#as if we're all guaranteed to qualify

[nordschleifes]

while you're busy making other plans

➝ your secret with fernando is leaked to the world. and you deal with it in the most chaotic way possible

➝ word count: 4,4k

➝ warnings: coparenting, lies, press, andrea being a little shit and fernando dealing poorly with press

➝ author's note: part two of this one shot. hope you enjoy it.

The notification that appeared on your phone screen.

It displayed a thumbnail image of you standing with Fernando in the Aston Martin garage, while he ran his hand through Leon's hair. You had been talking about that day’s sessions, with your son detailing how impressed he had been with the mechanics' work in getting his car ready for each stage of qualifying.

However, the caption of the photo turned your stomach. “They know about Leon”, the message said.

That was what you feared most since the day your son was born. You had read enough articles on the pages of Spanish magazines to know that you didn't want that life for him. But, at the same time, you knew that all that effort would go down the drain one day, especially when Leon began to understand the real intention of the excuses and compromises you made up to prevent his identity from being revealed.

You just didn't expect this day to come so quickly.

The knock on the door made you wake up from your thoughts, jumping out of bed towards the entrance of the suite. When your eyes met Fernando's, you felt your throat tighten.

— Y/N — he murmured.

— Come in — you managed to say, opening the door.

The driver passed you silently, head down. You didn't need anything else to know that he had already seen the photos and that he wasn't happy with them.

— What now? — you asked softly, as he sat down on the bed.

— I don't know, Y/N — Fernando replied, running a hand through his hair — Where is...

— With Alberto, I asked him to take Leon to his room so we could talk.

The driver let out a sigh as you sat down next to him.

— I have no idea how that happened — he muttered.

— Well, it has always been a possibility, and you know it.

Fernando looked at you with a serious expression.

— The thing is, nobody knew who you were. Alberto was careful to request the credentials in the team's name and not mine, we arrived separately — he pointed out — Did Leon say anything to anyone?

— No, no — you replied, shaking your head — He stayed with me or Alberto the whole time, he didn't say anything much.

Silence took over the room for a few seconds.

— This was leaked — Fernando finally said — Someone leaked it to the press...

— Do you think Luis…

— No, not him. It wasn't anyone around me, I'm sure. Everyone knows that Leon's privacy is the most important thing to me. They wouldn't do that to me, Y/N...

— What guarantees you that they wouldn't do it for money or...

— Y/N, no one close to me would do that — the driver interrupted you, a note of irritation in his voice — Everyone knows that Leon is the most important person in my life and that he is my priority. They wouldn't be able to, I know that.

You had no way of opposing him in that sense. Everyone who knew Leon's real identity were people connected to Fernando for almost 20 years and who knew him well enough to know how careful he was with his son. However, your mind went to the people who were no longer around Fernando, and the realization hit you like a train.

— Andrea — you murmured, before looking at him — It could only have been her.

The driver pressed his lips into a thin line.

— Are you sure?

— She's the only one who could have leaked this.

— Y/N, we can't get ahead of ourselves.

— She knows we're here on the circuit, she saw when I arrived with Leon — you argued, despair rising in your chest.

— That doesn't mean she did it, Y/N — he countered. This made you jump to your feet, feeling a wave of anger rising up your neck.

— How so? She is the only one who is no longer in your inner circle who knows Leon and has contact with the press.

— Andrea wouldn't use Leon against me, Y/N, she knows he's the most important person in my life — Fernando replied, making you bring your hand to his face in disbelief. You couldn't believe he couldn't see what was clear in front of him.

— And that's precisely why she would do that! — you yelled — She wants to hit you where it hurts, Fernando! She wants you to be sad too, to suffer! Don't you understand that?!

Fernando remained silent, looking at you with a grim expression on his face.

— Now, our son's face is everywhere because your ex-girlfriend can't accept that you don't want anything to do with her! — You continued, anger dripping from his words.

— Y/N…

— What?!

— She was the one who broke up with me.

The revelation hit you like a punch in the stomach. If Andrea was the one who had broken up with Fernando, supposed revenge on her part wouldn't make any sense. If she didn't want to be with him, there would be no reason to reveal Leon's identity to the press.

You were back to square one.

— Do you want to know why? — he asked softly, as you sat down next to him again.

— Did she give a reason?

— She said that I had well-defined priorities and that she wasn't one of them.

— Priorities?

— The work, Leon — Fernando hesitated for a few seconds — You.

You felt a churning sensation in your stomach.

— Me? What do I have to do with it?

The driver sighed heavily.

— I always made it clear from the beginning that you and Leon were an essential part of my life — he explained — Andrea accepted it well, but when she realized that I wouldn't give up living with you two, that I wanted to have you around, I think something changed in her mind.

— So she left you and decided to get revenge on top of that? — you questioned.

— It doesn't matter now, Y/N. What matters is that everyone knows about Leon and that we need to do something.

You clenched your jaw, deep in thought. It didn't matter who leaked the story, but rather what you would do to protect Leon from the approaching media storm.

— You can say you don’t know us…

— It’s not possible, there are photos of us on other occasions, with my parents, with Alberto…

— You can say he's Alberto's — you murmured, looking at your hands — We can pretend we're a couple, I believe he won't mind that, especially in these circumstances...

— No, definitely not — Fernando said, his voice firm — You will not compromise because of an error in judgment I made.

— So, you're just going to deny everything?

— Do I have another choice, Y/N?

— They won't buy this story...

— It's my word against that of an anonymous source, Y/N — the driver interrupted you — I can say that you are a friend of mine and that I have great affection for you and your family. That's simple.

You were thinking about the countless questions that could arise from that answer when the door to the suite opened.

— Papá! — Leon exclaimed, turning around the bed to go to Fernando and hug him.

— Hola, mijo — he said, forcing a smile on the boy — How are you?

— Good — the boy replied, as he sat on his lap — I was playing Mario Kart with Galle.

When you looked back, you found Fernando's manager and friend with a small smile on his face as he watched Leon with his father. However, as soon as his eyes met your, you could see the worry that permeated them.

— I bet you beat him, didn't you? — the driver asked.

— Yes, I won — Leon said, smiling — Galle slipped a lot on the banana peels!

— If someone hadn't thrown the peels at me, I would have arrived first — he countered, making the boy laugh — I'm going to have my revenge, there's no point in laughing, okay?

— I want to see that, huh? — Fernando said, while his son continued to provoke Alberto, talking about how he couldn't stop bumping at his opponents.

However, the relaxed air of the conversation was haunted by the dark cloud of reality. The looks you exchanged with the two men contained silent messages, requests for normality to be maintained, for everything to remain the same, for Leon's sake. And considering the subtle nods and goodnight hugs they gave the boy, you were sure that the three of you were completely committed to this mission.

The next day featured all the chaos that kept you awake for most of the night. With a cap firmly placed on Leon's head and the instruction to keep his head down, you entered the paddock holding his hand firmly. The questions mixed with the sound of camera clicks, focused on the reactions of the two of you.

— Leon, Leon, here! — one shouted.

— Where did you meet Fernando, Y/N? — another asked.

— Y/N, can you answer a question for us? — a third asked, as you climbed the stairs of the Aston Martin motorhome without saying a word. However, your expectation of going unnoticed there was shattered when you noticed the curious looks of the employees and guests who were there, the whispers multiplying.

You were still frozen in the same spot when you felt someone pull your hand.

— Mamá, can we go upstairs? — Leon asked softly, a shy expression on his face — I want to see papá.

— Yes, my love, let's go.

Trying to ignore the way you were being observed, you headed up the stairs towards Fernando's room, praying that there was no one else in the hallways of the motorhome. When you opened the door, however, you found Fernando accompanied by Alberto and Fabri, the three of them talking about something that was on Alberto's cell phone screen. Upon noticing their serious expressions, you made to close the door, but Leon reacted faster than you.

— Papá! — the boy exclaimed, entering the room without any ceremony, running into his father's arms — Happy birthday!

Fernando greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, seeming not to mind the interruption. Closing the door, you could feel the tension building up in your neck, making your movements somewhat painful. However, this was not the time to let that show, not when Leon was so happy.

— Thank you so much, my love. You don't know how happy having you here makes me.

— Mamá and I have a gift for you! — he said, looking at you with an expectation that made you give a small smile.

— A gift? — the driver followed his son's gaze, seeming interested — You know you don't need to give me anything, right?

— Leon insisted — you replied, as you opened your bag and took out a small box decorated with a fancy gold ribbon bow from inside. Then, taking a step forward, you handed it to Fernando — Happy birthday.

After a few seconds of hesitation, he picked up the box and examined it from the outside, the gold Richard Mille logo catching his attention. Giving his son a smile, the pilot undid the bow and opened the box, his eyes widening when he saw what was there.

— That…

— It's a new watch! — Leon exclaimed — Mamá and I made it for you!

Fernando looked at the gift with surprise, seeming not to believe what he had in his hands.

— You made this? — he asked, as he took the accessory out of the box to look at it.

— Yes! — the son responded immediately — Tell him, mamá!

— Richard said that you talked about samurai culture and that you were thinking about creating a model inspired by that a few years ago — you explained — At the end of last year, he called me to continue the project and this is the first functional prototype, what we call 000.

— I chose the colors! — Leon added, making you smile.

After a few seconds contemplating the details of the watch, Fernando hugged Leon and kissed the boy on the cheek again, murmuring something in Spanish to him. Then it was your turn to get a tight hug from him.

— Thank you for that.

— You know it's the least we can do for you, considering everything you've already done for us.

— It was my obligation, Y/N…

— And this is my way — you stopped, while Leon leaned against one of his father's legs, carefully observing the conversation between the two of you — Our way of showing how much we appreciate you for this.

The driver's smile was wide, framed by the same dimples that Leon had in his cheeks and that, seven years ago, had made your heart beat faster. However, you didn't have time to savor the feeling that took over your chest before he said that he needed to get ready for the meeting with the engineers before qualifying for the Sprint race.

With a new hug from Leon and a promise that you would see each other later, you left Fernando's room and went to the area reserved for team guests, where Melina welcomed the two of you with a wide smile. After suggesting the boy a plate of waffles and promising you that there would be no chocolate sauce like the day before, you stayed there, observing the hospitality and paddock movement, waiting for the time of the activities on the track.

Unfortunately, it had not been Fernando's day. After a difficult and rain-delayed qualifying, the Sprint was even more frustrating. Sitting in front of the television, you shook your foot insistently while Leon was standing, biting his nails even after you told him not to.

Then, exactly what you had been afraid of played out in front of you.

— Alonso! Fernando Alonso! — the narrator exclaimed, making your son's eyes widen — Off the track, on the gravel and outside the Sprint, bringing the Safety Car back to the track here in Spa-Francorchamps.

Repeating the image brought you a bit of relief, as the driver had not, in fact, hit the barrier, but had simply spinned onto the wet track and headed towards the escape zone. However, this didn't make Leon calmer, on the contrary.

— Mamá — he asked softly — Is papá okay?

Looking back at the screen in front of you, the image of Fernando walking alongside the marshalls made you give Leon a smile.

— Yes, he's fine, my love.

— Will he be able to have dinner with us today? — he asked, his voice full of hope.

— Yes, I'm sure. Now, let's continue watching the race and then go down to get a snack, what do you think?

With a vigorous nod, Leon sat down next to you, eyes focused on the action unfolding on the track. He celebrated the fight between Sergio Perez and Lewis Hamilton, as well as the overtaking of Carlos Sainz, saying he was good “like papá”. After the checkered flag and the podium ceremony, you invited your son to come with you downstairs.

Upon arriving at the common room of the hospitality, which was slightly empty, you were talking to one of the employees when you felt Leon pull your hand, trying to get your attention.

— Mamá, look over there — he said softly, pointing to one of the screens. In it, Fernando was in front of the microphone, a serious expression on his face. Giving him a small smile, you turned your attention to the employee, who had questioned you about Leon's juice.

After confirming the order and having your pass scanned, you looked again at your son, who was still staring at the television with a serious expression, as if he was paying attention to what Fernando was saying in Spanish. However, you only discovered what had happened later, when you were back at the hotel.

— Now, you go to the shower and I'll sort your clothes so we can go to dinner with your papá — you said, as you dropped your cell phone on the bed. However, when you turned around, you noticed that Leon was hesitant, his eyes on his hands — Is there a problem?

— Mamá, is papá my real papá?

You blinked, a little shocked by that question.

— Why are you asking?

— They asked papá if he had a son on television — the boy said, his voice full of sadness — And he said no.

Guilt made your heart feel heavy in your chest. You definitely didn't expect Leon to see any of Fernando’s interviews, especially one in which he had been mentioned. Pursing your lips, you tried to reorganize your thoughts, looking for the best answer for him, one that said what he needed to know at that moment and that's all.

However, you didn't even say a word.

— Is it true, mamá?

— My love, please — you murmured, sitting on the bed with wobbly legs, your heart racing inside your chest.

— Papá isn’t my papá? — he continued asking, his brown eyes filled with something you had never seen in him before.

Anger.

— Leon, you don’t know what you’re talking about…

— I do! — the boy exclaimed — I saw papá saying that he didn't have any children, that that was nonsense. He doesn't have a son, I'm not his son!

— Can you hear me, Leon? — your voice rising.

— No! — he shouted — You lied to me! Everyone lied to me!

— It's not like that, let me explain — you tried to say, while the boy walked with heavy steps to the bathroom.

— Lies, all lies! — Leon shouted, before entering the bathroom and closing the door violently.

Something about that scene reminded you of your own adolescence. You felt like you were watching yourself argue heatedly with your parents and, in an attempt to escape that, you hid inside your room, but not before slamming the door hard, taking out all your anger on her.

However, Leon was not a teenager, but just a boy.

He was your little boy.

You didn't even notice when the first tear ran down his face, bitter and completely lost. At that moment, with Leon thinking that his life had been a real lie, you had no idea what to do. Forcibly entering the bathroom to try to explain things felt wrong, as did shouting the truth at the wood.

Then, a knock on the door made something light up in his mind.

Running to the door, you clumsily opened it, praying that it was whoever you needed that was there by your side.

— Good evening — Fernando greeted you, his smile dying when he saw your red eyes and wet cheeks — What happened, Y/N?

— It's Leon — you stammered, your eyes filling with tears.

He walked past you with heavy steps, his expression serious.

— Where is he? What happened to my son?

You looked at him sadly.

— Leon thinks you’re not his father — you just said, your voice breaking.

The driver looked shocked by that, as if he couldn't believe what you had said.

— What?

— He saw the interview after the Sprint and came to this conclusion. I don't know how or why, but he's convinced we lied to him.

Fernando passed a hand over his face, dismayed.

— I didn’t say anything much…

— It was enough for him — you replied harshly, even by your standards. However, he didn't seem to mind, going to the bathroom door and knocking gently.

— Mijo? It's papá, please open.

— No! — Leon shouted.

— Please, my love, let papá explain to you…

— I don't want to hear you!

He let out a heavy sigh, resting his forehead against the wood.

His son didn't want to talk to him, or anyone.

Asking you to inform him of any developments, you watched Fernando exit the suite you were sharing with Leon in silence, his shoulders slumped as if he was carrying something extremely heavy on his back. Probably guilt for having said what shouldn't have been said, even though the intention was the best possible.

The silence after the bedroom door closed seemed to last for ages. Lying in bed, you stared at the ceiling in silence. The tears had already stopped flowing some time ago when you heard the bathroom handle turn and the door open, revealing Leon. Sitting down on the mattress, you saw that the boy's eyes were red and his nose was still running, which indicated that he had been crying.

Silently, he sat near your legs, head down.

— Leon — you murmured, hesitantly.

— I want to leave — the boy said, his voice surprisingly firm.

— But, we have the race tomorrow, papá said...

— I don't want to watch the race anymore — Leon interrupted you, looking at you — I want to go home, mamá.

The news that his son wanted to leave Spa as soon as possible, without even watching the race, hit Fernando like a bombshell. He even asked you to try to convince him to stay until morning, so the two of you could talk better, but Leon was impassive.

And, as the lights came on on the track, the two of you were already in the air, heading home in absolute silence.

The following months followed in the same way. As much as you and Fernando hoped that Leon would give in and talk to his father, he remained impassive. During the summer break, there were many times that the driver went to your house to see him, without any success. The answer was always the same.

— He's not my father.

The only person he still allowed himself to see was Alberto, who was trying to break the barriers imposed by the boy. However, after an afternoon of walking with him, Galle looked at you with a worried expression, a strong contrast to the smile with which he had said goodbye to his godson.

— Did something happen? Is it about Fernando?

— Yeah — he said, passing a hand over his face — I didn't say anything, just to make it clear, it was Leon who asked about Fer and...

— What he said?

— He asked how Fer was doing, with those words. I replied that he was fine, but very sad that he wasn't talking to him, that he was missing him.

— Did Leon say anything about that?

— Just that he doesn't understand the fact that he's missing him because he's nothing to Fernando, he has no reason to care about that — Alberto replied, punctuating with a heavy sigh — Look, Y/N, I really don't know if I don't It's time to sit down with him and explain this misunderstanding...

— You think I didn't try? — you returned, crossing your arms.

— I imagine there is, but maybe you call Fer and the three of you sit down and talk seriously...

— Leon doesn’t want to talk…

— He can't just ignore his own father forever, Y/N — Alberto interrupted you, gesturing with one of his hands — You'll have to come up with some idea to help him, otherwise, Fer will go crazy.

You spent the next few days with that in your head, your mind searching for the best way to show Leon that Fernando was his father and that, above all, he loved him. Among his ideas was the possibility of asking the driver's parents to intervene or simply taking him to a psychologist and letting her lead the conversation.

Until an idea came to your mind.

The easy part was convincing Fernando to do that. Of course, it wasn't simple, considering all the implications it would have on your lives, especially when it came to your privacy. However, the idea of ​​being rejected for the rest of his life by his son made the driver give in.

The real challenge was convincing Leon to sit next to you to watch the television, which was already tuned to the channel he would appear on. The boy resisted bravely, stating that he didn't want to see Fernando and that he didn't like Formula 1 anymore. However, somehow, the image of his father on television made him stop, his eyes attentive.

— We're here with Fernando Alonso, Aston Martin driver, how are you?

— Everything's great — he replied with a smile.

— McLaren will be a challenge for you here in Abu Dhabi, right?

— Yes, totally. In the last two races, we gained more points than them, but we need a small miracle to overcome them — the driver explained — We are separated by 11 points, but we will try. Our main motivation is the constructors' championship.

— Now, with this season over, what are your plans?

— Well, the main thing is to rest, especially after so many trips. After the race, I go home to spend some time with Leon.

The mention to his son made the reporter's eyes widen.

— Leon, you mean…

— My son, yes. I did my best to avoid speculation and protect his and his mother's privacy, but it doesn't do much good right now and, if I can be honest, I was tired of not being able to tell him how amazing he is and how much I love him.

— I assume he likes speed — the man asked, still looking disconcerted.

— He loves it, understands everything and can’t wait to start driving. But he also loves drawing and plays football very well, so we'll have a lot to do during this vacation.

After he greeted the reporter one last time and left the camera, you looked at Leon, who was staring at the television in silence.

— Are you fine, my love? — you asked.

— Papá talked about me — he stammered, looking at you.

— Yes, he did, did you see?

— He said he loves me…

— Papá always loved you, Leon. From the beginning, when you were still in mamá's belly. He loves you very much and nothing will change that.

The boy smiled at you for the first time in a long time.

— Can we call him, mamá?

— Do you want to talk to papá?

— Yes, I do.

You felt tears as you searched for Fernando's contact details on your cell phone. Tapping the video call icon, the driver's image appeared almost immediately on your screen, his expression indicating the anxiety he felt.

— So, Y/N, did it work? — he asked.

Turning the phone to Leon, the boy's smile grew even wider.

— Hi, papá…

— Hi, mijo — you heard Fernando ask with a choked voice — Did you see papá on television?

— I did.

— Did you see I talked about you? — he questioned, with Leon nodding positively in response — Do you understand now that papá loves you?

A few seconds of silence followed, tension building in your shoulders.

Then, another positive wave from the boy made you smile, tears streaming down your face.

— I love you so much, mijo. You are the most precious thing I have in my life and I would never do anything if it wasn't for your happiness and your safety.

— I love you too, papá.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen

We are pleased to announce that we are now accepting submissions of Ladies to hold the Title of

👑💖🌹Queen of Love and Beauty🌹💖👑

The Queen of Love and Beauty* shall hold the honour of presenting unto the winner of the Tournament his Champion's Coronet.

To qualify as a contender for the honour of Queen of the Tournament, the Lady in question:

must be a character from a live-action TV or Film property set between the Years AD 500--AD 1550 (or a fantasy property that emulates said period).

must have been played by an actress who was of age at the time of filming

must exemplify (in your opinion) feminine dignity, grace and loveliness

This form shall remain open ONLY until the 18th of August. The number of nominations shall be capped at 72.

This is a mini-bracket. The first round will consist of six polls of 12 each.

Because this is a limited tournament, being nominated to compete is not a guarantee that your submission will be entered. We will be determining who the final entrants are based on the number of submissions they receive, and after all multiple entries have been admitted, then on a first-come-first-served basis.

After we have selected our 72 contenders, we will release a complete list of the 72 and will accept propaganda for them via our ask box.

*This is not an actual historical medieval thing; it's a fictional precedent set by Sir Walter Scott in Ivanhoe and has since been popularized by George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series. We're doing it because it is present in those properties (which are part of our tournament), and also because we thought it would be fun and refreshing to do something for the ladies.

[bardic-inspirjaytion]

Why do you call your cat piss king? Is he really good at it or something?

hi anon!

we're gonna learn a bit about cat urinary systems and issues! it may be a bit TMI for the scope of the question but, given how few cat guardians know about this, I'm always looking for chances to educate since being informed can literally save a cat's life.

the main takeaway: if you notice that your cat cannot pee, HEAD TO THE EMERGENCY VET NOW, DO NOT PASS GO! full stop.

if they cannot pee, that is one of the few true emergencies in a healthy cat, and you NEED to treat it as such.

usually you'll see a blocked cat straining and vocalizing in the box, licking themselves, whining and highly reactive to being touched on the lower belly, and - of course - you won't see any proper urine in the box. there may be dribbles or blood, but no pee. this is a problem that escalates really fast, and can easily be lethal. do NOT fuck around with it.

what qualifies me to talk about this? it's exactly what happened to pekoe (peek for short) about three years ago.

proper Storytime and more detail below the cut.

see, the thing with cats is that their bladders are tiny and their kidneys are, uh, bad! so if they can't pee, not only is it incredibly painful, but the liquid and toxins building up in their system can do a LOT of organ damage in a VERY short amount of time. this can get very bad, very fast, and it is very easy for them to die from it if the issue can't be fixed easily and promptly.

usually, the vet will be able to get a catheter into the blocked cat to relieve the pressure, flush out their bladder if there's a physical blockage (ex, if they've made bladder crystals/stones, we gotta get those out of there!), and give them medication to prevent spasms and infection as they heal. a cat then needs to go on urinary-friendly food to prevent additional blockages for the rest of their lives, and some other lifestyle adjustments should be made to treat any underlying risk factors that the animal might have.

sometimes, however, that doesn't resolve the issue, and they block again. and if you're extra unlucky, they'll block AGAIN after that. and maybe again, for extra spice. if you're extra extra unlucky, this will all happen in the same week.

this is the situation that peek and i found ourselves in.

picture the urinary system of a cat as a funnel, with the external bits being the tip of the funnel. when you ultimately need to make a funnel bigger because it can't drain anymore, what do you do?

you remove the tip.

this is an operation called a perineal urethrostomy, or a PU for short. it's a last resort salvage procedure that essentially removes the external genitalia of a male cat to widen the exit of the urinary tract and prevent future blockages. it's a difficult and delicate operation with a very long recovery time. it was also the only option left to save peek's life.

real talk before this next bit: i will never judge pet guardians for impossible decisions made in good faith based on qualified medical advice, in the interest of trying to do what's best for their pets. flat up, i don't stand for that shit.

okay? cool, let's keep going.

a PU is definitely not a surgery that has any guarantees, it can be very painful, it needs a very skilled vet to do it, and it's both expensive and difficult to see an animal through it safely. it was also the one option we had left to save peek, who was very very VERY sick at that point. the vet told me that she was also willing to do euthanasia, if the PU was not right for us, with zero judgment - the little guy had been through a lot of pain and several surgeries already, and doing this operation would be asking a lot more from an animal that was already very weak, with no guarantees of success.

he was briefly stable so i took him home to think about it and sat with him overnight. hours in the darkened living room, with my fluffy best friend sleeping fitfully in my arms like a sick baby. in the morning when he woke up he gave me a little lick on the face, and then a headbutt with a weak but undeniably hungry little meow. he hadn't had an appetite in a week, but now he wanted breakfast. in that moment, i knew he was letting me know that he wasn't finished fighting yet, so i knew the right decision for me was to keep fighting for him.

i called the vet, and we went ahead with the surgery.

i'll spare you the rest of the grisly details - the procedure was a success, and i was lucky enough to be able to work remotely and nurse him through the recovery. it was long and difficult and stressful. it sucked! it was crazy making. i would break down weeping with relief every single time i saw a dirty litter box for WEEKS. if you're reading this and going through it yourself, please feel free to reach out to me any time, okay?

but we persevered. i took care of him, and he rallied like a goddamn king. and hey. anon. guess what?

that was almost three years ago. his life went fully back to normal after he healed. you wouldn't know that this had happened if you didn't already know, because that fluffy little king still pisses like a champion race horse.

so, that's the story of how pekoe became

THE PISS KING.

[vex-bittys]

When Life Gives You Skeletons: Chapter 6: Sleepover 2: Skeleton Boogaloo

“THERE’S NO NEED TO CRY, HUMAN,” the skeleton monster named Papyrus tells you. You may not have realized that tears were streaming down your face, but being overwhelmed by positive emotions totally qualifies as a reason to cry. “IF YOU DISLIKE THE GIFTS, WE CAN GO TOGETHER AND EXCHANGE THEM.”

“I love the gifts,” you say quickly, not wanting to seem ungrateful. “I'm just emotionally overwhelmed and-”

Edge interrupts you. “THE HUMAN IS A BLUBBERING CRYBABY, PAPYRUS. GET USED TO IT.” The grumpy skeleton pushes past you, bumping Papyrus roughly on his way towards the kitchen. He drops the bag of toiletries onto the coffee table but takes the rest of the bags from the shopping trip with him. “I'LL PUT THE CLOTHING ITEMS IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM, BUT DON'T THINK FOR A SECOND THAT I'M GOING TO WASH YOUR CLOTHES FOR YOU!”

You did not think for a second that Edge would offer or in any way help you out with chores even under extreme duress, but instead of saying so, you call out a humble “okay” in the general direction of the kitchen. Nobody else seems to be surprised or offended by Edge’s behavior, so why should you be?

“I APOLOGIZE THAT I MUST DEPRIVE YOU OF MY ILLUSTRIOUS PRESENCE, DEAR HUMAN, BUT THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL BE PREPARING TONIGHT'S FAMILY MEAL!” Papyrus strikes a heroic pose, much like Blue had done last night, then spins off into the kitchen in the strangest way. Once again, you choose to ignore the odd behavior, this time in favor of shouting your name after the retreating skeleton monster.

“guess we're havin’ spaghetti t'night.” You turn to Red to ask him about his comment (after all, spaghetti is delicious), but you never get the chance because the voice of a very loud and most likely very angry someone begins yelling outside, and the sound is coming closer.

“that's our cue to leave, doll.” Red grabs your hand in one of his and snatches the bag off of the coffee table with the other, then he drags you up a flight of stairs just before the front door explodes open. You don't see the voice's owner, but as Red rushes you down a door-lined hallway and up another flight of stairs, you certainly hear him.

“-AND WHEN I FIND THE CAR-THIEVING CURMUDGEON, REST ASSURED THE CONSEQUENCES WILL BE SUITABLY DIRE,” the speaker threatens in a grating, deep shriek.

Red leads you down a short hallway on the third floor, pausing at an open doorway to listen. He probably wants to know if you're being followed, or maybe he's just trying to find out exactly what the promised “dire consequences” for grand theft auto and curmudgeonry will entail.

“You wouldn't happen to be the car-thieving curmudgeon, would you?” you ask innocently, though Red's reaction downstairs is answer enough.

“go easy on him,” a pleasant, low voice calls from beyond the door. “red’s not a bed guy.”  You instantly identify the voice (and use of puns) as Sans, and when you push the door further open to reveal a skeleton monster laying on his side on a large bed with his skull propped up on one hand, you are not the least bit surprised. You are, however, ready to return fire (of puns).

“Oh sheet ! There's a skeleton in here!” Sans chuckles, and it's such a happy, contagious sound that you immediately catch a very severe case of secondhand giggles.

“doll, no,” Red scolds you gently, sounding exasperated already. Little does he know that his attitude practically guarantees more puns will be used. Sans does not disappoint. 

“she seems a little shocked, Red. maybe you should-” Sans pauses, and that ever-present smile that adorns the faces of all skeletons, monsters or not, widens and tilts upwards at the corners ever so slightly. It is the universal expression of mischief. “- comforter .”

Red groans and clutches his chest as if Sans has struck a mortal blow with his wordplay. You decide to deal the coup de grace.

“I'm sorry, sir, but you're under… ar rest for utilizing the… pil low-hanging fruit of the joke world.” You somehow manage to deliver the joke deadpan, but when Sans cracks up, you dissolve into hearty laughter and collapse next to him on the bed.

Red makes a noise of disgust and throws his hands in the air, forgetting that he's holding a plastic bag full of heavy bottles and packages. Your earlier purchases swing forward and smack Red right in the face. He drops the bag, spilling toiletry items across the hardwood floors. Red rubs at his bruised cheek, and when you try to check him for injuries, he waves off your concern so you scramble off of the bed to gather up the scattered supplies before they leak their contents everywhere.

“Good thing none of these broke open.” You breathe a sigh of relief and stuff your shampoo and conditioner back into their crinkly plastic prison. “I'd feel so bad if we left a mess in your room.” You glance at Sans to see if the incident has upset him, but he's just chuckling again.

“it's not my room, kid. it's your room, and you can make a mess in here if you want to.” Oh. Oh, wow.

“yeah, my room's a disaster area, just how i like it,” Red brags. As he goes on to extoll the virtues of messy living spaces, you take a look around yours. 

The best word to describe the… well, it's not actually a bedroom; it’s more of a suite. The best word to describe the suite would be beautiful, followed in a close second by breathtaking. The bedroom area contains dark wood floors, walls, and ceiling with white trim and furnishings decorated tastefully in sage green, salmon pink, and buttercream yellow. The floor to ceiling shelving along the far wall is bare, but some kind-hearted skeleton monster (you'd bet on Papyrus) has put a vase of fresh flowers on one of the nightstands. The other nightstand holds a lamp and a Bluetooth speaker with a built-in clock. It's a thoughtful touch. 

Across from the sleeping area is a sitting area decorated in the same style. Huge sliding glass doors frame the sitting area with a spectacular view of an open air veranda and the forested slopes of Mount Ebbott. Living here is going to be like living in one of those luxury lodges for extremely rich people who shoot animals for bragging rights, minus the excessive amounts of money and the complete disregard for the sanctity of life.

On the bed itself is Sans the skeleton, who you now realize must be the source of the clothing you borrowed earlier because you're practically wearing the same outfit. The lounging monster is rocking pink slippers with socks, basketball shorts instead of track pants, a white t-shirt, and a blue hoodie identical to the one that you have on. Sans makes “I reached into my closet in the dark and put on whatever I grabbed first” look good; you make it look like you reached into your closet in the dark and put on whatever you grabbed first.

Red must have recovered from his traumatic encounter with your deodorant because he's watching you with that subtle sincere skeleton monster smile. “ya haven't even seen th’ bathroom yet, doll,” he teases, pointing to a closed door. You hurry over to check it out, chased by the sounds of two skeletons’ very similar-sounding low chuckles.

You think that you should pinch yourself to see if you're dreaming, but who would want to wake up from a dream like this? The bathroom is just as stunning as the rest of the house, maybe more so because it's your very own personal, private bathroom. You've always shared a bathroom with a roommate or with Gran, and it feels surprisingly decadent to have one all to yourself… especially this one.

The floors are tiled in natural rock in different shades of tan, brown, and gray, and the wall has loving crafted mosaic tile waves in shades of deep rich teal and dark cyan. Evening sunlight spills in through a skylight to illuminate the pale blue color of a summer sky above the tiled waves, and the large porcelain bathtub, sink, and toilet with their palest cream shower curtain and plush rugs are like clouds floating across a gorgeous beach paradise. A small arrangement of succulents on top of a linen cabinet adds to the tropical resort vibe. You even spot a pristine white bathrobe hanging on the back of the door.

You hear Sans's voice speaking from right behind you; he must've gotten off the bed while you perused the bathroom in slack-jawed wonderment. “papyrus did all of the tile work himself,” he informs you with secondhand pride.

“It’s amazing,” you breathe without bothering to turn around and face him. You can't tear your eyes away from the bathtub and its glorious array of water jets. You plan to live in that bathtub, no matter how prune-like your skin becomes.

“yeah, my bro is pretty awesome, isn't he?” 

You agree wholeheartedly, but you definitely have a question about your sudden good fortune in living arrangements. “Why don't you or your cousins use this room? The view is spectacular.” You gesture at the sprawling vista of forest and mountains visible through the sliding glass doors.

Though you direct the question at Sans, Red decides to answer it.

“when ya spend as much time as we did under a mountain, ya don't want a constant reminder of it starin’ atcha through yer bedroom window.”

Red has never spoken to you in such a somber voice before, and you aren't sure how to respond. Melancholy silence never gets a chance to settle over the room because a certain artistically talented tile-laying skeleton thunders up the stairs, announcing the advent of dinner in his booming, boisterous voice.

With your three skeleton monster entourage in tow (although Papyrus is technically not “in tow” because he's leading the way), you head back down the stairs for dinner. Delicious aromas of fresh herbs, garlic, and tomatoes waft from the kitchen on currents of air warmed by the cooking process. Your mouth waters at the thought of a home-cooked meal despite your sandwich luncheon a scant few hours earlier. Bread, cheese, and cold cuts don't really compare to something made with time, effort, and care.

You enter the dining area off of the kitchen and find five skeletons seated around a massive wooden dining table. You recognize Edge and Blueberry, and the short skeleton practically tips over his chair leaping out of it to greet you.

“MAIDEN!” Blue grabs both of your hands in his and his namesake eyes are huge and round. “I HEARD WHAT HAPPENED! I'M SO SORRY YOU WENT THROUGH SOMETHING SO TERRIBLE!” You hear sincerity in every exuberant word.

“It’s okay, Blue,” you reassure him. “It’s over now, and as a bonus, I get to stay with my new friend, the Magnificent Blueberry.” Blue cheers. “Which reminds me, I need to go wash the clothes that my other skeleton friends bought me.” You gesture at Red, who is sinking into a chair next to his brother. Edge is busy having an inaudible conversation with another scarred skeleton- a short and sharp-toothed one with purple eyelights.

You duck into the kitchen, on your way to the laundry room, and spot Papyrus at the counter, scooping hearty servings of spaghetti onto plates. A baking sheet of homemade garlic bread dotted with green herbs sits steaming next to him, waiting its turn to be plated.

You call out to him: “Hey, Papyrus, as soon as I get my laundry going, I'll help you with those plates ok?”

“HUMAN,” Papyrus greets you even though you told him your name earlier. “YOUR NEW CLOTHES ARE ALREADY SORTED AND BEING LAUNDERED, BUT IF YOU WOULD  LIKE TO HELP ME, COULD YOU CARRY A FEW OF THESE PLATES TO THE DINING TABLE?” 

You shuffle over and transfer garlic bread segments onto some of the plates before picking up and nimbly balancing four plates on your hands and lower arms, a skill you learned during a stint of waitressing during college. Papyrus blinks at your carefully balanced load, impressed.

“WOWIE, HUMAN,” says the sweet skeleton, hands on either side of his face, his dark onyx eyelights sparkling in the depths of his sockets, “YOU SURE ARE GREAT AT BALANCING PLATES! I'VE OFTEN THOUGHT IT WOULD BE NICE TO HAVE EIGHT ARMS TO CARRY PLATES… OR EIGHT LEGS SO I COULD WEAR FOUR PAIRS OF HOTPANTS.” Papyrus pops his hip to the side and wiggles his coccyx at you. His tight shorts hug his bones nicely.

“I don't know if the world is ready for you in four pairs of hotpants, Papyrus,” you tell him with a smile, ferrying the warm plates of food to the skeletons waiting at the dining table. Papyrus trails behind you, carrying just two plates. You drop off your cargo in front of Sans, Red, Edge, and the short skeleton next to Edge whose name you haven't heard yet, then hurry back to the kitchen for the last two plates which end up in front of you and Papyrus.

Your butt barely introduces itself to your seat between Papyrus and Blue before the short skeleton with the purple eyelights makes a snarky remark at your expense.

“SO WE'RE JUST LETTING IN ANY RIFFRAFF OFF OF THE STREETS NOW?” His voice is deep, forceful, and as venomous as a king cobra, and he points at you with a fork full of perfectly twirled spaghetti.

You're not just going to sit there and take his verbal jab. Oh no. “Well, you're here, so I guess we are,” you say with obviously fake sweetness. The offensive question had left a shocked silence in its wake, and you drop your bomb of a response directly into that silence.

A second passes.

Another second passes.

Nobody moves. Nobody speaks.

A snort from Sans's general direction shatters the silence. Red pounds the table and guffaws. More laughter erupts around the table. Edge covers his mouth to hide his smile, but you see it anyway. The tension dissipates quickly, and everyone, including you, gets back to the task at hand: dinner.

You taste your first mouthful of pasta and sauce; the flavor is as heavenly as the aroma. Papyrus even grates some fresh parmesan onto your spaghetti with the type of grater that you've only seen in fancy restaurants. You savor your next few bites while studying the housemates that you haven't officially met yet.

Sans sits at the head of the table, and Papyrus is on his right-hand side. You come next, then Blue. On Blue's other side, a skeleton in an orange hoodie is slouched in his chair. He resembles Papyrus. He's tall with dark eyelights that only appear as a glimmer in his sockets. You watch him sneak something out of his pocket. It's a honey bear, and he pours some of its sweet, amber contents onto his plate of food. Blue scolds him.

Red shovels spaghetti into his mouth across from you. His brother is once again deep in conversation with the shorter scarred skeleton monster. Red must be their topic of conversation because he suddenly and loudly interjects.

“i didn’ steal the fucking car. i borrowed it without askin’!”

“THAT'S STEALING,” Edge informs him.

“i stole the fucking car then.” Red shrugs. “s'whatcha get fer double-parking it behind my chopper.”

“I LEFT AMPLE SPACE,” the purple-eyed skeleton argues hotly.

“bullshit!”

The purple-eyed skeleton drops his fork onto his plate and starts to push his chair back. Things are getting out of control, but Edge handles the situation before his brother and the other skeleton can start brawling at the dinner table.

“I WILL TAKE CARE OF THE SITUATION, BLACKBERRY.”

“SEE THAT YOU DO,” the skeleton with the purple eyelights, Blackberry, says in an officious tone of shout.

With the impending fight diffused, the tension once again fades away. You take a bite of your garlic bread, enjoying the buttery, garlicky goodness. You swallow that bite and allow your attention to wander to the last skeleton monster at the table. Two dark orange eyelights catch your eyes. How long has he been staring at you? You refuse to act guilty by lowering your eyes. If he wants to stare, you'll stare right back! 

Your unblinking nemesis is another tall skeleton, but he's slouched in his chair as if he might slide out of it and onto the floor at any moment. This skeleton, like the other skeletons sitting across the table from you, has sharp teeth, including a gold fang. His angular facial features remind you a bit of Edge, though Edge doesn't strike you as the type of guy who would wear a jacket with fluff around the perimeter of the hood.

You give up on winning the staring contest because your poor dry eyeballs are screaming at you to blink. You suddenly find your plate of food to be extremely interesting to look at. You think you hear a dry chuckle from Mr. Fluffy Jacket, and you barely resist the urge to start the staring contest all over again. Instead, you decide to give credit where credit is due.

“Thanks for starting my laundry for me, Papyrus.” You stab your spaghetti and spin the fork to gather a hearty bite, not really expecting more than a mumbled “you're welcome.” 

Papyrus does not mumble his reply, nor does he give that response.

“I DIDN'T START YOUR LAUNDRY, HUMAN,” Papyrus explains in his theatrical boom. “EDGE DID THAT.”

You glance at Edge across the table from you, and your words of gratitude stall in your throat. Edge gives you a defiant glare, daring you to utter a single word about your precious laundry. You remember how Red had reacted to being thanked and wonder if Edge has the same aversion to gratitude, but you also hate the thought of someone being kind to you without at least verbal recognition to show for it.

“Oh,” you say, knowing it's woefully inadequate. You search for different wording, a way to tell Edge that you appreciate what he did without making him uncomfortable. He saves you the trouble.

“THE CLOTHING ITEMS WERE IN THE WAY. I DIDN'T WANT TO WASTE TIME WAITING FOR YOU TO GET AROUND TO MOVING THEM YOURSELF.” 

Edge’s speech makes perfect sense if you ignore the fact that he took the clothes to the laundry room himself and could've easily left them in any one of the available hampers you saw earlier. You decide not to point that out, or the fact that he had very pointedly declared that he would not be helping you with your laundry. In fact, you drop the matter entirely since Edge seems dead set on pretending he had acted out of simple convenience. The grumpy skeleton monster relaxes, and you know that you made the right decision.

Dinner continues. You listen to the ebb and flow of conversation like a tide of noise as conversations start or break up around the table. Minor squabbles begin and end to the clink and clatter of silverware on plates. Is this what family dinners are like? You wouldn't know because you only ever ate dinner with Gran. You think you could get used to the cozy white noise of it all, perhaps even enjoy it.

You manage to finish most of your meal in spite of your midday sandwich with Red. Things are definitely winding down for the evening, and a lull in the chatter gives you an opportunity to ask a question that's been on your mind.

“I thought Red mentioned that there are ten skeleton monsters living here?” You direct your inquiry at Sans since he isn't engaged in conversation currently (mostly because he just dropped a pasta pun that made Papyrus nearly apoplectic). 

Sans shrugs and winks, thereby winning the award for least helpful answer ever given. You have a sudden urge to join Papyrus in his eye-popping, foot stomping fit. Sans basks in the glory of his two person infuriation streak when he notices your scowl.

Thankfully, in addition to being a skeleton monster, Papyrus is also a saint. He answers the question for his brother smoothly, and you wonder if this is just typical Sans behavior.

“AXE AND RUSTY AREN'T VERY SOCIAL, SO THEY DON'T USUALLY JOIN THE REST OF US FOR DINNER,” he explains. “THEY ARE-” Papyrus pauses to weigh his word choices. He completes his thought at the same time that two other voices add their own opinions to the end of his sentence:

“- SHY AROUND NEWCOMERS.” Papyrus.

“- psycho.” Red.

“- DAMAGED.” Blackberry.

You wait, but nobody corrects the less than flattering descriptions of the missing housemates. Your eyes travel from skeleton to skeleton, but every single one of them averts their eyelights, willing to look anywhere else to avoid your accusatory gaze. Beads of red sweat form on Red's skull, and you focus your scrutiny like a laser. The sweat beads multiply, and Red finally breaks.

“they went through some shit n’ it messed ‘em up,” Red reluctantly explains. “they have episodes sometimes n’ axe can be dangerous. jus’ don't wander ‘round here at night is all.” Well that's not at all terrifying.

“I'M ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CERTAIN THAT AXE AND RUSTY WOULDN'T HARM YOU ABOUT NINETY PERCENT OF THE TIME,” adds Papyrus. Somehow you are not reassured, and it gives you something to think about while dinner wraps up.

Blueberry scolds the hoodie-wearing skeleton next to him for falling asleep in the remains of his sauce. Edge lectures Red about grand theft auto. Sans sports a shit-eating grin after making another successful brother-irritating pun, and the skeleton with the dark orange eyelights has resumed his staring. Blackberry’s eyelights are locked on the fork in his hand, turning it to and fro to catch the glimmer of the overhead lights. Occasionally he utters a few muted words to Mr. Stares-a-Lot.

You hear Sans accuse Papyrus of laughing at his puns. “I AM, AND I HATE IT,” Papyrus cries, then stands up and starts gathering empty plates from around the table. You rise to help him though he insists that it isn't necessary. 

Blueberry gives you that genuine skeleton smile of his and lifts his brother’s sauce-spattered skull off of his plate. You take both plates and stack them with yours, but before you can move on to collect more dishes, a bony hand grips your wrist. The hoodie-wearing skeleton regards you with narrowed sockets, and the red sauce on his face resembles blood. Creepy.

“don't try to play games with us,” he warns in a low voice meant only for your ears. Also creepy.

“Not even Candy Land?” you ask with an exaggerated pout. Deflection is the better part of valor.

The skeleton monster's expression instantly relaxes. Without the tension in his facial bones, his round features exude a youthful, lackadaisical aura.

“i'll make an exception for candy land.” He winks at you and wipes spaghetti sauce off of his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. Blueberry goes right back to scolding him.

Your conversation only lasts for a minute, but Papyrus already has the rest of the plates and utensils in his hands. You follow him to the sink and adjacent dishwasher while the other skeletons disperse to places unknown. Papyrus scrapes the plates over a trash bin, and you give them a rinse before loading the dishwasher. Next, you both move on to packing up the leftovers.

Papyrus retrieves two large plastic containers from an overhead cupboard; you envy the ease with which tall people are able to reach things. The containers have “Axe” and “Rusty” printed neatly on them in permanent marker. You help Papyrus divide the rather large (in your opinion) portion of leftover spaghetti equally between the containers, but when you're done, Papyrus scoops some out of the “Axe” container and adds it to the “Rusty” one. The tall skeleton finds you some aluminum foil, and you wrap up the remaining pieces of garlic bread. Papyrus takes a marker out of a drawer and labels them.

“AXE AND RUSTY HAVE ISSUES SURROUNDING FOOD,” Papyrus tells you while you work, “SO MAKE SURE YOU WRITE YOUR NAME ON ANYTHING THAT YOU DON'T WANT THEM TO EAT.”

You open the fridge and make a space for the leftovers. Using the permanent marker, Papyrus points to your half-eaten sandwich from earlier. Accepting the offered writing utensil, you remove your lunch from the fridge and scrawl a quick note on it:

Axe and Rusty,

If you’re hungry, help yourselves to this sandwich.

You print your name on the bottom so that it's nice and legible, then put the uneaten sandwich half back in the fridge.

With the kitchen restored to its pre-dinner glory, there's only one task left to check off of your to-do list: folding your laundry! Someone else had the same idea though because when you slip into the laundry room, Blueberry is already there, adding a neatly folded shirt to a stack of clothing in a laundry basket. You recognize the items that Edge bought for you earlier as well as underwear and bras that you hope didn't make Blue feel uncomfortable to handle.

“ALMOST DONE HERE, MAIDEN,” Blueberry informs you. “I CAN CARRY THE BASKET UP TO THE ATTIC FOR YOU TOO!” Blue proceeds to flex despite a distinct lack of muscles.

“I'LL BRING THE GIFT BASKET,” Papyrus calls from behind you.

Thanks to the combined efforts of Edge, Papyrus, and Blueberry, not only did you not have to buy yourself new belongings, you also didn't have to wash, dry, fold, or even carry a single thing back up the two flights of stairs to your new bedroom. You have to admit that just going up and down all of those stairs day after day is going to be quite the workout for your leg muscles. You don't feel it yet, but you're pretty sure that your legs are going to ache tomorrow.

Blueberry holds the basket of your clothing while you arrange its contents in the chest of drawers in your room. There's plenty of space, but Edge also kind of went overboard replacing your destroyed wardrobe. Papyrus hums a jaunty little tune and places the gift basket items on the shelves in your bathroom. You and Blue join him, and in no time, the entire suite looks homey and lived-in.

The problem is that it still feels strange and unconnected to you. You stand in the center of the bedroom, trying to vibe with your new surroundings, but you can't rush familiarity.

“THE FIRST NIGHT IN A NEW PLACE IS ALWAYS A LITTLE UNSETTLING.” It's as if Blueberry can read your thoughts. He has a faraway look in his eyelights, and you notice Papyrus staring out at the hulking moonlit silhouette of the mountain. They must know better than anyone what it's like to have everything in your life change all at once.

“MAYBE WE COULD HAVE A SLEEPOVER DOWNSTAIRS TONIGHT WITH MOVIES AND POPCORN, AND YOU CAN ACCLIMATE TO YOUR NEW ENVIRONMENT TOMORROW.” Papyrus's suggestion makes you feel a bit like a new goldfish in one of those plastic bags from the pet store, floating in a new tank until you get used to the temperature of the water, but the idea of a sleepover does sound appealing. Movies, new friends, and hot buttery popcorn are definitely a great way to ease your transition to your new home.

Blueberry and Papyrus wait for your answer with bated breath (if that's even possible for monsters who don't possess lungs). You want to tell Papyrus that a sleepover is a brilliant idea, but a sound at your door steals the attention of everyone in the room.

Knock, knock.

“Come in,” you call out to the mystery knocker.

“aw, doll, yer s'pposed ta say ‘who's there?’” It’s Red, and he seems a bit surprised to find Blue and Papyrus standing there.

“Blue and Papyrus are here,” you tease him, “and we're all going to have a sleepover and movie marathon downstairs!” Blueberry and Papyrus cheer, but Red shuffles his sneakered feet for a moment before deciding to accept the implied invitation.

“guess i ain't got nothin’ better ta do.” 

You emit a happy little “yay” and clap your hands in delight. 

“I'LL MAKE THE POPCORN,” offers Papyrus, who then immediately dashes out of your room as if popcorn-making simply cannot wait one more second.

“I'LL SEE WHO ELSE WANTS TO JOIN US,” contributes Blue, leaving your room at a much more leisurely pace.

“c'mon doll, we can raid my blanket stash.” You grab the comforter and pillow off of your bed, then follow Red to the second floor. He shows you a closet overflowing with plush blankets and extra pillows. Each and every one of them smells faintly of cranberries. Red piles pillows and blankets into your waiting arms; you press your face into them and inhale deeply.

“ya like the smell of my blankets?” Red asks you playfully.

“Mmm, I sure do,” you tell him, wondering why he has such a huge(r than normal) grin on his face. He doesn't say anything else, just trots down the stairs to the living room with his own armload of blankets. You scurry after him.

Sans dozes in an armchair in the living room. Papyrus peeks out of the kitchen and lets you know that the popcorn is in progress. You and Red arrange pillows and blankets on every piece of available furniture in preparation for the sleepover, and the other skeletons begin to file in and find seats. Every single skeleton monster who was present for dinner shows up to join the sleepover.

By the time you prop up your pillows and arrange your blanket into a comfortable nest on one of the sofas, the other skeletons have helped themselves to the remaining blankets and pillows. A pillow and blanket have found their way to Sans though you didn't see him move. Red is on an opulent throne of bedding on the floor in front of your sofa, and the skeleton with the dark orange eyelights and the fluff-lined jacket drapes himself over the back of the sofa. Blackberry sits stiffly on the chair next to Sans without any sleepover supplies at all. Hoodie Guy, Blueberry, and Edge are occupying the other couch; Edge folds his arms grumpily across his chest while Blue practically bounces with excitement. 

“Looks like the gang's all here.” It's just a flippant comment, but some of the skeleton monsters insist on explaining themselves lest you mistakenly think that they might attend a sleepover party in their own living room voluntarily.

“i told ya i didn’ have nothin’ better ta do,” Red defends himself.

Edge huffs. “I'M JUST HERE TO MAKE SURE MY BROTHER DOESN'T DO SOMETHING STUPID AND EMBARRASS ME.”

“i'm making sure the human doesn't try any funny business,” the hoodie-wearer contributes, but when you turn towards him, you see that he's wearing Groucho Marx glasses. When he’s sure you're looking right at him, he wiggles his bony brows, making the glasses bounce up and down comically. 

You school your face to neutrality and pretend it's perfectly normal for a skeleton monster to have fuzzy black eyebrows, a plastic nose, and a mustache. “That's a lovely mustache you've grown since dinner,” you compliment him, barely managing to hold in your laughter.

“i picked my nose too.” Mr. Hoodie touches the fake plastic nose attached to his glasses. Blueberry shouts “BROTHER!” indignantly, and your composure disappears under a landslide of giggles.

Blackberry sighs and rubs his skull with his hands. “CONGRATULATIONS, STRETCH, YOU IMBECILE. YOU'VE STARTED THE HUMAN BRAYING.” You slowly shift your attention to Blackberry. Granted, he's a bit (ok, more than a bit) of an asshole, but at least now you know that Mr. Hoodie's name is Stretch. Stretch Hoodie, if you will.

“AND IN CASE ANYONE IS WONDERING,” Blackberry continues, “I AM HERE TO ENSURE THAT THE HUMAN DOESN'T STEAL OR BREAK ANYTHING.” Not only were you not wondering about Blackberry’s motives, you also kind of wish he would just find something else to do or somewhere else to be.

“Sorry, but I intend to do nothing except steal and break hearts all night long.” You resist the temptation to blow a raspberry at the rude skeleton… barely.

“stealin’ and breakin’ hearts sounds good to me.” Fluffy Hood, for lack of a better descriptive verb, oozes down the back of the couch and somehow ends up partially underneath you. It would be odd to describe a skeleton monster’s movements as boneless, yet this skeleton monster somehow manages it. Red scowls at him from the floor.

“BEHAVE, MUTT,” snaps Blackberry.

“yeah. behave, mutt,” echoes Red with a slight growl in his voice.

“Oh, no. Tell me your name isn't really Mutt.” You fake pleading with Mutt, but he just shrugs and winks, jostling you. “That's almost as bad as Edge!”

“WHAT?!” Edge is indignant, but Red howls with laughter.

At that moment, Papyrus enters the living room with a tray in his hands. The tray contains cups, a bottle of soda, a stack of small bowls, and the single largest bowl of freshly popped popcorn that you have ever seen. You could swim in that popcorn like a cartoon billionaire swimming in a vault of golden coins.

“THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS ARRIVED WITH PROVISIONS!” Papyrus places the tray on the central coffee table with a flourish, then flops down onto the couch next to you.

Sans cracks a single socket open and delivers a line: “At least they aren't amateur visions.”

Every single skeleton monster in the room reacts except for Blackberry, who coolly observes his housemates as they interact with each other and you.

Blueberry, Red, and Edge groan loudly at the pun, and Papyrus wails out a dramatic “NO!” Sans collapses over the armrest of the chair laughing while Stretch laughs so hard that his Groucho Marx glasses fall off. You accidentally snort while laughing which makes Mutt chuckle, a deep rumble that reverberates against you. Stretch is on his hands and patellae on the floor, pretending that he can't see well enough without his fake glasses (they don't even have lenses!) to find them. It's the very best kind of chaos.

Things finally settle down enough for a discussion to start over possible movie choices. Some movie titles, genres, and even favorite actors are brought up, but nobody can seem to agree on something to watch. You fill up a bowl with popcorn, letting the conversation lull you. You didn't expect to be hungry enough to eat anything else after practically licking your plate at dinner, but the popcorn tastes amazing.

“SINCE THE SLEEPOVER IS FOR MAIDEN, MAYBE SHE SHOULD CHOOSE THE MOVIES,” suggests Blue, and suddenly every eyelight in the room is trained on you.

You consider a few different options. “How about the newer King Kong and Godzilla movies?”

“ARE YOU SUGGESTING THAT WE WATCH SPECIESIST HUMAN PROPAGANDA?” Blackberry asks the question in a biting tone. You aren’t going to tolerate an accusation like that.

“Human monster movies represent human fears. In this case it's a fear of unstoppable natural forces and the consequences of nuclear radiation.” 

“DON'T FORGET THAT THE HOLLOW EARTH THEORY, WHILE IT DOES SHOW A STARTLING PARALLEL TO MONSTER IMPRISONMENT IN THE UNDERGROUND, TRULY REPRESENTS HUMANS’ FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN AND THAT WHICH THEY CANNOT CONTROL.”

Blackberry smirks, and you narrow your eyes at him. That smug bastard knows all about the Monarch and Hollow Earth mythos! Blueberry is already queuing the movies in chronological order, so you ignore him and the recurring urge to blow a raspberry at him.

The movie marathon begins with the newest remake of King Kong. Nobody talks during the movie, and you wonder if this is the first time some of them have seen it. The first movie ends with a rousing discussion about how disappointed humans must have been at the relatively normal size of real monsters. You point out that you would much rather hang out with walking, talking skeletons than giant murder insects. 

The second movie, the recent Godzilla reboot, plays, and everyone appears to be fully relaxed and enjoying the snacks and beverages. Mutt and Papyrus are both pleasantly warm. You find yourself resting your head on Mutt's shoulder and letting your feet and legs tangle with Papyrus's. For monsters made entirely of bone, they are surprisingly soft and comfortable to lean on.

A popcorn battle takes place during the movie thanks to the slow plot and Sans’s attempt to make a science-themed pun. Red throws a handful of popcorn at Sans. You bounce a piece of popcorn off of Red’s skull in retaliation on behalf of puns everywhere; he picks it up off of the floor and eats it. Stretch tries to throw a piece of popcorn at you, and you somehow catch it in your mouth. Soon, fistfuls of popcorn become airborne, though whether it’s to create a chaotic mess or to show off mad popcorn-catching skills really depends on the skeleton who is doing it.

Thankfully the plot of the third movie in tonight’s queue proves to be interesting enough to save the floor from sporting a crunchy carpet of popcorn kernels.

Halfway through Godzilla: King of Monsters, you begin to feel drowsy. You keep blinking to keep from falling asleep, but you doubt you'll be able to finish the marathon. A noise from the kitchen draws your attention. You spot a faint halo of light through the kitchen entryway,  and you think it might be the interior light from the refrigerator. After a few moments, the light vanishes, dousing the kitchen in inky late night shadows once more. You smile to yourself, hoping that either Axe or Rusty accepted your food offering.

With that thought in your mind and the sound of the Alpha Wavelength from the television speakers in your ears, you finally drift off into dreamland.

READ ON AO3

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[school-of-all-time]

School of All Time Tournament

Let's make fictional learning institutions fight!

Edit:

After 851 submissions and 347 total schools, submissions are now officially closed. The bracket rounds will consist of 256 schools (divided into either four brackets of 64 or eight brackets of 32). All schools that got two or more submissions are guaranteed a place in the bracket rounds.

Schools that got only one submission will have to go through qualifying rounds to get to the brackets. There are 215 schools with only one nomination, and 124 available spots in the bracket. Following the qualifiers, schools will be seeded according to the number of submissions they received.

Qualifying rounds will commence soon. In the meantime, happy Shavuot to my fellow Jews!

Rules:

You can submit any and all fictional schools or universities. Magic schools are certainly eligible and encouraged (though nothing Harry Potter related) but so are normal ass public schools, community colleges, etc.

The schools must be fictional. No real schools and no fictionalized versions of real schools either. It's got to be fake. (Real life institutions come with real life baggage and politics the likes of which I would like to avoid in my silly tumblr tournament.)

The point of this tournament is not to judge the actual quality of the schools in question. Shitty schools are welcome and encouraged! We're treating the schools like our blorbos. Maybe you like the school because there's something deeply wrong with it. Maybe it's experienced a lot of trauma in its time. Maybe it's sitting on top of a hellmouth. So long as you feel the school is suitably iconic it is worth submitting.

It's got to be an educational institution of some kind. I'm willing to be broad in my definitions here, but not so broad that the institution in question is no longer, at it's core, a school.

Submit as many schools as you want but only submit each school once, you know the drill.

No school will be included automatically! Submit your school of choice no matter how popular or obscure it is!

Submissions will be open until May 24.

Inspired by @character-of-all-time, @canonjewstournament, @found-family-tournament, @cantfuckbracket, @protagonistpolling, @bisexual-protagonist-competiton, @all-seeing-ifer, @fictionalband-bracket, @ultimate-tragic-couples-showdown, and @bestshipsmackdown

[umbramoons]

REQUESTS OPEN!

Okay, I've never done this before, but I'm opening requests for tbb x reader oneshots! Bear with me, I'm going to lay out a few rules.

NO NSFW. It's really not my thing; I don't enjoy reading it, and it makes me even more uncomfortable to write it. These ficlets will be fluff only! Maybe a little bit of angst mixed in if you request it. (I can do a TINY bit of spice, just nothing explicit.)

The Bad Batch only, please! I love all of our fine boys of the GAR, but they're the only individuals I feel like I could write decently at the moment. I may open up more characters in time, but for now, we're leaving it at the members of Clone Force 99 (excluding Omega, obviously).

No poly relationships. I only feel qualified to write about singular relationships, since that is the only kind that I'm familiar with.

Unless requested otherwise, the fics will be gn!reader. I like to try and keep my work as open as I can so as many readers as possible can see themselves there.

Please be respectful! This is my first time writing by request, and I'm mostly doing this for the practice, experience, and to have fun! If you want to give me some constructive criticism, that's fine, I want to improve, but please be kind about it.

If I receive a request that I don't feel comfortable writing for some reason, I will message you and explain why I won't be fulfilling your request. Should you still want your fic to be written, you can communicate with me about where we can find some middle ground. But please understand that I have the right to not write about something I am uncomfortable with. It's nothing against anyone, I just don't feel qualified to write about certain topics. (If this happens with an anon user, I will post a reply communicating the same thing. If that's something you'd rather avoid, then either post with your user visible, or make your feelings clear in the request.)

I want to fulfill as many requests as I can. That being said, I can't guarantee when your fic will be finished if I get your request. But I will try to fulfill every request that I get.

If you request, PLEASE reblog! It really does so much, you don't even know.

I just want to get some more experience and put myself out there! I hope we can all have some fun together with this! Thank you, everyone!

[robot-riot]

You think you're gonna take us down? Well Mechanical Man you just try it! You're gonna ride that rail out of town cause it's a

ROBOT RIOT!!

Welcome one and all, organical and mechanical alike to the Robot Riot! Here we're going to pit robots and their meatbag pals against one another to see who is the truly superior team!

What exactly does that mean? Up to you! Are they playing Monopoly? Are they fighting to the death? Who knows! Either way it's a Robot Riot! Maybe they're having a joke competition, then it's a Robot Laugh Riot. Vote using whatever criteria you want; I will not judge you. Publicly. Probably.

So before we get to that little submission form, a couple rules.

Each team must consist of 1 robot + 1 organic buddy pal partner colleague etc. AI count, so duos like Master Chef + Cortana or Epsilon + Carolina qualify, and pets count, so duos like Data and Spot or Jimmy and Goddard count.

The only qualifiers are that the relationship must have received some kind of attention from the narrative (ex Boyd and Huey but not Boyd and Dewey), and the relationship must be positive (ex Data and Geordi, Data and Riker) or neutral (ex PotatOS and Chell, Norm and Doofenshmirtz). If you're unsure or the canon is unclear, it'll go to the judges.

I am still on the fence about trios; tentative ruling is if the relationship is strong on all three sides feel free to submit it, but specify which two you'd prefer to submit as a duo just in case I decide not to do trios.

Don't spam submissions! Numbers aren't even going to be the only factor in choosing who gets in anyway so it's not even guaranteed to help, but if I suspect you're spamming one duo I may disqualify them. One submission per duo per person.

One duo per submission! If you have more than one duo, submit them separately, please.

No ocs (sorry), no characters from Harry Potter or Critical Role, no real people.

Submissions will remain open till Sunday, August 13, 2o23, which will give you plenty of time and me a chance to get through my current tournament.

And here's the submission form:

Obligatory tagging some other polls for visibility under the cut:

@crossovershipstournament @obscurecharactershowdown @retirement-home-rumble @blue-character-brawl @orangecharactersmackdown @steve-smackdown @bugcrimesbracket

[illegiblewords]

Serious talk about meta under the cut.

I don't know who might need to hear it, but fwiw mental flexibility is a huge part of analysis (and interacting with other humans lol). You need to be able to account for multiple possibilities when examining a work, or understanding a social exchange. You need to be able to separate what is objective fact from your own subjective interpretation and judgment. The most negative interpretation is not automatically the most worthwhile or true. Someone throwing accusations around in-line with their own worst interpretations does not guarantee those accusations are warranted. You are not a bad or stupid person for disagreeing. Shit needs to withstand scrutiny. I don't always strike the right balance myself. I do the best I can but I'm definitely not perfect. Tbh I'm not beyond pettiness either--although I try to keep that out of actual analysis lol. There have been times I've griped to friends privately or blogged about how I felt (sans tags, with spoiler blocks so people can opt out). I've griped recently. I'm bound to gripe again in the future. Some level of griping is inevitable imo and I figure no one is 100% immune.

All that said, even if someone’s take isn't canon AND even if it's something I really dislike--I'd personally rather people follow their passions anyway. Hands down. I could be in the middle of a rant and my answer would still be that the subject of my frustration gets to exist. I'm not the boss and odds are we're going with different versions in our own heads. Discouraging another fan from creating due to my preferences or narrative approach would horrify me. I've seen fandoms where gatekeeping like that killed the creative community and it was fucking awful.

Not everyone is confident in their own judgment. Not everyone faced with a pissed off person trying to use lore and accusations like clubs will feel okay continuing with their own vision. Elitism and manipulation (especially through rhetoric) can be present within analysis. People are not being taught how to recognize those things properly. Analysts aren't always aware or invested enough to even be careful. It’s legit easy to get caught up in ideas or feelings to the point of forgetting about other people’s, and adjusting to account for alternate approaches takes some work. For me at least, I think having a 'no insults' policy and being super careful when it comes to absolute claims (assertions not qualified by 'I think' or 'it could be argued') helps.

Anyway. Just because a person calls something ‘meaningless’ doesn't make it meaningless. Someone pooh-poohing an observation you made doesn't make your observation less true or important. Employing a literary term doesn't mean that individual actually understands the term, how it works, or how to apply it. Which is to say nothing of romantic chemistry or whatever. I encourage readers to extrapolate on this. ‘Shallow’ could apply as much as ‘meaningless’. Denying parallels exist by itself doesn’t actually negate those parallels. Your version of a character may not be the same as the fan next to you’s and that difference doesn't have to detract. There's more I could say on the subject (I've edited out a lot) but basically--just because another fan isn't into what you're doing doesn't automatically make what you're doing wrong, immoral, shoddy, or otherwise less.

Seriously, vet shit. Question the entire premise an analyst tries to establish then decide for yourself if it holds water. Turn over word choices and assertions in your head before deciding if they're appropriate. Do it to me too. I don't care if someone is the holy goddamn emperor of analysts. Just because a person says something is good or bad, true or false, whatever the hell doesn't make it so. Just because a person uses a technical term doesn't mean they're discussing it effectively. Quality of argument matters beyond the packaging it’s wrapped in. It's important to protect yourself from people whose priority is enforcing their own preferences, including dismissing things they aren't partial to.

I just don't want anyone shamed silent man. Not even people whose takes drive me up the fucking wall. Neither I nor any other analyst is an authority here. And there are people who are absolutely ready to take advantage of other people’s insecurities to assert themselves. Might not even be malicious, just indifferent.

For me, analysis feels kind of like uncovering a dinosaur skeleton. I want to share the cool and exciting things I find with other people. Sometimes I might be sorting out what my own thoughts and feelings are. It's also possible to examine why you're uncomfortable with something, or why you love something another person hates, while making very clear what is YOUR READING and not THE READING. Offering a variety of possibilities is very different from presenting yourself as the only correct one. One note at the end when everything else was insulting and intolerant is like a band-aid over a wound.

EDIT: As a last point, that I'm throwing in just-in-case. If anyone reading this thinks they may have overreached and done stuff I've mentioned + feels shitty about it… that's still not the end of the world. It’s okay. This is hard stuff to learn and I really don't think anyone's perfect at it. Worth the effort though. Just gotta take a deep breath, acknowledge you're a fallible human same as everyone else, and do the best you can going forward. Life goes on.

[alatariel-gildaen]

Please help where you can....

I absolutely hate having to do this, I really do. But if anyone can help out a queer mother to a disabled child, that'd be incredible.

Our home is at the end of a long and steep dirt track. A 4x4 vehicle is utterly essential; it's hard enough getting up in summer but in winter, without a 4x4 we'd be stuck. Now, we technically can park on the street, but for a start the street doesn't come up to our front door, and because of how crowded our close is, you're lucky to find a space anyway.

We bought a 4x4 last year, and it has been literally life changing for us and our disabled son. Being able to guarantee that we can park outside our home means we can keep him safe.

The problem?

Our car is a literal piece of shit. Since we bought it, we've had to spend probably double the initial cost on repairs. Since January alone it's cost us over a thousand pounds. And it has broken down again.

My son's school is just under two miles away. It's at the bottom of an incredibly steep hill, and the pavements are ridiculously broken, meaning his wheelchair doesn't easily go over them. But because our home is about 50 metres within a 2 mile radius, we don't qualify for public transport, so my car is utterly essential.

I'm signed off work due to stress. I have ADHD and finding work is a nightmare in itself, but the last year (my husband being hospitalised with pneumonia, fighting the Local Authority for a SEN placement for my boy, our Freeholders dragging their feet over a black mould issue which caused my husband's pneumonia and left me asthmatic, my entire side of the family nearly being killed in a car crash, etc etc) has just had such a toll on my mental health that I can't work.

So I'm in a position where we can't afford to keep the car we have, but I really cannot live without a decent sized one that has the power to cope with the road that leads to our home. I could get another cheap piece of crap, but we'd just end up with the same problems.

I know we're all in a cost of living crisis, but who knows? Someone who follows you may know someone who knows someone who knows someone.

So please, if anyone can help me out by donating just a couple of quid, or by reblogging to signal boost, I'd be so grateful.

[oetscop]

If you need a sign to quit, consider this ask one. I don't know you that well, but anybody in my life who's stuck with a job that physically and mentally killed them has gotten very hurt by it. Please take care

respectfully i will be evicted if i do that. the only reason we're scraping by is bc we have 3 people working, and one of them is moving soon. i stopped qualifying for food stamps when i started working here bc i make "too much" on my unlivable wage. so if i leave and have no guarantee of a new job we wont be able to yknow. live.

i walked off the floor at mcdonalds so im not above it. i just LITERALLY cant this time. it a rock and a hard place situation rn and dying is on both sides of the coin at all times

[champion-level-astroturfing]

Sorry if someone's asked this before, but what's the worst thing you've had to clean up?

@acetraineramelia

You're actually the first who's dared ask! And oh boy!

so the worst messes always always always come at the end of the season, when they hold the champion cup. this is quite simply because there's not TIME to clean everything up fully between matches in a tournament like that; we get like an hour max between go-rounds (unless there's been enough successful challengers qualified that it has to go two days, which happens every so often, but even then there's a limit what you can do overnight). So the pitch gets chewed up something chronic by the end and we're just here making sure nothing's going to give way underneath someone or trap them in unexpected quicksand or other exciting possibilities (and that the forcefields that keep the trainers safe when someone Dynamaxes are still working...)

and obviously all max moves are destructive in some way. but some are worse than others. worst are probably rockfall, quake, and steelspike for sheer amount of damage done to just the terrain in general, geyser for just making EVERYTHING WET which is such an arse in general, and then the one that makes for the biggest chore is, as you might expect, max ooze. we love throwing poison like, literally everywhere.

and of course we're always gonna have water and rock moves so long as nessa and gordie are still kickin around in the major league, so that's guaranteed to deal with. but sometimes we get lucky and the challengers prefer the less destructive maxes.

last year though. last year.

multiple challengers who used Max Quake; Max Overgrow and Max Flare in the same battle (love putting my trust in the stadium's fire extinguishers); like seven different instances of Max Geyser; and a few flutterbys, airstreams and phantasms just to spread everything around a little. the pitch was a fucking MESS by the time the champion battle came round.

and now i tell you. the champion's got a garbodor. who can gigantamax. and she doesn't always g-max it, she's often using something else, but for whatever battle tactic bullshit reason that day was Big Giant Heap Of Magic Trash day

saw that g-max malodour come down and kissed goodbye to all my free time for the next like two weeks

[nitewrighter]

Any ideas for a fluff/humor with the og "overwatch brats" (aka Fareeha and Brigitte) as kids (or teenagers)?

Also, there is no way Cole and Fareeha didn't cause mayhem with pranking the Old Guard and that Brigitte didn't carry Mitzi around like a teddy bear, with Mitzi being completely fine with it (kinda grabbing that from the cat we used to have when I was little, he was very cuddly and very tolerant to me using him as a pillow or a plushie).

See I think the thing about the multi generational aspect of Overwatch is that it makes people act like all these characters were at the same age/stage of development, when really it was more like...

9 year old Brigitte: I drew blueprints for power armor for us.

18 year old Fareeha, filling out her third application for Overwatch that she will mysteriously never got a response on: Uh huh.

Brigitte: It's powered by friendship. When we're close to each other, we glow, and we get all tough and we get healed!! And I got a little flag so you can always find me!!

Fareeha, not even looking: That's great, kid.

24 year old Cassidy, leaning on a doorway: How's babysitting going?

Fareeha: I'm not babysitting.

Brigitte: Yeah. Because I'm not a baby.

Fareeha: *holding up the application* I need you to give this to Reyes.

Cassidy: *scoff* I'm not a delivery boy.

Fareeha: I need to make sure it gets to someone.

Cassidy: Well hey, maybe your last four applications didn't make it because you don't got what it takes--*Fareeha gets him in an armlock* OW--OW--OW--OW--!

Brigitte: *gasp* *running off, yelling* Daaaaad! They're fighting!

Cassidy: *calling after her* We ain't fighting! *muttering to Fareeha* That's just damned, dirty, 'Reeha, you know I'm probationary status.

Fareeha: I know. And now you know I'm more than qualified for Blackwatch. *lets him go*

Cassidy: *circling his arm in its socket* Alright, alright. I'll take it to Reyes. I can't guarantee it'll do anything though.

Fareeha: I'll let Reyes be the judge of that.

---Later---

Reyes: *knocks on Ana's door* Uh... hey, so Cassidy gave me this application from Fareeha. Did you know about th---

Ana: *snatches the application and immediately stuffs it into the shredder under her desk*

Ana: Oh, it's good to see you Reyes, what did you want?

Reyes: Well I was going to say I got this application--

Ana: What application?

Reyes: ...

Ana: ...

Reyes: Okay, speaking as a parent, I think this whole situation might benefit from a bit more communication from both parties--

Ana: Speaking as a parent I respectfully suggest you mind your own damn business.

Reyes: ...

Reyes: *tongue click* Right. Gotcha.

[leqclerc]

Re: John elkann - was it just me that was expecting a sainz re-signing then? I think they're definitely planning to resign. I just think he won't get a long term deal like charles one. Which obviously won't make him very happy (which means we'll have to put up with a whole lot of tantrums from him/his family). But definitely think he'll be around for 2025, after that I think they'd be silly to hang on to him

(well, 80% of me is sure they're going to re-sign him, the other 20% is clinging onto some hope that Ferrari will surprise us and get Alex or someone for 2025)

Looks like you might be right, as per the journalist 'leaks' (if you can call it that.)

I guess it's the expected scenario, but it's still disappointing, because lbr while he and his posse are there not much is going to change internally. He's been in the team for three full seasons now, he's not some unknown factor—which is both a good and a bad thing. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't, but that devil has proven he can be an obstacle in a scenario where Charles has a chance to fight for the title. He's shown he's reluctant to put the team first if he sees an opportunity to finish ahead of Charles (disruptive in qualifying, reluctance to go along with the agreed strategy if he thinks it favours Charles, little to no understanding or recognition for the other side of the garage, etc.)

Sure, things might be a little different under Fred's leadership should they find themselves in a similar position to early 2022, but there's really no guarantee. Delaying a contract extension is really the only way to keep him in check. But then if his performance suffers he'll just blame that on job insecurity I guess, like he did when he was way off Charles's performance and pace last spring 🙄

So, on one hand I guess it was to be expected, but on the other, I think they'd be naive to not at least start considering alternatives or knocking on some drivers' doors to gauge interest (like you said, Alex springs to mind as a solid option, if he can be tempted away from Williams in the near future.)

But also damn, 2028 is a long term commitment on Charles's part and I'm a bit skeptical about it ngl. I was/am hoping he gets some kind of option deal (a contract extension to take him up to 2026 and then an option for +2 years if everything seems to be going in the right direction.)

As a fellow '97 baby I'm a bit concerned about the implications, should Ferrari continue to flounder, and should he come away empty-handed after nearly a decade with the team. 31 isn't old (at least, it shouldn't be seen as such, ahem, society) but it also isn't young, especially in this sport. With young talent coming in practically every year and, like in Oscar's case, being very promising from the get go, I worry about what the driver's market will look like by then. Will he still be as coveted and highly rated as he is today, or will he be passed over by capable teams in favour of the shiny new thing? Fernando and Sebastian came into the team as champions. No matter how their run with Ferrari went, they had their titles, and that's something nothing and no one could take away from them. And yet we still saw how things ended for Seb at Ferrari, how public opinion shifted at the lowest point in 2020, how people were chasing him off into retirement and obscurity at the age of just 33. We're already getting endless debates about "is Leclerc really all that or is he just overhyped and mid?" and I fear they will never end until he has something to show for his time at Ferrari. I get it, he loves them, he's determined, he's committed, he has a dream and a vision and it's red but also like—please be careful 😭😭😭

[vulgrados-best]

what're legendaries and mythicals like there? As a whole, or are there no commonalities? Are there any differences between mythicals and legendaries there?

Fuck okay I'm not The person to ask but The person to ask would be theological scholars and they're not on Rotomblr so I'll give you my best approximation of what I personally know:

What I guess this website classifies as "legendaries" are Gods.

Most of them? We can't even prove they exist. But most are worshipped nonetheless. Because that is what Gods do.

Some actually have been lost to time, and of course we don't know how many have met that fate. Honestly that's part of what makes Zacian and Zamazenta so theologically fascinating.

They were entirely forgotten (some scholars have proposed theories that their image was intentionally destroyed and scrubbed from the public consciousness. I can elaborate on that if you'd like.) and then brought back into the public eye in one huge event where they saved the world.

Some people argue that they might not even actually be Gods but some sort of Demi-Gods, children of the original Heroes of Galar.

Anyways what makes them very interesting is that most Gods have come into collective guaranteed existence because they almost destroyed the world (see: Groudon, Kyogre, Rayquaza, Eternatus). Zacian and Zamazenta were very much the opposite of this.

I guess there is the Tapus, which have such a strong bond with the people of their region that trust with the Kahunas has allowed them to be known. At least that's what I've learned from Maple's family?

Anyways I come from a place where there are Two Gods who are celebrated and we don't know if they're real but I swear I've literally seen one of them just chilling at 4 AM so what do I know?

Anyways uhm. I'm not. Really sure what really qualifies a difference between "Mythicals" and "Legendaries" here. I think Gods are Gods? Maybe some are more Minor Gods but they're all Gods.

I gueessssss??? There is like. Shaymin is the only one I can think of that would be qualified as a "Mythical" in that we're like. 80% sure he is real and also he has like 200 descendants and was Created By God or whatever but no one has ever managed to 100% prove Shaymin is real? It's just a lot of people claiming they met a Shaymin.

I'm not really sure what's the deal with guys like Victini, like that is a God of Victory technically? But I guess the original Shaymin is the God of Gratitude. So maybe Victini also has descendants?

I think we count Man Made Creations like Mewtwo and *checks notes* whatever the fuck a Silvaly is as more like Cryptids.

Okay to be honest I genuinely have no idea what YOU guys consider Mythicals like are they pokemon who originated from Myths? Or are they just Little guys? Or are they just Minor Gods? Idk man

[batsplat]

i don’t think marc’s struggles with qualifying rn is a marc on a ducati thing, but rather a marc on gp23 issue. zarco struggled in time attack last year on the machine, a one lap wonder jorge martin only post catalan gp has been able to start taking poles and consistently qualifying on the front row, otherwise the start of the year his grid positions was like 5th or 10th, gp23 absolutely destroyed both bastianini, who qualifies actually pretty well on the latest version of the bike, even though everybody talks about how he isn’t the best qualifier, and bez, who can’t get the bike to turn. yes, marc has done somethings like pressing the wrong button (lol grandpa) and other mistakes, however, him and his crew chief have been more focused on the race pace setups and also lack any sort of data on marc on any given track, so when they arrive to the new place, compared to some other ducatis, they are at a disadvantage. so, i think he’ll be blindingly quick next year, like, i wish he was washed, it’d be more entertaining, but he is just not budging 😭 however, pecco might ask for something in the development of the next bike to introduce gremlins that only he can really conquer (it seems like only he immediately gelled with gp23, no problem), but i don’t think he is smart enough to figure out how to hamstring marc!!!

wellllll I don't doubt there's specific characteristics of the gp23 that can make it tricky to handle, but I'm not entirely sure you can definitively call it a poor bike on a single lap. pecco's grid positions from the start of last year wouldn't really suggest that. jorge's results in general were a lot shakier in the first half of 2023 than the second, though you're right he did also have some qualifying gremlins. zarco's kinda been having issues with qualifying throughout his ducati career (mind u he used to be lethal on the yamaha) and bastianini... I mean he was just bad overall, we're talking average grid of 12.6 vs average finish of 10.15, and his whole gimmick is being a poor qualifier but having late race pace. idk, I don't necessarily think it's going to be a lingering problem, but I do think it is an issue (and I'm aware marc was just being an idiot today, but two other gp23's did outperform him on their first flying laps which was historically quite rare). I do know they're at a disadvantage on a track-to-track level! I just think it's interesting it's more of a qualifying issue, because that isn't actually guaranteed, and 'well we were just focusing more race pace' doesn't quite do it for me as an explanation. again, I think he'll be fine, I just think it's a problem right now and I'm curious whether he'll ever get back to quite some of the ridiculous quali numbers he was posting in some of his prime years (the other reason why this is less likely is that the margins have gotten slimmer since then)

that being said! pecco wouldn't and couldn't be doing that kind of 10d bike development chess. first of all while you can obviously attempt to develop a bike more to your own liking than your teammate's liking, if you start attempting to deliberately introduce gremlins you will just like. be fucking yourself over. secondly ducati aren't idiots and pecco doesn't have that kind of internal sway to engage in this kind of gamesmanship when it's clearly not in the team's advantage. also while he is the 'lead rider', my sense of that dynamic has always been it was more about training up a rider to ride that bike than having a bike be developed in line with a rider's style. in general I reckon pecco will try to just keep to himself, not get involved in any of this kind of thing with marc, just focus on what he's doing. I imagine that's broadly the advice he's been receiving from his mentor too. all this drama and bike development silliness is really marc's wheelhouse, not pecco's, the less attention pecco pays to marc during their teammate stint the better. far from easy, but that's got to be the goal

[loveforlandonorris]

🎤 Lando's F1 interview after Qualifying in Austin:

Interviewer: Lando, hi, nice to see you. Smiles coming into this. Your 3rd starting row of the year. That's gotta feel good to, kind of, get the ball rolling with all the momentum McLaren has had here coming into COTA.

Lando: Yeah, yeah. No, I'm pretty happy with today. Probably wasn't expecting to be as quick as we were, so it's a pleasant surprise for the whole team, I think. Still tricky, just difficult circuit, you know, bumpy and low grip in certain areas, easy to make a lot of mistakes. Yeah, I think Pole was in it today though, so I could be that little bit happier, but I'm taking P2 for now (smiles).

Interviewer: Yeah, that's, kind of, one of those dissatisfying, satisying situations where you know you had a little bit more, but someone else had a little bit more on you. What do you have?

Lando: Just some silly little things, you know? I mean, it's difficult to put a lap altogether, and I'm sure no-one probably did. But it's... yeah, you always just want a perfect lap, and those little things – in turn 11, I clipped the inside curb and probably lost a tenth, and a tenth was enough to at least get me close enough to be close to pole, you know?

So, still a good day for us, I'm happy (smiles), it's a good position for Sunday. So we're in a – yeah, a nice way at the minute, a nice rhythm, and if we can do the same tomorrow and Sunday, then it'll be perfect.

Interviewer: For tomorrow's racing, is there anything different that you get to do now to prepare, or something that the car has to do a little bit different for you to be comfortable? You mentioned you weren't sure you guys were gonna be quick at a track like this.

Lando: No, there's nothing you can do now, just pray (smiles). Yeah, I mean, you do your prep, you know? You have to look after the tyres, it's not gonna be easy from a tyre management point of view. So we'll do our homework, I'll prepare as best I can.

It's not gonna be an easy one, I think, you know, Ferrari are very quick, Mercedes are very quick, and especially on long runs, they're always very quick. And then Max is, you know, pretty much guaranteed to come through and probably win again. But yeah, we'll do our best until that happens.