#everything was better without isabella

[kryllia]

Mine to Protect, Mine to Own

art from pinterest

yandere mafia classmate x reader

Pt 1 - Pt 2

Nicolò Dellabarca had always been a mystery.

You weren’t close. You had only worked together on a class project once. He was efficient, quiet, and surprisingly attentive, but the partnership ended without much conversation.

Still, something always felt off about him.

He was cold with others but different around you. He never spoke unless necessary, yet his presence loomed over you like a shadow. Whenever you turned your head, you found his sharp blue eyes watching you, unreadable but focused.

At first, you ignored it.

Then, small things started happening.

One night, when you were leaving campus late, a stranger had followed you for a few blocks—until a black car pulled up, and the man suddenly disappeared. The next day, a few guys from your class who had been bothering you stopped showing up. And once, when you almost tripped on the stairs, Nicolò had been there, catching your arm before you even realized he was close.

"Careful."

His voice had been deep, steady. He had let go quickly, looking almost flustered.

You should have put the pieces together then.

But you didn’t—until the night you were taken.

It happened fast. A car pulled up. A group of men stepped out. Before you could scream, a hand covered your mouth.

You fought, kicking and struggling, but everything faded into darkness.

Your first thought upon waking was: This is too comfortable to be a basement.

A thick blanket covered you. A fireplace crackled nearby. The room smelled of expensive wood and something faintly floral.

For a second, you thought you were dreaming—until the door opened.

"Mom, what do you mean you have a surprise for me? It better not be another—"

The voice stopped.

You turned your head—and froze.

Nicolò.

His blue eyes went wide. His usual cold expression shattered, replaced by something you had never seen before: panic.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

"Mom..." His voice was sharp, but there was something almost desperate beneath it. "What did you do?"

From behind the door, a light, cheery voice replied.

"Oh, relax, sweetheart. I just helped you a little."

Nicolò let out a shaky breath. "This is not helping."

He turned back to you.

You met his gaze, your body rigid.

"...What the hell is going on?"

The door opened again, and a woman stepped inside.

She was beautiful—dark-haired, elegant, and radiating control. She held a glass of water and smiled at you as if you weren’t just kidnapped.

"You must be thirsty," she said, offering the glass.

You didn’t take it.

"Who are you?"

Her lips curled. "You can call me Isabella. I’m Nicolò’s mother."

Your stomach twisted.

"And why did your men kidnap me?"

She sighed as if this were a mild inconvenience. "Because my son is terrible at taking what he wants."

You turned to Nicolò, waiting for him to deny it.

He didn’t.

His fists clenched at his sides, his breathing shallow.

You took a slow step back. "You let this happen?"

"I—I didn’t know—" He cut himself off, rubbing his face. "Mamma, why would you do this?"

Isabella chuckled. "Oh, Nicolò, don’t be so dramatic. You were never going to make the first move, so I gave you a little push."

You scoffed. "Push?! You kidnapped me!"

Isabella tilted her head. "And yet, you’re perfectly safe, aren’t you?"

Your blood ran cold.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "Do you know how many people have been watching you? Waiting for you to be alone? Do you really think walking home alone at night was ever safe?"

You swallowed hard.

She smiled. "You needed to be taken, darling. If not by us, then by someone worse."

You clenched your fists. "That’s bullshit."

Nicolò finally spoke, his voice low. "It’s not."

Your chest tightened.

You turned to him, searching his face. "Then let me go."

His jaw clenched.

He didn’t answer.

Because you both knew the truth.

There was no leaving.

-

The Dellabarca estate was suffocatingly grand. Every hallway was lined with paintings, every door guarded.

And now, you were seated at an impossibly long dining table, facing the people who had stolen you.

Nicolò sat stiffly at the head of the table, shoulders tense. Across from him sat a man you had yet to meet.

Giovanni Dellabarca.

His father.

The room felt colder with him in it. His presence was overwhelming—calm, composed, and dangerous.

"So," Giovanni finally said, swirling his wine. "You have fire. I like that."

You set your fork down sharply. "I don’t care what you like."

Nicolò inhaled sharply beside you.

Giovanni smirked. "Feisty. Just like your mother, eh, Isabella?"

His wife chuckled. "Oh, absolutely. I see so much of myself in them."

Your stomach churned. "I am nothing like you."

Isabella smiled knowingly. "Oh, but you are." She leaned in slightly. "You think I wanted this life? That I chose it?"

You stilled.

"I hated Giovanni at first," she continued. "I fought, I screamed, I ran—but in the end, I understood."

She turned to her husband, her gaze softening. "Love in this world isn’t sweet. It’s fierce. It’s possession. And once you understand that..."

She looked back at you, her expression almost pitying.

"...it’s easier."

Your hands shook.

Giovanni exhaled, setting down his glass. "You’ll come around. She did."

Your skin burned with anger. "I am not her."

For a moment, Giovanni studied you.

Then—unexpectedly—he laughed.

Nicolò stiffened.

"You know," Giovanni mused, "when Isabella first entered my life, she hated me just as much as you hate my son now."

You clenched your fists. "Good."

His smirk didn’t falter.

"Yet, here we are."

Your blood ran cold.

Nicolò suddenly stood. "Enough."

Giovanni’s brow lifted. "Touched a nerve?"

Nicolò’s hands curled into fists. "They don’t need to hear this." His voice was sharp, controlled—but his eyes flickered with something desperate.

He turned to you, his voice lower. "Come on. I’ll take you back to your room."

You hesitated.

Then, without another word, you followed him out.

As soon as the door shut behind you, Nicolò let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his dark hair. His shoulders, always so rigid around his family, slumped slightly.

"Dio mio, that was a disaster."

You folded your arms. "That’s an understatement."

He turned to face you. For the first time since you woke up in this house, he looked directly at you—really looked at you. His piercing blue eyes, usually so cold, held something else now. Something desperate.

"...Are you okay?"

The words were so quiet, so gentle, they made your stomach twist.

You wanted to lash out. To scream at him. To tell him no, I am not okay, you psychotic bastard—your family kidnapped me!

But something about the way he was looking at you—like he was hurting just from seeing you upset—made your breath catch.

You clenched your fists. "...No. I’m not."

His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides like he wanted to punch a wall—or worse, like he wanted to hold you but didn’t know if he was allowed.

"You—" His voice caught. He exhaled through his nose, composing himself before trying again. "You don’t understand."

Your eyes narrowed. "Understand what, Nicolò? That you let your mother steal me? That I’m being held hostage in your house?"

His expression twisted.

Then, before you could react, he moved.

Fast.

He was in front of you in an instant, his large frame towering over yours. One of his hands slammed against the door beside your head, caging you in. The other reached for your wrist, wrapping around it—not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that you couldn’t pull away.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

His eyes, those sharp, ice-blue eyes, burned into yours.

"You think I wanted this?" His voice was low, rough, almost shaking. "You think I wanted them to touch you? To take you before I could—before I—"

He cut himself off, his breath ragged.

You swallowed hard. "Before you what, Nicolò?"

His fingers twitched against your wrist.

His lips parted like he was going to answer—but he hesitated. His breathing was heavy, his jaw tight.

Then, quietly—so softly it sent a shiver down your spine—he whispered:

"Before I could make you mine."

Your stomach dropped.

His grip on your wrist tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your pulse. He could feel how fast your heart was racing. His expression darkened, something dangerously close to satisfaction flickering across his face.

"You don’t get it, cara mia." His voice was almost gentle now, a sick contrast to the possessiveness dripping from his words. "You were never safe outside. They were watching you. Waiting for an opportunity."

His free hand rose, his knuckles grazing your cheek.

"I was the only thing keeping you safe."

Your breath hitched.

His fingers trailed down to your jaw, tilting your chin up so you couldn’t look away.

"You hate me now," he murmured. "That’s fine. You can hate me all you want." His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate. "But you belong to me, whether you like it or not."

Your entire body tensed. "I belong to no one."

His expression flickered—hurt, frustration, something deeper—but it was gone in an instant. Instead, his lips curved into something that made your blood run cold.

A smirk.

"Say that again in a few months," he murmured, voice almost teasing. Almost sweet.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

"We’ll see if you still believe that then."

And just like that, he let go.

You stumbled back, heart hammering, but he just straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders like nothing had happened.

His cold mask was back in place.

He turned away from you, walking toward the door.

"I’ll have someone bring you food," he said casually, as if he hadn’t just claimed you as his own. "Get some rest."

You gritted your teeth. "I’m not staying here."

Nicolò stopped.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then, slowly, he turned his head to the side—just enough for you to see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"You don’t have a choice, amore."

And with that, he walked out, locking the door behind him.

This is inspirated by c.ai bot and it was made by @Strawberry_88

[vettelsvee]

A NANNY AND SEB'S SECRET CRUSH | Sebastian Vettel

⋆ PAIRING: Single dad Red Bull!Sebastian Vettel x Nanny!Female Reader ⋆ SUMMARY: Seb needs a nanny to take care of his 4 years old daughter, Danielle. What he didn't expect was to have a crush and fall in love with you ⋆ WARNINGS: Mentions of drugs. NOTHING ELSE, just fluff and Single Dad!Red Bull Seb (2014) :) ⋆ WORD COUNT: 3237 ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: I was craving writing Seb, so it was this or Spidey Dad!Seb. All my works have been flopping for a while but anyways, I have faith this go well 🫶🏻. Hope you like this and, if so, please tell me your thoughts, talk to me and reblog! Thank you so much for reading <3 ↳ TALK TO ME! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST | CITY OF STARS F1 AU

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Sebastian Vettel was in his driver room after an intense race Sunday. That Grand Prix had ended, but ahead of the German lay a journey of approximately nine hours to the next destination.

The truth was that the frequency with which the driver traveled was normal, but he wouldn't be so tired —and even worried— if it weren't for his four-year-old daughter, Danielle, who was currently playing with her grandmother with some small racing cars.

Seb could see the excitement in the little one, although he was also aware of the fatigue showing on his mother's face. From the couch where he was lying down, he sighed, feeling guilty for burdening Heike with that responsibility. If only his ex-girlfriend, Isabella, hadn't gotten into drugs and abandoned Seb and baby Danielle, who was only three months old...

The last few months had been chaos for the Red Bull driver, and with each passing day, he was increasingly convinced that he didn't want to, but had to hire a nanny who would be available to accompany them for the remainder of the season. He was fully aware that his mother couldn't take responsibility for his daughter all the time, and even less so traveling every week to a different part of the world.

Seb was aware that he had to make a decision, and he had to do it as soon as possible.

That same afternoon, without having yet mentioned it to his mother for fear of her reaction, the driver found himself in his hotel room surrounded by clothes he hadn't yet packed and a completely asleep Danielle on his right side. With his laptop on his lap, he was exhaustively browsing a forum recommended by a few of the men in the Red Bull crew, to find a nanny. Some of them had tried to use it, but it ultimately proved futile.

Seb, however, hoped to have better luck than them, so he delved into the search for a nanny in distress.

After reading, for what ended up being about three hours, countless resumes, and not being entirely convinced by any of them, he came across a girl who seemed quite interesting. According to your profile, you lived in Switzerland, the same country where Seb lived. However, what actually caught his attention the most was that you were specialized in early childhood education and, furthermore, in musical education. He hoped that was true because if it were, he would fight tooth and nail to make you his right hand in caring for his daughter.

Immediately, as if it were a matter of life or death, he decided to follow your profile and then wrote and sent a brief message to see if it was possible, taking advantage of the fact that he would be back in Switzerland, to arrange a meeting with you next week at a city café.

Good afternoon (at least from where I am). I've read your profile and I must say, I was very impressed with everything written in it, so I would love to talk to you about a job offer I've had in mind for some time. Would it be possible for us to meet at a city café next week? That way we could get to know each other, and especially the little one.

Regards,

Sebastian Vettel.

After sending the message and, while waiting for a response from you, still lying on the bed, his mother called from the room. That startled Seb’s daughter awake, but instead of scaring her, it seemed to give her a burst of energy.

"What are you up to, son?" Heike inquired, noting the smile on her eldest son's face.

"I might have found a nanny for Danielle," he answered in a whisper. "I sent her a message a few minutes ago and I'm just hoping, and praying to whoever it takes, that she's interested."

Before his mother could ask why he hadn't mentioned it to her earlier, the little one joined the conversation of the adults:

"A nanny? Does that mean someone else is going to join us and play with me?"

"Exactly, sweetheart," her father replied to her, crouching down a bit, still concerned that his little one shouldn't know the news yet. "Grandma is tired, don't you notice? Same happens when grandpa Norbert joins us," Seb said, pointing to his mother and receiving a nod from the little girl. "And surely if she decides to come with us, you'll be able to play a lot with her, and also learn new things."

"That sounds like a lot of fun, dad!" exclaimed Danielle, throwing herself into her father's arms, which he gladly accepted. "When will we meet her?"

"I hope next week," the driver said, then turning to his mother. "If everything goes well and she responds to my message, we'll meet her at any café in Thurgau. That way we can get to know her a little better and, above all, see if she joins in on this madness."

"I think it's a wonderful idea, Seb. Anything that makes this little bug and you happy, makes me happy too."

The man smiled at his mother's comment. Every day, he became more aware of how much she had helped him move forward in raising Danielle. He had no doubt that, without his family’s help, he would feel pretty much lost in life.

As he continued lost in his thoughts, watching the two women of his life conversing animatedly, he entered once again his email account to see if he received any reply from you.

As he opened the application, he saw that the email referred to the job request he had made to you just a few minutes ago. Hurriedly, despite having his laptop just steps away on the bed, he grabbed the device and immediately headed to the webpage.

"Here you are!" the driver shouted once he found the correct password after seven attempts. "Let's see what you have to say, Y/N..."

Seb began to read aloud, catching the attention of grandmother and granddaughter:

Mr. Vettel:

I am delighted, and especially grateful, for the interest you have shown in my profile.

I am fully available to attend the meeting you requested in your email, just let me know where you would like it to take place and the meeting time.

Again, I thank you for the opportunity and I eagerly await meeting you in person.

Best regards,

Y/N Y/L/N.

"Okay," Seb began to explain, a little nervous. "If she has accepted, that means she might be interested. But... What if she's not interested? What if, in the end, she sees our lifestyle and denies us everything? Really, I think this was a bad idea and..."

"You don't have to worry about anything, son," Heike reassured him. "I'm sure that girl will be very kind and, above all, will take very good care of Danielle."

The little girl was jumping around the room, happy to know that there might be a new young woman taking care of her. Heike, for her side, simply smiled at her son, filling him with hope and positivity for what awaited them next week.

It had only been about five days, but for Sebastian Vettel, the wait had felt eternal. Now, finally, the German was in the town he moved to quite a few years ago on a sunny day, waiting with a cup of coffee for you to arrive. He kept glancing at his watch constantly, and every time the door of the establishment opened, he would tense up. So, when his mother entered with his daughter, he was disappointed again. Nonetheless, Seb quickly got up and gestured for them to come to the table, trying not to attract too much attention.

"Seb, dear, it looks like you've dressed up on purpose," his mother quipped with a wide smile on her face. "I can't wait to meet this girl and see what she's like."

"Are we going to meet the girl who's going to take care of me today?" Danielle asked innocently.

Before her father could ever answer, the door of the coffee shop opened again, ushering in who they presumed was you.

Seb had been lost in thought. You were even more beautiful than he expected.

"Hello, are you Mr. Vettel?" you commented shyly, approaching the table where the family was seated timidly. "I'm Y/N Y/L/N, the nanny you contacted."

As if it were a reflex action, Seb stood up from his chair in no time and adjusted his outfit to look as presentable as possible.

"The one and only! It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he expressed sincerely, offering his hand to the young woman. "Let me introduce you to my mother, Heike, and the main character of this story: my daughter, Danielle."

"Pleased to finally meet you, Y/N," Heike stated. "My son has talked a lot about you, and truth be told, we were very much excited to meet you."

You blushed. You weren't used to receiving compliments, especially not from strangers —and, definitely, not from a four-times Formula 1 driver.

"Hi, Y/N!" a small voice shouted at her feet. "Are you the nanny who's going to travel with us?"

"Hello, Danielle," you greeted, crouching down to the girl's level. "If your dad and grandma agree, I would be more than happy to accompany you wherever you go."

Once introductions were complete, you moved to sit at the table. Seb encouraged you all to order drinks, which he would treat. As they arrived, you all began to chat peacefully about your education, work experience, and even some more mundane topics.

Little Danielle listened carefully to the conversation her father was having with you, who decided to sat next to her. The truth was that she was getting more and more excited about the idea of ​​having such a kind girl like you were take care of her when her father couldn't.

As the conversation progressed and, truth be told, once Heike left you alone, you became more and more comfortable with the little family, finally able to leave your shyness behind.

"You know, I'm convinced that you're the most suitable person to take care of my daughter at this time," Seb commented. "Your experience, education, and above all, the responsibility you appear to have is what I'm looking for. Although, I'll be honest with you...: it's easy to be more responsible than me, I don't know what I would have done without my mother in the paddock."

You laughed at the comment from what would become your boss.

"I really appreciate this opportunity, Sebastian," you said with honesty. "I'm sure it will be a challenge for me at first, I can't deny that; but I know that your little one and I will get along great."

"Then now that granny Heike is gone, we can start our own racing team," Danielle proposed enthusiastically. "Look, Y/N: dad is the driver; you, if you can drive, are the other driver, and I'm the boss, like Toto!"

Seb burst into laughter at the idea of his daughter leading a Formula 1 team and, even more so, at the image his brain had created of the little one displaying the same behaviors as Wolff on the multiple occasions his aggressiveness had surfaced.

"It's a great idea, Danielle," you answered, playing along with the little one's game. "But first of all: what would you like your team to be called?"

4 months later

You were with Danielle in a play area near the paddock. The last Free Practice session was about to start, and since the girl didn't want to get bored before the qualifying session later on, she convinced you to go play with a puzzle that had recently been given to her by her father's teammate, Daniel Ricciardo.

Despite being a children's puzzle, you felt useless. Why couldn't you solve it? Perhaps your mind was thinking about something else at that moment… or someone else.

Still, all you both could do was laugh.

"You know what, Y/N?" Danielle inquired with a mischievous smile. "My daddy told me a secret the other day, but I'm going to tell you because you're like my mommy."

Sure, Seb has a girlfriend, Danielle loves her a lot, and they're going to fire me, you thought as you tried not to let your nerves eat you out alive.

"What did he tell you, Danielle?"

"That you're very, veeeeeery pretty," the girl blurted out without hesitation.

You didn't know how to answer, surprised by the words the girl you had grown so fond of in recent months had said. A blush began to rise on your cheeks as the little girl just kept playing playing with an innocent smile on her face.

"And she's right," the little one continued. "You're very pretty, yeah. What granny said about dad never lying is true."

"Thank you, sweetheart," you responded tenderly. "You're a beautiful girl too, both inside and out." You hugged her and planted a warm kiss on her forehead.

At that moment, Seb, who had already finished the session, approached where you both were, dying of love at the scene he was seeing closer every time.

"What are my favorite girls doing?" Seb asked curiously once he reached you, tousling his daughter's hair.

"We're playing, daddy," Danielle responded. "And daddy… isn't Y/N very pretty?"

The driver didn't know where to hide in that moment. Seb knew he shouldn't have said anything to his daughter because, despite being only four years old, she was a bit of a chatterbox.

You, on the other hand, just hugged the little girl, who was still determined to find a solution to the puzzle, without success.

"Yes, sweetheart," Seb finally replied, admiring the scene in front of him. "Y/N is the best woman ever. If it weren't for her, I don't know what would be happening with us right now."

"Maybe granny Heike would have punished you several times already without letting you race with your car and your friend Daniel," the girl innocently blurted out.

You felt nothing but gratitude for the treatment you had received from Sebastian since you started working for him. Obviously, the great compliment you had just received at that moment was not going to be any less.

"By the way, Y/N," Seb announced, "I promised Danielle that I would take her out for ice cream after the race. Do you have anything to do or...?"

"Yes, Y/N, come, please, pleaseeeeee!" Danielle squealed and jumped.

"Well, if I'm not intruding..."

Seb snorted, indignant at the young woman's antics.

"Hey, don’t say that ever again. You're part of the family," the German said. "You're more than welcome to join us!"

After finishing the race, which ended with Seb achieving a well-deserved P6 for the hell of a season he was going through, father, daughter, and nanny headed towards a café located in the paddock. Due to problems with his fans after the race, you didn't want to risk your safety, especially Danielle's, by going to just any ice cream parlor.

"The ice cream is on me, but thanks to Red Bull, so you better get the biggest one possible," Seb said unabashedly.

"Seb, really, it's not necessary," you expressed gratefully but a little embarrassed. "You're covering all my travel expenses and, besides, you’re paying me a salary…"

Sebastian sighed. You seemed impossible, and he absolutely hated that.

"I'm serious, choose whatever you want. You're part of our family, you should already know that," the driver insisted.

Reluctantly, you accepted your boss' offer, finally choosing a small tub of vanilla ice cream.. After each of you had made your order and had it in hand, you headed to a small table outside to enjoy your treats without distractions.

Once you finished, Danielle asked Seb and you for permission to play with some kids who were hanging around and who, as far as Vettel knew, were some of the children of the many workers from the different team as it was impossible for anyone else to be in the paddock at that late. Meanwhile, Seb and you just continued to have a chat, mainly about the remainder of the season.

There came a point where the topic became monotonous enough for Seb, finally determined to take the next step in his relationship with you, to break the silence:

"You know… there's something I've wanted to tell you for a few days now..." the German began. "Throughout this time you've been taking care of Danielle and, in a way, also taking care of me, I've realized that I don't just see you as the person who takes care of my greatest treasure, but as someone I want to be my second greatest treasure in life."

You trembled. The truth was, during the first month of working with the Vettels, you had quite liked Seb, but you promised yourself you wouldn't fall under his spell. He was your boss after all, and also Danielle’s dad. Three months later, everything seemed to have gone the other way around as you fell completely for the current Formula 1’s world champion.

However, you knew you both belonged to two completely different worlds, and no matter how hard you tried to make it work, your love would never be possible.

"Seb... I feel the same way too," you expressed, fearful. "But I think this will not only affect your life as a driver but also the stability we've reached with Danielle. Besides, a Formula 1 driver and a nanny? It's impossible, we're polar opposites," you asserted firmly, trying to keep your voice steady, trying not to falter due to the urge to cry you felt at that moment.

"I understand you're worried, but I can't deny what I feel for you anymore. You've been there for my daughter and myself, and you've become a mother to her," Seb had a lump in his throat. "I can't play dumb, even though that's what I usually do when I know I could end up losing the love of my life."

"I don't want to lose you or jeopardize what we have," you declared with tears streaming down your face, pretty much ashamed but not really caring about it. "Right now, Danielle is my priority, and I don't want the decisions we make to affect her. Imagine: what if we started dating, told her, and then ended everything? Do you think it will sit well with her?" you expressed with worry.

Seb took your hand and planted a small kiss on it.

"I perfectly understand what you mean and yeah, you’re right: my daughter will always be my priority," Vettel said sincerely. "But don't you think that, sometimes, we deserve to be our own main priority?"

Before you could even answer, Danielle ran towards you, her face as red as a tomato, possibly from running almost the whole time.

"I love you, daddy and Y/N," the girl confessed, then turned directly to you. "But if daddy loves you and you love him, and you start being boyfriend and girlfriend, I'd like to call you mommy."

Faced with a somewhat different declaration of love from the Vettels, you didn’t have words. 

At that moment, you didn't care about all your fears: she loved Sebastian and Danielle Vettel, and you were pretty sure that you’d do whatever it took to spend your whole life with them.

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Masterpost

Heavenbound Masterpost

Cherri Bomb

For Cherri, I wanted to lean into the 80s punk vibe. I looked at quite a bit of Cindi Lauper and Madonna photos too.

Design notes under the cut

Demon--

Hair: So canon Cherri basically has two hairstyles at once. I decided she could either have the long hair or the ponytail. The ponytail felt more iconic with the bomb fuse look, so I went with that one.

I wanted to play into the bomb fuse gimmick by having it help reflect her mood sometimes. Sparks or flames when she gets angry or excited. It's not super consistent though, so don't rely on it to gauge her mood.

Eyes: I wasn't a fan of the X pupil, but it felt too distinctive to get rid of. So I just put it in a circular iris to make myself feel better. It's ultimately just a personal preference. I changed her eye color because I thought it would balance better.

Teeth: I didn't like that everyone had sharp teeth. It sort of reduces the impact it has with someone like Alastor or Rosie. So I've been altering them.

Ears: Why are so many characters lacking ears? Is it just because Viv struggled to draw ears when she designed them?? Anyway, just know that Cherri has ears, even if I don't always show them.

Tattoos: I tend to avoid giving characters complicated tattoos, mostly because drawing them consistently is a nightmare. I wanted to fill out her sleeve in a way that I could manage somewhat consistently. But idk, not sure how well I did that. I think it suits her, at least.

Clothes: Her canon outfit was hard to make sense of, tbh. I just did what felt right. The rips seemed difficult to do consistently, so I simplified those. I was annoyed by the mismatched shoes, so I committed to boots, which felt more 80s punk to me.

Denim was such an 80s-90s thing. Had to give her a denim jacket with some patches. I'll probably randomly alternate when I draw her with or without it.

Human--

So the oldest version of Cherri was supposed to be Angel's daughter(which obviously changed), but I based the human design on that. Particularly the hair and eye colors. Her name was Isabella, so I stuck with it.

The hair colors reference an older design where she had blonde hair, and the pilot/canon designs where it's pink. So I just mashed everything together. She's naturally brunette, but dyes her hair pink and blonde. Then I added a couple alternate hairstyles to reference her canon long hair.

I don't have many headcanons for her life. She's a punk, probably skateboards and does graffiti, overall a delinquent. Obviously into pyrotechnics. Fireworks, bombs, explosives, etc. Got into trouble for arson. Probably into smoking, alcohol, and drugs since high school.

Died in the 80s, in her mid 20s. There are lots of ways it could have happened. Overdose, arson gone wrong, fireworks to the face, resisting police, street gang violence, drunk driving, etc. Lots of possibilities.

(Feb 17, 2025- moved the human design to be above the cut)

[inlovewithregencyera]

My Fair Lady: Early Romantic Era Hairs

♫♫♫♫ (sorry I now feel the feminine urge to include a Regency song in everything, ignore me but it sounds better as you read.)

Alright, I made these Early Romantic Era (1820-1910) hairstyles and decided why not release them. They are named after characters in my sims story, Isabella, Selina, Aurelia, and Susan (3 of which have not been introduced yet). You can look at their aesthetics if you want here. There are no 1820s hairstyles so I saw it fit to make some for my story. I say these are 1820s Hairstyles but these can work from about 1817-1827. The two without the Apollo knots can work for as early as 1810. The two with the Apollo knots can work as early as 1820+.

I have snatched pieces of hair from @the-melancholy-maiden and @buzzardly28, credit to them for amazing pieces of hair I can work with.

BGC, with all EA natural swatches.

Here are some different angles of them in my game:

I love these sims they're so cute.

Below are pictures of hairstyles from this era which I used as inspiration to make them.

DOWNLOAD

[ihaveforgortoomany]

Vertin's Fear as seen in 2.1

I have a previous post discussing her fear, but I figured as stuff in CN come out in Global I can revamp the older analysis and such

Sooo, Global safe analysis of Vertin's fear as seen in 2.1! (SPOILERS for 2.1 event story, idk its self-explanatory, amazing event, eep sheep, go play or watch a streamer play)

In short - Tuesday was correct about Vertin's fear, however lacked the true context to why she feared the Storm, and was seemingly haunted by the voices of children. It seems the extent of her influence/ the baby's is to provoke images and sounds of these fears, a type of mimcry of those fears and through the person's own reaction to them does she figure out that person's fear and further exploit it.

One way to think about it would be Tuesday pointing towards the lighter and the gas tank, that person lights it themselves and sets everything blaze, while Tuesday simply watches/ enables the action without lifting a finger.

Alright. Whats Vertin's fear?

The fear of giving false hope, a false salvation to those she promised to save and fear that she cause another incident like the Breakaway to happen again. That helplessness in knowing you brought a promise you could never bring to that person, no matter how hard you tried.Not exactly one to one, rather making someone believe in salvation, only for it to be wiped away at the last second.

Sound familiar?

🍊

Back in Book 3, even if exaggerated Vertin probably did have a flashback to the Breakaway after Schneider was reversed. Remember, Regulus was the first person Vertin had saved from the Storm, the first successful test. Vertin believed that she could also save Druvis, Sotheby and Schnieder. We know that only two of them would make it. Why didn't Schnieder appear in some form? She was always the trigger to that trauma of the Breakaway Incident, never the cause.

I find this interesting when Vertin talks to the illusions, a familiarity. She has the tendency to brush away, repress and ignore pain: either the classic "im fine", the hat completely obscuring her face or back in Breakaway completely dissociating from her surroundings entirely.

Vertin has never been an expressive person, even more after becoming the Timekeeper so shes already become guarded against that memory of failing those she cares about, the SPDM kids must have been the first, but as we have seen since will not be the last. Maybe shes often haunted by The Ring and Isabella and the rest of the kids back in the Breakaway, while shes clearly better at overcoming these small moments they linger.

Notice in this line Vertin's voice breaks a little here, its quite subtle but noticeable.

The Umbrella is the reason why Vertin recovers so quickly, her fear was based on that inability to save everyone, the suitcase would only save arcanist. The Umbrella could ensure both humans and arcanists could brave the Storm with her. Had Tuesday or had Vertin visited the motel before 1.9, maybe things would have been different.

The fear that Tuesday enjoys so much is the ones that linger, remain embedded in one's psyche that can truly never be overcome. Vertin probably will never truly get over the guilt of failing countless many, even if events were outside of her control. At the very least now she has means to combat that fear, to be shielded from the Storm.

(i might talk about the tone shift between Jessica and Tuesday later, but have this more refined version of the CN analysis)

[srue-on-fire]

Everything Comes Back To You

2. LIGHT IN THE DARK

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader Rating: General Audiences Title: Niall Horan's Flicker Summary: After Shannon leaves, surrendering custody of Christopher, Eddie is left to raise him alone under the weight of guilt and his parents’ judgment. You try to hold everything together, but love, frustration, and a bitter argument leave you both fractured and silent. Tags: childhood friends, temporarily unrequited love, angst, emotional hurt. Word Count: 1300

read on ao3 ~ part one | tumblr

🐟

The days slipped by in strange shapes. Some were heavy, dragging behind you like wet laundry. Others passed so fast you didn’t remember what you ate or said or did, only that it had been one more day without them.

No Christopher. No tiny sneakers on the welcome mat. No Eddie. No worn jacket tossed over your couch.

After the first week, it felt like holding onto numbers was a way to keep the pain alive —like checking the wound every morning to see if it still bled. And it always did. You’d wake up and your heart would ache the same way it did the day Maria told you they were gone.

So instead, you learned to exist again. You started filling your days with the kind of things that didn’t make space for grief —going to work, volunteering at community center, walking shelter dogs, baking muffins you didn’t eat. You’d learned how to keep busy without feeling better.

You stopped checking your phone after the second week. It didn’t help. Not when there was no missed call. No text. Not even a dumb meme Eddie would’ve sent when he didn’t know how to say he missed you. 

And oh fucking hell, did you miss him . 

You told yourself it was better this way. You told yourself this was what love looked like sometimes.

But you never stopped glancing at the crayon drawing still pinned under the fading fridge magnet. The pictures on your walls. In your phone.

Especially Christopher’s. His laughter haunted the corners of your house.

You missed the way his arms would wrap around your waist and squeeze with everything he had. You missed how he’d ask questions you weren’t ready to answer —like the time he asked ‘ why do grown-ups cry when they think nobody can hear them?’ when Shannon had a bad day and left him with you.  

You missed the little things. Friday evenings at the park. Making him pancakes shaped like dinosaurs or spacecrafts.

You missed your little boy.

🐟

It happened on a Wednesday.

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, spilling orange light across the kitchen floor while you stood at the counter, chopping vegetables without much thought. The house was too quiet, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the click of the knife against the wooden board.

Your phone buzzed.

You glanced at it without much interest— then froze.

New text from: Abuela Isabella

Your heart stuttered. Then stopped entirely when you read the message.

Abuela Isabel Hi 🐟 I miss u Dont tell bisabuela ok

Your knife slipped against the cutting board. You barely noticed. You fumbled the phone into your wet, shaking hands, breath caught in your throat.

You Who is this?

Three dots blinked.

Abuela Isabel Its me Christopher 🙂

Your knees went weak. You braced yourself against the counter, exhaling sharply, pressing a hand to your chest. It took another few seconds before your brain rebooted and you scrambled to type a reply.

You Oh my god, kiddo I miss you too! Are you okay??

The reply was instant. 

Abuela Isabel Yes We have fish I miss pancakes

You Fish??

Abuela Isabel Yes real ones One is named noodle She is my best friend now

You laughed. It came out rough and wet and more like a sob than a sound of joy. You covered your mouth with your hand and sat down slowly at the kitchen table.

You I’m so glad you have Noodle. I bet she’s lucky to have you, too.

Abuela Isabel Is daddy okay? He says weird things Like he's glad I am his kid

You stared at the question. Your thumbs hovered above the keyboard, unmoving. It shouldn’t be a hard thing to answer. But it felt like holding a glass sculpture in your hands —too fragile, too sharp in the wrong places.

You He will be. He’s trying really hard, huh?

The reply came quicker this time.

Abuela Isabel Yes He runs a lot He says others are fast but he is faster I think he is like a superhero

You chuckled as more tears welled up. Of course, Christopher thought that. That kid was so proud of his dad, if only the dad knew it.

You I bet he is. I’m proud of him.

There was a pause. Just a few moments, but it felt like time stretched thin between each bubble of dots.

Abuela Isabel Are you mad at daddy? He told abuela that you fought Dont tell him I was listening ok

You stared at the question. Felt the echo of it hit somewhere deep in your chest, just under the bone. It wasn’t fair —that Christopher had to ask. That he was the one threading the needle between two broken hearts, trying to sew something back together with hands still learning to tie shoelaces.

You pressed your forehead to the table.

Then you typed.

You No, sweetheart. I could never stay mad at your dad.

You paused. Watched the cursor blink like it was holding its breath.

We just said things that hurt. But I still love him. Very much.

More dots. And then, 

Abuela Isabel I think he misses u too Like I go to sleep He sits on the porch and looks sad

You gripped the phone tighter and squeezed your eyes shut.

You I sit on the porch too. The light is flickering. I need to fix it.

Abuela Isabel There is a light here too But it is too bright I like the your porch better

You Me too. I miss you, Christopher. Every day.

Abuela Isabel Miss you too Ok I told Noodle u missed me She says hi

You smiled, watery. Imagining a fish tank perched on abuela’s sun room table, sunlight dancing on glass. Tiny fingerprints where he probably tried to chase the fish. It was calm and warm and so Christopher.

You Give her a cuddle for me. And tell her I said thanks for keeping you company.

You hesitated again. Then, careful, 

You Can you do something for me, mijo?

Abuela Isabel Ok

You Tell your dad to be kind to himself. Even when it’s hard.

There was a longer pause this time. You could picture him, tongue between his teeth, thinking hard like he always did when he felt like something was too big for just words.

Abuela Isabel I will But only if he lets me eat ice cream first

You laughed again. This time, it didn’t hurt as much.

Another beat.

Abuela Isabel Ok I need to go

You Alright. Love you, kiddo. Give Noodle a high five from me.

Abuela Isabel Ok She does not have hands But I will try I love you too 🐟💙

You laughed again. A soft, shaky thing. Your hand pressed over your heart like it might keep it from breaking wide open all over again.

You didn’t move after that. Just sat there, phone warm in your hand, the kitchen bathed in orange light. It smelled like cut vegetables and lemon and something like hope.

He was okay. He was okay. They were okay.

Maybe the wound hadn’t closed. Maybe it never would. But for the first time in weeks, it didn’t ache so loudly.

For now, there was hope.

And one little boy with a fish emoji who still knew exactly where to find you.

🐟

A/N: Thank you so much for the response on the first part, guys!

[paigegonerogue]

No, but despite my jokes I genuinely don’t think Joel and Ellie are trying to replace each other at all.

Ellie’s just having “cool uncle time”, and everything about Joel revolves around Ellie. He cares for her so deeply that even the thought of losing her has him lashing out because he’s scared. But still, everything he does is for Ellie. He goes to therapy to try and become a better parent, asking for strategies to help him raise Ellie. He checks on her and jumps in to help without a second thought when he sees someone threatening her. He gets close to her friends not only out of protectiveness so he knows good people care about her, but also out of the hope that maybe, just maybe, it’ll bring them back together. Dina inviting Ellie to watch the movie with them was the plan the whole time. Joel and Dina both hate the distance that’s sprung up between him and Ellie, and they’re trying to close it with the hope that if Dina invites Ellie along, she’ll actually interact with them. Like Isabella Merced said, Joel and Dina’s greatest point of allyship is how much they care for Ellie. They both want her to be happy, no matter which one of them she’s spending time with.

Throughout the whole episode, the fact that Ellie’s his daughter is never questioned. Even if he says something shitty in a private moment, he immediately follows it up with “but Dina isn’t my daughter” (re: but Ellie is). They’re family, and everything Joel’s doing he’s doing for Ellie.

And Ellie doesn’t not care for him, either. She’s so fucking angry at him, he took away what would’ve made her matter (in her eyes). But she also can’t leave him, not really. Not when he’s still her person. So she won’t tell him to leave when he comes to see her, and she won’t move farther than the backyard, because even if she can’t stand to look at him, he still cares for her more than anyone ever has.

[islakaliko]

— Home is where you are

disclaimer: a/b/o universe, alpha john price, male omega reader, very self indulged, m!preg

< previous | next >

The sound of laughter echoed through the old farmhouse, warm and alive with life. It was a cool spring morning—sunlight streamed in through the kitchen windows, dancing off the worn wooden floors. The scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and coffee filled the air, blending with the soft hum of the radio playing an old love song.

John Price stood at the stove, his sleeves rolled up and an apron tied haphazardly over his broad chest. His salt-and-pepper beard was dusted with a bit of flour, and there was a gentle smile playing on his lips as he flipped another pancake onto the growing stack. Behind him, seven pairs of feet thundered through the house.

(y/n) waddled into the kitchen, a hand resting on his round belly. At 28 weeks with twins, his balance was a bit off, and he leaned against the doorframe for support. His cheeks were flushed with warmth and happiness, a soft smile on his face as he watched his mate wrangle breakfast and the kids all at once.

“Morning, love,” John said, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes softened the moment they landed on (y/n). He set down the spatula, walked over, and pressed a kiss to (y/n)’s temple. His hand automatically went to his belly, rubbing circles over the bump. “Girls kickin’ already?”

“They’ve been doing somersaults since 5 a.m.,” (y/n) laughed, leaning into the touch. “I think they want cinnamon rolls.”

“Smart girls,” John chuckled, giving the bump one last pat before turning back to the stove. “Food’s almost ready.”

Oliver, the oldest at thirteen, came rushing in next, trying his best to look mature but still with messy bed hair and one sock missing. He offered his papa a mumbled “good morning” and helped set the table without being asked. Behind him came the twins, Noah and James, arguing about whose LEGO creation was better.

“Guys, no fighting in the kitchen,” (y/n) said, gently but firmly.

“Yes, dad,” they chorused.

Emma danced in, twirling in one of (y/n)’s oversized sweaters. “I helped Izzy braid her hair!” she beamed.

Isabella followed closely behind, looking proud of her slightly lopsided braid and holding a storybook in her hands. Benjamin toddled in after them, dragging a stuffed dinosaur and half-asleep still, his thumb in his mouth. Two-year-old William was perched on John’s hip, babbling about toast.

(y/n) watched them all, eyes glossy with emotion.

“Everything okay?” John asked quietly, noticing the look on (y/n)’s face.

(y/n) nodded, his heart full to bursting. “I just… never imagined this. You. Me. Them. It’s perfect, John.”

John turned the stove off and came over, wrapping one strong arm around his omega’s waist, the other still balancing William easily. “Told you,” he murmured into (y/n)’s hair. “Always wanted a big family. But never imagined I’d get this lucky.”

They stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by the chaos of love, little voices, and pancake syrup, and it felt like the world had paused just for them—for this moment. For this home.

(y/n) looked up at John, tears in his eyes. “The girls are going to love it here.”

“They already do,” John whispered, pressing a kiss to his omega’s lips as their children filled the room behind them, calling out for juice and pancakes and hugs.

[authenticcadence18]

i want to highlight a passage from my new Isabella-centric one-shot that I’m particularly proud of!

for context, Isabella is in her car at the stop light from “Act Your Age”. she and Phineas are no longer together, and she sees something about him on accident.

…

Phineas.

For a moment Isabella found herself outside the car, being pulled in for a kiss that had haunted her for over half a decade. Her heart rate skyrocketed, breath coming in short bursts as she attempted to claw her way free of the awful wonderful memory, of the sensation of Phineas’s hands cradling her face, of knowing how much she’d enjoyed that moment in spite of all the heartache that followed.

The light flashed green, leaving Isabella no choice but to hastily snap herself free of her first kiss and step on the gas.

Her chest caught, eyes burning and vision blurring, knuckles whitening as she gripped the steering wheel and turned in the direction of her apartment, trying to slow her breaths down.

Today had been better. She hadn’t cried at all, she’d gone out for a bit, thought she’d finally started making progress in regards to letting go of Phineas.

But one glance into the outskirts of his life, of his success, of how fine everything was going for him without her, from someone that was supposed to be safe, who up till now Isabella hadn’t even known was connected to Phineas, was enough to make her shatter all over again.

…

here’s the rest if you are interested! I’m really proud of this piece :)

[kryllia]

Mine to Protect, Mine to Own Pt2

art from pinterest

yandere mafia classmate x reader pt2

Pt 1 - Pt 2

The next morning, you were woken by a knock. Not the usual maid.

“Good morning, [Your Name],” came Isabella’s voice through the door. “Mind if I come in?”

You sat up slowly. “What if I say yes?”

“I’ll still come in,” she said cheerfully.

The door opened. She stepped in, carrying a tray with breakfast and tea, dressed in a long robe like she hadn’t just orchestrated your kidnapping.

“Sit,” she said, motioning to a small table by the window.

You didn’t move. “I’m not in the mood to play family.”

Her expression didn’t falter. “This isn’t play. It’s preparation.”

“For what? A forced marriage?” you snapped.

She gave a quiet, fond laugh as she set the tray down. “You remind me so much of myself when I got here.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did Giovanni’s family kidnap you too?”

She sat across from you, hands folded neatly in her lap. “Not exactly. He took me from my life. A cleaner version of kidnapping, maybe. I screamed, I fought, I hated him. But he never let me go.”

She looked out the window, her voice softer. “Then one day I realized he hadn’t just taken me. He had chosen me.”

You stared. “That’s not romantic. That’s obsession.”

“Yes.” Her eyes flicked back to you, and something steely passed through her calm. “Exactly.”

Later that day, Nicolò didn’t come to see you. But one of the staff—older, polite, with eyes that never met yours—knocked once and said, “The Don would like to speak with you in the study.”

You didn’t want to go. But you went anyway.

The study was dim, rich wood and books and a large globe in the corner. Giovanni Dellabarca sat behind a massive desk, his gaze cool and unreadable.

“Sit,” he said, without looking up.

You stayed standing.

He finally looked up. “Still not one for following instructions, I see.”

You crossed your arms. “You going to have me thrown in a cell next? Or just marry me off like your wife keeps hinting?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “If I wanted to chain you up, I would’ve done it already.”

You flinched.

He stood, walked around the desk, and poured himself a drink. “I asked you here because I want to make something clear. I didn’t order your abduction. I simply didn’t stop it.”

“Oh, great. That makes everything better,” you muttered.

He turned back to you, swirling the glass in his hand. “You think this is a prison. I think it’s protection. Do you understand what Nicolò has stopped from reaching you in the last three months?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Threats. Stalkers. Opportunists who figured out your class schedule. You’re pretty, smart, not connected—easy prey. Until Nicolò stepped in.”

You didn’t know what to say.

Giovanni watched you for a long moment.

“You think he’s weak because he doesn’t force your hand. But that boy would raze cities if you asked. He’s already done things I’d rather you not find out about. But all he really wants is to sit beside you at breakfast without you looking at him like he’s a monster.”

You looked away.

“And maybe he is a monster,” Giovanni said, setting his drink down. “But he’s your monster now.”

That evening, you returned to your room to find it wasn’t yours anymore.

Your things were gone. In their place, a single note:

You’ll be staying in Nicolò’s wing now. He insisted. – Isabella

Your stomach twisted.

A maid guided you to a different part of the estate. It was quieter. Fewer guards.

The bedroom was larger, but colder. Less lived-in. A second door led to an adjoining suite. His.

You hesitated at the threshold.

“Come in.”

Nicolò’s voice was soft, but firm. You stepped inside.

He stood near the window, sleeves rolled to his forearms, looking out into the night.

“You moved me,” you said.

He nodded. “I wanted you closer.”

You crossed your arms. “So you can watch me 24/7?”

He turned. “So I can sleep.”

You blinked.

“I haven’t slept right since you got here,” he said, voice quiet. “I wake up thinking you’re gone. Or someone took you. I—I can’t stop imagining it.”

You stared at him.

“This isn’t normal,” you whispered. “You know that, right?”

He stepped closer. “You make me feel. That’s not something I’m used to. It’s not clean. It’s messy. I don’t know how to do this the right way.”

You stayed silent.

“I never wanted to scare you,” he said. “But if it’s between scaring you or losing you, I’ll choose the first every time.”

And that’s when he dropped the last wall.

His voice cracked, his eyes dropped to the floor. “I don’t know how to live without you.”

You laid in the bed that night—his bed—on opposite sides. The silence felt heavier than anything anyone had said.

Then, from the dark:

“I would never hurt you.”

You didn’t answer.

He turned slightly, facing your back.

“But I’d hurt anyone who tries to take you from me. Even if it’s you.”

You closed your eyes.

And from the other side of the bed, his voice came again—barely a whisper.

“You’re mine, [Your Name]. Even if I have to spend my whole life making you understand that.”

______

@magicaldestinyharmony @rowanyaboats @elloredef @kawaii-moon-47 @wishtrest @kazeiyyuuu @ch1p0tl3

[pruneunfair]

What I would change about these manhwas

Matthias is the antagonist as he should be

Instead of a toxic romance story, it would be a story of survival in an abusive relationship

Would tackle the darkest parts of being a mistress to a rich man as a commoner

Claudine wouldn't be a villain and instead another victim of Matthias who becomes Laylas ally

Kyle is the new love interest

The ending would still be very tragic but Layla will at least escape her toxic relationship with Matthias

Obviously Javier isn't going to be the love interest anymore, that will go to Lucas

Javier also won't be a slave bought by Reilynn, they will meet normally and develop a found family like relationship

Iris will be more competent as a villainess

The empire would currently under the ire of the populace and on the brink of a revolution, meaning that Reilynn can't throw money everywhere to solve her problems while acting like a smug asshole about it without consequences thereby making room for character development

Her reputation will be lowered not just for the og villainesses past but also because of her latest behavior.

Reilynns new goal to avoid being sent to the guillotine by future revolutionaries would to try and become a better person with other allys like Javier to help her become more mindful of others

Honestly not much

Just have it be more faithful to the novel

Meaning Keira doesn't need a love interest

Ragibach learns Keiras game and starts to scheme with more strategy, making her an ever growing threat that gets stronger with each defeat she learns from

Zeke gets more attention

Ariande will still have the mentality that she's not wrong but it will actually be acknowledged as a flae

Isabella keeps her high intelligence and cunning behavior in the 2nd life

Ippolotio and Lucrezia are less cartoony villains and more disturbing as people

Larriesa is more then just a yandere fiancé, she'd have a backstory explaing her desire for love and her behavior will be toned down

Arabella would live longer then she did originally

Pretty much almost everyone will be an awful person with consequences

The golden rule will actually matter and give Ariande consequences when she does something evil

Ariande will try to understand her newfound powers instead of forgetting about them until the plot needs it

The first life will be referenced more

Hestia would be called out for her behavior

Cael would no longer be a cardboard cutout

Diana isn't the villainess anymore

The story would focus less on petty revenge but on all of the characters growing as people

The idea is how our biases for our favorite characters can cause us to literally distort the truth

As such instead of constantly blaming Diana until the very end, Hestia would focus on what SHE likes instead to get her mind off of it and discovers how thrilling life is again when she let's her revenge plot go

Cael's suicide would be treated less as a plot device to prove why Diana and Helios are evil but as an actual arc that brings up the real struggles of depression and suicidal thoughts

Helga would eventually stop taking everything out on Hilianne when she realizes it's not her fault the Duchess abused her

Of course this also means Hilianne won't be the punching bag

not all of the male characters will fall in love with Helga

lower Helgas plot armour SIGNIFICANTLY

let the other side characters actually use common sense and call Helga out on some of her bullshit

The running away plot would be handled better

Include some more flashbacks on Alisas family in Edenverre and drop more lore on the siblings we knew less about

Marianne will have more screen time to properly explain how her powers work

Luminas will either not be the love interest at all and instead be a mentor fot Aishas later abilities or he could be MENTALLY Aisha age so theres no maturity gap (think of Luminas still being 2000 but he's physically and mentally a early teen like Aisha)

Aisha would actually feel guilty about the innocent people killed by her father just for being related to her assassin

Ysis and Aisha would have more realistic sibling moments (Ex: Ysis doesn't immediately believe that Aisha is a reincarnated princess of the enemy empire)

Aria will still be descended from commoners

The war between Aria and Mielle will be more equal, basically a battle of traditional villainess vs white lotus

Asher would have a life and personality outside of Aria

The maids would also be their own characters and have some dignity

Isis is actually utilized properly

[dollfaceksj]

you said you want to keep toapp going for as long as you can so i have a feeling it’s clearly not their last time. plus, where’s yoongi?!?

yoongi has been summoned. #19 lets go ↓

warnings: i wanted to add more stuff to the camping trip like a hiking scene and whatnot but honestly im so over the camping trip arc i just wanna get it over with so this is pretty rushed 😭

taste of a poison paradise | jjk (m) #19

masterlist

<- previous ; next ->

you stir

and awaken

why are you so? warm?

oh

you are

cuddled up into jungkook

your back into his chest

his arm around your waist

his nose buried in your hair

you glance over your shoulder

jungkook is still sound asleep

he looks

cute :(

you glance at your phone, it’s 7am. it you and jungkook’s turn to prepare breakfast

you gently shake him

“jungkook,” you say, “wake up.”

he stirs and then turns on his back

rubbing his face

he mumbles, “sorry.”

you shake your head. “it’s okay, i just want to wake you up for breakfast. it’s our turn to prepare.”

he nods his head and sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair

you crawl out of the tent and stretch your limbs, yawning loudly before you go wash up

he slowly follows you out and you both start preparing breakfast in silence

the air is

tense?

awkward?

weird?

you don’t know what it is

but you don’t really speak to jungkook and he doesn’t speak to you while you both prepare

maybe it’s for the best

:/

about half an hour later, breakfast is ready and you take your time gathering your clothes to head into the bathhouse about 20 mins further

you have to wait for everyone to finish eating cause you can’t drive and someone needs to bring you

you watch as the seats around the table starts filling up

and you take your seat next to yoongi

he pours orange juice into your cup and rubs your shoulder. “how’d you sleep?”

you smile at the question. “i slept pretty well. you?”

“hoseok only punched me once in the mouth so i’d say i slept better too.”

you giggle at his joke and slap his thigh under the table

“hey uh,” he starts, “when we get back home..”

you tilt your head once he trails off, he sounds hesitant

he continues, “will you let me take you out?”

wow

ah

AAAAA

need him rn.

you smile. “like? on a date?”

he chuckles and shakes his head at your silliness. “yeah, like on a date.”

you pretend to hum in thought. “i thought we weren’t anything serious,” you tease.

he nods his head. “you’re right, but i think it’s proper manners to buy a lady a meal before we,” he pauses and glances at you, “get to the not-serious stuff.”

oh

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

okay!

well.

you lick your lips and chew on the loose flesh on your lips.

“so? what do you say?” he asks without even looking at you as he pours himself orange juice and reaches across the table for something to eat

he’s so

nonchalant

fuck

“i say that i’d like that.”

a smile tugs on his lips as he listens to your words, still not looking at you and it makes him look so fucking cocky

he asks; “do you have class tomorrow?”

“until 12pm.”

“good. i’ll pick you up at 6.”

ah

ahhhh

AHHHHHHH

so

….

he’s so….

hmmmm

you sheepishly reply, “okay.”

he keeps his hand respectfully on your knee, not moving it an inch toward your thigh

but it still raises goosebumps on your skin

his big hand

he’s so perfect wow

you bring your attention back to your plate and raise your cup to your lips

you hum in content

you let your eyes roam over the rim of your cup

only to make eye contact

with jungkook.

you feel a bit

uncomfortable.

he’s staring very… intensely.

did he hear everything?

it almost makes you choke on your juice

ugh it’s just breakfast and the days already wearing down on you

just… make the most of it

hours have passed, you’ve done a few more activities with the group

it’s time to head home

you’ve been hanging with yoongi, getting to know him better

isabella and hyunjoo have been stuck to jungkook since breakfast

not that you care

as long as he gets that affection he so desperately seeks

joon begins, “so we’ve decided to just send everyones luggage back home in seokjins car. we’re gonna need an extra person with him cause we can’t trust seokjin too much.”

“hey! i’m responsible,” seokjin replies in a disapproving tone

everyone just ignores seokjin’s outburst. “who’s gonna drive back home with seokjin-hyung?” joon asks as everyone disassembles their tents

everyones looking around

but you suddenly hear

an all too familiar voice

speak up

“i think yoongi-hyung should go.”

what the fuck jungkook

OH GOD

yoongi turns surprised to jungkook and jungkook is just staring back head-on

this damn junior and his lack of respects for seniors!!!

“i just think he’s the most responsible of us all.” he says as he shrugs his shoulders.

you glare at the side of jungkook’s face but it seems like people are starting to agree with him

“alright, i’ll go.” yoongi doesn’t make a fuss and without hesitation starts loading the bags into seokjin’s trunk

you keep glaring at jungkook’s cheek until he turns to look at you

he stares at you without a word on his lips for you and then turns on his heels and walks away from you

walking to go disassemble his tent

you snatch your suitcase and head towards yoongi, handing it to him

“you gonna be fine without me?” yoongi asks as he takes your suitcase and stuffs it in the trunk

you shake your head. “how will i live?”

he chuckles at your joke and then turns to you, reaching out to smooth out the scrunch between your brows with his thumb

“you’re too pretty to walk around with a frown like that.”

ugh

pretty

pretty.

now another’s man’s words keep clouding your mind

playing on a repeat

the image of his black eyes staring into your soul flashing vividly in your mind

‘you can take it, pretty. can’t you?’

‘that’s it, pretty. look at you.’

‘fuck yourself on my dick, pretty. just like that.’

ughhhh

that damn junior corrupted your brains. you need to be cleansed.

“that’s because i’m actually serious. i was looking forward to the train ride back with you.” you continue to pout

he chuckles and reaches out to rub your bottom lip with his thumb

“don’t look at me like that,” he quietly says

again…

something jungkook has said to you too

:///

“like what?”

“like you want me to kiss you.”

he’s

so

you reply, “that’s because i do.”

he licks his lips and rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek

he respectfully places his hand on your waist and pulls you closer to him, closing the distance

your hands instantly meet his arms, squeezing his biceps

he cups the back of your head and inches closer to your face until he’s pressed his lips against yours

and you fucking melt

his lips are so damn soft like you could write a novel about it

you move your hands to his chest and rub it gently, wanting to feel more of him

he parts from your lips and brings his thumb up to stroke over your bottom lip

“pout is gone.”

and with that, he turns his attention back to loading the car

fuck

ah fuck

he’s not gonna make it easier for you

you turn on your heels to head back to the rest but you bump into something

that something being

jungkook’s chest

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

for fucks sake!!!

these coincidences are getting ANNOYING

“ow,” you mumble as you stumble back but two hands on your waist from the back and two hands on your waist from the front keep you from tumbling to the ground

oh

yoongi

and

jungkook

are both holding you

:))))

“are you okay?” yoongi immediately asks with a soothing hand still on your back

you nod your head. “yeah.”

jungkook’s hands linger on your waist and he doesn’t take them off until you shoot him a look

he slowly peels his hands off you and then stuffs his own bag in the trunk

you walk past him and gather with the others

you wave goodbye to seokjin and yoongi once they’re finished

you hope they don’t notice anything in the car you’d die of embarrassment 😭

and they could

quickly make the connection

and if word got out

and it reached taehyung…..

he’s already brought up home……

you know

where the both of u are from

fuck

just calm down

they won’t notice anything

you’re walking back to the train station with the rest

“jungkook! what are your plans for when we get back home?”

you hear isabella talking to him

but you’re walking ahead of them

walking with tae and jimin

he replies, “probably gonna play, haven’t been online in awhile. you?”

ugh

“oh! i have no plans. can i come over and watch you play?”

watch him play?

eye roll

like what does that even do

i mean sure theres a big audience for gamers that stream playing games because people enjoy watching others play

but jungkook? be serious

“oh. sure, why not?”

tae nudges you with his arm. “have you talked to him yet?” he whispers

you frown. “to who?”

he rolls his eyes. “jungkook,” he mouths.

you shake your head in response and watch him quietly sigh

ugh

you made it a whole lot more fucking complicated than it needed to be dude

why did you have to fuck him

the rest of the walk there is filled with quiet small talk and taehyung telling you about the skins he got in fortnite

once you reach the train station, hoseok checks to make sure everyone has everything in order

a few minutes later you board the train

and right

when you want to

go sit down

with jimin and tae

you’re tapped on your shoulder

by tae

“go sit with jungkook.”

????

what the hell?

“and why would i?” you question with a neutral tone to your voice

“did you forget our talk yesterday? if he only interacts with girls that he sleeps with, it’ll always stay the same for him. go talk to him.”

YOU’VE ALSO SLEPT WITH JUNGKOOK SO IT WOULDNT BE ANY FUCKING DIFFERENT!!!!

but of course you can’t tell tae that :))

because you were stupid :)

and horny :)

ugh. not to be harsh but how is jungkook’s mental state your problem?

girl.. you were the one that wanted to cuddle him yesterday. clearly you care about his mental wellbeing

you sigh and get up

and make your way to jungkook’s booth

where he’s seated

with hyunjoo and isabella

:)

jungkook’s sitting by the window

isabella is next to him

hyunjoo is across from him

so you take your seat next to hyunjoo

the girls welcome you with a kind smile and small talk

but that little shit is staring you down with such a bratty look in his eyes

what a little CUNT

what is his problem?

you need a way to get rid of the girls

you lie, “i’m here to talk about … the thing.”

jungkook frowns at you for a moment before he realizes what you’re trying to do. “oh, right. that.”

you glance at hyunjoo and isabella and then turn to jungkook. “shall we talk about it in private?”

he licks his lips and you KNOW he wants to push your buttons and tell you that you can just say it here

but to your surprise, he rises to his feet

and starts heading to another booth

you excuse yourself from the girls but they don’t seem to mind, engaging in convo on their own

you follow jungkook and sit across from him in the empty booth

you both just sit there in silence

quiet

you blink at him

and the silence drags on

for

what seems like forever

and he’s finally had enough. “is there something you want to say?”

you cross your arms over your shoulders and shrug your shoulders. “not really.”

if you tell him tae wants you to bond with jk after he always told him to stay away from you, he’ll know something is going on

he’ll know tae told you his private matters

so you just need tae to believe you’re talking w jk

he narrows his eyes at you for a moment but doesn’t question anything and then glances out the window, eyes scanning the trees that zoom by

you both sit there in silence, sometimes stealing glances at each other

it’s already been an hour

pure silence

somewhere during the trip, about an hour into it, jungkook holds his hand out

you frown

??

his hand

why is he giving you his hand

you slowly place your hand in his, back of your hand facing up

he glances at your hand and then at you, a quiet chuckle leaving his lips

he brings your hand to his mouth and gently kisses your knuckles before placing your hand back on your knee

“that was cute but i meant your phone.”

oh

OH

well how the hell!!! were u!!! supposed to know!!

you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion. “why the hell do you want my phone?”

he rolls his eyes. “stop making a fuss about every little thing and just give it to me.”

this

damn

junior

SO DISRESPECTFUL!!!!

(its kinda hot)

but he needs to be punched!!!

you dig into your pocket and pull it out

unlock it

and hand it to him

he ticks away on your phone and you just stare at him in anticipation

then he hands you back his phone

when you wrap your fingers around it and pull back, there’s resistance

jungkook won’t let your phone go

you glance up from your phone

you cock an eyebrow at him

and he’s just staring at ou

then he leans forwards

winks at you

lets go of your phone

gets up

and heads back to the booth with isabella and hyunjoo

leaving you all alone

hes so

fucking

cocky

jerk.

you look down at your phone

it’s open on instagram

??

did he just…?

‘You accepted @.jungkook97’s follow request!’

to be continued

<- previous ; next ->

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[legendary-69420]

Chapter 11: Secrets and Lies

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 2)

After two long months of recovery, Mark was finally back on track. His parents, Alessandro and Isabella, had been adamant about him taking more time to heal and take a break from racing, but Mark had convinced them otherwise—thanks to his signature puppy dog eyes. All it took was a few promises, and they reluctantly agreed to let him race again, knowing how much it meant to him.

As Mark walked through the Ferrari paddock, the familiar sights and sounds of the racing world stirred excitement within him. However, the excitement was interrupted by a familiar voice raised in frustration. Charles’ voice.

“You don’t get it, Arthur! I’m just trying to look out for you,” Charles said sharply.

“I don’t need you to!” Arthur’s voice was equally heated. “You’re always acting like you know better than everyone else. I don’t want to end up like you!”

Mark hesitated. He didn’t want to intrude, but the fight between the brothers seemed intense. After a few more tense words, Arthur stormed away, slamming the door behind him.

Mark watched as Arthur slumped onto a nearby bench. Without thinking twice, he walked over and sat next to him. “You okay?”

Arthur glanced at Mark, his expression still clouded with frustration. “Yeah… no. I don’t know,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “My brother drives me insane sometimes.”

Mark gave him a sympathetic smile. “Charles isn’t that bad. He’s just… under a lot of pressure. It gets to him.”

Arthur scoffed. “I don’t care. I don’t want to be anything like him.”

Unbeknownst to both of them, Charles had followed Arthur and was now hidden nearby, listening to the conversation.

Mark leaned back on the bench, thinking for a moment before speaking. “You know, I used to feel the same way.”

Arthur frowned. “What do you mean? How is this even related?”

Mark chuckled softly. “Believe it or not, I used to be a huge F1 nerd. Before I became a racer, I was just a kid watching every race on TV. I dreamed of being on the track one day.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. “So?”

“So,” Mark continued with a grin, “your brother was the reason I wanted to be a racer. I remember watching him and thinking, ‘That’s the guy I want to be like. He’s so cool.”

Arthur blinked in surprise. “Charles?”

“Yeah,” Mark said, nodding. “I looked up to him. Watching him race made me believe I could do it too.”

Arthur seemed stunned. “Wait, so… you became a racer because of Charles?”

Mark smiled. “Pretty much. He’s the reason I’m here.”

Arthur was silent for a moment, clearly processing this. Mark gave him a gentle nudge. “And you know what? Even now, I still look up to him. I might not show it to his face, but I do.”

Mark then added with a cheeky grin, “But hey, don’t tell your brother about this. Last thing I need is to boost that idiot’s ego any higher.”

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

From his hidden spot, Charles remained quiet, his heart stirred by what he’d overheard. He had never known Mark felt that way, and hearing it now—after everything between them—touched him more deeply than he expected.

Mark stood up, offering a hand to Arthur. “Come on, let’s go find your brother.”

Arthur smiled and took Mark’s hand, standing up from the bench. “Thanks, Mark.”

As they walked back toward the paddock, Charles slipped away quietly, still processing what he had just heard. Something had shifted within him, and for the first time, he saw Mark in a different light—both as a competitor and as someone who admired him. Secrets had been revealed, and old frustrations had started to fade, though there was still more to uncover.

For now, though, it was enough. ---

[naileadevoras]

+𝟏 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 .

xanderwright uploaded a new photo 6 minutes ago via instagram .

↳ when i met you on this day six years ago , i began to forget a life without you . my wife , you are the most patient , nurturing , & kindhearted woman and everyday you inspire me to be a better man and father to our daughters . thank you for everything that you do , even if it's as small as making us breakfast in the morning , your efforts never go unnoticed . frankie & adriana are incredibly lucky to have a mother so patient and loving — i hope our love will inspire them in the future , & they grow up to be as gentle as you . to the most hardworking woman i know , you deserve every beautiful thing life has to offer . i promise to take care of you & our family until we're old and grey . you're my #1 , my soulmate , & my everything . happy six years of loving you & forever more to go . i love you , isabella . in every life time , i will always choose you , and love you on purpose .

[weekendpassrevoked]

Easy's Songbird - Chapter 18

authors note: Now, I know what many of you are probably thinking: “Isabella, why are you posting so much today?”

Well, let me tell you—

Spring break has ended. 😔

I’ve had the rare gift of time this past week, which meant I could write and update like crazy without school getting in the way. Unfortunately, that bubble has burst, and I must now return to the brutal reality of university life and rapidly approaching finals.

So if things slow down around here for a bit, just know it’s because I’m knee-deep in textbooks and deadlines. BUT—to make up for it, I’ve poured my heart into today’s updates to hopefully hold you over until I return!

This chapter shifts in tone a bit from what you’ve seen before. It touches on a more sobering reality for one of our major characters (yes, that plot point I teased a few days ago 👀). My goal with this moment was not only to continue developing Isabella — someone who, as I’ve said before, is meant to be a living anti-thesis to war — but to also shine light on the often overlooked realities faced by minorities during WWII.

You’ll see that theme unfold throughout this story, across many different identities and struggles. While I do not belong to the community represented in this chapter, I’ve written it with deep love and respect — and with full acknowledgment that I may not get everything perfectly right. I’m always open to learning and doing better.

This chapter is especially close to my heart, as I dedicate it to my real-life best friend and honorary little brother, Cameron — the very person who inspired the character that shares his name. He’s supported me every step of the way on this journey, even though he couldn’t care less about Band of Brothers or WWII history (I forgive him). His real-life story continues to inspire me every day, and it’s my deepest hope that Cameron’s fictional counterpart honors the strength, resilience, and beauty of his truth — and the truths of so many before him.

May his future, and the futures of others like him, be full of love, safety, and joy.

Thank you all for reading, for supporting this story, and for giving it a place to grow.

With all my love,

— Isabella

Camp Mackall, North Carolina, April 25th 1943

Isabella leaned her forehead against the cool window of the transport truck, watching the unfamiliar landscape of North Carolina roll past. The thick pine forests were different from Georgia's sprawling oaks, and the air had a different quality to it - still humid, but sharper somehow, carrying the scent of evergreens and freshly turned earth.

The convoy of trucks carrying Easy Company to Camp Mackall had been on the road for hours, the men packed in tight, duffel bags and equipment creating a cramped obstacle course in the bed of each vehicle. Despite the discomfort, there was an undeniable energy humming through the ranks - a mixture of pride and anticipation.

They weren't recruits anymore. They were paratroopers.

The silver wings pinned to their chests had transformed them, creating an invisible but powerful distinction between who they had been at Toccoa and who they were now. The wings meant something - they had earned them, jump by jump, risking their lives each time they stepped out of that airplane door.

"Hey, Birdie," Luz called from across the truck, his voice raised to be heard over the rumble of the engine. "Bet you Camp Mackall's got better food than Benning."

Isabella snorted, not bothering to lift her head from the window. "That's not saying much, Luz. Army rations would be better than Benning."

A ripple of chuckles moved through the truck, the men nodding in agreement.

"Speaking of food," Malarkey chimed in, "when's the last time anyone had a decent meal? I'm talking real food - steak, potatoes, the works."

"Christmas," several voices answered in unison.

"Home," others said wistfully.

"My ma's cooking," Guarnere added, a rare note of homesickness coloring his voice from his spot near the front of the truck. As platoon sergeant, he'd positioned himself where he could keep an eye on his men.

Isabella thought of her own mother's kitchen - the comforting scent of garlic and ajiaco, the sound of her humming while she cooked. It felt like a lifetime ago, though it had been barely a year since she'd sat at that table, surrounded by family.

"So, Birdie," Penkala asked, breaking into her thoughts, "how's the new haircut holding up?"

Self-consciously, Isabella reached up to touch the ends of her hair, which now fell just below her shoulders thanks to Liebgott's barber skills. She had kept it pinned back as usual, but the lighter weight still surprised her sometimes.

"It's easier," she admitted. "Especially under the helmet."

"Never thought I'd see the day Liebgott would be playing beauty salon," Skip remarked with a grin.

Joe, who had been half-dozing across from her, cracked one eye open. "One more word, Muck, and you're next. I'm thinking a nice bowl cut might suit you."

Skip held up his hands in mock surrender, laughing. "No thanks. I've seen what happens to Birdie's victims. Not risking it."

The truck hit a pothole, jostling everyone inside. Isabella's head bumped against the window, and she winced, rubbing the spot and finally sitting up straight.

Gene, who had been quietly reading a small medical manual beside her, glanced over with concern. "You alright?"

She nodded, offering a small smile. "Fine. Just ready to be off this truck."

It was strange how comfortable she had become with these men. Their constant presence, once foreign and intimidating, had become as familiar as breathing. She knew their habits, their quirks, their tells - just as they knew hers.

"Anyone know what to expect at Mackall?" Penkala asked, directing the question to no one in particular.

Guarnere shifted in his seat to address the group. "More advanced field exercises. Battalion-level operations. We'll be working as part of a larger unit now, not just company stuff."

"What does that mean for medical?" Isabella asked, interest piqued.

"You and Doc Roe will be coordinating with other company medics," Guarnere explained. "Regiment's implementing a more cohesive evacuation and treatment system for the field."

Gene nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Makes sense."

Isabella felt a flutter of nervousness mingled with excitement. More responsibility, more integration with the battalion as a whole. It meant new challenges, but also new opportunities to prove herself beyond Easy Company.

As the convoy turned onto a narrower road, the first glimpse of Camp Mackall came into view - rows of barracks, training fields, and equipment staging areas sprawling across the cleared land. It was larger than Toccoa, more established than the temporary facilities at Benning. This was a proper training ground for combat units preparing for deployment.

"Home sweet home," Luz quipped, peering out at the camp.

"For now," Liebgott added, a subtle reminder that each step in their training was just preparation for what awaited across the ocean.

Isabella looked out at the camp, mentally preparing herself for whatever this new chapter would bring. Her hand unconsciously rose to touch the wings pinned to her chest, the metal cool beneath her fingertips. She had earned this. She belonged here.

Wherever "here" happened to be.

The trucks began to slow as they approached the camp entrance, MPs waving them through the checkpoint with barely a glance at their papers. The 506th was expected, after all - the Airborne's newest regiment, specially trained and nearly ready for combat.

"You know what I heard?" Malarkey said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Word is they're stepping up the timeline. Some of the brass thinks we might deploy before the end of the year."

"Yeah?" Guarnere asked, interest evident in his voice. "Where'd you hear that?"

Malarkey shrugged. "Around. Nixon mentioned something to Welsh, and you know how Welsh talks."

Isabella exchanged a glance with Gene, whose expression remained neutral but whose eyes reflected her own thoughts. The end of the year. It seemed both impossibly far away and terrifyingly close.

"Wherever they send us," Skip said with forced casualness, "at least we'll all be there together, right?"

There was a moment of quiet acknowledgment - an unspoken understanding of the bond that had formed between them. Whatever waited across the ocean, they wouldn't face it alone.

The truck finally rolled to a stop, and Guarnere stood, his voice carrying with the authority of his rank. "Alright, Second Platoon! Grab your gear and fall in. We're representing Easy Company now, so look sharp. I don't want any of you mooks embarrassing us in front of the whole damn regiment."

As they began to file out of the truck, Isabella caught Liebgott's eye. He gave her a small nod, a silent check-in that had become their habit. She nodded back, adjusting her medic satchel over her shoulder.

Camp Mackall. The next step in their journey. Isabella took a deep breath of the pine-scented air and stepped down from the truck into whatever waited ahead.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The barracks at Camp Mackall were a marked improvement over Toccoa - newer construction, slightly more space, and actual heating systems that worked more often than not. Still, the familiar arrangement of bunks and footlockers, the shared spaces and lack of privacy, remained unchanged.

Isabella found herself assigned to the same platoon barracks as before, her bunk positioned between Gene's and Liebgott's by some silent, mutual agreement that had evolved over time. The men had long since stopped seeing her presence as unusual - she was simply part of the unit, her area respected like anyone else's.

As she unpacked her meager belongings, Isabella's fingers brushed against the bundle of letters she'd kept securely bound with twine in her footlocker. They were worn now, the edges soft from repeated handling, but she couldn't bring herself to dispose of a single one. They were her connection to home, to the people she'd left behind.

"Mail call's tomorrow," Winters informed them as he walked through, checking that everyone was settling in properly. "Should be a big one. They've been holding it for our arrival."

A ripple of approval moved through the barracks. Letters from home were precious currency in the Army - worth more than cigarettes or chocolate to most of the men.

Isabella continued unpacking, carefully arranging her medical texts beside her journal and personal items. She had acquired a surprising number of possessions since that first day at Toccoa - gifts from the men, trinkets collected during training, the small cosmetics kit from Sina that she used sparingly but treasured. Each item represented a piece of the journey that had brought her here.

"Hey, Birdie," Luz called from a few bunks down, "you planning on singing for the Mackall boys too? Might help your popularity."

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help smiling. "Give it a rest, Luz. That was a one-time performance."

"That's not what I heard," Malarkey chimed in with a grin. "Word is, the boys from Dog Company haven't stopped talking about it."

Isabella felt her cheeks warm slightly, steadfastly avoiding looking in anyone's direction as she smoothed out her blanket with unnecessary precision. "Well, they need to find better things to talk about."

Liebgott snorted from his bunk. "Doubt that's gonna happen anytime soon, Birdie. Speirs was actually smiling after your performance. Smiling. Do you know how terrifying that is?"

"Shut up, Lieb," she muttered, tongue in cheek, but there was no heat behind it.

The teasing continued as they settled in, the familiar banter helping to make the new space feel more like their own. By the time they headed to the mess hall for dinner, Isabella felt like they'd been at Mackall for days rather than hours.

The mess hall was crowded, filled with not just Easy Company but other units from the 506th as well. The noise level was high, conversations overlapping as men reunited after separate training rotations or met for the first time.

Isabella loaded her tray with what passed for dinner - some unidentifiable meat swimming in gravy, mashed potatoes that had the consistency of plaster, and overcooked green beans - before following Gene toward their usual table.

Lieutenant Speirs, followed by several other Dog Company officers, swept into the room with his characteristic intensity. Unlike the animated conversations happening around him, Speirs moved with silent purpose, his gaze briefly scanning the crowd before landing on their table.

For a moment - just a fraction of a second - his eyes met Isabella's. He nodded briefly, a simple acknowledgment between fellow soldiers who had trained together, before continuing toward the officers' section.

"Looks like Dog Company made it here too," Gene observed quietly.

Isabella nodded. "Seems like everyone's arriving today."

As they continued to their table, she couldn't help but notice how the other soldiers shifted slightly when Speirs passed, the conversation dimming momentarily. His reputation for intensity clearly preceded him here as much as it had at Benning.

"Battalion-wide exercises start tomorrow," Guarnere was saying as they sat down. "Heard they built a whole mock village for us to practice clearing."

"Yeah, and word is they've got actual demo charges set up," Malarkey added. "Real explosions, not just the sound effects like at Benning."

"What about jump training?" Penkala asked. "We still doing that?"

Skip nodded around a mouthful of potatoes. "Maintenance jumps once a month. Gotta keep our wings legit."

Isabella listened absently, her attention divided between the conversation and her awareness of Speirs at the officers' table. She had spoken to him only a handful of times since that first strange encounter outside the showers at Toccoa, yet his presence always seemed to register on some deeper level.

"Earth to Birdie," Luz's voice broke through her thoughts. "You planning on eating that meat, or just dissecting it?"

She looked down, realizing she had been pushing the gravy-soaked mystery meat around her plate for the last several minutes. "Just checking if it's actually dead," she quipped, forcing herself back into the present moment.

The laughter that followed was interrupted by Nixon's appearance at their table.

"Evening, gentlemen," he greeted, then added with a smirk, "and lady. Getting settled in alright?"

A chorus of affirmatives answered him.

Nixon nodded, though Isabella noticed his expression held the slightly distracted look that usually meant he had information he wasn't sharing. "Good, good. Big day tomorrow. PT at 0530, tactical briefing at 0700. Easy's got the east sector for initial recon." His gaze shifted to Isabella. "Medical staging area needs setup too. You and Roe will report to Captain Reynolds at 0800 for assignment."

Gene nodded. "Yes, sir."

Nixon lingered for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes flickering briefly toward the officers' table before returning to their group. "Well. Enjoy your dinner. Such as it is."

As he walked away, Luz leaned forward. "He knows something."

"He always knows something," Malarkey replied. "Question is, what's he not telling us?"

Isabella glanced toward the officers' table, where Nixon had joined Winters, Welsh, and several others. Their expressions were serious, their conversation clearly not casual dinner chat.

"Something's up," Guarnere muttered, following her gaze.

"Maybe they're finally gonna tell us where we're headed," Skip suggested. "Europe? Pacific?"

"Europe," Liebgott said confidently. "Has to be. With our training? We're jumpin' into France or Italy or somewhere like that."

The speculation continued as they finished dinner, theories growing more elaborate with each minute. Isabella participated half-heartedly, her mind drifting to the letters in her footlocker, particularly those from her brothers in the Pacific. Wherever Easy Company ended up, it seemed increasingly unlikely she would cross paths with Michel Alejandro or Darren.

By the time they returned to the barracks, the sky had darkened, and a light rain had begun to fall, pattering gently against the roof. The sound was oddly comforting, a natural rhythm that softened the edges of their military routine.

As Isabella prepared for bed, she thought about everything that had changed since she'd stood on that platform in Florida, saying goodbye to her family. She had earned her wings. She had found a place where she belonged, unexpected as it was. She had become someone her family might not even recognize - stronger, tougher, more confident.

But as she drifted toward sleep, listening to the rain and the familiar sounds of the men around her, she couldn't help wondering what the next chapter would bring - and whether she was truly ready for it.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning arrived in a haze of pre-dawn fog, the entire camp still shadowed as Easy Company assembled for their first field exercise. Despite the early hour, there was a palpable tension in the air, an edge of anticipation that came with knowing they were entering a new phase of training.

Captain Sobel stood before them, his posture rigid as always, but there was something different about him today – a faint nervousness behind his usual façade of stern authority.

"The objective is simple," he announced, gesturing to the tactical map laid out on the hood of a jeep. "Easy Company will advance through sector four, secure the bridge, and establish a defensive perimeter. Fox Company will act as the opposing force."

Isabella stood with the other medics slightly to the side, her helmet bearing the distinctive red cross that marked her role. Gene was beside her, his expression focused as he mentally noted the terrain they'd be crossing, the likely locations where casualties might occur during the exercise.

"Remember," the battalion surgeon had instructed them earlier, "treat these exercises as if they were actual combat. Set up proper triage, use correct evacuation protocols. The more realistically you train, the better prepared you'll be."

Now, watching Sobel trace their planned route on the map, Isabella noticed Lieutenant Winters exchange a concerned glance with Nixon. Something about the plan was troubling them, though she couldn't identify what.

"Questions?" Sobel snapped, looking around at his officers and NCOs.

Winters stepped forward, respectful but direct. "Sir, that route takes us directly through exposed terrain. If Fox is expecting us—"

"They won't be," Sobel cut him off. "We'll have the element of surprise."

"Even so, sir," Winters persisted, "there's a more covered approach through the pine stand to the east."

Sobel's jaw tightened. "The route is set, Lieutenant. We move in fifteen minutes."

As the officers dispersed to prepare their platoons, Isabella caught fragments of muttered conversations that confirmed her suspicions – Sobel's plan was tactically unsound.

"Gonna get us all 'killed,'" Guarnere grumbled as he passed.

"Man wouldn't know proper cover if it bit him in the ass," Toye added under his breath.

Isabella turned to Gene, keeping her voice low. "This doesn't sound good."

He shook his head slightly. "Just means we'll be busy. Stick close to me when it starts."

The exercise began smoothly enough, with Easy Company moving out in formation through the densely wooded training area. Isabella stayed near the middle of the column with the other medics, medical bag at the ready, her eyes constantly scanning the surrounding forest.

They had covered perhaps half a mile when the first signs of trouble appeared. Sobel, leading from the front, abruptly halted the column and began examining his map with growing confusion.

"He's lost," Liebgott whispered, leaning slightly toward Isabella as they waited. "Again."

"We're supposed to be heading northwest," Skip added, glancing at his own compass. "We've been going northeast for the last ten minutes."

Isabella suppressed a sigh. This wasn't the first time Sobel had gotten disoriented in the field, but it was the first time it had happened during such a critical exercise.

Winters approached Sobel, offering assistance in that calm, respectful manner he always maintained. "Sir, I believe we should adjust our course. The bridge should be about half a klick that way."

Sobel's expression hardened, a mixture of embarrassment and defiance crossing his features. "I know where we are, Lieutenant."

But it was clear he didn't. After several more minutes of consulting the map, he finally gave orders to change direction – precisely toward the exposed ground that Winters had warned about earlier.

The disaster that followed was quick and thorough. As Easy Company emerged from the tree line into an open meadow, the "enemy" forces opened fire. Blank rounds cracked through the air as Fox Company, who had indeed been expecting them, caught Easy in a perfect crossfire.

"Casualties!" the exercise observer called out, pointing to various men who were now officially "dead" or "wounded" for the remainder of the exercise.

Isabella and the other medics sprang into action, moving swiftly to the designated casualties and beginning the treatment protocols they'd practiced countless times. It was all simulated, of course – no one was actually injured – but they applied bandages, assessed mock wounds, and prepared the "patients" for evacuation with the same focused intensity they would use in real combat.

Through it all, she could hear Sobel shouting increasingly confused orders, his voice rising in pitch as the situation deteriorated. Rather than pulling back to cover, he ordered a frontal assault across open ground, resulting in even more simulated casualties.

"What the hell is he thinking?" Guarnere muttered as he "died" beside her, having been tagged by an observer.

Isabella shook her head slightly as she applied a mock pressure bandage to his "wound." "I have no idea."

By the time the exercise ended, Easy Company had been all but wiped out, with over eighty percent of the men designated as casualties. It was a humiliating outcome, made worse by the fact that much of it could have been avoided with better tactical decisions.

As they regrouped for the after-action review, Isabella noticed the grim expressions on the faces of the officers and NCOs. Winters was carefully neutral, but Nixon made no effort to hide his frustration. Even the usually boisterous Welsh was subdued.

"Well," Luz said quietly as they waited for the debriefing to begin, "that was a complete shit show."

"Could've been worse," Toye replied.

"How?" Skip asked incredulously.

Toye's expression was deadly serious. "Could've been real bullets."

The sobering thought settled over them like a heavy blanket. This wasn't just about an embarrassing performance in a training exercise. It was about their lives – about what would happen when they faced actual enemy fire, with a commanding officer who couldn't navigate and made poor tactical decisions.

Isabella exchanged a look with Gene, seeing her own concern reflected in his eyes. As medics, they would bear the burden of treating the casualties that resulted from such leadership.

"He's gonna get us killed," Liebgott muttered, echoing what they were all thinking.

When mail call came that evening, the mood in Easy Company was still subdued, the morning's disastrous exercise hanging over them like a cloud. The small stack of letters in Isabella's hands was a welcome distraction – three from her family, one from Cameron, one from Lucas, one from Sina, and most surprisingly, one each from Michel Alejandro and Darren.

She retreated to her bunk, eager for privacy as she opened the first envelope, recognizing her mother's elegant handwriting.

The letter was filled with the usual updates about home – her father's work at the farm and the factory, how the garden her mother and brother had planted was faring, how Maya was managing with the children. Reading it was like stepping briefly through a doorway into her old life, a moment of connection to the world she'd left behind.

"...We hung your graduation picture in the living room, even though you couldn't be here for the ceremony. Your father says you've already graduated to something far more important anyway. We're so proud of you, Isabella, even though we miss you terribly..."

Isabella smiled, blinking back the unexpected moisture in her eyes. She had missed her actual high school graduation, something that once would have seemed unthinkable. Yet it felt distant now, almost like something that had happened to someone else.

She moved on to Cameron's letter next, his elegant cursive bringing an immediate smile to her face.

"April 15th, 1943

Isa~,

Guess who got promoted? That's right – it's your favorite brother, now CORPORAL Cameron Salazar, thank you very much. Jamie put me up for it. Said I've got 'natural leadership qualities,' which I'm pretty sure is military-speak for 'doesn't shut up and somehow people follow him anyway.'

Training's gotten more intense. We're doing these massive field maneuvers now – thousands of guys all moving together like some giant, khaki-colored beast. It's something else, Isa. The scale of it all... sometimes I still can't believe I'm part of something this big.

As of this letter, we’ll be leaving for England in July (Jamie says it probably won’t change this time.) I’m hoping I’ll be able to go home beforehand for a quick visit before heading off. Maybe you’ll be sent to England too! It’d be nice for us to cross paths, I’d love to meet the Easy boys you write so much about.

Been thinking a lot about home lately. About those nights on your bedroom floor, staring up at the stars you painted on your ceiling, making up stories about what we'd do when we grew up. Funny how none of those stories involved us being soldiers, huh?

Anyway, enough of the deep thoughts. I’ll tell you about the silly stuff instead!

The other day we went out to a bar for drinks to celebrate Billy’s release from the hospital. I ain’t ever seen a man so happy to be out of bed and working. He was released early after he tried escaping for the third time. I guess they decided it was easier to let him ship out with all of us instead of dealing with him. We all got fairly drunk, yes even me even though I know you’ll have my head for it the next time you see me. Eli was a mess! I never thought he’d be the type of drunk to switch personalities, although it wasn’t unwelcome in the slightest (my neck can prove it.)

Write to me when you can, I want to hear about all the juicy drama that seems to follow you everywhere. 

Your Lucky Charm,

Cameron (CORPORAL Cameron, don't forget it!)”

Isabella stares at the letter, eyes focusing on a very specific line.

“I never thought he’d be the type of drunk to switch personalities, although it wasn’t unwelcome in the slightest (my neck can prove it.)”

She feels a pit of dread form in her chest. Cameron wouldn’t write something like that to tease her, especially when he knew the implications. It only meant one thing.

‘Dear God, please keep him safe.’

She folded the letter carefully, hands slightly trembling as she tucked it beneath the others. Her thoughts were swirling, but she couldn’t bring herself to open the rest just yet — not while her chest still felt tight from that one line.

Sighing, she moves on. There’s nothing she could do from here besides write him a very cryptic and strongly worded letter. He was an adult and she couldn’t coddle and protect him forever.

Much calmer, she grabs Lucas’s letter, hoping for a distraction from the pounding in her heart.

"April 10th, 1943

Birdie,

Greetings from the wild blue yonder! That's what they're calling it in all the recruitment posters, anyway. Between you and me, it's less "wild blue yonder" and more "terrifying expanse of nothing with occasional anti-aircraft fire," but that doesn't look as good on the posters.

We've done three missions so far, all milk runs – escort duty, dropping leaflets, that sort of thing. The real stuff is coming, though. Command's been building up forces for something big. No one knows what exactly, but the officer gossip suggests increased bombing runs over German industrial centers.

It's strange, Isa. Up there, thousands of feet above the world, everything looks so peaceful. The clouds, the horizon stretching out forever... it's beautiful. Hard to believe there's a war happening below. Then you see the flashes of anti-aircraft fire, or a plane going down in flames, and reality comes crashing back.

Bucky’s been asking about you (the bastard), your reply about finding Harry the most handsome has left him undeterred despite our best efforts.  He said, and I quote, “Tell her I’m a patient man. I can wait.” I told him you’re the opposite of patient, so good luck to him. Harry, by the way, was mortified. I think he likes you now just out of spite. You’ve started a war of your own, Birdie.

I’ve been saving up my passes and off days to possibly go back home and spend some days there. It’s a small possibility, but a possibility nonetheless. I miss Mama’s cooking and annoying your Dad. The small things are always what hit the hardest.

I worry about you sometimes. I know you’re strong, Isa. I know you’ve got Easy watching your back and that you’re more capable than half the boys I fly with — but I still worry. You’re my sister. You’re my Birdie.

Promise me you’re still singing.

Promise me you’re still writing.

Promise me you’re still you.

Because no matter how far apart we are — in the air, on the ground, or wherever the hell this war throws us — I want to believe that there’s still a bit of home in the world. And for me, that’s you.

Keep your head down and your chin up.

Your Favorite Ace,

Lucas

P.S I’ve sent a picture of Meatball, our mascot! I’m sure you’ll find him very cute and very cuddly. He’s a husky we may or may not have accidentally stolen during a fuel stop on the way to England. Long story short — someone opened the door, he jumped in, and now he’s ours. The boys say he’s good luck. I say he’s the only one in our crew who actually gets enough sleep.”

Isabella let out a soft laugh, pressing her fingers to her lips as she reread the final lines.

‘Only Lucas would casually admit to dognapping in a letter home.’

She turned the envelope upside down, and sure enough, a slightly bent black-and-white photo slipped out — a proud husky sitting beside Buck, Bucky, and Lucas, tongue out, ears perked. Someone had scribbled “Meatball – 100th’s Best Boy” across the bottom in smudged ink.

She smiled, holding it up so Gene could see.

“Lucas and his boys stole a husky,” she said fondly.

Gene blinked. “Of course they did.”

The ache in her chest eased as she folded the letter neatly and set it aside. Lucas always had a way of making things feel bearable, even from halfway across the world. Even now, when the sky itself was trying to kill him.

She reaches for Sina’s letter, the envelope smelling slightly of sweet perfume and the familiar handwriting bringing immediate comfort.

"April 14th, 1943

My dearest Isabellita,

Spring has finally arrived in New York, and the city feels alive again after the long winter. The parks are blooming, and even with rationing and blackouts, there's an energy to the place that's intoxicating. Sometimes I walk through Central Park on my days off, just watching people living their lives despite everything. It gives me hope.

The work at the WAVES continues to challenge and surprise me. I've been assigned to a communications unit full-time now, working with encoded transmissions. I can't say much about the specifics (you know how it is), but it feels meaningful. Like I'm making a real difference, even from behind a desk.

Another friend of mine in the WAVES got engaged last weekend to a Navy lieutenant. You should have seen the celebration we had in our quarters – somehow Maggie managed to find real champagne, and we toasted until dawn. It was the first time in months I've felt truly carefree. I've enclosed a photo of us from that night – that's me on the left, my friend Evelyn with her ring in the center; Maggie,Tess, and Helen flanking us. See how happy we look? War makes you grasp these moments with both hands.

Speaking of romance, I seem to have caught the attention of a Lieutenant recently. A translator, he’s actually Japanese-American! I’ve written Maya for advice of course. We've had dinner twice now, and he brought me flowers after my shift last week. He's kind, Isabella, and thoughtful in a way – quietly observant, always noticing the little things. I'm trying not to get ahead of myself, but... well. The heart wants what it wants, doesn't it?

How is everything with you? Have your jumps gotten any easier? And what about those boys you're serving with – are they still treating you well? I worry about you out there, though I know you're more than capable of handling yourself.

Write when you can, Birdie. Know that I think of you often, and pray for your safety always.

Until then, I remain, as always, your loving friend.

Sina Navarro

P.S. I almost forgot – I heard "Bei Mir Bist Du Schön" on the radio yesterday and immediately thought of you. Remember how we used to practice that song in your bedroom? You always hit the high notes perfectly. Some things never change, I suppose."

The photo showed Sina and her friends in their WAVES uniforms, arms linked, faces bright with laughter. Sina looked radiant, her dark hair styled perfectly, her smile wide and genuine. It was good to see her thriving, finding her place just as Isabella had found hers, albeit in very different circumstances.

She lingered on Sina’s face, recognizing the flushed cheeks and the hint of lipstick, the light in her eyes that only came out when she was truly happy.

“A translator, huh?” Isabella murmured to herself, her smile softening. “Good for you, Dolly.”

She folded the photo carefully and set it beside the others, her hand still resting on it as she stared into the middle distance, lost in thought.

She missed her friend. Not just her presence, but her energy — the quiet care, the gentle nudging, the way she always seemed to know exactly when to offer a hand or a joke or a perfectly timed song.

It felt like another life now.

With a deep breath, Isabella reached for the next envelope. Darren’s.

Darren’s letters always found a way to brighten her day with his dry humor and cynical sarcasm, and she knew that this one was probably just that.

"March 5th, 1943

Isabella,

Still alive. Still in the Pacific. Still a Marine, though some days I question the wisdom of that choice.

We've been island-hopping for what feels like forever. Take a beach, secure the interior, move to the next hellhole. The Japanese don't surrender, which makes every engagement a fight to the death. It's not like the stories they tell back home. It's worse.

My unit's seen heavy action. Lost some good men. Made some replacements into veterans real quick. That's how it goes out here.

Got your last letter about jump training. Sounds insane, but then again, so is storming a beach under fire. Different kinds of crazy, I guess.

Ran into Michel Alejandro at Cape Gloucester a couple days ago. Strange seeing a familiar face out here in this hellhole. Coast Guard was running supplies and evac operations offshore. He looked tired but solid. We shared a cigarette and swapped stories about home for about twenty minutes before duty called us both back. Good man, your brother. Calm under pressure. Told me to tell you he's fine if my letter reaches you first.

Keep your head down, Isabella. When the shooting starts, fancy training only gets you so far. It's instinct and luck after that.

Missing decent food. Missing dry boots. Especially missing an actual bed.

Write when you can. Letters help, even short ones.

- Rook

P.S. Found a native bird here that reminded me of you – small but loud as hell, not afraid of anything. Made me smile for the first time in weeks.

P.P.S. Leckie says that he’s glad you enjoyed his poem. The other idiots seem to want to do the same, as such, please enjoy whatever stupid thing Runner came up with. (I’m sorry.)”

Isabella let the letter rest in her lap for a moment, fingers pressing into the creased paper. Darren’s handwriting was sharp, blocky, and a little uneven — like it had been written on the back of a helmet, or the side of a crate.

She pictured him crouched somewhere in the mud, a cigarette between his lips, the sea too close, the ground too far away. She pictured Michel too — tired, solid, calm. It hit her squarely in the chest. The war felt endless on her side, but what they were facing… It was something different. Raw. Hungrier.

She reached into the envelope again, and sure enough, another folded scrap of paper fell out. This one was smudged, a little water-damaged, and written in what she could only imagine as Runner’s handwriting — chaotic and crammed.

She unfolded it and read aloud softly:

“To Isabella — a poem, from one fool to another.

You fly with wings, we crawl through dirt,

You patch up boys, we make 'em hurt.

You're loud, you're sharp, you're small but mean

—Our own foul-mouthed war machine.

- Runner (the poetic one)”

We joke and bitch and sweat and cry,

But somehow you still make us try.

So keep your boots dry, keep your fire,

And write us letters 'til we retire.

Isabella blinked, caught between laughter and tears. “Oh my God,” she muttered, shaking her head. “This is the worst thing I’ve ever read.”

Gene glanced over. “You smiling or grimacing?”

“Little of both,” she replied, carefully tucking the letter and the poem back into their envelope.

Still giggling, she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I wonder if all Marines are insane.”

“Probably,” Gene said without missing a beat. “But then again, look who you hang around with.”

She snorted. “Touché.”

The barracks around them had quieted. A few of the men were writing their own letters home. Outside, the rain had picked up again, tapping against the windows in a steady rhythm.

Isabella leaned back against the wall of her bunk, eyes flicking to the final letter she had yet to open. Michel Alejandro’s distinctive handwriting was unmistakable — tight, precise, slightly slanted to the right, like every word was marching in formation.

“February 23rd, 1943

Isabella,

By the time this reaches you, you’ll probably be eighteen — or close to it. So, happy birthday, kid.

I’m sorry I can’t be there. I promised you once that I’d make you a cake myself and not from Maya. Guess that’ll have to wait. Maybe by the time we’re both back, I’ll have the time to make it and actually spend the day with you.

Things out here are… what they are. The jungle doesn’t care about birthdays or good intentions. Being on this ship is a nightmare. Some days are all heat and monotony, others are chaos. I’ve stopped trying to predict which is which. Although, it could be worse. I could be a Marine.

But I wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. That I’m proud of you — not because of the uniform or the wings, but because I know what it took for you to get there. I know what kind of heart it takes to choose this, when you had a hundred other paths in front of you.

Take care of yourself, Isa. Don’t let the world harden you more than it has to. There’s already too much cold in this war. You’ve got warmth — don’t lose that. You’re allowed to still be soft in the right places.

And if you ever doubt why you're there, remember: it's not about medals or proving something. It's about who you are when everything else is stripped away. And you? You're one of the good ones.

Happy Birthday. I owe you a cake.

— Michel”

Isabella reread the last lines slowly, her eyes lingering on “you’re allowed to still be soft.” Her throat tightened.

She folded the letter with deliberate care, setting it gently on top of the others. Michel didn’t write often — he never had — but when he did, it felt like the world slowed down just enough to breathe.

A cake. God, what she wouldn’t give to be back at the kitchen table, elbows bumping with the kids as Michel argued with her mom over how much sugar was too much, the radio humming something soft in the background.

She sniffed and wiped under one eye quickly. Just dust. Or the rain. That was her story, anyway.

As she folded the letters and tucked them carefully back into their envelopes, Isabella was struck by how scattered they all were – herself in North Carolina, Cameron in Tennessee, Lucas somewhere in England, Sina in New York, Michel Alejandro and Darren in the vast Pacific. Different fronts of the same war, all of them changed by their experiences, all of them carrying pieces of home with them.

"Good news from home?"

She looked up to find Liebgott leaning against the edge of her bunk, his own stack of letters in hand.

"Mostly," she replied, making room for him to sit. "You?"

He shrugged, settling beside her. "Same old, same old. My sisters fighting over the same dress, my ma complaining about rationing, my pop working double shifts at the factory."

Isabella nodded, understanding the comfort of routine updates from home – the reassurance that life continued somewhere, unchanged by war.

"Cameron got promoted," she offered. "He's a corporal now."

Liebgott smirked. "Runs in the family, huh?"

"Guess so."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, each processing their connections to the world outside Camp Mackall, outside the Army.

"Heard anything about today's exercise?" Liebgott finally asked, his voice lowered despite the relative privacy of their corner.

Isabella sighed. "Just that Sink wasn't happy."

"That's putting it mildly. Word is, he tore Sobel a new one in private."

"Good," she muttered, then immediately felt guilty. It wasn't like her to wish ill on anyone, even Sobel. But after this morning... "He could have gotten us all killed if that had been real."

Liebgott nodded grimly. "That's what everyone's saying."

The implications hung heavily between them. In training, Sobel's mistakes meant embarrassment and extra PT. In combat, they would mean blood – real casualties that Isabella and Gene would be responsible for treating, lives that might be lost due to poor leadership.

"What happens now?" she asked quietly.

Liebgott shrugged, but his expression was serious. "Don't know. But something's gotta change before we ship out."

A silence fell between the two of them, and she feels the dread from earlier fill her chest as she thinks of Cameron’s words again.

“Lieb.”

His head turns at her serious tone, concerned.

She stares at the ground, head bent down as she speaks. “Can I trust you with a secret?”

Liebgott’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

She didn’t look up right away. Her fingers twisted gently in the hem of her blanket, like she was trying to ground herself before the words came out.

“You can’t tell absolutely anyone, Joe. Swear it.”

Liebgott shifted slightly, his tone steady and low. “I swear, Birdie. On my life.”

Isabella nodded, still not meeting his eyes. The weight of what she was about to say sat heavy on her tongue, too big to swallow but too risky to spit out without caution. Her voice lowered, barely a whisper.

“Cameron’s gay.”

Liebgott blinked.

Of all the things he might’ve expected her to say, that wasn’t on the list.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t scoff or joke — just stared at her, eyes searching her face to make sure he’d heard right. And when he realized she was completely serious, something shifted behind his eyes — not judgment, but gravity.

“Shit,” he said quietly.

Isabella’s fingers twisted tighter in the hem of her blanket. She still didn’t look at him.

“I first met Cameron when we were five. We were in the same kindergarten class. We grew up together, and although he never really showed it, I always knew, even when we were kids.”

She paused, heart pounding loudly in her ears as she finally confided in somebody besides her family in one of the biggest secrets of her life.

“When we were twelve, he showed up to my house in tears and all his belongings stuffed in a bag. His parents had found out he had kissed some other boy in our class on the cheek and kicked him out. He had nowhere else to go. So we took him in. My family loved him, and despite how religious we are, they still did after we told them. He had always been my little brother, but it became a reality when he moved in.”

Tears dripped from her eyes onto the floor as she tried to control herself. “He’s fallen in love with one of his squadmates. And I’m so scared that someone is going to find out about the two of them and that’ll be it. My little brother will be gone.”

Liebgott was quiet for a long time.

Too long, maybe. Long enough for Isabella’s panic to start crawling up her throat again, for her to wonder if she’d made a mistake.

But when he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady. Gentle, even.

“Christ, Birdie…”

He didn’t say it like a curse. More like a prayer.

He reached up and dragged a hand through his hair, still staring at the floor. Then he shifted closer, elbows on his knees, not touching her — just making sure she knew he was there.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly. “About any of that.”

“You weren’t supposed to.” Her voice cracked.

He nodded. “Right. Yeah. I get that.”

Another beat passed. Isabella wiped at her face roughly with the heel of her hand, but the tears kept coming — hot and quiet and angry.

“I hate it,” she said, the words slipping out in a bitter whisper. “I hate that he has to hide. I hate that he’s in love and can’t even say it. I hate that I can’t protect him.”

Liebgott looked at her then — really looked at her. No sarcasm. No half-smile.

“You already did,” he said. “You took him in. You gave him a family. You’ve protected him more than most people ever get in their whole damn lives.”

She sniffled. “It’s not enough.”

“I know,” he said. “But it’s something.”

Silence again, but softer this time. Safer.

“If it were me,” Liebgott added quietly, “if I had someone like that, and they were out there in danger for who they are? I’d want to know someone had their back. Sounds like he’s got that. In you.”

Isabella looked at him, eyes red and rimmed with exhaustion.

“Thanks, Joe.”

He gave a small shrug. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m gonna beat the hell outta anyone who tries to out him. Just so we’re clear.”

That made her laugh, watery but real. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good.” He leaned back slightly, stretching out his legs. “Also? You cry real quiet. That’s weird.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing again through the tears. “Shut up.”

“Nah, I’m serious. You should get dramatic with it next time. Throw something. Slam a footlocker. Really sell the performance.”

She shook her head, wiping her eyes one more time. “You’re an idiot.”

“And yet, here I am. Your trusted confidant.”

She smiled, softer this time. The ache hadn’t gone away, but it wasn’t swallowing her anymore.

Gene, who had left his bunk after she read her letter from Darren, returned. Concern marred his face as he saw her in tears.

“Liebgott, what did you do?”

"Nothing!" Joe protested, holding up his hands defensively. "Why do you always assume it's my fault?"

"Because it usually is," Gene replied dryly, his gaze shifting to Isabella. "You okay, cherie?"

She nodded, discreetly wiping away the last traces of tears. "I'm fine. Just... letters from home. You know how it is."

Gene studied her for a moment longer, not entirely convinced, but respectful enough not to push. "Yeah, I know."

As Gene set his medical bag down on his bunk, Isabella caught Liebgott's eye. He gave her a slight nod—a silent promise that her secret was safe with him.

"So," Gene continued, seemingly accepting her explanation, "we should probably go over the medical supply inventory before tomorrow's exercise. Captain Reynolds wants a full accounting by 0600."

Isabella welcomed the change of subject, grateful for the return to routine. "Right. I'll grab my notebook."

As she reached for her footlocker, retrieving her medical notebook from beneath the carefully folded letters, she felt a strange sense of relief washing over her. The weight of carrying Cameron's secret alone for so long had been heavier than she'd realized. Having someone else who knew besides her family and the band, someone she trusted, made it somehow easier to bear.

Liebgott stood, stretching his arms overhead. "I'll leave you docs to your counting. Some of us have important business to attend to."

"Like what?" Gene asked skeptically.

"Like teaching Malarkey how to play poker without losing his shirt," Liebgott replied with a smirk. "Man's practically funding my future business at this point."

Isabella couldn't help but giggle as she watched him saunter away. For all his rough edges and sharp tongue, Joe Liebgott had just proven himself to be exactly the friend she needed—someone who could handle her darkest fears without judgment, then seamlessly return to normalcy without making her feel exposed.

As she turned her attention to the medical inventory, Isabella felt a renewed sense of purpose. Whatever challenges Camp Mackall might bring—be it Sobel's questionable leadership or the increasingly complex training exercises—she would face them head-on.

And now, she wasn't just doing it for herself, or for the men of Easy Company. She was doing it for Cameron, for Lucas, for Sina, for Michel Alejandro and Darren, for her family both blood and chosen. They were all fighting their own battles, carrying their own secrets and burdens.

The least she could do was carry hers with the same courage they showed every day.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning arrived with a steady downpour, turning the camp into a patchwork of puddles and mud. Despite the weather, Easy Company assembled at the designated time, raincoats doing little to keep the persistent water from finding its way down collars and into boots.

Isabella actually enjoyed the rainy weather, typical of the south during the summer. It was the weather most common back at home, and she had grown adept at navigating it.

Today's exercise would test their ability to operate in adverse conditions—a skill they all knew would be essential when they finally deployed. The rain wasn't a hindrance in the eyes of command; it was an opportunity.

Isabella stood with the other medics, her helmet's red cross partially obscured by streaks of rain. They had spent the previous evening preparing, ensuring their medical kits were waterproofed as much as possible. Captain Reynolds had shown them how to wrap bandages in waxed paper, how to keep sulfa powder dry in sealed containers.

"Remember," he had told her, "in combat, the weather doesn't stop for casualties. We need to be able to work in anything—rain, snow, mud, darkness."

Now, as she watched Winters conferring with the other platoon leaders, she wondered what today's scenario would entail. The previous day's disaster with Sobel had clearly prompted changes—Winters seemed to be taking a more active role in the planning, with Nixon hovering nearby, occasionally pointing to something on the map they were sheltering beneath a makeshift tarp.

Sobel stood slightly apart, his face an unreadable mask as he observed the officers' discussion. There was tension in his posture, a rigidity that went beyond his usual stiffness. Whatever had happened after yesterday's debriefing, it had clearly left its mark.

"Doesn't look good," Guarnere muttered as he passed by Isabella, nodding subtly toward the officers' huddle. "Word is, Sink was furious about yesterday."

"Can you blame him?" she replied quietly. "We were sitting ducks out there."

Guarnere's expression darkened. "Yeah, well, better to find out here than in battle, I guess."

The briefing concluded, and Winters approached the assembled company. Unlike Sobel's rigid formality, Winters addressed them with calm confidence, his voice clear and steady over the patter of rain.

"Today's exercise will simulate a reconnaissance mission in hostile territory," he explained. "We'll be operating in small units—squads of eight to ten men. Each squad will have specific objectives to accomplish within the training area."

This was different from yesterday's approach—smaller units with focused tasks rather than a full company movement. Isabella caught a glimpse of Sobel's expression tightening further. This was not his plan.

"Medics will be integrated into each squad," Winters continued, glancing toward where Isabella stood with Gene and the other medical personnel. "You'll be responsible for treating any simulated casualties while maintaining operational security. Remember, in the field, treating a wounded man might also mean defending him."

Isabella nodded, understanding the implication. As a medic, her primary role was treatment, but she was still a soldier. In a combat situation, she might need to use a weapon to protect her patients—something they had discussed in training but never fully practiced.

The squads were quickly formed, with Isabella assigned to a team led by Lipton that included Liebgott, Malarkey, Skip, Penkala, Guarnere, and several others she knew well. Gene would be with another group, giving them a chance to practice operating independently.

As they gathered their equipment and prepared to move out, Liebgott caught her eye.

"Stick close to me when it gets going," he said quietly, checking his rifle's action. "These exercises can get chaotic."

She nodded, appreciating the concern but also determined to prove herself. "I'll be fine, Joe. Done this before, remember?"

"Yeah, but not with Sobel on the warpath," he replied, his voice low. "Man's got something to prove after yesterday. Might make things... unpredictable."

She couldn't argue with that logic. Sobel's pride had taken a hit, and a wounded ego could be unpredictable, especially when combined with authority.

As they moved out toward their starting position, the rain began to ease slightly, though the ground remained treacherous. Isabella kept her eyes on the terrain, watching for stable footing while staying alert to her surroundings. This was what it meant to be in the Airborne—adapting to any condition, any challenge.

Their squad's objective was to locate and secure a small bridge within the training area, then hold it until reinforcements arrived. It was similar to yesterday's failed mission, but on a much smaller scale and with a different approach route that utilized natural cover.

Lipton led them confidently, maintaining whispered communication and using hand signals when necessary. Unlike Sobel's frantic energy, Lipton's leadership was calm and methodical, inspiring confidence rather than anxiety.

The exercise progressed smoothly at first. They moved through the woods in proper formation, maintaining spacing and watching sectors as they'd been trained. Isabella stayed in the middle of the formation, as medics typically would, ready to respond wherever needed.

The first "attack" came about twenty minutes into their movement—simulated enemy fire from a hidden position to their front. Guarnere, at point, was immediately "hit," dropping to the ground with a realistic groan.

"Medic!" The call went up as the rest of the squad returned fire, taking cover behind trees and fallen logs.

Isabella moved immediately, keeping low as she made her way to Guarnere's position. The exercise observer, a sergeant from another company, nodded approvingly at her technique as she reached the "wounded" man.

"Chest wound, severe bleeding," the observer informed her, indicating the nature of the simulated injury.

Isabella nodded, quickly opening her medical kit and beginning the treatment protocols they'd practiced countless times. She applied a mock pressure dressing, checked for other injuries, and prepared Guarnere for evacuation, all while maintaining awareness of the ongoing "firefight" around them.

"Good technique," the observer noted quietly. "Remember to use the terrain for cover."

She nodded, adjusting her position to better shelter Guarnere from the "enemy fire." This was the kind of practical experience that couldn't be gained from classroom instruction—learning to work under pressure, to make quick decisions while bullets (even blank ones) flew overhead.

The exercise continued with the squad successfully pushing back the "enemy" and securing their objective. More simulated casualties occurred, giving Isabella the chance to practice different treatment scenarios—a "leg wound" for Liebgott, a "concussion" for Skip, "shrapnel wounds" for Penkala.

By the time they reached the bridge, Isabella was covered in mud but feeling more confident than ever in her ability to function in field conditions. The medical training was becoming second nature, her movements more fluid, her assessments more accurate.

As they established a defensive perimeter around the bridge, she caught Lipton watching her with a thoughtful expression.

"You're good at this," he remarked quietly, as they waited for the simulated reinforcements. "The medical stuff, I mean. You've got a steady hand."

Isabella smiled, surprised but pleased by the compliment. "Thanks. It helps having good patients who don't wiggle too much."

"Oh, we'll see how cooperative they are when you're actually digging out real shrapnel," Lipton replied with a wry smile.

She knew he was right. Training was one thing; actual combat would be entirely different. But for now, she would take the small victories—the successful completion of an exercise, the growing confidence of her squad in her abilities, the knowledge that she was genuinely prepared for what might come.

When the exercise concluded, the various squads regrouped at the designated rally point. Comparing notes with the other teams, it became clear that the smaller-unit approach had been far more successful than the previous day's disaster. Most squads had accomplished their objectives with minimal "casualties," and the after-action reports were largely positive.

Gene found her as they waited for the final debriefing, his uniform as mud-covered as hers but his expression satisfied.

"How'd it go?" he asked, dropping down beside her on the fallen log where she was resting.

"Good," she replied. "Guarnere took one in the chest, but I saved him."

Gene's lips quirked in a half-smile. "Generous of you."

"I thought so. You?"

"Three 'casualties,' all stabilized and evacuated successfully." He paused, glancing toward where the officers were gathering. "Different approach today. Better results."

The implication was clear. Without Sobel directly leading the operation, things had gone smoothly. The company had functioned as it was supposed to—efficiently, effectively, with minimal confusion.

Winters approached the gathered platoons, his expression composed but satisfied. "Good work today, Easy Company. The squad-level approach proved effective in achieving our objectives. We'll continue to refine this tactic in future exercises."

As he spoke, Isabella couldn't help noticing Sobel standing at the periphery, his face unreadable as he observed the proceedings. There was something unsettling about his stillness, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

When the debriefing concluded and they were dismissed to return to camp, the rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a misty landscape that already seemed to be steaming in the emerging sunlight.

"I need a shower," Skip sighed, looking down at his mud-caked uniform. "And possibly a new set of clothes."

"Good luck with that," Liebgott replied, falling into step beside them. "Word is, half the camp's trying to get clean right now."

Skip groaned. "Wonderful."

"You guys are so soft." Isabella cut in. “This is a normal Monday back home.”

“Sorry we’re not all swamp-people, Birdie.” Skip replied, deadpanning.

She couldn't help but laugh. "You wouldn’t survive in the swamp even if you got paid for it, Skip.”

As they made their way back to the barracks, Isabella found herself reflecting on how much had changed since those early days at Toccoa. She had arrived a scared teenager with a chip on her shoulder, desperate to prove herself. Now, she moved with confidence, trusted by her fellow soldiers, comfortable in her role as both medic and paratrooper.

Camp Mackall was just another step in their journey, another phase of preparation for whatever waited across the ocean. And whatever challenges it brought—be it Sobel's wounded pride, increasingly realistic training scenarios, or the weight of knowing what her brother and friend were facing in the Pacific—Isabella would face them head-on.

Because that was what paratroopers did.

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taglist: @malarkgirlypop, @darling-heffron

[bellaserina]

Childhood Friends 2

And then there were the nights, the late nights in her hotel room, when the loneliness hit hardest. She’d scroll through her phone, seeing images of friends and acquaintances who had moved on, formed relationships, and built lives far away from her. But there was always one name that kept creeping into her thoughts—Charles.

They had once been inseparable, a bond formed in the warm Mediterranean air of Monte Carlo. But time and distance had slowly eroded that connection, leaving only distant memories and regrets. Charles had always been the one constant in her life, the one person who knew her better than anyone. But as their careers took them in different directions, the calls stopped, the messages grew sparse, and soon, it felt like they had never existed in each other's lives at all.

Yet, as the years went by, Isabella couldn't help but think about him. The way his smile made her feel safe, the way he always pushed her to be more. And when she heard about his rise in Formula 1—his success, his fame—it stirred something inside her. She had become a success too, but without him. Without the one person who had seen her for who she truly was, before the cameras, before the glamour.

One night, when she was in Monaco for a photoshoot, something inside her snapped. She couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine. She pulled out her phone and typed the message she had been thinking about for years: *“We need to talk. I’m in Monaco.”*

Charles was quick to respond. *“It’s been a while. Let’s meet.”*

The message lingered in the air, charged with tension. Charles had been just as haunted by their past as she had been, but he’d never let it show. His world had become racing—fast, intense, and full of fleeting victories. He had learned to bury everything beneath the surface, including his feelings for Isabella. But when her message came through, it felt like the floodgates were opening, and he couldn't hold back.

They agreed to meet at a café by the harbor. The same place they had shared so many memories. The place where their friendship had first bloomed, where they had promised each other that nothing—no matter how far they went in life—would ever change between them. It seemed fitting that they should meet there again.

When Isabella arrived, she looked like a different person. The woman before him was stunning, poised, and effortlessly beautiful in a way that took his breath away. But there was a coldness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Something had shifted between them—something unspoken and dangerous.

“Isabella,” Charles greeted, his voice tight. He stood up, but there was hesitation in his movements. They hadn’t seen each other in years, and though they had shared so much in their youth, the years apart had created an unspoken distance between them.

“Charles,” she replied, her smile forced, a mask that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She sat down across from him, her gaze cold, calculating. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, a long time,” Charles said, his fingers drumming on the table. “How’ve you been?”

She studied him for a long moment. He hadn’t changed much—still the same Charles, with his dark hair and intense gaze. The same man who had driven her crazy as a child and who had broken her heart without even knowing it.

“Busy. You know, modeling,” she replied, her tone distant. “You?”

“Same here. Racing. But... I’ve been thinking about you, too,” he admitted, his voice laced with a tension that neither of them could ignore.

Isabella scoffed, the words coming out sharper than she intended. “Thinking about me? Funny. You never seemed to think about me when you were too busy with your racing career, too busy chasing your dreams while I was left behind.”

Charles’ jaw tightened. He had been expecting this, but the sting of her words still hit him harder than he cared to admit. “It wasn’t like that. You were busy too. You had your own life. Your career. I couldn’t just—”

“Couldn’t just what?” she interrupted, leaning in, her voice rising. “You couldn’t just make time for me? You couldn’t just make *us* a priority?”

Charles stared at her, the air thick with the years of unresolved feelings. “You left, Isabella. You chose your career over everything. You never looked back.”

The accusation hit her like a slap, and for a moment, she felt the walls she had carefully constructed around herself begin to crack. But she couldn’t show weakness—not now, not after everything. She stood up abruptly, the movement sharp and sudden, like she was trying to flee from something she didn’t want to confront. “Don’t make this about me. You think you were the only one who had to choose between career and everything else? I’ve given everything to this life, Charles. I don’t owe you any explanations.”

Charles stood too, his voice raw, but laced with anger. “I never asked you to choose. I never asked you to leave me behind. But you did.”

Her eyes flashed with something dark. “I didn’t leave you behind, Charles. I just moved on. We all have to eventually. You were never meant to be my *everything*. You were my friend. But the truth is, I outgrew you. I grew up, and I realized that *I* come first.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of their words hanging in the air between them. The years of silence had built a wall around them—one that neither could easily tear down. They had both changed, but neither of them could deny the undeniable pull that still existed, a pull that was both painful and intoxicating.

“Maybe we both did,” Charles said quietly, his eyes searching hers.

Isabella didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and walked away, the sound of her heels clicking sharply on the cobblestones, leaving Charles standing there, swallowed by the quiet of the night.

They had come face to face with their past, and now, the question was whether they would ever truly be able to move past it.

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