#but seeing him sit there reminds me so much of how my grandfather also used to sit

[anjasitdown]

It's been 6 years since my grandfather died and now seeing his younger brother who's like his carbon copy is just... I was happy at first because it felt like I was given another chance to see his face but it's also sad at the same time because I also could never see him again, just someone who looks like him.

[susiekern]

17. the one with the tour

warnings: swearing

word count: 945

masterlist

It was the days like this one, or should I say evenings, that you appreciated the most. When the world seems to slow down, giving you the space and air to breathe. To cherish the things you love the most.

On evenings like this, you’d get cozy in the living room with Nobara, both under a blanket, with warm tea and snacks on the coffee table and a dumb rom-com on the TV. Or maybe you’d spend it in Yuji and Megumi’s apartment, where the destined chef for the night would cook something for the group, as the rest sit patiently at the kitchen island with drinks and chat about things so irrelevant that normally it’d skip your minds. Some days, you and Megumi would escape from everyone and hide in either one of your rooms, playing games, cuddling, or just lying down with quiet music playing in the background. Sometimes he’d play the guitar and sing for you, watching as you relaxed on the bed with a book or just looked at him with pure adoration in your eyes.

It’s one of those evenings when you grab a blanket, something to drink, and climb up to the rooftop to stargaze. The weather is perfect, the cloudless night granting you a perfect view of constellations. You lay on the fluffy blanket, wrapped in Megumi’s hoodie, his warm body next to you, your fingers intertwined. Both of you have one earbud in, changing who’s choosing another song.

Your eyes are mostly stuck on the dark sky above you, tracing the constellations your grandfather taught you about all those years ago when you went camping.

“There’s the Andromeda. Oh, and big and small dogs, they’re chasing the hare that’s right there. They were named for Orion’s hounds.” You tell Megumi, pointing to the shapes with your finger. As you turn your head his way, you notice how his gaze is stuck on your side profile. “Sorry, I bet it’s boring.”

“Not at all. I just didn’t know you knew so much about the stars.” He squeezes your hand and gives you a smile.

“When I was little, my grandfather would take me, Yuji, and Ryo camping in the summer every year. We’d lit a campfire and stargazed for hours. He was passionate about Greek mythology and would tell us about the myths that the constellations were named after.” Your eyes are back on the sky. “It was my favorite day of the year.”

“I can’t imagine Yuji camping. He’d be gone day after day without the wifi.” Megumi jokes, putting his free arm behind his head.

“Yeah, he was the worst one. Ryo would prank him with insects every time.” Laughing, you nod and turn sideways to look at him.

With all the hustle coming with planning a tour, a setlist, and recording a few new songs, Megumi was so busy lately that you started to appreciate moments like this even more. You’d still see each other almost daily, but usually, he’d fall asleep on you or just listen to you talk about your day. So in moments like this one, when you could spend a few hours without anyone else, either Yuji, Nobara, or his band, you loved watching his relaxed face, admiring how calm he gets around you. It also calmed you in a way and pushed the thoughts about the tour to the back of your mind. Why would you worry about it now when he’s right next to you, his thumb is caressing your hand, and he hums the song that’s currently playing in your ears? It could wait another day or two.

“Do you have the favorite one?” He suddenly asks, ripping you out of your thoughts. You nod and look back up, searching for a moment.

“Ursa Minor, a little bear.” You point it out. “It was called after a nymph that nursed Zeus in the form of a bear when he was an infant.”

Megumi focuses on the stars for a moment, trying to memorize the shape.

“I’ll look for it.” He whispers, bringing your attention back to him. Your brows are furrowed when you turn his way, catching his gaze. “When we’re apart. It’ll remind me of you every night.”

You swear your heart stops for a second before it clenches almost painfully. Right, you can try to ignore it, but soon, he’ll be gone for probably three months, traveling the world. You won’t be able to just cross the hallway for a cuddle; you won’t feel his warmth and won’t steal a kiss when out with friends for three months. You’ll only hear his voice when you manage to fit in a call; you’ll only see his smile on the video call. Three months. Seems like an eternity after seeing each other almost daily for so long.

“Will it be toxic if I just chain you down in my room and won’t let you leave?” Your joke comes out weak, given how your voice is shaking and there are tears in your eyes, threatening to fall at any second now. You rest your head on Megumi’s chest, and his arms wrap around you instantly, pulling you closer.

“I wouldn’t be mad, honestly.” He says quietly and gives you a kiss on the forehead, his hands caressing your back. You stay like this until the cold has you escape the rooftop, but even then, you end up in Megumi’s room, bodies as close as possible, like you’re both trying to memorize how it feels. How it feels to have each other close, how it feels to be together, stealing the feeling and saving it in your minds for later.

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115 @good-mourning0 @pearlydays @irwinchester @pxppetmxster @ivydoesit23 @zayuriluvs @applepi25 @s777athv @estella-novella @wgafa @pookalicious-hq @lovely-maryj @briezy04764 @evergumi

[sinofwriting]

Figlia Mia - Charles Leclerc

Words: 6,231 Summary: When she had met Charles Leclerc for the first time in 2017, she watched as her grandfather gave him the impossible task of restoring Ferrari’s greatness and her the task of making sure he does so. Note(s): This was a lot of fun to write. I got to do a lot of digging into Ferrari’s history in motorsports and F1, and make sure that the changes I made to the history of Ferrari made some sense. I also got to reignite my love for stats and things. I spent a lot of time looking at different circuit stats (which will be relevant in the second part of this fic) and just driver stats. Used a translator for the Italian but not google translate. Also, I shouldn’t have to say this but: How I write the drivers in these fics is not based on my feelings for them, it is just what I need them to be. So, please don’t send me hate because your favorite driver says or acts or is regarded in a certain way. Thanks! Hope you like this!

Masterlist | Support Me! | Part Two

Figlia mia - my daughter stella - star

2017

She eyes her grandfather wearily. He had called her home early from her classes and she had rushed home to Maranello.

“Nonno, what is the matter?” His gaze turns to her and he smiles, the solemn look on his face gone as he sees her. “My stella. You are back home.” His accent is thick as it wraps around the English words, always willing to indulge her. She sighs, leaning down to hug him. “You called me back. Did something happen?” He shakes his head, patting her hand when she straightens. “No, I have a meeting that I want you to attend with me.” She frowns. “It is late in the season for a meeting. Did Vettel or Räikkönen break contract?” “No. It’s for the team, but more of a future prospect.” Her frown deepens. “If it’s Hamilton, he won’t leave Mercedes and you shouldn’t entertain him, Nonno. You only have so much energy.” “I don’t want to take him from Mercedes. He wouldn’t be able to win with us anyways.” He groans as he thinks of how long it’s been since his team has won, and has achieved the greatness they are supposed to. “I just want your opinion, they should be here any minute.”

An uneasiness sits heavy in her stomach at how cryptic he’s being with her, something he never is, but she sits in the chair beside him. Taking his hand in both of hers and breathing a sigh of relief at the strongness still in his hands, no shakiness to be found. He was in good health, she reminded herself as they waited. He hadn’t even had a cold for three years, but still her mind worries.

“Mr. Enzo, Stella, your guests have arrived.” Anita’s voice says through the intercom. He presses the button to talk. “Please have Andrea get them and bring them back and tell him to stay as well.” “Andrea is here?” He hums, “I asked him to come. I have an idea.” She doesn’t say anything else to that and keeps quiet as she waits for whoever to arrive.

There’s a slight relief in it not being either Vettel or Räikkönen, she wasn’t keen to meet them for the first time right now, not when she had rushed home. She also didn’t want her grandfather meeting them now for the first time, so late in the year where he could catch an illness.

A knock sounds on the wooden door and she turns her head to look at it. Releasing her grandfather's hand from hers and moving to stand behind his chair. Her normal position in such meetings.

“Enter.” He calls and the door opens. “Signor.” Andrea greets, as he steps into the room, two, or rather one man and one boy following behind him with wide eyes. “I have your guests.” “Please sit, the three of you.” He tells them and they all quickly do.

Her eyes narrow as she recognises the familiar face of the man who is currently running the Ferrari Driver Academy and the just familiar face of the current F2 champion. The sight makes her want to lean down, to question why a F2 driver of all people is being allowed to meet her grandfather. A luxury he hasn’t afforded a single F1 driver since her father died other than Michael Schumacher. And even then he had won a championship first with them. But such a thing isn’t not her place, especially in front of guests, so she keeps quiet as her grandfather does as well, clearly waiting them out, letting the tension in the room build.

“Charles Leclerc.” Her grandfather says and the boy practically jumps. “You started winning in karting before you were even ten in 2005 and never stopped. A second place in Alps, then fourth in the European F3.” She watches as he winces at the reminder of what he clearly views as failures. “But you won your first year of GP3 and now have won F2. Truly impressive.” His eyes are still wide and they dart to the left before returning. “Thank you, Signor.” Her eyebrows raise at the way the Italian term leaves his mouth. He clearly had invested time in his Italian lessons. “Don’t thank me. You’ve done well for yourself. And now you have an F1 seat.” Her eyes darted to Andrea, “Nonno.” She hisses, stepping forward. “Andrea has signed the appropriate NDA’s and contracts, stella. There is no need for your worry.” This meeting seemed to be nothing but worrying for her. And suddenly the employment contract she had seen in her inbox for Andrea makes all the sense, especially since it had been sent to her directly, not cc'd.

“You will be joining Sauber this coming season. Are you ready?” “I hope and believe I am.” “And you have a team? A trainer, your own PR manager? A assistant?” Charles shakes his head, cheeks red. “I’m afraid not. I only signed the contract two days ago. I haven’t made arrangements.” “And your plans for the 2019 season? Still at Sauber?” “I only signed a one year contract with them. So I hope to stay with them if I can.” He hums and the tone if it tells her everything she needs to know and it takes everything in her to not show the horror she’s feeling. “There will be a spot open at Ferrari for the 2019 season. Show me you can handle an F1 car and perhaps it will be yours.” The three sitting opposite stare at him with wide eyes and Charles’ mouth is open, jaw dropped. “And Andrea will be your trainer. I have a good feeling about you Charles Leclerc, prove me right.” He then nods his head towards the door and the three scramble to stand and leave with rushed goodbyes.

She stands behind him for a moment before walking around the desk and flopping down in one of the seats.

“That boy is going to get destroyed.” “He is a boy to me. Barely a year younger than you, I believe.” She scoffs, “please, nonno. You have just put the biggest weight on his shoulders. Prove to me? And what if he speaks of this? Of getting to meet the great Enzo Ferrari when the man doesn’t leave his house and hasn’t met any drivers or even team principals in person since Schumacher.” “Then you will handle it, I suppose. And I will be proven wrong about the boy since he had to sign an NDA. Not a word of this meeting or this trip to Italy.” “And if people ask about Andrea? How they met? How he came to work with him?” “The academy put them in contact together. And no one will think anything of it. He is too distantly related to think that we have anything to do with it. Nor has he ever spoken of us.” His eyes soften as he really looks at her. “Everything will be fine, stella. I have a good feeling about this one.” She looks at him, worries still sitting heavy in her stomach, horror too, because god what if her grandfather had just sentenced him to forever chasing a dream he can’t have and faith in them that they are unable to deliver. She knows already that both Räikkönen and Vettel are feeling that way, their faith in Ferrari wavering if not gone. “I won’t be able to do anything to help him. Not for years.” “You will be able to help. Not as much as you will in a few years time, but you can still help. We still make decisions for the team and sign off on things.” “And if he leaves before then?” “He won’t.” His voice is quiet, but filled with unwavering faith. Faith she wants to feel herself. “He will be what our team needs to become champion and he won’t leave until he gets that.”

2018

“Vettel is not happy that he wasn’t told before about getting a rookie as a teammate.” She tells her grandfather, looking over the top of her laptop at him. “Sebastian will deal.” Enzo coughs. “And he won’t have a rookie as a teammate.” She makes a humming noise, looking at all of the articles about the announcement of Charles Leclerc joining the historic F1 team before opening her email again. “Should I cover Andrea’s costs again?” “Yes. As long as you aren’t in power with the team, I want Charles kept close.” “That won’t happen until the end of the 2023 season. You want us to pay for Andrea that long?” “Andrea is also family.” He reminds her, before lips twitch into a smile. “And there is a reason he doesn’t receive as large of a Christmas bonus as everyone else anymore.”

2020

“They want to sign Sainz for a two year deal.” He snorts, “and for what? Let me guess sponsors?” “They’re serious about this, nonno. His team has already approached us about a two year contract.” “And he can’t go to Aston because Vettel is going there for two years.” “And he’ll never go back to Red Bull. Mercedes won’t entertain the idea.” “But we are?” He groans, running a hand over his face. “God, what has happened to this team? He hasn’t gotten a single podium, a win! And he’ll hit a hundred races this year. That is who they want on the team?” “He was sixth in the driver standings last year.” “Could he handle it?” She frowns. “Maybe. We wouldn’t know until it happened. He’s older like Vettel, has more experience as well than Leclerc. But Leclerc already has wins under his belt, managed to get fourth in the standings in only his second year. He was teammates with Verstappen in his rookie year, so it’s possible he could handle it.” “A two year contract, huh?” “Two years.”

2022

“Sainz wants to be extended.” She rubs at her forehead, the email, moreso the wording was troubling. “And why should we?” “Because he finished ahead of Charles in the driver's standings last year.” “By less than ten points and due to our own team's failings. They way they embarrassed him in Monaco.” He shakes his head, the rage he felt that day watching it happen coming back. “Four podiums to one. And neither got a win.” “Who needs a seat?” “There’s rumors about Schumacher.” “No.” He shakes his head, fingers beginning to tap against his desk. “Maybe in a few seasons, but not now.” “Bottas, Guyuan, De Vries, Hulkenberg.” He scoffs at all the names. “A friend at McLaren said they’re looking to drop Ricciardo.” His fingers stop. “Ricciardo. He’d understand his role.” “And as long as we treat him better than Red Bull did or how McLaren are, we’d have him.” “Why do they want to drop him?” “Underperforming. Norris is doing better.” He looks at her disbelief. “Please tell me that’s a joke.” She shakes her head. “He gave that fucking fake British team their first win in a decade!” “He’s older and despite his knack for giving good development advice, they’re ignoring it for Norris’.” He rubs at his forehead. “Write him down. Maybe we can get a talk with him before another team manages to snatch him up. Who else?” “It’s all reserves and formers now. There’s Piastri who's serving as Alpine’s reserve this season, wouldn’t shock me if they’ve already signed a contract with him for the next year but haven’t announced it though. We or Haas really has Illot still under contract as a reserve.” He shakes his head. “Leave him in Indycar for a few seasons. Might try him in 2024 when we’re looking for another driver.” She nods, writing his name down with 2024 beside it. “And Piastri?” “No. Alpine probably has something signed with him already. They’d be stupid not to.” “That leaves Ricciardo and Sainz.” He frowns. “Reach out to Ricciardo. We nearly had him for 2021, we should’ve taken him.” “Understood.”

As she begins to type out her email to Ricciardo’s team and she wonders how Blake will react to seeing an email for Ferrari, Enzo speaks.

“How is Charles?” “Nonno.” “I can’t ask?” “You are fishing.” She replies, not looking away from her laptop. “But he is good. Ready for the season to start.” “Hmm. And will he be coming for dinner?” She pauses her typing, looking at him. “Are you asking him to come to dinner?” “I’d like to meet the boy that has made my granddaughter so happy.” “Oh, nonno. It is not a boy that is making me so happy. Just you. You have been in better spirits for the last year.” She laughs. “And isn't it interesting that it was only when you started seeing him that both of our spirits rose?” Her eyes narrow. “Don’t make me take the Leclerc name.” It’s a high insult to the Ferrari name, one that her grandfather has made sure that she knew better to even joke about, but he doesn’t react with his fiery temper, just smirks. “It’s serious enough for marriage but not for you to bring him to meet me?” Blood rushes to her cheeks. “You have met him.” “When he was a boy.” He counters. “One you had distaste for.” He reminds her not that she has ever forgotten.

She had told Charles on their third date about it, watching as his mouth gaped at her, unable to believe that the boy he was at the age could be distasteful. Now, he likes to tease her about it. About how she didn’t like him but as soon as he left the room and she was issued the challenge of making sure he got to Ferrari she did.

“I haven’t met him since. I haven’t met him as your partner. And we both know that you’ll be taking each other's names.” “It is too early to say that.” She tells him, voice quiet. “But I’ll message him. He’ll love to meet you.”

2023

“This is ridiculous!” “I told you that this would happen! You put your hopes and dreams on a boy and look at what has happened!” “I did no such thing!” “You did! And I told you that you would ruin him. That he would lose faith just like the ones before and now look.” She waves a hand at the TV in front of them, playing the lowlights of the season. “He didn’t just go to that meeting with Red Bull and then shut it down like he has before, he entertained it.” She scoffs, shaking her head. “He should’ve left us for them when they first fucking offered.” “You do not mean that.” “Look at what our team has done to him! Look at what you have done! I have no power there and barely do you. I get to vote on what drivers we add to the team, but it is one vote, against six others. Same goes for the general direction of the car, which we both were out voted in. And that is it, that is my power! I don’t get to give him the Ferrari team he deserves, that we deserve, because you signed it away when my father died until I turn twenty-seven!” She turns away from Enzo, taking in a shaky breath, before turning back to him. “And you will not ever bring it up to Charles that he considered leaving us or if he does. Because I set up that meeting with Red Bull for him.” He looks at her resigned, saddened, but not surprised. “You would let him leave?” “I don’t let him do anything. I love you, nonno. I love this team. But it is not just Charles that they are disappointing and letting down. It is our fans, our people, our family, our legacy, me, you. Next month, I get to finally take back our families power in the sport and it is already too late for this season and nearly too late for the next. I can’t even guarantee a good first season with me in charge because of where the car is already developed too. And the upgrades.” She shakes her head. “None of it would matter with the team that is working there.”

“What do you want to do?” She looks at him, struggling not to cry, and she folds herself down in front of him, taking her hands in his. “A new structure and house. The voting can stay, but it has anonymity, we don’t talk about who is going to vote for what, only after the votes have been cast we talk, discuss, but with us having the power to veto if decisions are being made too much on outside factors like money and perceptions. Drivers who have multi-year contracts starting next season can be present for the votes, hear why we voted for what we did and even jump in on discussions if they feel inclined. We change. We have been stagnant for too long. We need new blood and beliefs.” He starts to shake his head and she squeezes his hands.

“Nonno, please just listen to me.” She pleads. “We need a complete overhaul of the team, you know it and have said it yourself. I can’t just hire Italian first, not when that has ended with us where we are now. I can offer everyone severance packages, pay for it all myself, but no more Italian first. We take who is best suited for the team and hope they are Italian. Maybe we baptize them if they aren’t.” His lips quirk into a smile. “The strategy team needs to go, PR, social media, the race engineers.” “Sainz likes his race engineer.” “Sainz also likes to say that he comes up with the strategy used in the races but as soon as they fail, he backtracks. He is a fair driver, but he needs to be retrained in PR.” “His family needs a gag order.” Her grandfather huffs. “Yes, but that is not something we can do. What we can do is get him retrained and get a new PR manager for him, same with social media. Charles will be getting the same. He needs an image refresh.” “This is what you want?” “Yes. I want to bring our team back to greatness. I already have the people I want for the team, I’m just waiting for your approval and for the next month to pass before I start sending out contracts.” He sighs, looking in pain. “Can they at least speak Italian?” She smiles, standing to press a kiss to his cheek. “They can learn and they will quickly.” Another sigh leaves him but he smiles, warm and gentle at her. “Mia figlia, la mia stella, fai quello che devi. Il mio supporto è tuo, sempre.” My daughter, my star, do what you must. My support is yours, always. “Thank you, papa.”

October 23rd, 2023

She stands facing the back wall of the room, listening as the door opens and people trudge in. She tries to count the pairs of feet she hears. She knows how many are supposed to come to this meeting, how many she asked to come, but it wouldn’t surprise her if someone let slip that the new boss, and the big boss at that, had arranged a meeting that a few people would try tagging along.

It’s the sound of the door shutting and then locking from the inside that has her turning around, giving a nod of thanks to her bodyguard, Roman, who inclines his head before retreating to the left front corner of the room.

“I see you all made it.” She says, her Italian accent barely noticeable around the English words and she can see a few faces turn confused at the English. Ferrari was Italian, they spoke Italian, had meetings in Italian. And more importantly, she was not just Ferrari, but a Ferrari. One that only three people in this room had ever met in person, and only two others had seen her face because of video calls. “Good, let's talk about the dumpster fire that was yesterday.” She can see a few faces balk at her words, but it’s Sainz’s that gets her attention. “You don’t agree?” “It was an unfortunate thing that happened to Charles, but I still ended up in P3.” “Due to a disqualification. Which is also what happened to your teammate. This also is the third time you’ve ended up on the podium due to such a thing. Let us also not forget to acknowledge that while the FIA didn’t check your car, like they should have after finding that two of four of the cars they checked had issues with their planks, doesn’t mean we didn’t.” He frowns and so does a good majority of the room. “I don’t understand.” “Your planks were just like Leclerc’s. Just barely under what they should be. But still enough for disqualification.” Eyes widen and she continues. “Not that it matters, because I won’t be alerting the FIA of such a thing. Not when the teams didn’t get enough time to set up the car because of the sprint format and I don’t think we need to give McLaren more of a jump on us.”

Walking around the room, she nearly pauses behind Charles' chair. Wants so badly to squeeze his hand, to offer him comfort or a way to get his frustrations out, but she continues until she is at the front of the room.

“The FIA won’t get rid of sprint races, but myself and a few other team representatives, will be going to them with a new sprint format for the next season hopefully or for at least starting the 2025 season. I expect both of you,” she looks at Sainz and Charles, “to voice your support. And I’m sure Red Bull, Williams, Mercedes, McLaren, Aston Martin, Alpine, and Haas, will be saying the same to their drivers as well.” “You want us to support a format that could be worse?” Charles asks, and she can see a few shakes of the head at him. “No, I want you to support one that is better. For Sprint weekends, you will have free practice one and the sprint shootout on Friday. On Saturday, there will be the sprint, followed by second free practice, then qualifying. Sundays of course will just be race day. Does that sound worse?” “No. You think the FIA will go for it?” “The FIA won’t have much of a choice. And besides next year allows each team to have more tyre’s allocated, they’ll want something extra to help burn through them to make it more interesting.”

“Now,” She lifts the lid of one of the two file boxes she has. “Leclerc, Sainz.” Both grimace at the use of their last names, but she catches a glimpse of amusement from Charles. “I have meetings with both of your management teams after this. Sainz, you’ll be getting a new PR manager, Ana. She or her assistant Val, will be with you for every event, interview, or anything else PR wise. Sometimes they both will.”

She turns her head to look at Charles. “Leclerc, you're getting an image refresh. I’m not letting a driver for this team have a vast majority of people thinking there’s nothing behind your apparently good looks.”

“Why isn’t Charles getting a babysitter?” She raises a brow at the tone and question. “Ana and Val aren’t babysitters, they work in PR. They will be retraining you. Because at the moment I could be breaking your contract right now with four races left in the season due to the public clause and if you have to ask why, you need more help than I thought.” He looks at her in shock and she can see a few people in the room shift uncomfortably. “Also concerning both of you, you both will have new race engineers in Mexico. Your previous engineers were lacking.” They both look uncomfortable with the decision but don’t say anything and she turns her attention to Fred.

“Fred.” “Ms. Ferrari.” She smiles at the title, though there’s nothing polite or happy about it. “This is your team is not?” She gestures to the drivers, the heads of different departments that all sit in the room with them. “Yes.” “Then, why am I doing your job for you and handling them?” With that she starts throwing out the severance packages onto the table. When she runs out of ones in the first box, she takes the lid off the second and just tips it over, letting them spill out.

“Severance packages.” She states, seeing some people's confused looks. “Some are effective immediately. Others will be given after the last race.” “Fabio’s name is here.” “So is Gualtieri and Cardile. They have been given generous severance packages.” She reassures. “You will meet their replacements either later today or in Mexico.” “They are heads of their departments!” “And they have failed at their jobs. As has everyone who has been issued one of these.”

—

“How did they take it?” “Safe to say I haven’t made any friends.” “So, it's going well.” She snorts, smiling at Charles as he enters her hotel suite. “I’m fairly certain they all would like to burn me at the stake.” Charles frowns. “Not Charles of course.” “Is he there?” “Just got here.” She confirms. “Do you want to talk to your grandson?” She teases and predictably Charles flushes. “Yes, yes. I want to make sure that he’s taking care of you, protecting you.” She rolls her eyes at the last part but passes the phone to Charles, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she does before stepping around him to her open laptop.

Leaning against the desk, she stares at the list in front of her. A list of drivers, currently on the grid, reserves, and not yet on the grid. Before the halfway point of the 2024 season she’d either have to sign contracts for one new driver or two for the 2025 season and now it just came down to who she wanted to reach out to.

A good amount of them are already on the bottom half of the page under the bolded words, not an option.

Verstappen was there, both Mercedes drivers, Bottas, Hulkenberg, Magnuessen, Alonso, Ocon, Stroll, Perez, Norris. She chooses not to look too closely at the fact that she doesn’t have Piastri there. She’d buy out a contract if need be and she knew Mark. If she proved that Ferrari could improve and be a winning team under her, he’d be willing to help her break a contract or two.

She jolts when a pair of lips presses themselves to her forehead, her phone being set down next to her laptop. “Your list is interesting. No Antonio?” “He’s a good development driver.” She says, typing his name out under not an option. Charles hums, sitting in the chair and then pulling her onto his lap, carefully pulling her legs to hangover the arm of the chair. “You have two Indycar drivers under possible.” She shrugs. “I’ll watch closely as the first few races go for them. They only have contracts for the 2024 season.” “Not that it would matter.” She grins, huffing out a laugh. “Not that it would matter.”

She watches as he peers at the list, his hands rubbing at her calf. “You have a lot of no’s.” His eyes narrow as he scans it again. “Mick, Ollie, and Vesti all under maybe?” “Vesti’s done well for himself, Mercedes is just going to waste him. Especially if he’s any good in an F1 car. Bearman’s had a strong first season in F2. Schumacher,” She hesitates. “I’m not keen on the idea. Especially with two seasons out of F1, but there is the opportunity to put him in Alfa Romeo.” “But Valterri and Zhou.” “Valterri knows he won’t be promoted back up. He’s doing good for being at Alfa Romeo, but he also has a lot of other ventures and pursuits. I’d like to keep him for another year or two after for development if I can.” He hums, “Alex and Schwartzman?” “Albon is sticking to Williams like glue. Which is understandable after Red Bull, but there’s hope.” She doesn’t mention that she’d think that he’d be a good teammate for Charles. “Schwartzman is already under contract with us. Just as a reserve and for testing, but who knows.”

He presses a kiss to her shoulder and he reads the top of the list, the possibles. He had only skimmed it before, but now he gives it his full attention.

“I’m on here.” “Yes.” “But,” “You don’t have an extension with us. You are only contracted with us for this next season. And as much as I’d like to keep you as would the fans and nonno, we haven’t proven that we deserve to have you here. I have to keep my options open that there will be two drivers I have to sign for 2025.” “I don’t like it.” He tells her, frowning. He didn’t like to think about not being at Ferrari, at the possibility of it, especially now with her at the helm and already making drastic changes. He didn’t know yet if those changes were good or not, but it felt like they were, he hoped that they were.

Piastri, Ricciardo, Drugovich, and he blinks as reads the last name, saying it outloud. “Sargeant. You have Sargeant under possible? Not a maybe but possible?” “Sargeant would sign a contract with us in a heartbeat, no contracts to break. 2024 will be a one year for him.” “Something has been signed?” She shrugs, “it’s common sense to keep him. Otherwise they’d just be dealing with a whole other rookie.” He sighs, jaw twitching. “I don’t like it. He has only scored a point because of my disqualification.” “I know.” “He has cost them much.” “I know.” Charles pouts, “he is American.” She lets out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “That will be your issue with him? His Americanness?” “Yes.” “Well, it’s just a possibility.” She smiles, before leaning down to press their lips together in a quick kiss. “Now, tell me out of everyone in the maybes and possibles who you’d want as a teammate.” “And what? You’ll make it happen?” “If I can give you a good season next year, I’ll do everything I can.”

He eyes the list, taking in the names he mentioned before and the few he didn’t.

Pierre would end in a dumpster fire and he was selfish enough to say that he didn’t want him as a teammate so they could keep their friendship, one so close to his heart. Lawson was an interesting idea, he had performed well for having to suddenly jump into a car. Alex would be a good teammate as well and he knew that Alex would also love the development side of things like he did.

He didn’t know enough about Drugovich or either of the Indycar drivers really. They had performed fair in F2 and were doing well in Indycar, but it was unknown. He could see them both though at Alfa Romeo. Ollie was too young to step into such a huge seat, maybe for him also Alfa Romeo in 2025 and by 2028 he’d be ready to step in and then take over a seat.

Oscar and Sargeant are both interesting for completely different reasons. He wishes that she had gotten power in the beginning of 2022 and when the Alpine drama happened, snatched Oscar up.

But there’s one name that he keeps on looking at, that’s circling in his head.

“Daniel. If I could have anyone, I’d want Daniel.”

There’s a shared pained history there and Charles knows that he took what was going to be Daniel’s seat in 2019 before Ferrari really started gunning for him while Renault took a keen interest in Daniel.

Charles could still remember around the fifth race of the 2020 season when Daniel had cornered him, looking nervous to be around him for the first time since their accidentally shared Vegas trip that made them break the ice. Daniel seemed so much smaller as he asked Charles if he’d be okay with them being teammates next season, and had seemed shocked by the relieved and happy grin Charles had given him.

She hesitates, “I never said anything, but I tried getting Daniel for 2024 and even 2023 when the rumors about McLaren dropping him started up.” “But Carlos?” “He asked for an extension, but nonno and me wanted to present a different option. But by the time I reached out, Red Bull had managed to snatch him back up. He’s only with them though for 2024. He’s free after that.” “So, you are saying?” He hopes. “I’m saying that, I’ve already reached out as of yesterday. Red Bull isn't in any hurry to get him under contract for 2025 and Blake has made it clear that Daniel isn’t signing any contracts until May or June to them and us.” “Which is enough time to prove that the team is improving.” “Yes.”

He stares at her wide eyed speechless. “What does that mean?” “If we improve?” He nods. “We sign you and Daniel until 2027.” She pauses, hesitating, but she won’t lie to him now. “We let you two battle it out at the beginning of the 2025 season. If Daniel is scoring more points, higher on the podium than you by break, you defend. We’ll ask you to let him pass if both of you can get on the podium or he has better pace and can get on it. We let him become world champion first. And it would go the other way around as well.” He rolls the idea in his mind, lets it sit in his stomach. “Daniel Ricciardo the 2025 world champion and Charles Leclerc the 2026 world champion.”

He lets them sit in the air, the idea of practically another three seasons before it could happen. Could he wait that long? Watch as Daniel got it before him? Watch as his teammate got it before him? Could he let himself be sacrificed for his teammates gain again? He thinks it over, because it is not fair for her to ask, to say, but that is what driving in Formula One is. It is not fair, with unequal machinery and only twenty spots available. To have to worry not just about your race but also your teammates depending on where the point standings are at.

But she is offering him something that he wasn’t before and with clearness, transparency. Not something that will be dropped on him in the middle of the race or as he’s about to finish lap ten or fifty. She’s telling him now what to expect and how it will go. She’s letting him know that it doesn’t matter which one is in the lead for the championship, just that whichever one isn’t when they come back from break, will be defending and he thinks now of her emphasis on the word. Not sacrificing, but defending. She wouldn’t let either of them be compromised so badly that they drop either low in the points or out of the points completely, but she would ask that they defend the other.

“I want it. Even if I do have to wait an extra year. It’d be worth it.” “And if you won in 2025 and then Daniel in 2026?” “We could trade off years, but I want it, I want that.” She smiles and there’s something sweet and dangerous about it. “Then I’ll make it happen.”

@eleetalks @cixrosie @badbatch-simp24 @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @copper-boom @topguncultleader @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @benstormy @bibliosaurous

[ljh-writing-blog]

Batmom #2 - Dick Grayson

Dick Grayson was and is a force of nature. Brought to Bruce, and by extension yourself, as a child of only eight years old through suffering and death you felt yourself a kindred spirit. You were at Haley’s Circus that night, Bruce thought it would be a wonderful date. The night ended in tragedy, a stunt “gone wrong”. You only hoped the energies of the oldest Flying Graysons were at rest.

The worst part of the night was feeling everyone’s fear in the tent. Dick’s fear stood out to you, it was the strongest and you felt the immediate need to rid it from his small self. You didn’t hesitate to jump out of the stands and find him in the chaos. You made Bruce pull some strings so you could take him home, you didn’t care how but the boy was coming with you. You couldn’t, you wouldn’t, leave him alone to some foster facility for however long it would take to find him placement. You would convince Bruce to take him in, if he didn’t you’d find your own apartment and care for him yourself. Diana always wanted more girl time and you knew she loved kids. All these contingencies ran through your head as you held him close, picking him up and taking him out of the tent. Taking him away from the horror and blood that stained the tent that night.

Bruce wasn’t the best father, truthfully he wasn’t much of a father in the early years. Alfred had been a big help and you stepped up to fill the mother figure role in his life. You stopped fighting crime on the daily, only joining the battle field when absolutely necessary. You had a few shifts at the Watchtower weekly but made sure they were while Dick was at school. You refused to let him sit in his grief alone, it wasn’t healthy. At times you overwhelmed him, he was so full of desolation and rage your love made him sick. He reminded you constantly you weren’t his mother, “My mother is dead! You’re just an expensive wanna-be replacement!” His words damaged your heart at times but you never let it show, not to him at least. Alfred spent many nights baking and drinking tea with you while you both discussed the day’s events. Sometimes it was just a few tears you both pretended not to notice, others it was much more difficult. The first year had been the hardest for all of you.

You weren’t sure if Dick finding the Batcave’s Grandfather Clock entrance was the worst thing that ever happened to your family or the best: it brought your boys closer, you and Bruce started talking again, it allowed Dick to move past his anger and grief, it also allowed him to embrace his trapeze skills and think of them positively instead of the negative left behind. Your son becoming Robin was probably the best thing for his mental health at the time. But it also brought bruises, cuts, concussions, forged doctors notes, and small bouts of what Bruce called a “Napoleon Complex”. It brought pain and death right back to your doorstep in ways you never thought possible.

When Dick found out you were a superhero, with what he liked to refer to as magic, he went crazy. He demanded a talent show and to see you in your suit. You indulged if only to see his smiles, he could light up a room with his grin. Using your mutation to lift him in the air sure wasn’t what he was expecting but it was definitely cool. Once you donned your suit Dick recognized you, his next request filled you with dread. “Y/N your powers are so cool! Can you show me my deepest fear? It’d be really cool to know…” He began rambling as you felt a pit form in your stomach. You never want to use those parts of your powers on anyone you love, especially the boy you live for. Bruce, who had been watching your little fashion show, recognized you tensing up and took over the conversation. “That’s enough for today, Chum. Your mother has had a long day and she’s very tired.” It was the first time Dick hadn’t objected to you being referred to as his mother. That day started a new chapter for your family.

Dick Grayson is a force of nature but you couldn’t imagine your eldest son any other way.

[starythewriter]

KINKMAS DAY 6- WOLVERINE X YOU- a peak-filled farm life.

Wolverine, he slowly shows you the way to an old barn that his family owned.

you smiled seeing the beautiful decor, and a Christmas tree…

it was all decorated for the winter holidays.

he said, “the tree is our tradition, my grandfather gave it to us when we first arrived here in America.” he explained as you looked around at everything else he had showed you today, you nodded, “that's really nice.” he nodded too, you then asked your question.

“What does your dad think about having such an elaborate tree?” he seemed surprised, and his expression turned confused at the thought of his father.

“My dad doesn't care much for Christmas, I'm sure if he didn't care I would have told you. ” he responded and took off from where he stood, taking your hand again he lead you further into the house. You noticed that the whole place was decorated with lights everywhere. You wondered how someone could get so distracted by the festive decorations that they forgot that the world wasn’t always like this.

It reminded you a lot of something you saw on TV, the snow covered cities of New York City were also decorated by lights but they were more subdued, the colors were different.

He led you to the living room where there was another table set up with two chairs. He gestured for you to sit down, you did, he joined you after sitting at the other side of the table. He began telling you what was happening, the Christmas tree was his favorite present since forever, he got his parents one as well for his birthday, and his brother got him one that was made entirely out of wood (and was quite expensive). He said he would show you later when you got back to his home.

but… you could feel some hot sexual tension building between you both as he spoke about the tree. His hands were resting on the table, you had your own placed in your lap as well, his long fingers intertwining with yours. Wolverine quickly kissed you, you moaned loudly, you saw his fangs grow which made you horny. you slowly rubbed your tits aganist him, moaning louder.

he pulled away, smirking.You both continued talking for awhile, eventually making your way into his bedroom, he pushed open the door with your backs pressed against it. He pushed you onto the bed and quickly went over to turn on the light next to the bed, he was now on top of you. He leaned down and began to suck your neck, while your arms were wrapped around his shoulders. You knew this was supposed to be quick, but instead it felt like he was sucking you dry.“I'm going to go slow.” he whispered to your ear.You gasped, “yes please.”He pulled away to stare into your eyes, you could see a glint of lust in his eyes. You wanted him so badly, he was only inches away from you, you could smell him, your lips were parted, you could barely keep yourself from kissing him again.“Are you sure? Because you look ready to explode.” he laughed, you couldn't help but laugh along. You both fell silent as he kissed you once more. He slid his hands under your shirt, cupping your breasts as he continued to kiss you, you moaned, he chuckled softly, running his thumbs across your nipples before pulling them. It caused you to whimper. You felt his grip tighten on your breasts as he continued to kiss you. He gently tugged at your nipple causing you to gasp, he smirked.“I want this moment forever.” he whispered, you nodded, “then make love to me.”“I promise.” he breathed before moving his mouth to yours once more, his tongue slowly stroking yours as his hands traveled lower towards your stomach.“Wolverine …” you murmured against his lips.“Yes.” he whispered against yours.You both pulled apart as you felt him slide his finger slowly inside of you.“Fuck!” you yelled, he grinned before continuing. You both laid underneath the covers for a while, still naked, he wrapped himself around you once more, kissing your forehead.“That's better, isn't it?” he whispered seductively, you nodded before nuzzling closer to him, he quickened his pace, as you moaned louder. “Wolverine!” you exclaimed as your orgasm hit you, you clutched onto his shirt as tears started rolling down your cheeks.His name was on your lips, he looked down at you.“Did you enjoy yourself, darling?” he purred. You nodded. “Good.

with this you both went to get some tea, at a near by storage place, it’s like right in front of the barn you thought…. and it was actually pretty chill you thought, you saw how beautiful it was, from what you could see it was remodeled into a nice little resting place for coffee, tea, and had some closets, with tools that were all perfectly organized.

you both walked in, making some tea and enjoying the farm buildings around you

[bunnyscar]

Dreaming

Jeff woke to the sound of heavy breathing above him. Glowing golden eyes stared down hungrily at him, their intense gaze boring into his soul. Hot breath tickled his neck, sharp fangs glittering below the golden eyes. It was the stuff of nightmares. But it was not a nightmare.

“Alan?” Jeff said cautiously, slowly reaching over and turning on the lamp that stood on his bedside table. Alan was perched on the side of the bed, quite close to Jeff’s head, staring at him. Now that the light shone on him, his eyes looked more normal, and his teeth were only showing because he was yawning. He looked almost comical with his bed head and the rubber ducky pajamas Jeff’s sister Tessa had bought him.

“What’s wrong? Why did you come in here?” Jeff asked, stifling a yawn. Glancing at the digital clock on his table, he saw it was only 3 a.m.

“You were making noise,” Alan said flatly.

“Oh, I’m sorry if that woke you. I guess I must have had a dream and grunted in my sleep. I don’t remember the dream though.” Jeff paused, then said slowly, “Did I really grunt that loudly for you to hear it?”

Alan shifted and looked away. “I was awake anyway. And the house is quiet.”

“You couldn’t sleep?”

“Bad dreams,” Alan muttered, glaring at the floor.

Jeff asked gently, “Do you want to sit up together and color for a bit?” Alan nodded slowly. Jeff grabbed their coloring books and pencils, and soon they were sitting cross-legged together on the bed, coloring away in peaceful silence.

Alan hadn’t been much in Jeff’s room, despite having lived with him and Tessa now for several months. It was rather odd to see him sitting on Jeff’s bed, hunched over a coloring book with a very serious face, as if making the dog in the picture red was the most important thing he’d ever done. Jeff smiled to himself. There were many good memories in this room: the faded pink blanket that had belonged to his grandmother and was the only reminder he had of her; the picture of his grandfather that stood like a sentinel above his desk, surveying the room with a discerning gaze; and the paper cranes that Tessa had made him with on his tenth birthday. Glancing down at the coloring page in his hands, Jeff knew he would have another memory to keep now. A memory of spending time in the middle of the night with a good friend.

“Jeff,” Alan suddenly spoke, bringing Jeff out of his thoughts. “Do you...ever have nightmares?”

“Hmm, I don’t have them so much now, but I used to have several when I was younger. Things like monsters chasing me, or sometimes I would dream that I was all alone in a labyrinth and couldn’t get out.”

Alan tapped his pencil against the page he was working on, his brow creasing slightly with unease. “Nightmares...make you afraid, don’t they? That’s what you call that emotion?”

Jeff nodded. Alan’s tapping became faster. “I had a nightmare,” he murmured. “I was running from something, and I had to get away before time was up. There was someone with me. But then I couldn’t run anymore. And there was blood, blood everywhere. Blood pooling on the floor because the other person was dead. Blood coming from me. Blood….but I was terrified by it. In the dream, I was scared of the blood.”

Alan looked up at Jeff then, and the hollow look in his eyes broke Jeff’s heart. Alan knew little about emotions or how to express them, and often he had only one facial expression, a fierce, angry look. But now his eyes were full of horror, of dark despair and fear. If there had been any emotion Jeff did not wish Alan knew, it was this terror.

“Jeff, I was scared of the blood. As a vampire and a monster, I’m always attracted to blood. It makes me go crazy. But in the dream, I was repulsed and horrified by it. Which can only mean—I was human in my dream.” Dead silence filled the room for a moment, Jeff processing what Alan had just revealed. Taking a deep breath, Alan said shakily, “I hate this dream, I hate feeling so scared. But I also don’t want this dream to go away, because—it’s the only way I can be human.”

“Then, why don’t we give you a new dream, one where you can still be human but not scared,” Jeff said slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s something my grandfather told me to do when I was scared at night. If I had a bad dream or kept seeing things in the dark, he told me to make up stories about the scary things and change them into not-so-scary things. For example, that wardrobe,” he pointed to a wooden closet in the corner, “used to scare me all the time because of the shapes the wood grain makes. In the dark, I thought they were monsters that would come get me when I fell asleep. I started telling myself, though, that they were fairies, and they would come take me to dream land where we would play soccer and have parties all night long. Once I started thinking about that, I’d fall asleep before I knew it.”

Alan stared thoughtfully at the ground, a slight frown on his face. “I guess it might be kind of cheesy, but it worked for me,” Jeff said apologetically.

“Thanks, I’ll try it,” Alan said slowly.

“And if you ever need to get up and color with me, don’t worry about waking me. I’m always happy to stay up with you,” Jeff offered.

For a few nights after that, Alan did come in and ask to color with Jeff. But slowly, he came less, and he seemed to be sleeping better. It wasn’t until a week later that Jeff realized how effective his advice had been.

He walked into the kitchen one morning to find Alan sitting at the table, Tessa leaning over his shoulder and exclaiming over something. Looking up as Jeff came in, Tessa said eagerly, “Hey, hey, come look at this! Alan drew something completely original!” Jeff walked over curiously. Alan was an excellent artist, but so far he had only copied other artwork, not drawn anything that he himself had imagined.

Though some of the lines were shakier than in his other pictures, this picture was still quite good. It showed two boys, one grey and one brown-haired, and they were drawing a big picture of Clifford the Big Red Dog on the ground. The boys were smiling at each other, hands poised with chalk to continue drawing. They were smiling. Alan was smiling in this picture. For Jeff was sure that the two boys were meant to be him and Alan.

“Alan, is this…”Jeff started to say.

“It’s thanks to you, Jeff,” Alan said gruffly, not looking at him, but Jeff could tell he was happy. Jeff gazed at the picture again and smiled. Even if Alan could not smile yet in real life, there would come a day when he could smile. When this picture would not be just a dream, but a reality.

Previous ||

P.S. just a little fangirling over my own characters:

Alan puts Clifford in his picture because he likes children's books. Though he looks like he's sixteen, he's really only a few years old since he was created in a lab. Even though he can read higher level books and understand them for the most part, he enjoys children's books more because they are simpler.

[dragonologist-phd]

Owlcatober Day 5 - ruins

Cleo’s new companion reminds her of home. She does the same for him.

(Some timeline notes- due to the intersection of Cleo's playthrough and the release of the dlc, Cleo recruited Ulbrig and went through his quest all in Act 5. So while this takes place during one of the first parts of his quest, it also takes place while she is on the Legend Path and already multiclassed as a druid)

also on ao3

A change settles over Ulbrig as the party ventures deeper into Currantglen.

He’s a strange man to begin with; archaic and hard-headed, but full of a rugged friendliness that reminds Cleo of home. There’s a lot about him that reminds Cleo of home. Hells, if his wild story turns out to be true, there’s a chance he’s her great-great-great-grandfather, or some rot like that.

Cleo wasn’t sure how she felt about that at first, but she’d admired the guts it took to barge into her citadel the way he had. With nerve like that…well, even if he isn’t true Sakorian like he claims, he’s sure as shit some kind of Kellish.

But even the Kellids aren’t made of stone, and with every crumbling ruin and abandoned landmark they come across, Ulbrig’s nerves edge closer to failing.

It’s the Stone of Voices that breaks him. He beams when they find the thing, tells Cleo that it will call any and all remaining Sakorians to them immediately. He sounds it, and he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

The sun is sinking lower now, but still…he waits. He sits with his back against the stone, his eyes dull and distant as Cleo watches with growing uncertainty. There’s an itch under her skin that says she should comfort him, but...damn if she knows how to do that.

Finally, when the sun has almost sunken below the horizon, Cleo decides enough is enough. Ulbrig needs support, and she needs to send in the cavalry.

This is a job for Kitty.

As soon as the thought enters her head, the smilodon responds. Cleo is still getting used to that kind of connection, and it’s a little strange to see the animal move in time with her thoughts, uncurling from her place at Cleo’s feet to approach the sullen man. The whole thing reminds her of home all over again in a way she can’t shake off.

But Ulbrig seems to appreciate it. He snaps back to attention as Kitty rubs her head against his shoulder, and after a moment he lifts his hand to scratch her head. She nudges his arm out of the way and plops down to place her head in his lap, purring contentedly. He shifts to avoid the cut of her long, curved teeth, and he does so he lifts his gaze to Cleo’s.

“She listens to you well.”

“Nah. She does what she wants.” Cleo moves to sit down on the other side of Kitty, and the smilodon thwacks Cleo’s leg with her tail. Cleo rolls her eyes. “See? She’s a tyrant.”

Ulbrig gives a chuckle, but the humor is short-lived. His dark gloom soon returns, and Cleo groans.

“Okay, I know this sucks, but I have to ask: are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Ulbrig repeats, his voice flat. “How can I be? My country is gone. My clan is dead. My god does not speak to me. Where am I supposed to go, when everything I know has disappeared?”

Cleo is quiet a moment. She runs her hands through Kitty’s fur, trying to think. Her record’s not when it comes to this whole encouragement thing, but…Ulbrig’s is a language she knows how to speak.

“You defend the land, yeah?,” she says. “That’s what I’m doing, and we’re close to chasing the demons out. I can’t help with the rest of it. I haven’t seen my own clan in…shit, I don’t even know how long. And all I’ve ever known about gods is how to piss them off. But I know you want to kick the Worldwound’s ass, and that? That, I can help with.”

A grim smile crosses Ulbrig’s face. “That much is true. I’ve seen it; you’re a decent leader.”

“Me?” Cleo snorts. “Not even close. I’ve been making a mess of things since I woke up here. But I’m trying. That’s the rough part, isn’t it? Even when everything’s fucked, you gotta keep trying.”

Ulbrig takes in her words. He looks down at Kitty’s head in his lap as she yawns, showing off her impressive set of jaws. The sight brings another smile to his face, and he nods. “All right, then. I stick with you for now.”

Cleo claps him on the back. “Welcome to the clan.” She glances at Ulbrig’s fancy boulder and adds, “We can keep trying here, too. Could be something more to find. Things more impossible than that have happened in just the last week.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Ulbrig says. He rises to his feet- much to Kitty’s offense- and turns to face the Stone.

“And you,” he scolds, “should know that I mean it when I say I’ll back. And you’d better prepared, because if you fail me a second time, I’ll you pummel you into rubble with my bare hands!”

Cleo grins viciously, and she gives the rock a kick. “He won’t be alone, either, you hear? Little pebble like you doesn’t stand a chance.”

Ulbrig bellows out a laugh. “Yes! So you think about that while we’re gone. Think long and hard.” He gives the stone one last look, humor and grief warring in his eyes, but he finally manages to tear himself away. “We’re done here. The little miscreant can stew for a few days. I bet when we get back, it’ll be singing like a bird.”

“Damn right,” Cleo agrees. And for Ulbrig’s sake, she decides to actually believe it.

[magickandmachines]

Part 3

(Disclaimer this story is rather experimental.. so if the writing style seems inconsistent it’s because I’m testing things out)

His words sank deep into her mind as she smiled softly and relaxed into his hold.

“Alright Visure, you win. I’ll be more careful, and I’ll try to take the protection with more grace. Does that sound better?”

Visure looked down at her in his arms, her small size reminding him of how he bonded to her when she was a child, and yet the years with her telling him she’s fully grown.

“Good. I could try to explain things better next time… though I’d rather there not be one.”

His reply was curt but the care he took in loosening his hold spoke volumes about his protective nature.

The two spent their day running around and doing chores, gathering herbs and ingredients outside the village walls to bring back to town. Dropping off wild honeycomb and berries at her neighbor’s home, taking some herbs to the nearby healer before finally returning to her grandfather’s house. The moment Cita opened the door her mother wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter.

“Cita there you are, are you alright, no scrapes, no cuts, nothing broken? Did you remember to eat today, you didn’t talk to any strangers did you?”

“Ma’ma I’m fine, you do this every time I forage. I’m not a child you know.”

“Your my child, I don't care if you’re two or twenty two I’m still going to worry.” Her mother spoke simply as she released Cita from her hug and rested her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. She turned her gaze slightly as she looked at Visure as he followed inside the house, her eyes narrowing at the robot for a moment before looking back at Cita.

“Just, promise me you’ll be more careful.”

“Ma’ma, how much ‘more careful’ can I be? I haven’t gotten hurt, talked to anyone I don’t know, and I’ve had Visure with me at all times. The only thing that could keep me safer, is if I didn't leave the house at all.”

“Now there’s a sensible thought.”

Cita rolled her eyes at her mother before dropping her foraging apron on the table and heading toward the back of the house. She understood her mother’s worry but was growing tired of the constant lack of understanding, but because of the overbearing nature of her mother, Cita grew too used to keeping her thoughts to herself. She climbed the ladder in the house’s back and made her way to the flatten roof top to sit and look out toward the distant walls.

“Visure, doesn't it bother you how she looks at you… I wish she would try to get to know you and understand that with you I deserve some freedoms.”

Visure looked down for a moment before sitting behind his human and holding her gently.

“She has her reasons, and I cannot blame her knowing what I do, about the past.”

“That was a syphon and a Cloaker that took apa away… that doesn't mean she can judge you like one of them. Drainers aren't the same, You aren’t the same… you’re usually the one stopping fights, not attacking people.”

“Hush the stress, its not a worry for you to hold. Her choice in despising me can’t do anything. We are bonded, and nothing short of deleting me entirely can get in the way of that.”

His words soothed her mind, she even felt some jealousy toward his ability to ignore hate aimed at him. Cita smiled and took a calming breath before leaning back into her companion’s support and turning her gaze to the open sky.

“Someday… we’re gonna get out of this village, and see what the world has to show us.”

Her voice held a hollow wish to it, a dream she says but feels already failed. Cita knew well that any travel outside these walls would be faced with war, violence and pain… but she also believed there was more out in the vastness of the world than just two hateful kingdoms and a village in the middle.

[galactic-knightmare]

got in the mood to make a... ref? bio? for Goldie. it was... also kinda an excuse to see how she'd look with my usual full-shading artstyle instead of the sketchy kinda style I've been going with recently.

(also yes ik the one-third inkling should be one-fourth. I'll fix it later lmao)

(lots) more info under cut!

When I was first drawing her, she was going to have purple tentacles, but then I noticed the faint rings on the octolings, which reminded me of blue-ring octopi, and it slowly just. started spiraling from there lmao. She started as just a random doodle of my own octoling and just. became an oc. She's still mildly my octoling, but like, with extra pizazz I guess? idk.

Aaaanyway, Goldie! Also known as New (Neo?) Agent Three! She's a lil chaos gremlin with farrr too much energy sometimes. When she first ran into Cuttlefish in the crater, she didn't recognize him from Octavio's stories, so she only realized what she'd gotten into when the DJ himself showed up. (She just saw the whole thing as a fun training exercise with her fellow Octarians, tho she did find it weird that they looked so fuzzy). The fight with the Octobot however, was actually a training exercise kinda. (DJ was going easy on her and Goldie had been asking if she could try fighting the Octobot, so why not put on a show for Cuttlefish?) She did however, recognize Captain Three, as they had met briefly after the events of Splatoon 1. Despite her issues with Squidbeak shoving her Grandpa in a snowglobe (among other things), she does respect the captain and look up to them.

That did not save them from being bitten by her though. Goldie has a habit of biting people she has issues with. At least now that she's older. When she was younger, she bit everyone, regardless of if she liked them or not. She bit DJ Octavio so many times that he actually developed an immunity to her venom.

Other things :

When she was younger, she had a plush Horrorboros she named "Mr. Fishy" that she would drag absolutely everywhere. Mr.Fishy currently sits on a shelf at the apartment she's been staying at in Splatsville.

Also when she was younger, she would constantly state that she's poisonous, while the DJ repeatedly said she isn't. One day she decided to bite one of the Elite octolings, which resulted in someone having to go grab the antivenom (this was before they started keeping it everywhere). One of the others asked the DJ why he keeps telling her she's not poisonous when clearly she is, and he just deadpanned and said "She's not poisonous. She's venomous. There's a difference"

She got banned from asking DJ Octavio questions before he's fully woken up, as she once took advantage of his half-asleep state to get him to say yes to her borrowing the Octobot King.

Her best friend is a Smallfry she's nicknamed "Nyoom". He gets zoomies at 5 pm everyday, no exceptions. There is also not a single coddamned thought in that head.

She has an extra tentacle compared to other Octolings, due to being partially Inkling. She also has the teeth, eyes, and pointed ears of one. No one knows who her Inkling Grandparent is.

Her Parents died when investigating what turned out to be a faulty dome section, so she ended up being raised almost entirely by her grandfather. As a result, it was not uncommon for her to be sat next to DJ Octavio during meetings, usually just playing with Mr.Fishy while occasionally trying to bite whoever was closest to her (usually the DJ, occasionally one of the Elite Octoling guards)

When she was even younger, she used to try and convince the DJ to adopt Marina so that she can have her as a big sister. She was convinced (and still is) that Marina was the coolest person ever, Second only to her Grandpa.

[bernadethhabon]

Short story

She's a killer

By: Bernadeth Habon

“I promised you I would do my best to give you what you deserve. This is Emmanuel Frank, your future public servant. Thank you.” A warm round of applause was all I heard after my father’s speech. Now speaking in front of a hundred people is Chris Anderson, my father’s rival. He’s been so eager to get the position away from my father.

An ear-splitting noise woke me from sleeping. It was my mom’s voice. I ran faster to my parents’ room. I open the door, and I see how messy the bed is. I looked around to find my parents. I heard my mom’s voice on the balcony of their room. I don’t know how to feel as I walk on the balcony. I feel like I am walking on thorns. Every step that I took hurt my heart. I am near the glass door and I can hear the sobs of my mother. I see my mother sitting on the floor, holding her face. I slowly lift my head, and I feel like my world just fell apart. Seeing my dad hanging on the floor with a thick rope hugging his neck made me want to scream out until my heart exploded and I fell on my knees. Why did he have to do that?

“Miguel, get up.” I don’t know how I managed to stand up and move to the side of the door as I watched the guys wearing white clothes take my dad. My father’s mother is crying. I look at my grandfather, who doesn’t have any reaction on his face. I can’t see any emotion in his eyes. I know they haven’t had a good relationship since my father was young, but he is always present at my father’s celebration. He started to hate my father when he entered the world of politics. He wanted my father to pursue the field of medicine, but my father followed what he wanted. I shift my gaze to the person who is beside him, Michael. He’s chewing a piece of gum like he’s just watching a nonsense scene. Michael is my father’s younger brother who also hates my father and I don’t know for what reason.

The death of my father has now spread throughout the town. As I heard, some of them also couldn’t believe he did that to himself. And some said that maybe he is depressed and he is just good at hiding it. Even I, I can’t believe he did that. I know something is wrong. Someone did that to him. Why would he do that when he knows that he’s family is just around the house? The only way for me to find out is to ask for help. Maybe I could ask my mom.

Today is my father’s funeral, and a lot of people are here. Chris Anderson is also here. I can’t find any reason why he would attend. I know how much he hates my father for beating him twice. He looked in my direction, and I didn’t like the way he looked at me. “Hey, little man, I am so sorry for your loss.” I just give him a nod. He’s not sincere. Well I don’t care, you can have the position you are aiming for years. My biggest concern now is how I will find out who did this to my father. I have a feeling that this was planned and set up.

I went to my father’s office beside their room. My dad and mom always remind me not to enter this room without their permission because this room is for adults only. I sit down in his swivel chair. Dad and I didn’t used to spend a lot of time together since he’s so passionate and devoted to serving his people. Even with Mom, they don’t spend a lot of time together since my father came home late. They also often fight about money. I often see Mom bring home a man, but I don’t want to give meaning to that, since she told me that they are just close friends. I sighed. I stood up and decided to just roam around. I was about to open the door when a brown box placed at the side of the locker caught my attention. I never used to see that there. I never tried to tamper with my father’s things, but I don’t know what pushed me to open them. My hands are shaking as I hold the lid of the box. I sighed deeply. I felt cold as I saw a pair of gloves, a cutter, and a rope. Why should my father keep these things in his office?

And why did he have these? The gloves are stained with blood. I recall my father’s body and situation that night. I tried to memorize and picture him in my mind when that night happened. Now I remember! My father has a small amount of blood on his arms. It seems like he tried to stop the person. Or did the two of them fight causing a wound to the killer? One thing is for sure, that killer was here when that day happened. What should I do now? I grabbed the box out of the room and put it in my old playhouse. I am still shaking. I still can’t believe someone did that to him.

“Mom, I think we should hire an investigator?” I asked while we were having breakfast. “Stop it, son. Your dad did it. You are making this worse.” I guess I will just go to the police on my own.

I was at school when I received the message from my mom that we would be having our dinner at my grandparents’ house, my father’s family. I go straight to the dining table. I sit on the right side of my mother, facing my grandfather, who still does not have any emotion. I don’t have the guts to open a conversation. I thought a long silence would last until this dinner ended but my grandma ended it by asking me a question about how I was doing. “Fine” that’s the only answer I can give her.

I was almost done eating when my grandfather’s arm caught my attention. He has a wound in his left arm. It is not that big but it is visible. I remember the cutter I have found out to my dad’s office, his wound looks like it was just cut last week because it is still swelling. No, he can’t do that to his child. I don’t want to accuse him but that fact that he hates my father and the wound on his arms?

I am silently watching my grandfather drinking his coffee. Should I tell this to mom? Definitely no, he believes my father did that to himself. My grandfather looked in my direction. I stiffed when he walked in my direction. “You’ve been watching me.” he noticed. I’m not fond of him since he is intimidating and we never had a long conversation, he hates my dad. “So what is it?” I looked at his arms and I know he got what I mean. “Well, I accidentally cut it.” what a lame excuse. “I see.” That’s the only thing I said before I turned my back on him.

I went to my grandmother, who was busy reading a book on the veranda. “Hey, young man.” I smiled at her. “You were there at the pool when Dad did that right?” I saw confusion on her face “Yes.” I sighed. “Where was Grandpa that time when my dad left the pool?” I asked gently. She looks at me in disbelief. I don’t care anymore. I just want justice for my father. “Are you accusing your grandpa?” “I just want to know”. She sighed. “Well, when your father went to the kitchen to get some ice, your mother and your uncle Michael accompanied him. A few seconds later, your grandpa excused himself to go to the comfort room.”. Her eyebrows met as if she realized something. She looks at me with confusion. “I don’t know what took them so long. I remember your mom came back first, but she doesn’t have anything on her hand since they said, they just get some pack of ice. Your mom was calm, but she’s occupied with something else.” I nod. “Who came next after a few minutes was Michael, who seemed lost and occupied as well.” Michael? He never loses his cool. “A few more minutes your grandpa came, he looks-” she gulps like it is so hard for her to continue what she’s about to say. “He looks pale and bothered.” I felt cold as she told me those things.

“Kid, what do you need.” Said the Cops. He’s the one who came to our house before to investigate, but we did not get any update. “I just want an update about the case of my dad.” He looked around and he leans closer. “Kid, the case of your dad is confidential.” “We can’t find any strong evidence. We can’t find any fingerprint on his body to claim that the wound in his arm was made by someone else. So go home.” I was about to turn my back when I remembered something. The gloves! “Wait I have found something in my father’s office that I think we can use as evidence?” He looks around and nods at me.

I am with Officer Mockery at our house. The moment I removed the cover, the box that I was expecting to see was now gone. No. I securely put it here. I looked around hoping that I would find it. “What is wrong, kid?” “The box I was talking about is missing”. “I don’t have time to play with your prank, kid.” “I am not. I swear, I put it here it contains a pair of gloves stained with blood, a small cutter, and a rope,” I told him sincerely. It seems like he’s convinced, unlike what he showed me a while ago. “who is your suspect, then?” he asked. “Should I trust you?” Why do you think I am helping you?” “I don’t know.” I don’t have the evidence now. “Your father and I are friends” That shocks me. I look at him with disbelief. He just shrugs his shoulder. Yeah, now I know. Every campaign my dad attended, he was there.

“Your suspect is your grandfather? How?” I told him all about why my suspect was my grandfather. I am here at my father’s family house. Mom wants me to give these flowers to my grandma. I know it is bad to eavesdrop but I have to. “Just make sure no one will know about what I did.” What? I felt cold as I heard their conversation. So he did it? He turns his back to me. He looks shocks as he sees me. “You killed my dad.” “I did not.” “I heard you. Your wounds, you get that from our house, right? You hate my dad.” He’s jaw clenched as he watches me. “You are accusing me, Miguel. I did not do it. I got my wound because I did it on purpose. What you heard is not about your dad it is about me. I am also hurt by what happened to him. I have also issues on myself to deal with, that’s why I need to cut my arm.” I saw a tear fall in his eyes. I saw longing, pain, and regret. So did my father do that? Maybe I just don’t know him well.

My mom is not here again. I went upstairs to their room. I entered the balcony. The last time I went here was when the incident happened. I sat on the floor. I don’t know how many minutes I spent here. The sun is setting. I stood up and decided to go down but as I walked, I felt something on my foot. I went to see it. It is an earring. This one is familiar. I used to see this with someone. Right! This belongs to Michael. I remember what my grandma told me when I asked her. Is he the one who did it? He owns it. I looked at it. As I remember, Michael did not stand here at this location. He only stands beside the glass door. Did he? I don’t want to accuse someone again.

The next morning, I went to the kitchen to find my mom, but she was not still there. Did she come home? Or did she leave early? Something is wrong with her. I rarely see her at home. I was about to go back to my room when I heard a knock. It’s not mom, she has her keys. I go to the door and open it. “Hey there, nephew. Mom wants me to give you this. Is your mom there?” He shows me a Tupperware filled with food. I didn’t answer his question I just stared at him. “Hey, are you listening?” “Why do you hate my dad?” instead I asked. He smiled. “Because he’s the favorite of my dad?” He said sarcastically. “May I come in?” I let him come in. I want to clear things up if he knows something and why his earring is on the balcony. “So your mom is not here.” “I rarely see her at home.” “I see.” I just stared at him. “What is your problem? If looks could kill, I am not breathing right now.” It’s a joke, I know, but instead of answering him, I show him, his earring. His smile fades. “This is yours, right?” His silence confirms that this is his. “I found it on the balcony right where my dad ended his life. It is impossible that you two have the same earring since he’s not fond of these things.” He’s just looking intently at the earring I am holding. “Did you kill my dad?” his eyes from the earing now went on my eyes. “I know you two don’t have a good relationship, but he never despises you for hating him.” He sighed. “That is mine.” What he said made me want to punch his face. “But it doesn’t mean I am the one who did that.” “Can you at least tell the truth, even just once?” He looked at me seriously. “I hated him for being nice to me.” His eyes said it all. “That earing is mine, but I am not the one who did that to him. I know he will not, and he can’t do that. I may despise him, but I will never do that” “That night, you go with him to get a pack of ice, right? Then why did you come back without him.? That question made his eyebrows meet together. “Your mom said that they can handle it. She said instead of helping them, I can just go and get some wine from the cabinet. So I did. The reason what took me so long is because of that.” Pointing his picture at the wall. It was me when I was playing soccer. I didn’t know he was there. That competition is one of the most important parts of my life. I played knowing that no one would come, but he was there.” I sighed. Maybe Dad did it. I should start accepting it now.

It is a new morning, and I don’t dare to get up. I sighed. I got up from bed and went to my window. I looked around and sadly smiled. I was about to close the door when a familiar figure caught my eye. It is my mom. Based on where she was standing, she just went to the backyard, but what caught my attention was what she was holding on to. It’s the box that I hide. Why did she have that? Did she know?

I did not waste any time. I went down. “Mom.” She turns to face me. At first, she was shocked but added after a second. “You awake.” That’s the box. “What is that?” “Oh, it is just an old toy of yours. I’m going to donate it.” “Can I see?” “No need, these toys were your least favorite.” “Let me help you then.” I did not wait for her response. I held her arm and made her jump. “What is wrong?” “nothing.” I looked at her intently. Something is wrong with her. Michael’s last word last night popped into my mind. “Months ago, I gave that earring to your mother because she asked me to.” I wasn’t able to process that last night, but it’s clear. There’s only one thing to find out. I show her the earrings. “I just want to ask, is this yours?” She looked at it. “oh, yes. I’ve been looking at that. Maybe I just misplaced it. Thank you.” I don’t know how to feel. It’s hers! No. No. She can’t. “I will go now.” I let her. My hands are shaking. Maybe, for the third time, I am wrong. Please, no, she can’t. What brought my senses back was the ring of my phone. It is Officer Mockery. Despite the nervousness I feel, I answer it. “I found out something. Maybe it’s late, but I just got the report on your dad’s case. They found a hair on his shirt. So remember when I asked you to get a hair from the comb of your mom? The result is positive. It was your mom.” I remember when Mom said she never touched Dad the moment she saw Dad hanging. I fell to my knees on the ground. So it’s confirmed. But why? She’s a killer. My mother is a killer.

[sanversandfriends]

One way to spark a writer's enthusiasm about a WIP is the promise of accompanying fan art. Not only is it exciting to see your story brought to life, but to paraphrase @Morganastorm24, even a small shift in perspective can inspire you to take a wildly different approach. Today, she'll share some of her inspirations along with advice on how to get started or unstuck.

Tell us a little about yourself. How long have you been creating fan art? What were some of your first subjects and what ships/characters in the SG universe have you illustrated?

I mentioned in my writing answers that I've been doing it for as long as I can remember, and the same applies with art. I'm generally a very creative person - writing, drawing, crafting - you name it, I'll happily do it. 

I inherited my creativity from my grandparents, or so I'm told. My grandfather used to drive buses back in the 50s and 60s and on his breaks he'd park up somewhere and sit and sketch his surroundings. For no reason other than he wanted to and liked doing it. He also enjoyed woodwork and crafting miniature models of things out of wood. He built me my very first dolls house and I helped him to decorate it and furnish it with miniature furniture.

My grandmother was a seamstress for the theatre and made all the costumes for various productions. She'd sketch the designs out first, and then sew all the costumes by hand. She was also a writer, though she kept her stuff very private, because it was a hobby for her but not one that she felt comfortable enough to share. Sometimes, I can understand why, because I feel the same. Growing up, I loved spending time with both of them because they shared their skills with me. 

What are your favorite mediums to work with?

Photoshop is a big favourite of mine, because you can do pretty much anything, so long as you can find the right images to merge together. I also love using pro-markers and other comic book markers.  What kinds of scenes do you enjoy illustrating? Do you have any favorite tropes or themes? Imagery that you like to work with?

I love to do anything, as long as I have a clear vision of it in my mind (when using photoshop), or I have an image I can use as a reference (when I'm drawing by hand). The only thing I can successfully draw freehand without any reference is a horse (my lifelong love of the animals showing through there). When I worked in a children's nursery, we often drew large images for the kids to decorate which would then be displayed on the walls. I was always the one who ended up drawing said images, and to be honest I loved it. When I left that job to start my current one, I was gifted two of the last things I'd drawn - the rose from Beauty and the Beast, and the Coca Cola Christmas Truck. I've kept them to this day, and they're in a protective folder in storage. 

Any advice for aspiring fan artists?

One thing I learned in art lessons when I was at school (and it has stuck with me to this day), is that if you're struggling to draw something, change the perspective. My art teacher told us the following story about a disabled man, and I've tried and tested this method myself. It really does work!

A young man in a wheelchair was asked to draw his wheelchair. He hated the thing, saw it as a hindrance that cut him off from everything that he'd been able to do before he was confined to it. It was a reminder of his past life and everything he had lost, so when he tried to draw it, he was full of anger and resentment, and eventually threw his pencil down in frustration, declaring that he couldn't do it.

Instead of giving up on him, his teacher took the wheelchair, turned it upside down and told him to try again, but don't draw it as a whole. See the individual shapes and draw those. Focus on one shape at a time. So the young man did. He drew what he could see - circles, squares, triangles, rectangles, cylinders - and when the teacher took his piece of paper and turned it round, he had drawn a wheelchair.  All because changing the perspective of the subject and breaking it down into basic shapes had made his brain approach the task differently.  So if you're ever stuck on something and you don't know how to move forward, or do what needs to be done, try looking at it from a different angle. It could be literal, like turning the chair upside down, or it could be figurative, like seeing a circle instead of a wheel, a tube instead of a handle, that sort of thing. Change the perspective and you might just surprise yourself.

Thanks for sharing with us, Morgana--and for making us continue to swoon over Alex!

And Maggie!

And Lena!

And...

[happi-tree]

I noticed your paper rings songfic so I thought this would be fitting, inspired by long live <3 I associated it the most with terry jr., not quite as dramatic as hero’s but still a heartache considering everything that happens later with them

tonight was a victory. yelling and running across the field, whooping like schoolboys- it was a spontaneous soccer game at the dads’ insistence, reminding you of the game you played with yeet and killa before the battle in faerun. the world kept ending and you kept fighting, and you know time is running out for you to still be boys, still be sons. this might even have been the last time. everything these days feels like it's happening for the last time.

they tend to look to you for a stabilizing influence. right now, the five of you are sprawled across morgan freeman’s living room. sparrow and nick are dozing, lark and grant occasionally commenting on the movie and digging through the last of the snacks. right now it’s not your job to be the mature one, to be anything. right now your only job is to sit right here between grant and sparrow and avoid the hot tamales lark scattered in the popcorn and laugh, unrestrained- and you do.

you glance over to grant, smile wide on your face. it never feels quite real, to grin with abandon like this, but right now you are nineteen and the whole world is a bright shining coin, falling head-over-heels heads-over-tails so bright you hope it blinds you.

it would be nice, if this was the last thing you ever saw, your best friends and a hope close at hand.

“hey,” you say, “will you promise me something?”

you’re the historian, the poet of the group, they’ve always said so. sparrow takes his pictures and you paste them in and write the captions in the scrapbook henry gave you. grant rolls his eyes, affectionate, and places his hands in yours.

“yes,” he says seriously, dramatically. oh, he loves you- they all do. this is what it is, to be loved and indulged in. sweet brown eyes, smile soft as the blanket around your knees.

“we get this forever, right? we’re not- not gonna get fucked up.” he wouldn’t have chosen this group, if he was honest. of all the kids on the soccer team, it was an unlikely four to end up being closer than family. that was the real inheritance of being ron stampler’s stepson. you got the abusive step-grandfather, sure, but you also got the wilsons and the close-fosters and the oak-garcias. he didn’t ask anything of you other than to be loved. you used to wonder how that man could ever be so bold as to consider himself a father; now you just hope you can be just as gentle in your expectations and legacy with your own child, someday.

grant holds your hand tighter. you feel sparrow’s head nestle in just that much closer on your shoulder. nick’s fingers idly strum his guitar strings, humming in that way they all like.

“yes,” grant promises. “no bullshit. we’re gonna stay good.”

lark’s fingers are running through nick’s hair. you don’t see him use magic very often, but it’s casting its own kind of spell. nick’s eyes are half-closed, relaxed in a way that if you squint, you could almost find familiar, in that part of you they say must have existed before the timelines split. you settle into the comfort of another timeline still running parallel in which you are all just as good as you are now.

AAAAAAAA NONNIE THIS IS SO SWEET 🥺🥺🥺 Thank you so much!!! Terry's one of my favorites of the kiddads, especially his s1 iteration, and you write him so well!!! Mentally I am hanging this up in my mind like a treasured painting where I can look at it frequently. Your writing is absolutely PHENOMENAL, lovebird, and I hope you know how much simultaneous joy and heartbreak it brings me!

I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day, Nonnie! I will be thinking about this for the rest of the week <3

[chronicparagon]

Why were you named the way you were? Is there a special meaning behind your name (or middle name if applicable)? Are there any certain scents, sounds, or textures that you like? What about ones that you dislike?

Tell us about something that's happened recently (asker can request a specific "vibe" to the story--happy, sad, annoying, funny, etc. if they wish).

A pop followed by a soft hiss of carbonation fills a moment of silence when Envy pauses with his questions. The metallic tab rises when a finger pulls it up and opens the chilled can in the woman's hand. Harmony is surprised, really. Envy doesn't speak much, but he is asking questions about her. Though his voice is soft and he pauses after every few brief moments. She doesn't answer right away, choosing to let him finish asking before she speaks.

Silver eyes watch him while she holds the freshly opened can of cola to her lips. Harmony sips her drink in silence, taking in those questions. The can return to the little side table placed by the window seat where she sits by the Little Killer's side. She lowers her head, deep in thought about those questions. The pitter-patter of rain tapping on cold glass follows the air of silence, but that will be fleeting when Harmony answers them.

"I have a few names, my given name, and the names my grandfather and great-uncle gave me when I was a child and as an adult. Mama and Dad gave me the name Harmony because it was a name meaning peace...Peace in our past and hoping for a brighter future. It also matches my last name." She scoots across the window seat closer to Envy. "I also have another name. When I was born, Grandpa gave me my first Lakota name. It's Ciqana Mato, which means Little Bear. I had that name until a few years ago when I graduated from high school. Traditionally, we may have our names changed from our actions, merits, or through ceremonies. My great-uncle, his name is Joseph...He gave me the name Mato Winyan to mark adulthood. That means Bear Woman in the Lakota language. I don't know if it fits me, but I like to think so...Bears are pretty cool." Harmony adds,

"My middle name...Mama gave me that one. Celestine is like this pretty crystal. Some people think it's fragile, but it's a strong rock. I guess she picked that because it sounds pretty, but maybe it also describes how I'm strong, too. Like bears..."

Harmony adjusts her position. She settles in between Envy's legs and slowly leans back until her back rests against his chest. The taut muscles beneath the clothing reminds her once more of what his loose clothes hide.

"I like the smell of the rain...The sound of it too. I love to listen to rain while I'm in bed under the covers. I like petting cats because their fur is so soft and hearing their sweet purrs. I enjoy petting animals in general, really. I like birds singing, the aroma of apples and cinnamon...And..." A nervous giggle follows her answer.

"I'm sorry if it sounds weird, but I like the smell of your jacket and hair. I like how soft your hair is too. It's feels almost like silk...And I like the feeling of your kisses and your hands." Harmony adds and lifts Envy's hand. She holds it in a warm, gentle grip. Her touch is a sharp contrast to the cold touch of his ghostly skin. Fingers stroke the back of his hand while she continues. "Let's see...What else...I like the smell of roasted marshmallows, like for s'mores. Those were one of my favorite snacks growing up. I miss eating campfire s'mores, but...I don't like how fire feels."

She remembers the hellish flames. They dug into her flesh like razor-sharp claws. The burns dove deeper and deeper to the bone. Searing, blistering, tearing her skin and feasting on it.

"It hurts...It hurts terribly...Sometimes, the pain returns. I don't think it ever leaves..."

Harmony remembers that fateful day...The day where she would survive, but with scars marring her tan skin. She isn't sure what Envy thinks of those burns. He has seen them before, but he never turned Harmony away. In fact, he seems to want her regardless of her imperfections. She certainly loves Envy, even with the slipknot marks around his slender wrists, ankles, and neck.

Harmony lifts Envy's hand close to her face. She lowers her head until her lips press a gentle kiss on his wrist covered by his sleeve. Then, she press the back of his hand to her cheek. The grip is tight enough to keep him there, but also gentle enough to let him go if the Little Killer chooses.

The woman doesn't want to focus on those ugly memories. It would be best to move on from it! That is exactly what Harmony does by answering his last question.

"Did I tell you what I saw yesterday? I went outside for a bit for fresh air. The sun was about to set, but it was still kind of hot and humid out. So, I didn't stay out for long. I looked out and noticed something blink. Then, there was another and another. I got so excited! They were fireflies! They are coming out now! They were flying about and glow now and then. That's one of the cool things about southern states like Mississippi. You get to see fireflies." Gray eyes light up as she tells Envy that story. A sigh follows that story and she tilts her head back until her gaze meets Envy's face. "But I don't think they will come out tonight. It's still raining...Not that I'm complaining. Rain is neat to watch, too."

@s-talking

[redxpranger]

1/12/2025

The first week of the new year has been exhausting but also quite interesting. I’ve always believed that the emotions I feel when the clock strikes 12 on New Year’s Day set the tone for the year ahead.

Recently, my friends have been checking in on me more often, and it’s something I truly cherish. I promised myself I’d be more honest with them about my emotions this year, and I’ve been trying to keep that promise. Over time, they’ve proven how genuine and supportive they are, so I’ve started to open up more. I shared with them that my heart has felt heavy lately.

Even though I told them about my melancholy, I also reassured them not to worry too much and to allow me the space to process my emotions. What I love most about my friends—especially Camille—is that they don’t pressure me to respond immediately. Even if it takes weeks or months for me to get back to them, our bond remains unchanged. That level of understanding has helped our decade-long friendship mature into something deeply meaningful.

Last night, I met up with Rax, who had just returned from his trip to Japan. It was heartwarming to see the photos and videos he took, especially of Cams, Ellah, and Dan. Whenever Rax and I hang out, we often find ourselves reminiscing about how much things have changed. Watching groups of friends laugh together at other tables in the bar made us miss our college days even more.

Rax suggested we visit all the bars we used to hang out at during college, turning it into a nostalgic treasure quest. We started listing them, only to realize that 90% of those places have closed. It was bittersweet—a reminder of how time has moved on, and so have most of our friends. Many are now married, have kids, moved back to their hometowns, or relocated to Japan.

We decided to go to Suazo, a place that holds a special place in my heart. Though we didn’t visit it often in college, I loved its deep appreciation for OPM and the local music scene in Davao.

The night took an interesting turn when Rax invited his high school friend Val to join us, who in turn brought two of his work friends. Usually, when I meet new people through Rax, I find the conversations enjoyable but not particularly memorable. I’ve always longed for deeper, more reflective discussions, but I know not everyone thinks the way I do.

This time, however, was different. Val’s work friends turned out to be two college students who are also working part-time, and for the first time in a while, I had a genuinely great conversation.

We talked about music, anime, and games. When Val asked what games I play, I admitted that I’m not much of a gamer and have only played Dave the Diver and Stardew Valley, neither of which I’ve finished despite years of trying. One of the guys sitting beside me lit up and said he used to play Stardew Valley, too.

That game holds a special place in my heart—it was my sanctuary during the 2020 pandemic. It became a “second life” for me, a way to feel productive in a virtual world. The opening scene, where you inherit your grandfather’s farm after his death, always struck an emotional chord with me. The letter from the grandfather in the game reads:

"If you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of a change. The same thing happened to me, long ago. I’d lost sight of what mattered most in life... real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong."

When I shared how much that letter resonated with me, the guy admitted he’d cried during that scene too. We talked about how deeply we connected with the game, especially during difficult times.

He told me he’d been messaging the developer, frustrated by the lack of updates over the past six years, yet still holding onto hope. He shared how he played the game as if it were his real life, forming genuine connections with the characters and paying close attention to their stories. Through him, I learned that the characters in Stardew Valley aren’t just fictional—they’re written to feel human, each with their own flaws and lessons. He encouraged me to befriend everyone in the game, promising I’d learn unexpected life lessons through their backstories.

Our conversation reminded me of the grandfather’s letter and its timeless wisdom: real connections with people and nature are what truly matter.

Moments like these remind me of God’s greatness and how He listens. I’ve been praying for guidance, asking Him to help me grow, to lighten my burdens, and to bring people into my life who can offer support and comfort.

The funny thing is, I never got the guy’s name! Hahaha! Still, I left the night feeling inspired. I’m planning to play Stardew Valley again and explore everything he suggested. The thought of diving back into Pelican Town excites me, especially now that I know there’s so much more to discover and learn.

When I thought this year would be the same as the last, the universe proved me wrong. Over and over again, it never fails to remind me to hold on—to trust that even in the quietest, heaviest moments, something beautiful is always on its way.

[hballegro]

[sad irl topic, nothing real real sad but i am indeed lamenting]

did not realize until i started adding lots of songs about loss to my Things Bloom playlist that i've been using it to tackle grief regarding my grandmother. listened to my new songs and went 'aw this one reminds me of grandma'

and then while re-reading the first 2 chapters to make sure the next one is matching the tone i remember stuff like

the funeral procession, driving by her house one last time, while my siblings and mother chattered and all i did was look out the window cause

how it felt going to her house for the first time since she passed, helping my aunt clean stuff up, looking at the newspapers still folded on the table, only the medical equipment missing

how it felt looking at the kitchen table and so clearly seeing her sitting in her chair with a cup of tea and laughing, being unable to sit in her chair because that was Her Chair, despite the fact it was no different from the others

how the night it happened around 8 pm, my sister wasnt in our dorm because she was out with her partner at the time, so i felt comfortable enough to cry, and cry i did, at least an hour, maybe more

showing up to class the next two weeks in the same giant baggy hoodie and big pants to just hide away

then recently, writing the new chapters, thinking about how it felt to be at christmas, already missing some family that were still showing up because of her, down 12 people, looking at the table she always sat at in the chair she sat in, watching my aunt's dogs look around for the person that always fed them table scraps

and how it felt to be composed the whole day, composed at the wake the day before and composed during the mass and composed during the ride over and composed during the approach through the graveyard by the geese and a few sparrows and a cardinal and then being at the gravesite where my grandpa was buried 3 months after i was born with my grandmother joining him 10 days shy of making it 20 years without him and watching her neices from ireland sprinkle dirt from back home in there and watching my youngest cousins toss down roses for her and finally, FINALLY letting myself blubber like a kid that lost their grandmother

just thinking there about how she'd never MAKE me have tea the RIGHT way, never make me an english muffin with too much butter, never overcook a turkey or make the best damned mashed potatoes ive ever had,

how i was angry that i had to go back to college literally the same day as the funeral, but also thankful because if i had just been left to lament around the house i woulda gone nuts

and maybe the biggest one of all, the line im proud of; every funeral ive been to has been rainy or at least overcast. there were only fluffy white clouds despite being late February

it just did not hit me until now that i was actually writing something i knew. the last time someone close to me died i was near 8, so i dont remember it all that well, but i remember and love my grandmother very much yknow. made my post earlier today abt how i almost cried making dinner because she made me go to church on sundays if i was at her house for a weekend, and the music i had on made me flash to sitting next to her in a pew and looking at her rosary wrapped around her wrinkled and manicured hands.

she looked like mrs doubtfire and sounded a little like her too. i dont like her son [my father] but her daughter is one of my favourite people in the world. the first time i wore the pearls she gave to me on my 4th birthday were to her funeral.

i look more like her than i do anyone else in the family, which, as i say that, reminds me of this.

when i think about her i cant hear specific words shes said but i hear her laughing and i see her smile and thats enough for me. i keep the one card i have addressed to me from both her and my grandfather in a special place.

there was one bit, on purpose, though. i needed a drink, so i picked her favourite;

im not sure what this post is. im not a big sharer when it comes to sad feelings, so im putting it here. im not that upset, i am fine, im just missing my grandmother tonight.

one day soon im gonna go see a friend, and show them the right way to make a pot of tea, i think. hell, maybe i'll get up and brew a pot right now, the right way. i dont have a cozy, but i dont think grandma will mind. ill even use the teacup she gave me :]

[marjaystuff]

Interview with Simon Read

Memorial Day honors and mourns those military personnel who died while serving their country.  After watching the movie “The Great Escape” people might want to honor those in the allied armed forces who were captured by the Germans and brutally killed. Immortalized in the film is the mass breakout of seventy-six Allied airmen from the infamous Stalag Luft III.  Not long after the escape, fifty of the recaptured airmen were taken to killing fields throughout Germany and shot on the direct orders of Hitler. 

People might wonder what happened to these Nazi killers. In the book Human Game, Simon Read delivers a clear-eyed and meticulously researched account of this often-overlooked saga of hard-won justice. This “after story,” starting where the movie left off, explains in detail how the German Gestapo killers were brought to justice.

When the nature of these killings came to light, Churchill’s government swore to pursue justice at any cost. Francis P. McKenna led a three-year manhunt that brought twenty-one Gestapo killers to justice. 

Elise Cooper: Which came first the movie, “The Great Escape,” or your idea to write the book?

Simon Read: The movie came first.  I am from the UK originally. There, it is a tradition that they show “The Great Escape” movie every Christmas Day. My grandfather flew with the Royal Air Force during the Second War. From a very early age I used to sit with him and watch.  It is still one of my favorite movies of all time.  I was always traumatized by the ending where the escapees were gathered in a field and machine gunned down. I wondered what happened to the Nazi who gunned all the escapees down. This was the genesis for the idea of the book. It is also a great adventure story.

EC:  How does this fit into Memorial Day?

SR: Memorial Day is a time to reflect and ponder the sacrifices made by those in uniform.  The Great Escape was an exercise in allied ingenuity, bravery, and rebellion.  It was a massive propaganda victory. I think they are very much heroes for what they did. Not every victory is on the battlefield.  This is an example of cunning and bravery.

EC:  Can you explain the quote by Nazi Propaganda Minister Josef Goebbels in May 1944?

SR:  You are referring to when he said, “We owe it to our people, which is defending itself with so much honesty and courage, that it is not allowed to become human game to be hunted down by the enemy.”  This is where the title for the book came from. This in response to the allied bombing campaign.  He thought it was perfectly legitimate to attack downed allied airmen and to take revenge. There is something cold and barbaric about this quote.

EC: This reminds me of the unfair criticism of Israel where Hamas can replace the Nazis and Israel replaces the allies.

SR: People can look at the British bombing campaign during WWII where they used targeted bombing of cities. People need to look at the context of the times.  It might not be very appealing, but Britian was fighting for its very survival against its merciless enemy. They did what they needed to do to survive. In warfare both sides are dealing in morally grey areas, which is just how war is. My grandfather flew in RAF bomber command, 48 operations over Germany.  It used to fire him up when he would hear people criticizing the British bombing campaigns against German cities. His attitude, ‘these people do not know what they are talking about,’ considering London was being bombed and devastated.  The context cannot be ignored. 

EC: There are pictures in the beginning of the book and an appendix in the back of the book.  Why?

SR: These men could not just be numbers, because otherwise it does not hit home. This is why I put in the pictures. It is one thing reading a name on a page, but putting a face to the name really drives it home.  Auschwitz has a twitter feed of those who perished in the gas chambers.  It is more than a name and a number.  People can see the emotions of the faces, the terror and fear. It really underscores the tragedy. The appendix tells when and how the fifty died. 

EC: How realistic was the movie?

SR: Regarding Stalag Luft III it is true as depicted in the movie that the Germans tried to make it escape proof by trying to make tunneling impossible, had trap doors, set the barracks on concrete stilts, and had subterranean microphones buried deep underground. The top layer of soil was a different color than the soil underneath making it hard to hide the dug-up soil.  Yet, the escapees found a way. The fake documents are also true.  Where the movie deviates there were American characters, but the American and British POWS were actually separated. Also, true, the Germans took all the “problem airmen,” the ones who escaped from multiple camps and stuck them in one camp together. This all backfired on the Germans in spectacular fashion.

EC:  Hitler ordered all the escapees to be found and executed?

SR:  It was a huge embarrassment for the Germans.  Hitler flew into an absolute rage when he found out. It was a very brutal response and violated every rule of warfare.  The German Luftwaffe who ran the camp treated the inmates well because they were not Gestapo. There is a scene in the movie “The Great Escape” where the camp commandant told the British high-ranking official in the camp that fifty escapees were shot. This really reflects what happened in real-life, that they were upset.

EC:  What about the execution?

SR:  They were shot in the back, they were cremated, and their names were not supposed to be recorded.  There was a list. The movie did not reflect what really happened because it had the escapees machine gunned down.  In actuality, the escapees were murdered in groups of two and three by Gestapo assassination teams.  They were put in a car, driven out to isolated spots, and told to stretch their legs.  This is when the Gestapo would come up behind them and shoot them in the back of the head. Their bodies were taken to a local crematorium and destroyed.  Stalag Luft III did get a list of those who were executed, and it was passed on to the British POWs.

EC:  How would you describe Frank McKenna, the RAF officer in charge of investigating the fifty murders?

SR: He had detective skills and sought justice with a strong moral code.  He was very determined and driven. He was outraged and disgusted by what had happened. Over the course of a few years, he did get results.

EC:  Who would you say are the worst Gestapo murderers for this incident?

SR:  Erich Zacharias wore a watch of a British airmen.  He also raped and then shot a woman witness. He is a horrible human being who was a true believer in the Nazi cause and Hitler. Then there was Johannes Post, the chief executioner who took real pleasure in killing some of the escapees.  He was a sadist. They were just vicious with no redeeming qualities. It is unfathomable how someone resorts to such barbaric acts.

EC:  What do you want readers to get out of the book?

SR: There were those low-level guys, like Emil Schultz who justified killing in cold blood because they claimed their families was threatened. I pondered and wanted the readers to question, what would they have done in that situation. Schultz confessed to shooting Roger Bushell, the main architect. He had true regret.  The RAF investigators did have sympathy but because he did a terrible thing was sent to the gallows. I did not approve or excuse of what Schultz did.

EC: Next book?

SR: It is titled Scotland Yard coming out in September.  It is a history of the Yard told through many of its most famous cases and cases that helped advance criminal investigation like how finger printing developed, criminal profiling, and why police officers wear rubber gloves at crime scenes. It covers the Yard from its creation in 1829 to the Eve of WWII in 1939. I tried to write it as a thriller. There is a great mix of true crime and history.

THANK YOU!!