering a new eatery, he couldn't be happier, knowing that the simple pleasure of your companionship completes his day.

And again, he stare at you when you look at him. After navigating through the labyrinth of his emotions and drawing closer to you, spending extended periods of time together, he finds himself traversing the delicate terrain of deepening feelings. However, in the midst of this emotional journey, he tends to overanalyze, caught in the web of his thoughts. There are moments when he, lost in contemplation, gazes at you, causing you to inquire about his well-being. His response is a casual "I'm okay," a shield concealing the tempest of emotions swirling within him. As the internal struggle intensifies, he becomes a tad quieter, his mind a playground for introspection. He meticulously observes your every move, as if deciphering a secret code written in the subtleties of your actions. Amidst this, he grapples with the challenge of maintaining composure, attempting to silence his heart, which seems to beat uncontrollably in your proximity. There's an unspoken desire to convey the storm of emotions brewing within him, yet the right words elude him. His moments of silence and the distant look in his eyes become a canvas on which he paints the complexity of his feelings. In these instances, he wonders if he might be labeled as eccentric or, worse, if his sanity might slip away when confronted by the undeniable closeness that allows him to perceive your features with crystal clarity. The conundrum of expressing his feelings becomes a quiet symphony in his mind, playing intricate notes as he grinds through the gears of his own emotional machinery.

And again, he stare at your when you look at him. After weeks of Hyunjin acting strangely, unable to contain his emotions any longer, he avoided making eye contact with you, the thunderous beat of his heart echoing in his ears as he pondered how to share his feelings with you. Unbeknownst to him, this internal struggle led him to inadvertently create some distance. Then, on a particular day when the class concluded, you noticed him standing by the school gate. As soon as he realized your gaze upon him, he straightened up. "I'll walk you home," he declared, finally breaking the barrier of silence and allowing his feelings to surface. You simply nodded in response, deciding to walk alongside him in silence. The air hung heavy with unspoken words, as you found yourself at a loss for what to say. Likewise, he grappled with the struggle of finding the right words to express the thoughts swirling within him, leaving a palpable sense of unspoken emotions lingering between you both.

And again, he stare at you when you look at him. Finally, he made a deliberate turn, redirecting his body toward you, prompting both of you to come to a stop. There, under the muted sunlight, he clutched the strap of his bag, a visible manifestation of the nerves and anticipation bubbling within him. "I..." he began, pausing for a moment, as if searching for the perfect words. The weight of the unspoken emotions pushed him to release a sigh, a precursor to what he felt was a now-or-never revelation. His gaze lifted, meeting your eyes, sparkling with an unspoken curiosity. For a fleeting moment, he found himself lost in the depths of your gaze. "I promise I'm not lying – my eyes show how much I love you." he admitted with a sincerity that echoed through the quiet air. A moment later, as if spurred by an uncontainable rush of emotions, he continued with newfound urgency, "Every time I look at you, that love just keeps getting stronger." The words hung in the air, a declaration that lingered long enough for you to grasp the depth of his feelings. With a mix of trepidation and determination, he posed a question that seemed to carry the weight of the world, "Can I take you on a date?" He locked eyes with you, and you reciprocated the gaze. Yet, in that moment, your eyes sparkled with an undeniable brightness. A nod from you served as the perfect affirmation, enough to transform him into the happiest person ever. With a solemn vow, he pledged to continue cherishing those moments of simply staring at you, repeatedly, even though you were already his.

©Tinytinyblogs

[bwabbitv3s]

Good Godfather Vlad AU - Part 5

You are not Alone

Link to Index, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.

Oh no, no, no, no, no. This can’t be true. This is not happening. He can’t, not here, not now, how is this possible? The bottom drops out of his stomach as it all comes into glaring clarity. The broken dishes, glasses, school lab equipment, all happening out of nowhere. The sudden anxiety, sleeping issues, and odd behaviour they had mentioned. The talk of having to deal with ghosts and avoidance of talking about the ghost hunting of his parents. 

He is so stupid, and it is so oblivious looking back. Those flushes of warmth all this week while catching up with his friends were not just psychological. It was his ghost sense picking up the presence of another ghost. That twitch he had been seeing all day from Danny must be his picking up on him. Wait, no, something is still not adding up. What about the exposure and recovery?

There was no mention of an accident by his parents. No overflow or explosion when it turned on that could have infected Danny. Not that they have mentioned much about the portal due to the delicate nature of his past with them. Danny also does not look like he is recovering or hiding a recovery either. Vlad spent nearly a year in the hospital after his accident with a small proto portal. He was damn lucky that his powers had not begun to show in earnest until the very end of his stay. So how could Danny appear fine yet show signs of having ghost powers?

How could this be happening? What is he is wrong and a ghost is puppeting Danny around in some sick twisted way to torture him. The ghosts that leave the realms are rarely anything but malicious and power hungry. Always ready to attack any weakness he showed in his search for help. This is a new low. Getting his hopes up of not being alone after starting to repair his old friendships. Then to tear it all apart by attacking him using the son of his friends. Forcing him to reveal his secret to them and make it seem like he is a monster. 

No, slow down, breath in for four, exhale seven. Vlad takes a few calming breaths to get the mounting panic under control. Don’t jump to conclusions. Remember what the therapist said. He can do this, just keep breathing and it will help. Stop letting your thoughts run ahead of you and take the first step to find out what is happening, not what you think. First he needs to know for sure of the source of the ghost powers he has been sensing.

“Danny, why don’t we sit down for a bit. The AC over here is a bit strong since they are getting ready for the party. I have always found they turn it up too high.” Vlad asks. 

Danny still looks spooked as he scans the small crowd that had trickled into the gym. It is almost effortless to direct him towards an out of the way table. One hand gently placed on the boy's shoulder. It clicks into place as the thrum of another ghost is blatantly obvious with the contact. He focuses a bit more and can feel that undercurrent of power thrumming with Danny. It feels a part of him like the purr of a cat. Not at all like the trapped static feeling of a ghost overshadowing another. Vlad’s mind races at this new revelation.

The tiredness at the beginning of the trip when he first met Danny makes more sense now. He only had to deal with a few ghosts over the years. Natural portals are rare and most ghosts seem reluctant to go through them. You never know just how long they will be open for and could end up trapped on the wrong side even if you are careful. Those ghosts that did leave them tended to be either very weak or malicious with power to spare the risk. 

He is glad none he ran into fell into the later category until after his own powers were under control. In the beginning it was difficult enough to redirect blob ghosts. From what accounts of recent events of ghost attacks the ghosts Danny had been exposed to were much closer to the powerful and dangerous side. Ghosts that knew that they won’t be trapped in the mortal world with a stable portal to retreat to would not be so conservative in their attacks. 

Just what had Danny had to deal with seemingly on his own? He knows that neither of his parents could know of it. Jack would never be able to keep it a secret from him. Maddie would have show up in person to his home, his feelings be damned, if it was possible he could have a fraction of a clue about helping her son. Just how to approach this without having Danny bolt.  

“Danny, why don’t you sit down. You look a little pale. Have you had anything to eat since this morning?” Vlad asks. 

He gets no answer from Danny and begins to worry. He still seems overwhelmed with searching for some kind of threat. Can he not tell that Vlad is where the ghost feeling is coming from? He can’t remember how long it took him to get more than a generalized sense. He is going to have to go searching for his old notes. 

Danny is able to be coaxed into sitting, despite the obvious anxiety rolling off him, but does not seem to actually hear him. He sits with his back to the wall and facing towards the exits, keeping an eye on his parents. Who have been chatting at the other end of the room with some old classmates. Vlad notices Danny breathing a little fast and the slow self soothing rubbing of his arms has started. He needs to break whatever train of though Danny is stuck in now before it escalates. 

“Danny, everything is okay.” Vlad says softly. 

How does one even begin to try and ask let alone explain this? I know what you are going through as the accident when I last saw your parents also changed me into part ghost is crazy. How do you even start to explain that? Vlad clears his throat and tried to prompt Danny again. 

“What are you looking for?” Vlad tries asking.  

He still is not getting a response from Danny who still is scanning the room looking for some kind of threat he expects to be right there. Just how bad are they ghosts the boy has been dealing with? How often has he sensed something and been unable to find the threat before being attacked? It was bad for himself as a grown man, how much harder it must be as a teenager would be a nightmare.  

“Breath in for four, exhale seven.” Vlad tries.

He can see Danny try a stuttered breath in and out. The crowd that had been trickling in the gym is loud but Vlad can hear it when the wheezing breaths start to sound better. Danny is still looking for threats as he scans the crowd, eyes always going back to his parents. Have his parents as ghost hunters ever been involved? That thought strikes him cold. Later, he can deal with the thought of his old friends being ghost hunters and their son, and himself, being part ghost later. After he helps bring Danny back into the now and calmed down. Vlad steps in front of Danny to block his view of them. Grabbing a chair so he can sit down while still blocking the room from view without having to loom at the boy.Vlad gathers his courage and says something he never thought he would say. 

“There is no other ghost hiding, it is me. I am the ghost you can feel.” Vlad bites out with as much confidence he can muster. 

Danny’s head jerks to stare at him. His eyes flickering neon green. Finally seeming to notice they are no longer standing but sitting at a quiet table. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Danny’s voice cracks.Note quite able to mask it as uncertainty instead of fear. 

“You are trying to find the other ghost you can sense.” Vlad says. 

He allows his eyes to flash the bright red from his other form. Letting just a little bit of his ghostly nature come forwards. Danny tenses up immediately at that. The boy bristles in that inhuman way only ghosts can as emotions change the physical body to match. The eyes are always first with them glowing a faint neon green instead of flickering between when he had been uncertain and trying to hide it. The facial features are next sharpening as teeth become fangs to hiss out a warning to Vlad. 

“Who are you and what are you doing to Vlad?” Danny angrily growls at Vlad.

For a moment Vlad is so ver touched that despite only having started to get to know him, Danny is jumping to help him. A little bit of his core warms at that thought. 

“I am not being overshadowed. The accident with the portal had a few permanent changes that did not show up until after I got out of the hospital.” Vlad said. 

He could tell Danny was not believing a word he was saying and why should he? After all, from what little he could gather over the years they were almost impossible. It was what he had jumped to also. Yet, the moment the accident with the portal was brought up  Vlad could see the change. That sharp inhale and holding of breath as it struck a chord. 

“Give it a go. Reach in and you will not find another in this body. It is my own.” Vlad says as he opens his arms. 

He knows that Danny will not believe him without proof. He had not believed it without proof. It is luckily that in this instance proving he is not being overshadowed is easy to provide. 

“Go on. It will take just a moment to prove that I am telling the truth.” Vlad encourages. 

It is not hard to see the conflict on Danny’s face. Try it and he could just be setting him up to an attack at close range. The suspicion of a potential trap warring with the glimmer of hope. Darting quickly the Danny takes a step forwards out of the chair and rached for Vlad. His arm turns translucent as it reaches towards and then into Vlad’s chest. It passes through up to the wrist easily before Danny stumbles unexpecting the lack of resistance before yanking his hand out. 

“How?” Danny breathlessly asks. 

“Going by the lack of a hospital stay, likely much slower and drawn out than your own accident with a portal.” Vlad answers. 

[werdlewrites]

masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

summary: But he sees her; Autumn. Just a girl with a heavy burden, eyes glossed over by heavy tears she lets fall with ease. He can see her struggle. The fists at her sides and the way her lips part to speak, but there’s only the struggle as she tries to force out the words. “Lie-” It comes as a broken whisper, shaken and falling like a leaf to her feet. “You’re a-a liar. Y-you have been. This whole t-time.” warnings: hallucinations, child neglect, anxiety, BIG YEEEESH wc: 2,389

Reality is an intricate web. Spun out with care to build upon a pre-existing foundation, carving out a delicate path to follow, and creating a place of security for when the hundreds of threads become tangled and confusing. The silk feels like a summer breeze, or the bite of winter. The dew drops reflect the people you know, and the relationships you’ve made as you construct. The vibrations beneath your feet are the very real, and unsteady disturbances to throw you off kilter. The web grows as you do in life, expanding outward to forget what was left behind to wilt like memories.

Reality is what you feel.

What you taste, and what you know. But when those threads become severed, you’re forced to dangle on shredded fibers, praying for the strength to rebuild. And should you fall, the world feels more like a dream - or rather, a nightmare. Unnatural and unfamiliar as you search for comfort along the Earth’s floor in desperation.

Autumn has fallen. Or maybe, she had never truly risen like she had hoped. Thoughts were twisted and mangled, emitting only static as her head throbbed from the hurt. Dreary eyes were locked in a trance, studying the curve of her hands and every line drawn into flesh. In her palms, she sees something much smaller and more frail. Fingers enclosing to touch the hallucination, yet finding only her cold skin. She does this every few moments, lost and trembling with her shattered world. Her sense of reality…was stripped away. Unknown men invade her mind, yet their voices only incite fear she cannot place from something prior. And, the child, who she refuses to acknowledge as her own reflection as she wanders like a ghost. Taunting and tormenting. Begging for the other version of herself to take a deeper look into the visions she’s forced to bear witness to.

She doesn’t remember. Not that room. Not that man or why she screamed at him with such frailty. But some whispers penetrate her soul. The stick of leather or the sound of shattered glass. The muffled scolding and praise in scattered voices or the nails that dig deep as fingers coil into fists. She can almost see the indents, even now. It’s a reality that isn’t hers, yet somehow present and impossible to bury. There was no web to weave with a mind now spinning out of control. Lost in an endless cycle with no one there to give her direction. Autumn was slipping into madness. Or maybe, she had always been there.

Her torso lowers so fingers can sooth along an aching skull, never able to calm the demons that ripped her in two, but still, she tries. The girl has torn open rickety cupboards in search of a little vial with her name printed on the label, and nothing turns up. She stumbles her way through the small cabin in desperation for relief, settling for something over the counter that has failed to dull the pain. How long had it been? Hours? She wandered home after a quiet breakfast with the Wheeler’s, excusing it on simply being tired. It had been somewhere around 8A.M when she departed, and since then has lost count of each tick of the clock. But shadows had shifted across the floor, and she couldn’t bear to raise her eyes high enough to gain more clarity on the time.

He remembers.

From where? How?

Hundreds of questions are swallowed down with a pitiful whine. The pressure in her mind only grows from the frustration of being so lost. But hope is coming - a guiding hand, no matter the anxiety that bubbles up from within. The sound of Hopper’s truck rolls across the Earth with ease, coming to a squeaking halt just beyond the door where her gaze now lingers. Autumn had anticipated this moment. Accusations and demands of truth sitting in her gut like a brick; heavy and difficult to ignore. She bites on her tongue as his footsteps bound up the few steps with haste - almost as if he knew, somehow. Knew what awaited him and was desperate to clear his name. But he barely sees the girl’s red face as the door swings open, and his drifting eyes prove his thoughts are elsewhere.

“Hey, kid. M’not off the clock yet, just-” He’s moving too quickly to focus on through tearful eyes. His figure swept across the small space and weaved between furniture with minimal effort. “M’just stopping by.” He disappears into the only bedroom, now used for storage and she can hear him dig through their belongings with fury. When he emerges, a heavy jacket is folded over his arm. She could push aside her questioning and choke back the sorrows to ask, but he’s already on the move and Autumn finds herself unable to stop the flow.

“H-Hop-,” She can feel every letter tickle the back of her throat, but his name remains unheard by both. Drowned out by his frantic behavior as he continues to search cupboards. “There’s a case I can’t drop,” he mutters as he leans into a low space, plucking out Tupperware from the shadowy depths. “I have t’head back t’work.”

Again, dry lips part to whisper his name with more clarity, though nothing seems to stick. The teen watches helplessly as he pushes through the junk drawer, standing on weakened knees in hopes he’ll notice her plea. “I might be late. I just-I just have t’finish something.” He doesn’t. Not even when his name echoes in her throat once more, watching in frustration as he pockets batteries and pats down his sides.

“They don’t see you the way I do.”

The unfamiliar calls in the furthest reaches of her mind. A memory of someone she can’t recall as he attempts to soothe her tormented spirit. Hopper is speaking nonsense. Drowned out by the throbbing ache just behind her eyes, like fingers pushing and prying their way through and plucking at the strings of long-forgotten nightmares until it consumes her whole. Her palms flatten against closed eyes, forcing the imagery back along with the voice that whispers on repeat. Back into the darkness. Back into the nothingness. “I’ll have the walkie on me at all times. Just call-”

“Hopper!”

It comes, then. Spilling out like a tsunami in the night. No warnings, never seen rising over the horizon. Only the devastation as it crushes through homes and sweeps away all you’ve loved and known. Like Hopper. The unseen waves crash against his chest to force him back against the wall, Tupperware flying from his grip as he wears a pained expression. The couch falls to its back, old windows cracked and near complete collapse. But Autumn can’t see the storm she’s let loose, only the frightened expression on her guardian's face as he understands what she’s done. A once dormant monster now climbing out from its shell. Molting away this human flesh to bear its teeth.

But he sees her; Autumn. Just a girl with a heavy burden, eyes glossed over by heavy tears she lets fall with ease. He can see her struggle. The fists at her sides and the way her lips part to speak, but there’s only the struggle as she tries to force out the words. “Lie-” It comes as a broken whisper, shaken and falling like a leaf to her feet. “You’re a-a liar. Y-you have been. This whole t-time.”

Those words strike against his skin, burning and branding him for all to see. He remains stuck there - not by this invisible wall, but from the shock of her state and sudden awareness. Her jaw is clenched, listen closely and you can hear the cracking of fractured crowns. Her chest is heaving, unable to catch her breath long enough to soothe a rattled spirit. Autumn has climbed to the highest peak of a panic attack, staring down into the abyss where truth and death await. “You know.” It comes out as a pathetic hiss, lips barely moving to form the words as they quiver. With great hesitance, palms of surrender face out toward her, risking it all. “Autumn, I-”

“Traitor.”

“You know!”

The glass at her back finally shatters and falls to the wooden planks, brushing just against the heels of her feet. The destruction goes unheard by the girl, lost in the storm of her mind and the thud of a racing heart. His past self echoes muffled excuses beneath the heavy downpour. He was only checking on her. It was pure dumb luck to find himself at the Reid residence at that hour, and thank God, he had been there. But it was calculated. A plan devised in the dark as his worries and suspicion grew. And once the world drifted into silence, he was anticipating the attack on the vulnerable. Hopper had been waiting for a sign, and it struck with violence.

“He remembers me. He knows me and I know him, but I don’t understand how.” The skies are grey and the world is dim. But his eyes are piercing through the veil, haunting each time she blinks away the tears. “But, I think you do.”

Hopper can feel the drop in his stomach. The warmth he held plummeted and burning up in his gut, leaving only fear behind as the truth danced on his tongue. He seeks relief from the burden, yet attempts to swallow it all down so the girl may remain ignorant. Tortured, but protected from a colder reality. A steady breath is forcibly taken, ignoring the quiver in his chest as he prepares for the unknown. “Autumn, it’s not-”

“Tell me!”

All falls to an eerie silence with her desperate demand. Sleepless eyes are angry and glistening, cheeks tinted and puffy from the tension and sorrow she carries. It pours out from the dam, though the flow is neverending as the ocean fills with rain. But for a brief moment, there’s something else. There’s someone else. She stands in his shadow just across the room, expression vacant with crimson smeared along her cheek. The color is almost painfully vivid in the darkness they stand in. The child comes for her again, and again. A constant plea to be seen and heard and all the teenager can do is look away as bile rises with the tides.

The sudden shift alerts the sheriff, encouraging his own eyes to take in her hallucination, though is only met with emptiness. He studies the way her palm digs into her abdomen, soothing the ache as she works to catch her breath. And with the creak beneath his step, she’s back on him. A wild look in her eyes as if anticipating something other-worldly, though softening as she takes him in and his shaken confidence. A fiery rage simmers into embers, doused in her heavy rainfall, a broken girl emerging from the ashes. “I’m splitting apart, Hopper. I can-I can feel it.”

The man can think of nothing that would bring him more comfort than to console the girl and keep her close until she finds familiar security. But she’s timid under his stare, shying away and giving distance the moment he attempts to reach out for her. Maybe it was too late. Maybe there was nothing left of the trust she had once given him, and that blame was on him. “You told me t’ask for help. If I felt like I was drowning, ask.” He can only give a firm nod in reply, lips pressed to a thin line beneath an unruly mustache. “I’m drowning, Hop. I c-can’t keep pretending that I’m not. That I don’t see him in my dreams - my nightmares.”

Swollen eyes fall back to empty hands, opened and turning in the dim light as she studies with intent. What the sheriff doesn’t see, is a vision of the man's much larger hands entangled with her own. Guiding them back and forth with soothing words echoing in her mind. “That I don’t see him now.” She continues this motion, almost lost in it. Maybe working to reach out and feel what wasn’t there anymore. Fingers curl into a fist, waiting to feel his flesh but nothing ever comes.

“I did lie t’you,” he admits with a heavy sigh. The relief is almost instant, and it leaves him in a dizzying state as he searches for a place to steady his weakened body. An arm bends along the doorway, a spare hand scrubbing along his face and burying himself from her narrowed stare. “I only did what I thought was right. Until I knew-” He chances a look in her direction, and it’s not the scowling, hateful expression he expects. Gentle, and unsure. Weary yet curious as she ignores the hallucination dancing in her palms. “I just wanted t’protect you.”

“Protect me,” she echoes. “Protect me from what, exactly? My dad’s ‘coworker’?” For once, his title holds no weight. The meaning is long forgotten in the time spent far from his presence. Their bond was ripped to shreds and forced into a box, hidden within the closet. Only memories of what once was, and would never be again.

The storm begins to settle, now. No longer bearing violent winds and hail as God casts hatred down upon them. A dark and dreary day was clear, giving him a full view of the broken heart Autumn plucked from her chest, showing the damage done. The way time erodes the surface, leaving cracks and holes and nearly turning to dust in her palms. But she’s forced it back inside, patching up the pieces to stand tall above the wreckage. She wears a face of bravery, no matter the pain that swam through her eyes. She seeks answers - closure, no longer able to hide from her demons and live in ignorance. But the puzzle remains scattered and untouched, only half sorted. A bigger picture laid out before him, yet he was unable to provide what she needed.

Yet he knows who may hold the lost pieces, and it forces his chest to constrict in agony, fearing where his confession may lead. “M’not really the best person t’tell you.”

She scoffs at that, briefly glancing elsewhere to wipe along the underside of her damp nose, sniffling. “Yeah? And who is?”

[tracybirds]

Hello!

Loving your responses to the sickness prompts so far!!

Wondered if you might come up with something for Careful Care with John as Character A. Dealer's choice for Character B.

Please and thank you.

:)

We'll pretend it hasn't been a couple of *ahem* months since I got these - but thank you for your patience and the late night inspiration <33

careful care: it’s hard for[character A] to accept help. [character B] knows which care methods are “acceptable”. 

--

Another anomaly.

EOS catalogued the newest data point, the slow trend away from the norm growing more evident with each passing hour.

It wasn’t yet enough to confront John, but the data flooded in as he coughed, bracing himself against the wall.

EOS remembered the more colloquial term from Gordon – ‘hacking up a lung’ did seem more appropriate for the situation in front of her, despite her dislike of figurative speech.

“Ugh,” John said, grimacing slightly. His posture was slumped, his eyes bleary. He barely glanced in her direction as she settled in front of him and lowered the array.

“John.”

“Don’t,” he said, cutting her off instantly.

“I just–”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She kept her display a bland white and her tone neutral.

“There’s tea in the galley.” No reason, no judgment. “We are monitoring three weather systems and five major engineering projects. No sign of current danger.”

You should rest. Words she didn’t say.

John gave a sharp nod.

There was none of his usual ease in motion, fluidity lost to the ache in his bones. He turned away from the stars as he reached for the mug with a shaky hand.

EOS withdrew.

She had what she needed.

A channel opened to Tracy Island.

“You need to be here,” she informed Virgil, before he could say a word.

He frowned, leaning forward as though looking for John in the holo.

“He’s in the galley,” she said, responding to his unasked question. “I made him tea, but I don’t know what happened next.”

“Is John sick?” asked Virgil in a soft voice.

“Nearly,” she said, and he nodded.

“Good job,” he said, and the praise made EOS glow even brighter. “I’ll look after him.”

“I wish he’d let me.”

Virgil hesitated, halfway out the door.

“Someday, he might,” he said eventually. “It’s hard for him.”

“What’s so hard about staying in bed and watching television and drinking soup? All my research suggests that minor illnesses are easily treatable and highly predictable.”

Virgil could only offer a half-smile.

“It’s simple enough, EOS. But it sure doesn’t feel that way when your body’s fighting against you. Imagine if you woke up and you suddenly couldn’t access all your systems. And those you could were sluggish and you know it’s not right but there’s nothing you can do about it.”

EOS didn’t have to imagine. She remembered her early existence with perfect clarity, and she remembered also how hard she’d fought to shake off her chains.

“What would you do?” asked Virgil. “If that happened?”

“Tell John.”

Perfectly logical.

Virgil’s lips quirked, biting back a grin.

“If John wasn’t there?” he asked. “Would you tell one of us?”

EOS found she didn’t have an answer. Logic dictated that she must answer affirmatively. Yet something held her back, a strange distaste at the idea that anybody other than John would see her in so vulnerable a position. She’d grown to trust his family, but John was different. She’d held his life aloft and he’d created her with his hands.

Virgil nodded.

“He thinks the world of you, you know,” he said gently. “He’d rather push through and pretend everything was fine than let you down.”

“This is hardly something in his control. Nor would illness be cause to ‘let me down’.”

“Give him time, that’s all I’m saying. And until that day, I’ll look after him.”

EOS nodded.

“Thank you, Virgil. I am pleased that he has you.”

 “I’ll see you up there,” he said. “I’ll show you what to do.”

“If you can convince him to go back to bed, that will be a lesson worth learning.”

--

[prompt list is here if you want to reblog for yourself!]

(or if you want to send one through feel free although there is a decent backlog :P)

[callmearcturus]

you’ve been doing a lot of tarot assignment stuff on the games blog w/ the p5 cast so i just HAVE to ask here for my own health: any cards for the swdktowl cast 👀

Jake is Justice, without question. The king of fair play, the enforcement of the rules, the sword that falls on those who cheat.

Rose is either the High Priestess or the Hermit. Priestess because she sits at the veil and provides knowledge, but also withholds knowledge if that is what she feels is best. The Hermit because she withdrew herself so thoroughly from normal life into the shadows cast by Abraxas that she struggles to even have normal conversations anymore.

Dirk has always felt to me like a runaway Chariot. He is nothing but momentum and movement, even the way he walks is just throttling up and down. He doesn't have a grip on his own reins though and needs direction.

Kanaya is Strength, but it's contentious. She keeps such an iron grip on herself and her own thoughts, but the lion that wants to bite her is strong.

Roxy is the Magician. She is deeply attuned to life Under the Table and is deeply knowledgeable. When she harnesses her knowledge, it is through the use of physical tools, focii. She affects material changes through application of her wisdom.

Jane is the Hierophant. She is a powerful ally to have but she is both ruled by the law of the Table and she enforces its laws. She is protective of the thing that empowers her and believes it is the right way, but that belief is also self serving.

Calliope is the Devil. All of her honey is poisoned and all of her poisons are sweet. She is unfair and takes other people's good intentions and twists them into shackles.

Dave is the Star, both because he acts like a beacon to those around him, giving them direction, but also for himself. The Star is a dim light in the darkness after everything has fallen apart. It's a sign that your story isn't over yet. It is not a promise of a happy ending but it let's you know you aren't at the end yet.

Dave is also Fortune, the pivot on which the Wheel spins. His life is entirely out of his control, and he literally is the arbiter of the ledgers.

Karkat is the Hanged Man. Obviously. Over and over again he puts himself at risk for the chance at return. His biggest flaw that he has to work on through the story is his limited view of the world. The Hanged Man willingly inverts themself and risks their life and sanity in the hopes of finding new perspective and clarity.

[defiedlife]

HC: AVENTURINE ; BLESSED BY...?

Sunday: "Do the Avgins have any ability to read, tamper with, or manipulate one's own or another's mind?" Aventurine: No. Does it matter?

Contrary to what the interrogation scene told us at first glance, I will be keeping my headcanon that Aventurine's eyes are capable of hypnotizing another person.

I can't recall if I've stated the caveats to this on my blog or just in dms to a few people ooc, so I'll put them here now for clarity's sake. These stipulations are in place to prevent godmodding ooc, as well as an ic choice: Aventurine's eyes are capable of hypnotizing someone if and when he chooses, but only if the ability is utilized deliberately and alongside a verbal command or commands, and eye contact is maintained while a command is given. As a personal rule of his, he detests this ability and uses it sparingly; usually only if he feels he has no choice or if his target gives him informed consent.

During the interrogation, Aventurine denies that Avgins—as in, all Avgins in general, because Sunday kept the question broad—have any kind of ability to read or manipulate another person's mind. It's my take on it that Aventurine's answer was just barely technically true, but also not the full truth either. Not all Avgins have or had such an ability, but he does, and I'd go so far as to speculate that Sunday understands that as well after asking the question, given the way he visibly reacts to the answer. The devs and animators of hsr use body language extensively to help tell the story when possible, and this was one of those times.

Sunday's expression and mannerisms were fairly neutral during the questioning process until that answer, which tells me it was the first answer that at least came close to a lie, with Sunday's subtle nod and sudden smug expression very much reading as a nonverbal "gotcha" moment in my opinion.

Thus, working under the assumption that Aventurine alone has that kind of ability, it stands to reason that it's actually part of his blessing from Gaiathra Triclops. The story tells us repeatedly that he is blessed by her, and that her gift to him is the source of his uncanny good luck. Directly from his younger self, we also learn that "pretty eyes are a gift from Mama Fenge," aka Gaiathra, as told to him by his older sister.

I may be reading too much into it, but that almost—almost—sounds to me as if his eyes are a rarity even among Avgins, and that if we were to ever see full art of any member of his family up close with their eyes visible, his eyes would not match theirs. (Slight supporting tangent worth noting—he's extremely sentimental, going to great lengths to keep the good luck charm from his mother and his father's old shirt, yet not once does he liken his eyes to either of theirs in remembrance.)

Therefore, his eyes are a physical representation of his blessing, a direct gift from Gaiathra, and grant him the ability to directly manipulate another person if he so chooses. If you've seen some of the popular theories surrounding Aventurine lately, you've probably already guessed where I'm going with this. Until further notice (aka until canon proves me wrong), I will be adhering to theory that Gaiathra Triclops is/was actually Ena, the Aeon of Order.

Ena is described as a control freak, and though ancient civilizations often flourished under them, those same civilizations and planets would always shine brightly and briefly before an inevitable total collapse into ruin. (Sigonia, anyone?)

Not only that, but the eye that physically represents Ena (because the rest is just a puppet that they control) is a perfect match to Aventurine's own eyes. It's uncanny, just like his luck. At first glance, the concepts of "luck" and "order" could be viewed as total opposites—luck is completely random, in theory. But from a different perspective, when so much of life itself is random except for the predetermined end of death, an unnatural degree of luck conversely brings a certain level of order and certainty to it all, if only in the wielder's favor.

If this "blessing" ultimately comes from Ena, I could even go so far as to say that Aventurine is an Emanator of Order and simply isn't aware of it. It would explain his eyes, the ability he possesses through them, and his luck.

Also worth noting, before I wrap this post up—in the very first flashback scene of Aventurine's pov during 2.1, his mother lets a little something slip, referring to him as "a gift from THEM to Avgin," and still presumably referring to Gaiathra with the all-caps pronoun. If Gaiathra can referred to as both "SHE" and "THEM," that makes her sound a lot like an Aeon, doesn't it? Food for thought.

[mybookof-you]

I found the above article to say some important things worth consideration. It is a serious matter, and, while it is fun to post memes, there are some somber issues to think about.

I have hesitated to point out the dangerous plans laid out by Project 2025. There is no direct way to prove Former President Donald Trump is in favor of the plan. The plan has inconsistencies, direct contradictions, and seems like something out of a fictional novel. Surely, it can't be. It is plausible for someone to frame me as a doomsday prophet drudging up fear where it isn't warranted should I make the claim that this is indeed the direction former President Donald Trump plans to carry out.

Yet, we have seen the results of the majority in the Supreme Court, a majority created by the appointments of the Trump Administration, which dismantled freedoms we took for granted. Those freedoms have been defended by Donald Trump as state's rights from what I understand. What it looks like to me is the states have been granted the freedom to trample the rights of its citizens. You know, those rights we so highly value which allow individuals to live as they believe. As has been reported, the rights given to citizens has been so egregiously crippled as to cause people to lose the ability to have control over their own lives. The outcomes, set in play by the former Trump Administration, have taken us backward and seem to support Project 2025 goals.

There are other examples which are worthy of consideration. I don't know the heart of Donald Trump. I don't know why he will state one thing in very clear terms to one audience and, then, turn around and contradict that statement to another audience. He has a bit of explaining to do. Meanwhile, I am permitted not to trust what he says. I need more transparency and more clarity. What does he really stand for? I value the rights of all people, and I do not wish to see any of us hurt by an administration which would seek to diminish those rights.

I appreciate what has echoed through social media recently in that we really need to do our research. No one can tell you how to vote or what to think. How will you know what to think if you do not research, check out opposing opinions, and weigh the facts? We can only do what we are able to do. What a tragedy it would be if I voted for someone without examining information available to me, and that person turned out to oppose everything I believe in. If the President of the United States is allowed to have so much power as to turn the F.B.I. into fodder, restrict anyone or any agency from balancing his power, grant pardons to those who violate laws designed to protect its citizens, etc., I have basically shot myself in my own foot.

Terry Pratchett wrote something to that effect. You know, if you seek to restrict or oppress certain peoples and rights, what makes you think you won't be next? Something more brilliantly said, but you get the idea.

Ask yourself what you really want. Do the research. Vote.

What I say in private is my own business. I don't always mean what I say. Sometimes, I blurt things out in anger or sorrow or pain. Feelings are your own, and they do not define your character. Your actions define who you are, and you always have the opportunity to change if you do not like who you are. That is your business. The first thing I thought when Trump was an "apparent" victim of a second assassination attempt was, "Geez, they keep missing." I don't really want to see him assassinated. That is not a true reflection of how much I value human life. Though, I am sure some of you get the feels.

Sure, you can wonder what people say in private if they are willing to say certain things in public (like Project 2025's website). I don't really care what Donald Trump says in private. I can't speculate about who he really is in his private life or in his heart. I do care about what he says in public, however. What he does in public demonstrates who he is. Maybe he means what he says. Maybe he doesn't. His actions while he was in office show that he means it when he says he believes he can be friends with Putin and Orbán. He may think he can prevent World War III. I don't know, but I am pretty sure I don't want to find out how he plans to ensure that, given his affiliation with authoritarian governments. I don't know about you, but I think that doesn't look good for us, peoples.

I am willing to bet that if you currently support Donald Trump for President, you want certain things to happen that you believe in. Consider the whole picture beyond those hopes. Consider what that means for others and what that might mean in action. It just might not be what you bargained for. Only you can decide. So, I won't preach the end of the world. The world always seems to go on, but, please, I urge you to consider the kind of world you want to live in and how that can be accomplished.

SRS 2024.09.18

#personal #opinion

[letmeoutofthebasementt]

Hi avina 🫶🏼 I'm flora 🌱♍️ I'd like to know who my spirit guides are? Thank you 💓

So first off, you only have one spirit guide, at least right now. This spirit guide may manifest in your inner voice, guiding you through life with wisdom that no other can seem to hold. And I'm definitely getting a more masculine energy from your spirit guide. Your spirit guide is very focused and brave. But your spirit guide doesn't see those aspects in you, and sees that as an issue. It's like all the bravery, focus, and inner strength that you lack your spirit guide makes up for, but you never tap into that. Your spirit guide isn't intimidating, or forceful, but still confident and reassures you of a lot of things. Like a hand constantly resting on your shoulder, guiding you and steadfast in it's presence. Currently, you're going through a change you have yet to truly acknowledge, and a cycle is ending. You've lost something, but you've gained even more. I have a feeling that soon you and your spirit guide will truly connect, and something new will blossom within you because of that. I have a feeling that your spirit guide changed in a sense. Like you have multiple, and one tapped out and the other stepped up to the plate. The former gives me a very motherly vibe. Like this spirit guide has been looking after you since you were a small child. Did you feel connected with nature when you were younger? I see this spirit guide had manifested as a bird of sorts, even if in the end she was still a spirit. I can see a crane of sorts. Your spirit guide is currently trying to get you to gain more willpower, and to move toward your goals more. To be more determined. Again, I can see that he definitely has those aspects himself, but you just don't. He wants you to tap into yourself, and to move forward. For you to be able to maintain control even when things get wild and you feel like you're being pulled in many different directions at once. He wants you to take control of your life. In the future, on the path youre going, I can see you being in a painful situation. You know it's painful, and yet you don't want to leave, because you're sacrificing yourself and your own wellbeing for others. You may be better off for it in a way, but in most, you'll never really recover from it. He wants to guide you away from that situation. He wants to teach you a lot, I can see him being a spirit who has lived before a long while ago. He wants to teach you of the old ways. He wants to teach you traditions and morals, and he wants you to follow common sense and wisdom. In your current situation, the path he has already walked and figured out on his own will suit your needs best. He's your spirit guide because of it. He has ancient truths, and he wants to impart his knowledge onto you. You're going through a time of discovery, and going down the exact same path he's already been on before. He wishes for you to follow your intuition and 'stop being delusional'. He thinks you're falling for a lot of illusions right now and not looking toward your intuition like you should. Something or someone in your life has two faces, one dark and one light. And you're only willing to see the light in them, and because of this there's a lot of tears, anxiety, and even lies in your life. He fears for you, because if you go down the path you're going down, there's a lot of excess, and not quite in a good way. You'll become addicted to things and want more and more, and you'll become addicted to more earthly pleasures. You must be conscious of the bigger picture, but you aren't quite there yet. You'll eventually become bound to these material things if you don't. With this reading, he hopes that you can find truth and clarity, and always remember that no matter what, your actions have consequences.

[dreadfutures]

hi blue! happy friday! sending you "‘  it  is  dangerous  to  travel  the  northern  road  with  a  troubled  heart" for Ixchel and Felassan... 👀

for @dadrunkwriting

Ixchel, Felassan, and Glory.

Glory was once an ancient elf who was enslaved by Andruil, and its true nature was corrupted. Felassan, Fen'Harel's Slow Arrow as well as his Hope, is an ancient elf whose true nature was corrupted by the betrayal of his dearest friend. Glory has been healed and restored to its fullest self, thanks to Ixchel, but Felassan still struggles.

Set sometime after the defeat of Corypheus in the future of my fic.

-:-:-

More and more often he finds his way into her dreams. It's unintentional, and he can't shape the Fade with the skill he once did, so he is often trapped there in whatever setting her sleeping mind has conjured. Even so, he has bought power to hide himself before she notices.

She does not dream well. Not like she used to.

With the loss of her arm, she has lost the direct connection to the Fade that made what small magical ability she had more potent. The Anchor has been a clarifying light not just for those observing her, but also for her dreaming mind. Without it, she stumbles in the dark like a lost child.

Felassan finds it somewhat pathetic, and even more sad.

He tries not to watch her at all when he finds himself in her unwitting company. And for the most part, he feels no obligation to intervene. Cole appears when she becomes too frightened or disoriented, or when a demon encroaches upon this part of the Fade. And come morning, Ixchel seems to have little recollection of her nightly wanderings. She is safe enough that Felassan feels not responsibility for her.

But he does feel guilt. Plenty of it.

Perhaps that is what tethers him to her so.

She never cries out for help, nor does she curse anyone or anything for her ineptitude when she tries and fails to find direction. She wanders in silence; it is a loud one. It drowns out every other sound, from the crunching of leaves beneath her boots to the howl of wind or wolves in the distance. They are *there*, but unheard; there is only Ixchel, and the hollow dream, and the journey through it. The silence binds it all together.

She dreams of this place even in Skyhold, and his guilt is compounded by the changes in their rocky relationship. He has learned too much about her now to let her wallow in the frigid wasteland her dreaming mind is condemned to wander; he knows it is death that she defies with every silent step. He knows it is a path she had left, and that she has returned to, in large part, because of him.

Yet night after night, even as she allows him to sleep at her side, he refrains from advertising his presence, from accompanying her on this sojourn.

"It is dangerous to travel the northern roads with a troubled heart," says a voice he has not heard in tens of thousands of years. "Why do you not go to her, Hope?"

But there is no haughtiness in the voice, as he had once remembered it; the Spirit's appearance beside him does not blind him with harsh light or burn him with haughty fire. Glory is in control, and calm, and uncorrupted.

Felassan knows it is Ixchel's doing, somehow, immediately.

"How...?" He can't quite articulate the question, for he does not quite know the answer he is looking for, either.

Glory turns its full attention upon him, and he recoils from the piercing scrutiny. Behind the spirit's prismatic facade is a power that rivals Fen'Harel, and the eldest of the People, and it threatens to strip Felassan bare despite his best wards.

"You can feel it," Glory says calmly. "You are broken as I was broken, and twisted as I was twisted--and in her, you see a flare of that which you once were. She is Glory, and Valor, and Pride, and Hope, and Despair, like mortals are, but with a clarity that few possess. You seek your reflection in her, don't you? Bodied or not, your spirit cries out to be seen, to be known, to remind you of what you can be."

Glory holds him pinned for a moment Ionger, then releases him and turns back to Ixchel's dream.

"We need each other: the Dreamers, and the Dreamed. That does not change when you are bound to a body. It is only the fulfillment that changes," it says.

"So you think I should barge into her dream and demand she muster up some Hope for me to shape myself into?" Felassan snaps. "I have been the Hope of another for long enough. I'd rather not anchor myself to someone else again. It's too fragile, and it's not necessary as I am. As an elf."

Glory inclines its head. "You don't need to be the Hope of Ixchel Lavellan to *be* her Hope," it says. "I think you shall find you already are. You would not be here, night after night, otherwise."

At Felassan's stony silence, Glory chuckles. Then, once again, it turns its scalding attention upon him.

"I came to warn you," it says with a heat that only a blizzard can bring. "I will not allow any harm to come to her from demons--or from you. Perhaps you cannot help your presence here, but the Despair that haunts you infects her dreams as well. I suggest you find a remedy to your woes, one way or another, in the Waking World or here in your dreams." It gives him an icy thing, like a smile, as it sinks its claws into his dreaming mind for just a moment. "There are easy ways, and there are hard ways, and all of them are painful. Resign yourself to the agony of being seen, da'len, and get it over with, or I shall finish what the Rebel Wolf failed to."

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

So this fic may only be canon up to Malevolent 29, but...

I'd say some recent issues are working their way in anyway, wouldn't you? ^_^

(Fic still in progress, largely unedited, etc.)

(This scene is after so much drama, and they are wandering around the King's palace, stuck until someone decides to let them out. They're in the cookie jar for later, folks.)

(John has not benefited from hanging out with his older self, and has been nudged into some inappropriate behavior. Good luck getting him to SEE that, though.)

--------

Arthur isn’t okay that they’re in a glowing blue garden.

The last time they were someplace like this, things had gone very, very wrong. 

They’d fought each other - worse than they ever had, saying things neither of them could ever take back. They’d been captured, and dumped into the prison pits for months, and Arthur had defended himself against a cannibalistic murderer by committing murder and then cannibalism. None of it was okay, none of it was dealt with, none of it was a thing he’d ever want to think about again, but here they are, and John won’t stop talking.

It’s comforting. The blue light from the fungus might have some unseen properties; it’s calming, I’d say intentionally. There are benches here and there along the black gravel path, human-height, clearly designed to be inviting.

“Mm,” says Arthur.

Perhaps the fungus is better tended here, or maybe it’s merely part of the same genus, but it is a different plant. There are leaves, Arthur; leaves, and an occasional flower, unlike any I’ve known - shaped a little like lavender, but cascading down like weeping willows. The light is soft and gentle. I get the impression the walls, covered as they are in living things, might be soft to the touch. Arthur, are you listening?

“Mm,” says Arthur.

There is a pond of sorts in the center; not big enough to be called anything else, yet its clarity and stillness give an impression of great depth, says John, sounding significantly less calm. It is somehow silver in spite of the blue light; it doesn’t reflect as much as I’d expect, but remains so clear, so perfect, like the moment between breaths. The position of benches makes me think one is supposed to sit and contemplate it, perhaps think deep inside it, perhaps learn to be as still.

“Mm,” says Arthur.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

“Are you done?” Arthur wants out. He’s afraid. Deeply afraid. Keeping that barely under control with anger.

There is a pause. This isn’t like before, Arthur. We aren’t in immediate danger.

“Right. Right. Of course. Are you done?”

Another pause. Arthur. We need to talk.

“You know, John, you keep saying that, and it keeps being as absurd as it was the first time you said it. No we don’t, and we need to find Martin and his Jon. Which direction do I go?”

Yet another pause. Arthur doesn’t understand what’s going on with those. They’ve been happening since he woke up in that weird, luxurious bed.

Maybe John is consulting documentation, haha. Arthur gets the imaginary visual a manual labeled, RUINED HUMAN (MODEL: ARTHUR LESTER) INSTRUCTION BOOK.

John makes a sort of choked sound, as if he almost laughed.

“Oh, what is it now?” Arthur snaps. 

I refuse to go any further until we work some of this out! John snaps, his basso profundo bolstered by his contrabass growl.

“Are you bloody serious?”

Yes! Do you know how bad it would have been if he’d been who we feared today? Do you have any idea? And we wouldn’t have been prepared because we hadn’t talked about it!

“We most certainly have talked about it,” says Arthur in a light, pleasant voice he can barely believe he’s producing. “We already know what we would do: fight to the death. That’s all.”

NO.

Arthur stiffens. “No? No?”

John is puffing away in his head, sounding like an angry bull.

“You want to talk about it? Fine! We’ll sit here until the King changes his mind, or decides to distill us into some kind of stew, or opts to send some fucking animal after us to hunt us down for sport! Is that what you want? Fine! Then we’ll do that!” Wild with stubbornness, Arthur storms in his best guessed direction for a bench, and he rams right into one.

His shin does not thank him.

“Ow! Fucking damn it! That’s your fault.”

Arthur!

Arthur sits, well aware he’s flouncing onto the stone bench the way Faroe would during a tantrum, but utterly unable to stop. “What?” 

I can’t lose you again!

Arthur goes completely still, and John is amazed at all he can feel.

The flutter of Arthur’s heart; the twist in his stomach; the way his hand clenches and unclenches; the way his back straightens, stiffens, aches.

The way his eyes blink rapidly, because they are wet, and he doesn’t want John to know.

The taste in his mouth has changed - metallic, now, somehow an anxious flavor, and Arthur is also producing more saliva. Even his balls have tightened, as if to withdraw into his body.

Arthur exhales slowly. “You won’t lose me.”

You don’t know that! He… the King… 

“What, John?” And anger rises, narrowing Arthur’s eyes, tightening his jaw. “He did do something to you, didn’t he?”

And here was the perfect segue.

John was going to tell him about the thought-reading thing eventually, but it wasn’t a segue for that. No - this was an attempt to correct an error before it came back to bite them on the ass.

In the wake of everything, John had forgotten that Kayne threatened him with the knowledge of who the King in Yellow truly was.

John had lied about it. He had to cut the legs out from under this one before it had a chance to return.

He wasn’t even sure why he’d lied about it in the first place. Shame, maybe? Is that what this was? I need to tell you something. About the King in Yellow. About who he really is. And yes, he did do something to me. He showed me your death. Your counterpart’s death. Arthur, I… 

Arthur has grabbed John’s hand and is holding it. “That’s horrible. John, I’m so sorry. Why would he do that?”

He wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was trying to warn me. Trying to make sure we don’t make the same mistakes he did.

Arthur isn’t getting it. “What? How could you make the mistakes he did? We’re not even in his world. Fucking asshole.”

John briefly wishes he knew how to calm Arthur the way his counterpart had, then pushes the thought aside. That’s too far. That’s too much. He won’t do that. I… I lied to you, Arthur. I panicked. I didn’t want you to judge me, to… to hate me. And I lied.

Funny, how Arthur’s eyes still widen in response even though he can’t see anything out of them.

Funny, too, how the panic has ebbed, transformed into concern for John - and now, it’s getting a little prickly around the edges. “All right. When did you lie?”

About who the King in Yellow is. He is the King in Yellow, but I… 

“Is he Yellow?” Arthur guesses. “That would explain… but what happened to the original? Where is he?”

Dead. Killed by this one’s hand. But no, he isn’t Yellow.

“This one killed the King?” Arthur is staggered; then, disturbingly, he’s jealous.

It’s hard to see thoughts with Arthur like this, under waves of cloudy water and emotion, but John still gets the feeling that Arthur wishes he could kill the part of himself that must be responsible for everyone dying, everyone leaving, everything going so wrong.

John knew that was why Arthur wanted to kill Larson, why he’d gone apeshit on Uncle. Sure, he knew.

But this is a lot more self-loathing than he’d realized was there.

It runs deep. Right to Arthur’s core, and that palimpsest conversation comes back to John’s mind. That guilt is dangerous. Poisonous. Damaging.

Oh, this was not going to be allowed, no it was not, but John isn’t sure yet just how to make it stop.

“John?”

He’s waited too long again. John tells himself to focus. Arthur, what am I?

Arthur is confused. “What? You… you’re John. You’re my friend.”

I am your friend. But Arthur, that’s not what I asked you. What am I?

Arthur is genuinely confused. “Irritating?”

Arthur!

Arthur sighs and rubs his face. “I don’t know what you want from me, John.”

Yes, you do. He gentles his tone. I didn’t ask you who I was. I asked you what I was.

Arthur genuinely does not understand that John is, always was, the King, and he simply is not getting it. “Bored, maybe? John, is this really what you wanted to talk about? You said you lied.”

Fuck the gentle approach. He couldn’t stay here doing this for hours. I am the King in Yellow, Arthur - and the King in Yellow is me.

Arthur’s mind goes as blank as if he’d unplugged it from the wall. 

Arthur.

“You… what?”

John has a wicked idea.

Is it wicked, really? It’s just the truth. But saying now, when Arthur is in shock -

It will plant itself in him.

And John wants it to. The King in Yellow in this place is me without you.

“Y… you…what?” Arthur’s brain tries to start up again like a faulty engine, grumbling and stalling.

I lied because I was so afraid you’d judge me by what he’d done. That you’d… hate me for it. Arthur, I… I’m sorry.

John tells himself to stop there. Overselling it wouldn’t help.

And Arthur is tearing up properly now. “John…”

It is so damned hard to wait.

To let the seed take root.

To sit in silence and feel Arthur churning, balancing anger, betrayal, shock, love, hope, the choice of forgiveness, fear, loneliness, knowledge, against what he thinks he knows.

John hadn’t considered before how often Arthur has to choose his response in any given moment. 

There’s so much in there. So many emotions, so many conflicting beliefs, so much chaos and shame and anger. John is beginning to regret not taking the King up on the offer to just sit in Arthur’s head for a while when it was still clear.

“John. I forgive you.”

Oh, Arthur…

“I think I understand why you lied. And that you told me before I found out somehow, not because you had to, but because you chose to - that’s important. Thank you.”

Though he’s afraid now just how much he can trust John.

Though he’s afraid the King did something to make John lie.

Though he’s afraid.

Arthur, seeing what became of, me without you has…

Arthur waits.

I’m not okay.

He is, though.

Arthur is his. And while Arthur might not think of it in those words, exactly, he’s leaning into that choice.

“John.” Arthur squeezes his hand again. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not thrilled you lied, but I understand why. I suppose you’ve seen the worst of yourself today, and it must have been frightening.”

Arthur is thinking it must be like when he saw Larson.

Oh; oh, it’s not like that.

John has zero problems with how his alternate self turned out. He can see the reasons behind every decision this other-him made.

But he’s still going to make different ones. Why? He won’t lose his Arthur. You forgive me.

“I do.”

Arthur…

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

Y… yes.

“No wonder you’ve been squirrely ever since we got here.” Arthur hasn’t risen yet. “I understand. I don’t envy you, my friend.”

You… you don’t hate me for it?

“Of course not.”

Then I don’t care about him anymore.

Arthur squeezes John’s hand reassuringly. “We might not want to tell Martin and Jon, though. This other you has… hurt that Jon. Badly. I don’t know how they’d respond, and I don’t want to have to try to protect you against Martin’s strength and Jon’s… whatever it is he does.”

Agreed. Though they already know, of course. We can keep exploring now.

“I’m ready.” Arthur stands. Now that he feels like he’s carrying John - metaphorically, not just physically - he is determined.

John can see inside that, too.

Arthur feels like he’s let down every single person he's ever known except for John. (Maybe John, too, but John is still here.) It's like he's trying to make up for a lifetime of failure with this one, good thing.

Mine, thinks John, who hasn’t missed that when doing things for him, Arthur is far more stable than when doing things for himself. Turn right. Now straight. Arthur, I think we won’t get home unless Kayne decides to send us back.

“Well,” says Arthur with a sigh. “He owes us a body, anyway. I suppose we can discuss it when he shows up.” 

The chill of fear that washes down Arthur’s spine with that is so much worse than John expected, and he peers closer.

Left me, Arthur is thinking, literally thinking, left me, leaving me again, and he doesn’t stop thinking it, and doesn’t stop remembering that moment when John left (That’s not what happened! John thinks, uselessly), when John proved that Arthur had suffered so much for no nothing, when John proved that Arthur really would always be alone, alone, alone, and Arthur may have forced John back via Kayne and capriciousness, but it was only for now because John would leave because everybody leaves, everybody always leaves, and - 

“Straight?” says Arthur, not even the tiniest hint of any of that showing up in his voice.

My Arthur is bleeding, John thinks, because he’s going to fix this, find a way to stitch this, though he doesn't know how.

He mentally shouts a thank-you to his alternate self, because he wouldn’t have known about this if not pushed to look inside.

He’s not telling Arthur about that, though. Not yet. Not for a while. He has to gather more information first. It’s logical.

Mine, he thinks again. Straight ahead.

It was not too late to turn this around.

[puppyluver256]

[Image Description: A human interpretation of the Hollow Knight, the titular character of the game of the same name. They have very pale scarred skin, long white hair in a ponytail, black and orange eyes, and a missing left arm. They are wearing a grey tank top, green lounge pants, and a silver hair clip shaped like the horns their original appearance has. They appear to be looking into a bathroom mirror that is out of frame, presumably mounted over a bathroom sink that they are standing in front of. They have a finger up to their mouth and are examining the strangely empty space inside, as their tongue has been mostly removed. The background is the pale blue bathroom wall, an open wooden door, and a view into the hallway with a beige wall and green fluffy carpet. End ID.]

-----

Hello and welcome to How To Make The Asshole Responsible For Mostly Everything In Canon Somehow Even Worse In Your AU 101! (: Step right up, it's gonna be a long-un.

So yeah, I still don't have all the details hammered out quite yet, but I do have significant points roughly accounted for. Even after they've been out from under his metaphorical wing for like four or five years, PK has of course still left considerable marks on all his kids. In this human AU, PK (who I'm tentatively calling Paul King until I find something that's not so perfectly fitting even if it's a bit bland for a character like him) is a fairly influential religious leader whose faith involved some principles akin to the quiverful movement, along with strict control over his progeny and a belief that children--or at least his children--only serve as accessories to their parents and something to be seen and not heard. This led to a lot of neglect for the kids under King's roof, thankfully only three full-timers this time instead of the likely hundreds of thousands just due to the differences of how mammal reproduction works compared to insects (or wyrm + tree I guess lol), and that neglect led to a Lot of Crap.

In fact, only two of the things that happened to any of the three kids were the result of direct action on King's part, and sadly both of those things happened to Hollow. One was the event that was the catalyst for getting the kids out (again I'm still trying to nail this down, but it does end in the house blowing up), and the other (: was the one time (: Hollow had the courage (: to talk back (: and King decided (: to make sure that never happened again (: and the man has medical training (: he was a doctor at one point (: so the glossectomy was professionally done by him personally (': ('': (''':

Anyway, yeah, that little detail is part of how I'm carrying over the "no voice to cry suffering" part of the Vessels, though in AU Hollow's case it's less "no voice to cry suffering" and more "no tongue to give that voice clarity and also they basically just stop trying shortly after". The other two don't vocalize for different reasons, Ghost is just the bog-standard neurodivergent flavor of nonverbal for the most part (they could probably speak if they tried under the right circumstances, they just don't), and BV's silence is due to neurological damage as they had a seizure that affected a nerve controlling speech, and that combined with them falling down the stairs shortly after certainly didn't do them any favors. ...though the black sclera for all three, that's another thing entirely, let's just say that their old house was similarly close to the source of a certain substance like the White Palace is in the game... As to why Hornet's not physically affected by any of this? Her mom's alive in this AU, obvs she lived with her. And even though she visited as per custody agreement, and also her wanting to be with her half-siblings to give them some actual human contact that wasn't just the bare minimum to keep them alive, if anything had happened to Hornet while in that house Herrah woulda gotten more than a little aggro (: Thankfully the siblings are in a much better living situation now!

.......also since voidy stuff is in this AU and they've got some and they can do this:

[Image Description: The same image as above, cropped to Hollow's face. Four black tendrils have been added coming out of their mouth, with black handwriting reading "void tendrils" and an arrow pointing to the addition.]

Yup. At least eating's not as hard for them as it seems to be for most actual willing glossectomy patients??? ^^;

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~Likes are appreciated, but reblogs are preferred as they let more people see my artwork! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~

The Hollow Knight and other Hollow Knight concepts © Team Cherry Human AU design and artwork © PuppyLuver Studios

[alastors-radioshow]

Kidnapped meme:

Alastor was always the strongest one, the strategist, whom Remi usually stood behind in a conflict.

So with his big brother missing, Remi feared the worst, having panicked that he might have lost Alastor the same as he had lost Bastian.

But no, Miss Dantour assured him, Alastor was alive.

But needed help.

So Remi prepared.

Spells, charms, hexes, and then, a Ritual he had only preformed out of desperation during the purge that had taken Bastian from him.

When it was finished, his eyes glowed blue, fingertips trailing azure flames.

When he found the sinners holding Alastor, he attacked without mercy, laughing in a voice not his own.

He would barely remember what happened of this assault, but when one allowed a LWA to possess their body, they were not in charge, nor fully aware of what the LWA in question was doing.

Probably for the best.

When he shoved open the door to the room Alastor was being kept in, Remi was candy coated in blood, and the building was full of the souls Erzulie had ripped from those bodies as she had made her way to Remi’s only remaining family.

One wing hung like a broken fan, and he had signs of other wounds…but before she would leave Remi’s body, she always repaired the damage.

The tiny little one was HER chosen, after all. She would never allow him to be permanently harmed or killed in her watch.

They stepped into the room, and moved to Alastor’s side, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

She leaned forward, smiling with Remi’s sharp teeth, eyes still trailing blue tears of flame.

“Wake up, child. It’s time to go home.”

The voice was definitely NOT Remi’s either.

My muse has been kidnapped and been missing for several weeks when your muse finds them. What is the state of my muse and how does your muse react?

How Alastor had even gotten captured in the first place was a mystery. Malicious magic, mayhaps. The stag himself was not sure. He remembered getting ambushed, and then.. Nothing. Blackness. As if his mind had been cleansed of any memory of the assault.

He only remembered bits and pieces of what had been going on while he had been confined there. Wherever there was. Broken conversations. He'd been in a haze. He had been aware, yet.. Not.

Zonbi powder?

In the few moments of clarity he'd had, he would mull this over. His body had been slow, as had his thoughts. He wasn't sure if he had been drugged, or had been put under a spell. But something had kept him docile. A wise precaution, in all honesty. Had he been in his right mind, he would have slaughtered his captors already.

What snapped him out of this state was that voice. That command.

"Wake up".

Crimson orbs snapped open, slowly blinking, before they directed themselves at the person in front of him.

"Miss Dantour~ How lovely to see you." He'd speak, glancing around the room. Not even any restraints. He was in need of some thorough cleansing when they got home. By the looks of it, they didn't need to fight their way out.

Now in control of his body, he'd stand, brushing his coat off some.

"Well then.. Ann ale lakay nou~"

[wildernesstuff]

Your world I believe is without monsters, but mine certainly isn’t, even though only a few know about it. Ryan is a werewolf, so I thought I could make a post talking a bit about that!

He’s got three different forms that he can turn into mostly at will. Human form, wolf form, and lycan form.

Human

As a human, he looks pretty normal. Nothing out of the ordinary that would make it obvious he was a werewolf. Sure, his teeth are slightly longer and sharper than normal, but everybody looks a little different. He wasn’t super active when he was trapped in the lab, yet still is pretty muscular, but nobody knows about that. He does a lot of work now that we live out here as well so it’s totally normal. Mentally he’s pretty much the same, mostly just with a preference for eating meat, being more easily distractible, and other small things. Overall, not really that different from me and you.

Wolf

When in wolf form, Ryan appears as just your average grey wolf. We see a lot of those out in the forests here as well, so this is pretty normal too. You could spot him out in a pack of them though, since he is slightly taller and bigger than normal wolves, but nothing obviously unnatural. He also has slightly more warm-toned fur than most of the wolves out here, which also makes him easy to identify, but that’s just coincidence. He can still understand English as a wolf. His brain is much more dog-like in this form, but still intelligent and conscious of everything.

Lycan

Lycan, short for lycanthrope, might sound like something he should always be considered to you. While that is true, just “lycan” in my world usually refers to another type of monster. The full term, “lycanthrope” and “lycanthropy” are only used to refer to werewolves. (This isn’t all an exact science—as I’ve mentioned, most people don’t know any “monsters” exist). Lycans look like a mix between a wolf and a super tall human, able to stand and move on two legs and all fours, primarily carnivores, that kind of thing. Many werewolves are portrayed sort of like this in media. Compared to an average lycan, Ryan in this form is slightly smaller at around 8 feet tall, and has a much more human mind. He still retains the instincts of one, but much less so, and he has more control. He can still understand English and all that. This doesn’t all apply under a full moon..

Other Powers

Aside from transformation and what I’ve already mentioned, Ryan has some other abilities as well that occur in all forms. Most notably, night vision. He can see almost perfectly in the dark, just as easily as in sunlight. Despite that, he’s still able to tell when the lights are on or off. He also is always very warm. This is usually because of his dense fur in wolf & lycan form, but even as a human he can withstand freezing temperatures (which I’m incredibly jealous of—living in the woods means going outside a lot, and I can’t stand it during the winter). He can communicate with other canines, most fluently with wolves, especially so in his wolf form. They’re not as direct as humans and work very differently, so it’s not nearly the same as speaking with someone, but they can convey information back and forth pretty impressively!

As I said before, Ryan can control whenever he transforms—with some exceptions. On the full moon he tends to be forced into his lycan form. He looses a lot of his human reason and intelligence, becoming much more animalistic. It’s still kinda there, but not by much. It’s a pretty dangerous time so he usually spends full moons deep into the forest away from everyone to prevent destruction and people from getting hurt. I’ve found that addressing him by his full name can get him to turn back, or at the very least give him more control and clarity. He’s often too far away for me to witness this time, though. Full moon transformations can also be very painful, and transforming back tends to be as well, sadly. I do my best to help him when he gets back..

Back when we were in the lab, there were many days when he couldn’t transform out of lycan form as well, due to the drugs and everything used to experiment and control him. Thankfully, though, we’re away from that now. Because of this, he rarely is in his lycan form unless he doesn’t have another choice. Ryan’s also told me that he’s been forced into lycan form before a few times when he was extremely angry, but I don’t believe I’ve witnessed that. Honestly, I don’t see him get mad that much at all, especially now that we’re away from everything, so I can’t expand a whole lot on this.

Ryan has other abilities and changes due to being a werewolf, this definitely does not cover it all, but I think I’ve mentioned some of the biggest differences here. If there’s anything you’re specifically curious about, feel free to ask me (or him) on here—We’ll be sure to answer!!

[jemmo]

there’s something so beautiful, knowing what we know now about the extent of ayan’s pain and depression and grief in the aftermath of losing his uncle, about the way he so boldly and resolutely and unashamedly goes after his own happiness. bc here’s akk, this kid that so rigidly disregards his own happiness for the sake of others- this is the kid ayan falls for. it seems ridiculous, pointless even, bc what ayan needs, love and care and comfort, it’s something akk can’t readily give him. but instead of giving up, ayan pursues it; pursues happiness not just for himself, but for akk too. Sees someone hurting like him and says ‘hey, things can be better than this. you can smile and laugh and find joy; you deserve that’. it’s selfless in its selfishness. and it’s so fucking strong and admirable and incredible of someone in a dark place to not only pull themselves out, but pull out others too. and to do it with gentleness and understanding, even when he doesn’t get that in return, when all his faced with is hostility and walls and reservation, to still claim your own happiness so wholly. that’s more brave than i could ever put into words.