#‘he was always in the paddock mama’ he says instead.

[lewisvinga]

truly mothering | max verstappen x fem! reader

summary; news about y/n mysteriously retiring from mercedes shocked the f1 world in the middle of the 2020 season. what shocked them even more was when she appeared on the paddock four years later…

fc; various girls on pinterest

warnings; ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1

note; requested ! mix of smau + written ! also one of the tweets was supposed to say 2017-2020 instead of 2016-2020 lol

word count; 700

masterlist !

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“Arabella, Angelina! Wait up!” Y/n exclaims as the nearly 4-year-olds run towards a familiar man clad in skinny jeans and a Red Bull shirt. She ignored the cameras on her and recorded as she ran across the paddock with heels to chase after her twin daughters.

“Papa!” The eldest of the two, Arabella, exclaims when she sees her father surrounded by a group of other drivers.

“Bella! Angel!” Max loudly exclaims, stepping back from the conversation to crouch down to the level of his daughters. Arabella wrapped her arms around him and Angelina quickly followed. The Dutch driver kissed their rosy cheeks as they giggled at their father's actions.

“You both look very pretty.” He said, pulling away for a moment.

“Mama dress us,” Angelina said in a softer voice compared to Arabella’s shout.

Y/n appeared moments later and was clearly out of breath from chasing the two. “Your daughters don’t listen, Verstappen. I cannot chase after them in heels.” She said out of breath, not noticing the shocked yet happy looks from the drivers.

“Oh my goodness, is that Arabella and Angelina?”

A familiar voice caused the two blonde girls to look up. “Uncle Lew!” The youngest, Angelina, exclaimed as she escaped from her father's grasp to hug the Mercedes driver.

Lewis was quick to scoop her up into his arms as Arabella also gave him a tight hug. He was Angelina’s favorite uncle, but Arabella’s favorite was actually his future teammate.

“Wow, you two are getting big!” Charles exclaimed, picking up Arabella who let out a laugh. “How old are you girls now?”

“Almost four!” The eldest replied as she held up her 4 fingers.

“Wow, Y/n, I’m surprised you actually came,” Lando said with a chuckle as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

They all knew the truth of why she retired. It was because she was 3 months pregnant with twins. Although she kept it a secret from the public, she was always close with the grid hence why they weren’t shocked about the twins but more so shocked that she’s back on the paddock.

“About time the twins know the paddock,” Y/n replied with a smile, watching the twins chat with their favorite uncles. “Plus, it’s nice to be back. It’s been ages. The girls should also know how cool their mama was.”

“Was? She still is.” Max corrected her.

“Yeah, but Mama doesn’t race anymore.”

“Mama drive with you?” Angelina asked Lewis. He let out a laugh, his eyes crinkling as he glanced at Y/n.

“Yeah, and she was a great teammate. But be careful, Y/n, Toto might convince you to replace me.”

His words caused her to laugh as she shook her head. “Gee, no thanks. These girls are tough to handle on their own. I don’t know if I could handle racing on top of that.” She sighs, reaching over to fix Angelina’s messy blonde curls.

“These babies? Difficult? Angelina and Arabella are angels!” Charles said in an exaggerated tone as he squeezed Arabella tightly.

Y/n leans in close to Charles and glances at Max, “Between you and me, they take after their father.”

“Hey!” The Dutch driver exclaimed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means go get ready for the race.”

At the reminder of the race, Lewis and Charles set the twins down and quickly said goodbye to also prepare. The rest of the drivers soon followed leaving the family of 4 alone.

Max turned to the smiley twins who stared at their favorite uncles walk away. His eyebrows furrowed up as he looked at Y/n who just let out a chuckle while shaking her head.

He focused back on the twins and crouched down again. “How about a hug and a kiss for your papa?” He suggested. The twins didn’t have to be told twice and were quick to run back into their fathers arms, each giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Papa, you win okay?” Arabella demanded as Angelina nodded in agreement. Max laughs, giving his daughters one last tight squeeze.

“If I win for you both and for Mama, we can have ice cream for dinner. How does that sound?”

His deal caused the two girls to cheer in excitement as Y/n sighed again. “You’re dealing with their sugar rush, Verstappen.”

“Not if I’m a race winner!”

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liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, and others !

yourusername: the girls loved seeing their papa win! ( but they loved seeing their favorite uncles more! ) congratulations on another win, my love! we’re all proud💗

tagged; maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1: i don’t like how they were looking at lewis and charles….

yourusername: they take after their father! they like pretty drivers 😁 especially angelina, she is team merc like her mama🙈

maxverstappen1: team merc? she’s all yours!

username: tears the twins are just like me fr

maxverstappen1: i love you❤️liked by yourusername !

username: MOTHER RETURNED AND SHE’S A FR MOTHER??

username: SHES BACKKK

username: she looks so good as a mom🥰🥰

username: SHE WAS DATING MAX THIS WHOLEEEE TIME??

username: bye so the baby f1 rumor was true except it was twins and w MAX???

carmenmmundt: such sweethearts 🥹🥹

francisca.cgomes: i know! such cuties💗

yourusername: ugh they love their auntie carmen & kika! they keep asking about you both😅💓

username: stoppp you guys rmbr when she said her biggest dream was becoming a mother 🥹🥹🥹

username: in her merc days💔💔 i love seeing her dream come true 🙁

lewishamilton: best part of this weekend was seeing the coolest gals on the paddock😎

yourusername: angelina won’t take her 44 merc hat off!!

charles_leclerc: my favorite verstappen are the twins

maxverstappen1: woah now….

yourusername: ( arabella is secretly team ferrari )

maxverstappen1: WHAT

username:will i get over this? no!

username: i am SHOCKED

username: from her party girl rookie era to being a mother, wow i love y/n🥹

mercedesamgf1: we miss the princess of the paddock!🩵

yourusername: and i miss my merc crew🤍

redbullracing: welcome arabella and angelina to the red bull crew! ❤️ liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1 !

username: in her birkin mom era

username: mother truly is mothering 😩😩

[leclsrc]

sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath. 

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended. 

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?” 

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned. 

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.” 

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements. 

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.” 

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach. 

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply. 

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway. 

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after. 

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet. 

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff. 

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are. 

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?” 

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy. 

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately. 

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Moment of Ordinary

Wolmeric Week #3: Casual/Modern

A/N: Uh. I worldbuilt again. Oops. But hey, the shippy stuff is still there! Just, uh, took a bit to get to, this time. XD

Day 1 || Day 2 || Day 3 || Day 4 || Day 5 || Day 6 || Day 7 || Bonus!

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 2353 WARNINGS: None! Cross-posted to AO3

--

“One hundred forty gil.”

“Fifty gil.”

“Fifty? That’s obscene, these artichokes are the first of the harvest! One thirty!”

“Don’t you dare pull that shite with me, Arenlona, I know for a fact the Bismarck has first purchase rights on the first harvest of damn near everything the Stead grows. Sixty.”

The first market day of spring at Red Rooster Stead was always a boisterous affair: makeshift stalls lined most of the paths through the main compound and spilled out beyond the walls, manned by botanists and farmers selling a wide variety of produce and other goods. Spring asparagus and lettuce and broccoli and parsnips; oranges from the vast Cedarwood orchards; pineapples and kiwi from the Stead’s offshoot plantation in Raincatcher Gully; honey and beeswax; mutton and pork and buffalo in various cuts; even fish, fresh caught that morning. There were food stalls selling bread and fruit juices and roasted meats and vegetables to the hungry shoppers; even stalls where the Stead residents and other local farmers were selling yarn and knit garments, assorted leathers goods, embroidery, bead and shell jewelry, whittled decorations. A pop-up smithy was at the edge of the makeshift market repairing farming and gardening tools.

The press of people along the Stead’s paths was enormous; most were either other farmers or home owners from around Lower La Noscea, or the residents of Mist come to do their weekly shopping without having to trek to Limsa Lominsa. Some Lominsans, too, came here; Synnove had seen Melkoko haggling over buffalo tenderloin, two of her sister Sirens dutifully carrying the crates of vegetables she had purchased earlier, and a trio of baby arcanists sharing a bag of roasted walnuts who had excitedly waved to her.

Aymeric was…somewhere, in the scrum. They’d gone in different directions to get as much shopping done as possible before the crowds swelled to suffocatingly large at noon.

Synnove finally wound down her own haggling—one hundred gil for a small crate of artichokes, plus another hundred or so spent on fennel and rutabagas—and waved to Arenlona as she joined the throngs walking through the Stead. Ivar and Galette trotted over from the nearby snack stall, and she bent down to accept the gil-pouch from Ivar. Thankfully, carbuncles who understood exchanging gil for goods and services were a familiar sight to the Stead’s farmhands, so that was one less thing to worry about on market day.

“Do you know where your sibs and Aymeric went?” she said as she stuffed the pouch in her pocket and stood upright, carefully balancing the crates of vegetables in her arms. The carbuncles had all gone with Aymeric, at first, before her emerald and ruby came meandering along to find both her and a treat.

The girls wanted to see the sheep, Ivar chittered. He managed to get his matching harmonic to sound bland.

Galette giggled.

Synnove groaned. “Oh, no.”

Galette giggled again, and Ivar joined her.

Sighing, she strode briskly through the crowd, her carbuncles on her heels, until she’d left the main compound and the crush of people wasn’t quite so great. She headed first for the hitches where many of the visitors had left their chocobos, herself included. Trifle eyed her when she approached, but the draught chocobo knelt without prompting, and Synnove quickly stored the purchases away in her saddlebags and panniers, idly noting Aymeric must have been by at some point at seeing a few crates of fruits, two jars of honey, and a carefully wrapped package upon which an ice crystal sat that was likely either meat or fish.

Once she was finished, she gave Trifle a pat on the neck, and the chocobo loomed upright once more, shaking her feathers back into place. Synnove glanced down at the carbuncles, but before she could say anything, both Galette and Ivar did that pre-jump wiggle of their tails and then leaped into the air and onto the draught chocobo’s saddle. Trifle warked, unimpressed, and turned her head around to give the pair a gimlet stare. Galette reached up and gently patted her beak with a paw.

Synnove laughed. “Well, I suppose that answers my question if you wanted to see the sheep, too.”

The siblings chirruped at her and loafed onto the saddle, ears flicking, while Trifle huffed and resettled herself. With another laugh and a scritch for each of them, Synnove headed in the direction of the sheep pens.

Most of the flocks in La Noscea grazed the pastures north of Cedarwood and up to the southern shores of Bronze Lake; the Red Rooster shepherds only kept a small flock at the Stead, primarily to make crossbreeding for specific traits easier to track before introducing those traits more widely into the larger flocks. But the flock at the Stead was wildly popular with many of the local children (and no few adults), and the shepherds usually allowed visitors to pet or brush some of the calmer ewes…in exchange for educational lectures on animal husbandry or the La Noscean wool industry.

Synnove smiled ruefully as she trudged up the short hill to where the sheep were kept. There was already a small crowd of excited children pressed up against the fencing, some parents standing aside and talking amongst themselves while keep an eye on their charges. Now, where was—ahah!

She slowed down, hooking her thumbs into her belts as she strolled closer.

Aymeric wore a soft cotton shirt of deep blue with black wool breeches tucked into knee-high leather boots; with neither Naegling on his hip nor a bow slung on his shoulder, he looked like just another farmer or homesteader gazing out across the pen. Something about seeing him dressed down always left her fond and pleased. Perhaps it was the way the tension bled out of him, the way it only rarely did in Ishgard when he needed to be on alert for a sudden emergency requiring either the Lord Commander or the Lord Speaker. His shoulders loosened and his spine was no longer quite so rigid, an aura of content softness draping around him instead.

He turned as she came up next to him, and he grinned, bright and happy, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Synnove smiled back, helpless to do anything except push herself to her toes to kiss his cheek and bask in his presence.

“Hello, dearheart,” she said as she dropped back to her feet, leaning into his side when his raised his arm to make room for her. She slid her own arm around his waist as his settled on her shoulders. “Did you manage to keep from raising Chartain’s blood pressure today?”

Aymeric kissed the top of her head and nuzzled against her hair before he responded. “It’s too easy to rile that man up,” he said, mischief coloring his voice. “He takes the barely-existing rivalry between La Noscea and Coerthas shepherds far too seriously.”

“Oh, don’t be mean!” Synnove swatted at his chest, but Aymeric merely caught her hand and raised it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. She firmed her expression, refusing to let his affection distract her, tempting as it was.

“Mean would be managing to get Estinien to stay in place long enough to drop him on Chartain’s doorstep and watch the two get into a row about wool quality,” he said primly, then pressed another kiss to her knuckles at her reluctant laugh. “And for the record, no, I did not. I believe one of the other shepherds saw me on the way with the girls and wrangled him away elsewhere.”

She laughed louder, shaking her head, and finally glanced out at the pen properly.

Tyr was in a staring contest with one of the rams, ears canted at the ninety-degree angle that for him generally conveyed his lack of impressment. The ram trotted in place, snorting and acting like he would charge at any moment, but sitting upright as he was, Tyr had to look down at him. The ram was intelligent enough to realize that Tyr likely belonged in the “thing that herds me” category rather than the “thing that will steal my ladies from me” or “thing that will eat me” categories, but not quite enough to know he should back down before Tyr bowled him over.

And the twins were being themselves, and bouncing atop the thick wooly backs of the ewes, leaping from sheep to sheep and giggling while the onlooking children cheered them on. Roksana especially was making a game of it, deliberately aiming for targets a distance away to make a challenge for herself, while Amandina was more sedately hopping along with no discernible pattern but rather the fun of it. The shepherd on watch was keeping an eye on them, but was leaning up against the fence without worry; the girls being silly was a common enough sight to most resident of Lower La Noscea.

Synnove watched them fondly for a moment, before she finally called out, “Girls! Tyr! Time to head home!”

The girls and the watching children all went awwww, but Amandina and Roksana obediently changed course and hopped from the other side of the paddock to where their mama and papa stood. Tyr, meanwhile, reached out with a paw and bopped the ram right between the ears; the ram’s eyes crossed and he bleated unhappily, but the distraction was enough for her big topaz carbuncle to leave without incident, trotting towards the fence and leaping over it easily to sit at her feet and headbutt her stomach.

Hi, Mama, Tyr chittered happily.

“Hello, boyo,” she said, freeing her hand from Aymeric—he made sad eyes at her, which she ignored for now—to reach down and scritch behind his ears.

The twins, meanwhile, finally made it to the fence, and leaped from there onto her shoulder (Amandina) and head (Roksana).

Hi Mommy hi Mommy hi Mommy hi Mommy hi Mommy, the girls chorused excitedly, as if they hadn’t seen her in days rather than a bell or two.

“Hello, kiddos,” Synnove said, patting first one twin and then the other. “Have you been good?”

YEAH!

We helped Papa get oranges!

And pears!

And FISH! Yummy yummy fish!

Honey, too, Tyr added helpfully, ears twitching in delight. Can we bake honey spice bread with it?

“That sounds like a fine idea,” Synnove said, to triple cheers.

Aymeric chuckled, though she felt it more than heard it with how closely they were still pressed together. “They helped me pick out a little gift for you, too,” he said brightly.

The only reason she didn’t whip her head up to stare at him was because of Roksana hopping up and down on her hair. Instead, she carefully picked up both twins and set them on Tyr’s back as the topaz carbuncle stood upright on all fours; then she whipped her head around to stare at her beloved. “Aymeric, you didn’t have to—”

“But I wanted to,” he said softly, smiling at her. He leaned down to kiss her nose. “And I like to.”

With a flourish, he presented her with a small leather pouch he pulled from his belt. She sighed, only a little exasperated, but held out her hand obediently, and into her palm he poured a pair of earrings: a gold ring suspended from simple hooks, and from the rings hung gold chain links of varying lengths with pink and cowries dangling at the ends.

Synnove couldn’t help the awed ooooooh that escaped her. “Oh, they’re lovely! Thank you!” She hadn’t put in any earrings this morning before they’d left for the market, so she reached up to hook them into her left, then her right.

Aymeric absolutely did not play fair in any aspect of his life: love, war, and gift-giving. Earrings were her favorite type of jewelry, and she had bought herself more than one pair from the jewelry stall here in the market before. She shook her head, both in defeat and to hear the pretty clinking of the shells against each other, and beamed up at her knight. “Thank you,” she said again.

“You are, as always, most welcome,” he said warmly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “My beautiful Synnove.”

Warmth suffused her and a blush bloomed on her cheeks and she beamed even more; she loved his endearments for her, but she loved best how her name rolled of his tongue, how much affection with which he infused it. She took a long moment to revel in all the joy he brought her before she quietly sighed. “Let’s go home, hm?”

“Mmm,” Aymeric hummed with one last nuzzle, before they began walking arm in arm down the hill and towards the chocobo hitch. Tyr followed, his baby sisters looking around excitedly from his back. “We have some honey spice spread to make.”

“And artichoke dip,” Synnove added.

Tyr boofed excitedly. You bought artichokes?! He pushed his head against her knees, shoving, and pulling a surprised yelp from her as she stumbled momentarily, kept upright only by an also laughing Aymeric. He ran in front of them, boofing happily, Come on come on let’s go home already! before he raced on ahead.

An absolutely wicked thought came to mind, sending a bolt of heat through her that settled low in her belly, and Synnove decided to indulge it. She glanced around, noting no one was nearby, and so, as she walked, she leaned up to murmur in Aymeric’s ear while a sly grin pulled at her lips, “And then after lunch, we can send the carbuncles down to the beach, and I can wear absolutely nothing but these earrings.”

Aymeric’s eyes went wide, pupils dilating to swallow up the beautiful icy blue as he nearly stumbled himself now. He stared at her askance—and then hot, feral greed briefly overtook his expression and he swept her up into his arms, to her shrieking laugh of surprise.

“No time to waste, then,” he playfully growled as he picked up his pace to a light jog, and Synnove ending up laughing nearly the whole way home.

[resident-curse-breaker]

Helena Bancroft

My character sheet for my Hogwarts Mystery MC, Nellie Bancroft!

Nellie is absolutely my baby, and I’d love to hear any opinions regarding her, feedback on her, or questions about her! She will be tagged with spoilers, but just in case, be warned that this character sheet contains spoilers for Hogwarts Mystery.

Now that all of that’s out of the way, feel free to give her a read!

(Thanks to @arimabari for doing this wonderful commission!)

IDENTITY

Name: Helena Winifred Bancroft

Nicknames:

Nellie, everyone

Pip, Jacob

Sweet girl, Rowan

Gender: Cis-female

Current Age: 17

Birth Date: March 11th, 1973

Species: Human

Blood Status: Half-blood

Sexuality: Panromantic | Pansexual

Alignment: 

Passes for neutral good 

Truly chaotic good

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: Irish

Residence: Kinsale, Ireland

THE MAGE

1st Wand:

Purchased prior to first year

10 ½ inches

Pear wood

Unicorn hair core

2nd Wand:

Purchased during fifth year

11 ¼ inches

Alder wood

Phoenix feather core

3rd Wand:

Purchased after graduation

10 ⅔

Beech wood

Unicorn hair core

Animagus: Kooikerhondje dog

Magical Abilities:

Born legilimens

Animal empathy (questionable)

Boggart Form: 

Jacob’s rotting corpse, shambling towards her like a zombie — up to 6th year

Rowan’s lifeless body, laying still — 6th year onward

Riddikulus Form:

None — she cannot bear to face boggarts

Amortentia: 

Smells — sandalwood, fresh laundry, creature food, cologne

Smells Like — cherry shampoo, blackberries, ocean air

Patronus: African bush elephant

Patronus Memory: Jacob trying to teach her spells during one of his school breaks. She would’ve only been five—they’re nine years apart—so it’s a faint memory and she couldn’t do any of them anyway, but it was still happy enough to stick with her.

Mirror of Erised: 

Herself as an adult, having accomplished her dream of opening a hippogriff sanctuary, with Jacob laughing and her mama smiling and her mum loving them both — up to 6th year

Her and Rowan as happy, naive first years, laughing and standing arm in arm — 6th year onward

Favorite Spells:

Patronus Charm — she endures enough anguish without the dementors exacerbating it

Cave Inimicum — it’s a relief, sometimes, to be able to disappear

APPEARANCE

Physique:

5″

Petite

Lithe limbs

Eyes: 

Big

Round

Ocean blue

Hair: 

Thick

Wavy

Sandy blonde

Thigh length — up to her 5th year

Chin length — start of 6th year onward

Skin Tone: Fair and freckled

Body Modifications: None—doesn’t even pierce her ears

Scarring:

Small scar on her right thumb — from when her mum tried to teach her to whittle

Large burn scar over heart — from the Mahoutokoro wizard attack

Long, thin scar on left forearm — from when Rakepick attacked her with a whipping spell, and she lifted her arm to shield herself

Inventory:

About a dozen quills, some of them sugar

A spare pair of Rowan’s glasses

A worn down copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

A small hair brush

A pack of muggle sour candies

Fashion:

Bright and colorful, enjoys floral print and embroidery

Always down for a nice pair of overalls, especially if they’re in some way decorated

Only ever wears a worn out pair of lightweight boots

Never seen without her silver seashell locket

Otherwise, not much of a fan of jewelry

Values comfort over style

Voice: Taylor Louderman

ALLEGIANCES

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

Affiliations/Organizations:

Hogwarts

The Circle of Khanna

The Order of the Phoenix

Professions:

Nurse at St. Mungos — early adulthood

Owner of Silver Wings, a hippogriff sanctuary — middle adulthood to death

HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Best Classes:

Care of Magical Creatures

Herbology

Charms

Worst Classes:

Potions

History of Magic

Flying

Electives:

Divination

Care of Magical Creatures

Quidditch:

Chaser — 5th year

Beater — part of 6th year

Reserve Chaser — 7th year

Extra Curricular:

Dueling Club — 2nd year onward

Magical Creatures Club — 3rd year onward

Favorite Professors:

Professor Kettleburn

Professor McGonagall

Least Favorite Professors:

Professor Snape

Professor Trelawney

RELATIONSHIPS

Parents:

Juliette Bancroft — biological mother | A pureblooded Auror and proud member of the Bancroft bloodline, known for producing powerful witches. She blames herself for Jacob’s disappearance, believing that she drove him away by focusing on Nellie, who she viewed as a proper heir to the Bancroft line. Unfortunately, her guilt over driving Jacob away is causing her to neglect Nellie, driving her away as well. She’s always been a little hard on her children. Nellie calls her “mum.”

Carolyn Bancroft — adopted mother | A muggle school teacher who might not understand her magical wife and children, but loves them all anyway. Nellie was always closer to her than to Juliette, and the difference only grew greater after Jacob’s disappearance. While Carolyn also grieved, she did her best to support Nellie through her anguish. She fears that her family’s going to fall apart entirely, because Juliette won’t listen to her and Nellie is growing more distant by the day. Nellie calls her “mama.”

Edwin Dermott — biological father | A muggle journalist who isn’t involved in Nellie’s life. He and Juliette dated, but it was never meant to last. It was the sort of relationship that was exciting, but not sustainable, especially considering Juliette was already a single mother to Jacob at the time. Nellie, much like Jacob, was a complete accident. Edwin at least had the decency to stick around until Nellie was born, but quickly decided fatherhood wasn’t his style and took off.

Siblings:

Jacob Bancroft — half brother | Once Nellie’s hero and very best friend, now a mystery she can’t seem to unravel. He was never a particularly powerful wizard—bright and hard working, yes, but lacking raw magical power—and considering he was the first son in generations of powerful witches, he was especially humiliated by this fact. Nellie’s bursts of accidental magic were more substantial than any spells he cast, and as much as he loved her, god, Jacob was jealous. Initially started hunting the Cursed Vaults for entirely selfish reasons, wanting to become more powerful. As is often the case, his search for power only amounted to getting him in far over his head. He spent his years in the portrait thinking of his family and the anguish he undoubtedly caused them. Upon being freed, he took it upon himself to protect them, no matter the cost, without realizing he may be making the damage worse.

Lucille Whittaker — half sister | Nellie’s muggle father’s other daughter, who she’s never met. In fact, Nellie’s not even aware of her existence, nor is Lucille aware of hers, considering that Edwin isn’t a part of either of their lives. They do end up connecting later in life, and though they never quite feel like sisters, they do become decent friends.

Love Interest:

Skye Parkin — crush | Nellie housed an unrequited crush on her for part of her 5th year, but it quickly became apparent that Skye didn’t return her feelings. To Skye, Nellie was like the sister she never had, and Nellie didn’t want to jeopardize that. She moved on, and any lingering feelings completely withered the following year.

Merula Snyde — ??? | There was some sort of tension between them in 5th year, something that blossomed from their growing mutual respect and trust in each other, but nothing ever came of it. After the events that transpired in the Vault, Merula decided Nellie wasn’t worth the trouble. It’s one of her biggest regrets. 

Barnaby Lee — soulmate | Barnaby crushed on Nellie long before she had any romantic feelings for him—ever since that first duel, in fact. It took a little while, but Nellie eventually fell for Barnaby’s good heart and noble nature. He may not be the brightest bulb in the box, but he never fails to make her feel cared for. He can make her laugh when nobody else can, and although she’d loathe herself if he got hurt for her sake, it honestly feels a little nice to have someone trying to protect and take care of her for once, instead of the other way around. They also both love magical creatures, so a lot of their “dates” just consist of them hanging around the Care for Magical Creatures paddock and feeding whatever they find. They’re married by the time they’re twenty.

Best Friend(s):

Rowan Khanna | Her first friend, and always her dearest.  For whatever reason, they just clicked perfectly, and completely got each other. Her death changed Nellie irreversibly. For at least a year after Rowan’s death, Nellie wore the spare pair of glasses she’d kept for her everywhere. Even once she stopped, they were almost always in her bag. Nellie was eventually able to manage again, but she never really moved on.

Bill Weasley | He completely adopted her as (yet another) younger sibling, and they never quite lose that closeness, even when Jacob comes back into the picture. After all, Jacob can’t replicate the experiences Nellie had with Bill. While he was doing his part to protect Nellie as best he could, and that’s admirable, it wasn’t him that was by Nellie’s side throughout every trial she faced at Hogwarts. It was Bill, and Jacob would never be able to imitate the connection that gave Bill and Nellie.

Erika Rath | An unexpected friend, but a very strong one. During one of Nellie’s training sessions with Erika, Rowan’s glasses fell off, and cracked. The damage was entirely fixable, but Nellie had a breakdown, crying for the first time since Rowan had died. Even though Erika had only just started to become Nellie’s friend, she sat there with Nellie the entire time she sobbed. While the rest of her friends were tiptoeing around Nellie, uncomfortable in the face of such overwhelming grief and scared of saying the wrong thing, Erika took everything Nellie threw at her in stride. The fits where all Nellie could do was scream and cry, the anger that had her beating her fists against the ground, the guilt that made her wish it had been her instead. Every ugly thought, every wave of emotion, Erika stuck with Nellie through them all, keeping her grounded her during a time where she felt she could completely drift away. It’s impossible to describe the sort of bond that gives people.

Friend(s):

Penny Haywood | There’s not much to say about Penny and Nellie’s relationship. It’s simple, sweet, and supportive. They’re absolutely each other’s cheerleaders, and have an incredible amount of faith in each other.

Talbott Winger | Loathe as Talbott is to admit it, Nellie really is his friend. Nellie appreciates that Talbott can enjoy silence, and when she needs to just be around someone, without needing to explain herself, she goes to him. They spend a lot of nights in the Astronomy Tower in their animagus forms, just looking at the stars and being together.

Chiara Lobosco | Honestly, it’s surprising that it took these two as long as it did to become friends. Both of them are kind girls, who enjoy healing magic. They hit it off volunteering together in the Hospital Wing, but the real catalyst of their friendship was Nellie helping Chiara through the Woflsbane incident with Lupin.

Complicated:

Skye Parkin | They were once very good friends. Unfortunately, the drama surrounding Nellie getting trained and befriended by Erika all occurred in the month leading up to Rowan’s demise. Having Skye—someone Nellie considered a close friend—be so caught up in her own grudges and jealousy that she called off their friendship in a fit of anger not even a month after Rowan had died, while Erika—a friend she had only just started to make—acted as her rock throughout the whole grieving process, really changed Nellie’s perspective on Skye. To be fair, Skye did eventually apologize, and they picked up the pieces as best they could, but things were never the same.

Ben Copper | Truly, Nellie had always liked Ben. While his fear over just about everything could be grating, Nellie knew it was outside of his control, and to her, his kind and gentle nature far outweighed his cowardice. Unfortunately, the reveal that Ben was being used by R undoubtedly damaged their relationship, even though Nellie believed him when he claimed to be cursed. Their relationship only grows more strained as Ben’s personality shifts, with Nellie being concerned by his recklessness and frustrated by his overprotectiveness, and Ben annoyed by her refusal to accept how he’d changed.

Merula Snyde | Anyone would tell you that Nellie and Merula got off to a bad start. They were rivals from the start, and no matter how many times Nellie tried to extend an olive branch, sick and tired of fighting and wanting to move on, Merula seemed content to burn them. It wasn’t until they were pulled together as Rakepick’s assistants that their relationship started to change for the better. They respected and trusted each other out of necessity, at first, but slowly began to genuinely enjoy each other’s company. Their jabs softened, and maybe, just maybe, there started to be an inkling of some sort of attraction. But of course, any bond formed due to Rakepick’s interference was set up for failure, and any progress they’d made was completely abandoned in the wake of her betrayal. Now, neither is quite sure where they stand. They can’t just go back to hating each other, but whatever they’d started to develop isn’t going to work either.

Enemies:

Ismelda Murk | Nellie has sympathy for Ismelda, she really does. But sympathy doesn’t excuse how mean spirited Ismelda can be, with her violent threats and condescending sneer. The two have simply never liked each other, and that dislike only deepened when Barnaby’s interest in Nellie became near. As much as Ismelda claimed to be over him, she resented that he chose a perky, obnoxious Hufflepuff over her.

Patricia Rakepick | This should go without saying. Patricia Rakepick is a vile, hateful witch, who doesn’t care who she hurts in pursuit of her goals. Not only was she a direct contributor to Jake’s disappearance, but she murdered Rowan, an innocent, in cold blood. Nellie has never been the violent sort. She’s always been a pacifist, always trying to talk her way out of conflict and, if that doesn’t work, aiming to disarm instead of harm. But for Rakepick, she thinks she could make an exception. She wants to see Rakepick suffer. It scares her more than she wants to admit.

Dormmates: 

Rowan Khanna — best friend

Penny Haywood — good friend

Ursa Greengrove — acquaintance (positive)

Emilie Ravemond — acquaintance (negative)

Pet(s):

Astrid — Lesser Sooty Owl

Klepto — Niffler

Flora — Fairy

Pidgey — Bowtruckle

Gertie — Hippogriff

Closest Canon Friends:

Rowan Khanna

Bill Weasley

Erika Rath

Closest MC Friends:

Jules Farrier

Callista Greenwood

Jane Briar

PERSONALITY

Positive Traits:

Selfless

Nurturing

Hard working

Endlessly loyal

Compassionate

Negative Traits:

Sensitive

Naive — up to 5th year

Paranoid — 6th year onward

Chronic hero syndrome

Anxiety prone

Deepest Secrets:

Worries that Jacob has turned into someone that isn’t worth saving

Resents her mum for putting so much emotional energy into missing Jacob that she’s begun to neglect her, and for pushing her to find Jacob at the cost of her own happiness and safety

Sometimes wishes she had been the one to die

Even more shamefully, sometimes wishes it had been Ben, if it meant that Rowan would’ve survived

Talents:

Almost unnaturally good with animals

Talented writer, enjoys poetry

Good singer, with a pleasant voice

Learned to be a good liar

Weaknesses:

Terrible artist

Poor focus

On the clumsy side, not the best at stealth

Absolutely awful memory

MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION

Nellie’s favorite physical trait of hers was always her hair. She absolutely treasured it, growing it out long for 15 years and carefully tending to it to make sure it stayed shiny, healthy, and soft. She prided herself on it...until the day she tried to run to Merula’s aid in the Buried Vault, and Patricia Rakepick grabbed her by her long golden braid to stop her. She came back to Hogwarts for her 6th year with all that long, beloved hair cut off into a bob. It was more practical, she said, and refused to answer any questions.

On the subject of her hair, Nellie ends up going grey fairly early. Her hair is entirely white by the time she’s 30 years old.

An incredibly physically affectionate person, Nellie is always touching people, hugging and holding hands and linking arms. Notably, she kissed the top of Rowan’s head every time she said goodbye.

Her and Rowan called each other  “sweet girl” and “smart girl” respectively.

Nellie’s pet name for Barnaby is just to say “Barnaby dear” as though it’s one word, and it never fails to make him giddy.

Both Barnaby and Nellie have always wanted to create large, happy families for themselves, so it should come as no surprise that they end up having five daughters: Ivy (Ravenclaw), Jade (Ravenclaw), Miri (Hufflepuff), Aurora (Slytherin), and Rowan (Hufflepuff). Many were surprised Nellie waited until her last child to use Rowan’s namesake, but the truth was, she never quite felt ready.

As a frequent visitor to the Burrow, Nellie knew all the Weasleys well, and even babysat Ron and Ginny for free on a few occasions.

Bill and Jacob never get along. Though Bill can logically understand that Jacob was trying to protect Nellie the only way he knew, he can never quite forgive Jacob for the distress he caused her. And while Jacob knows that Nellie needed support when he wasn’t there and he should be grateful that someone else was, some part of him resents Bill for “taking his spot” as Nellie’s big brother.

While Nellie focused her attentions on the way her friends had changed, Rakepick’s betrayal changed her as well. She hardly slept her entire 6th year, jumping at every sound and always looking over her shoulder. Her naivety, one of her defining characteristics, withered, leaving only wariness behind. She went from trusting everyone, to trusting no one.

Thank you to @treebels​ for the lovely artwork! I literally cannot express how excited I was when they sent it to me! 💕

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Red Huntress Chapter 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Find this on Wattpad and on AO3

Left alone with the equine beast, Diana expected it to bolt, if not to attack her. For now, it seemed peaceful enough as she stroked its head, didn’t it? Yet she readied herself – whether to grab the horse’s halter or to dodge, she wasn’t sure.

Instead, it were steps behind her that made Diana flinch. They came from the manor. Diana froze, unable to decide whether to duck in a poor attempt of hiding, or to stay unperturbed like she belonged in this place.

Her hesitation took the decision from her, yet she was relieved when no one called out to her. So she turned – carefully, in chime with the horse’s movements – to see who was passing.

To her surprise, she found a girl barely older than her, striding along the manor’s parkway. Her proud gait alone, with assistance from her rich attire, revealed the girl to be Silver. She would’ve looked strange without either, with her hair so light it was more white than yellow like Diana’s own; and skin so pale it had almost a translucent violet sheen.

Diana hadn’t met many Silvers in her life, but she knew how they were, what they expected Reds to think of them. And yet, in that moment Diana didn’t see how different from her this Silver girl was. She was like her, Diana, a sulking teenager, and so pretty Diana felt the same kind of shudder as when the sight of Giselle took her breath away.

The girl stopped in the middle of the yard, raised her arms and waved them. Out of nothing, a gust breezed over the yard and onto the paddock and after a minute, clouds arrived from nowhere to cover the burning sun.

“It’s so hot!” the Silver girl cried out, turning on her heel to another person leaving the manor. Another Silver, an older boy with short dark hair and ochre skin.

“Hey!” Diana stood straighter in shock, because this was called into her direction. The Silver girl was staring at her.

Her heartbeat accelerated, sweat beaded on her skin. She couldn’t say anything. Maybe it was better not to say anything.

“Stable girl, don’t stand around like that,” the Silver told her. The boy reached his companion and grinned over her shoulder. “Don’t you have something to do?” the girl went on. “Feed the horses.”

Diana was still unable to act, too stunned the Silvers didn’t even consider she wasn’t supposed to be here. And why should they? They believed Reds were neither clever nor bold enough to sneak in somewhere, or to truly oppose Silvers. Diana’s people were roustabouts invisible to Silvers unless their skills came in handy.

So the boy and the girl didn’t spare Diana another glance, not caring if she did feed the horses or not. Thus, she concluded, they had to be guests needing to boss around although they had no idea how this manor or its workers operated. That should’ve incensed her, but in her panic, she realized that also made them unlikely to report her to anyone. To be sure, she ducked to get out of sight.

The Silvers crossed the rest of the parkway, reaching some transports waiting at a gate that seemed more like decoration than protection, if it came to it. The Silver girl sighed. “Lord Isère was a nice host.”

“ ‘Nice’ as in the little sister of shitty?” The boy chuckled.

The girl shrugged. “He looked away as we take some days off before … what was its name? Aerzen?”

The boy thought for a moment before he shrugged. “Probably, but let the others go there. Isère told me about a cliff at the lake here I’d like to see …”

Diana stopped listening. Aerzen was another village in the area, though in another county. Diana believed it was the next stop of the corvee. Thus, the two Silvers had to be here for the greeny corvee? The girl had looked like she was controlling the weather, like Silver storms could.

That meant the Silvers of the corvee were here but they didn’t bother to do their work.

Diana swallowed, and only moved when a horse whinnied. Then she picked up her mother’s rifle and ran. There couldn’t be merely two Silvers, the rest would still be around, or planned to arrive at the fields after all – although the boy as good as denied that. Either way, she had to warn her mother.

She didn’t have to search long; actually, she almost stumbled into her mother next to the stable. “The corvee Silvers are here!” Diana hissed, and her mother shifted into a sprint in an instant, pulling Diana along. Ducking, her mother urged her away from the pathway to the fastest way into the forest, where they ducked and stayed close to the brushwood.

Her mother continued to avoid the pathway, leading them farther into the underwood, unafraid of twigs and thorns but seemingly sure of the direction. Diana wasn’t as well-orientated but had no trouble to follow. Firstly, the brushwood wasn’t as much of a hindrance as expected, like her mother knew the animal paths, or had created some herself. And secondly because Mama’s pace began to slow quite soon.

Her mother’s backpack was filled to bulging now, and she could guess its heaviness from the sight alone. Was that it? Mama was broad and strong, but even she couldn’t run fast with such a weight to carry. Not for long. Yet they didn’t stop, not before they passed several kilometres and were closer to home than the manor.

Finally, Mama stopped at a fallen tree, slowing to a walk before she sat down on the log. Diana took the place opposite her, on the ground. Assessing her mother’s exhaustion, she offered her a bottle of water.

“What is in that bag?” she asked as Mama drank and sighed deeply.

Her mother took a few more breaths, and another sip.

“And what about the greenies? They’re supposed to do their part! How can they get away with this?”

Her mother shook her head and returned the bottle to Diana. As she drank, Mama smiled pitifully and turned her face upward. The sky was still coloured a bright blue, although the sunlight barely reached down into the woods where they hunkered. “It wasn’t extreme like this before,” Mama said. “Sometimes the greenies and their companions left early, or the storms and nymphs didn’t appear. Or,” she looked back to her daughter, “they grew more crop than was asked for. Do you understand, Diana?”

Diana nodded, her mind racing. “They … did this before, and ... had to make up for cutting work in other places.” She felt her anger rise. The quota for the corvee was unfair to begin with, but to give nothing to some villages and have others work harder, just because of Silver whims?

“I don’t believe they can always make up for their breaks,” Mama said. “But what should happen – to them? Were they young Silvers again?”

Diana nodded.

“The corvee is always performed by some youths with nothing better to do,” Mama went on, “folks with parents who’ll easily pay fines or make generous gifts to placate the crown with compensations.” Another of those joyless smiles. “And in the end, they can still claim the Reds had been too lazy, can’t they?”

“No,” Diana muttered.

“Indeed,” Mama agreed, and cleared her throat. “So, as the crown can’t rely on moody teenagers, the seeds are sent beforehand.

“And I took all of the seeds I could carry.”

Pride surged through Diana. “Really?”

Mama frowned. “It hardly matters. 30 kilos are all I can manage, and these seeds are customized for greeny abilities. I just wanted …” She shrugged. “Pure luck if more than half of it will bear fruit.”

“Mama. We left a large part of our field lying fallow …”

“And most of Sieverling didn’t save seeds for these lands? True. There’re few options left now, nor will everyone have money to spare for new seeds which are expensive this late in the year.”

“So can’t we do more?” Diana exclaimed. “Tell some neighbours to go to the manor, too – ”

“To steal, Diana. I’ve stolen these seeds, and if Isère notices, I am done for. How could I ask others? Whether they help me or not, they’d be guilty just for not reporting me.”

“But …” Diana didn’t understand. Mama’s words were clear, yet she felt a kind of challenge in them. “That can’t be all.”

“No?” Mama smiled sadly. “If this little will mean a couple more meals, someone or other in Sieverling might not die of starvation. Isn’t that enough?”

Diana didn’t reply because her mother was right. Every little thing counted, she knew. Just like Diana had to take care of her sister when she’d been a little child herself so her parents could work day or night. Like last winter, when Mama returned to hunting and the butcher just the day after she’d miscarried because they could neither afford the child nor a missed day of work. Not when she also had to make up for the day and money spent on purchasing the abortive drug.

“Simon offered I take over the shop,” Mama said without preamble.

Diana blinked. Simon was the young black master butcher who employed Diana’s mother. He was in bad health. His father had died last year, his mother much earlier. Conscripted for the war against Norta, she’d returned without her hands and died only weeks later of an infection in the stumps.

Diana swallowed. “Oh, I heard rumors about this. Congratulations, Mama.” She smiled for her sake.

Mama looked into the distance. “Simon will still own the shop and do the organizing and papers, but I’ll be in charge of the physical work, as the master butcher. Yet even this agreement, his father would’ve never accepted. He’d always hoped Simon’s health would improve, or that he married someone to share ownership with. When neither happened, he just ignored that Simon didn’t want to be the master butcher.” Diana nodded, although she didn’t grasp where this was going.

Her mother’s gaze on her was unwavering. “My family was so glad when I married Papa, you know. A spouse who’d take me in, and who had work for me, with him at first, and later at the butcher, after he’d used his connections. The other way round …” She bent forward and caressed Diana’s cheek. “We couldn’t have afforded a family. Not all three of us siblings. Not at the farm. Oh, there’s always need for another farm hand. But not enough crop to provide for all of them.

“Do you see, Diana? We’re lucky. You and Madeline, you can choose. Be a butcher, a hunter, or go to my family’s farm. You won’t have to worry if you have a job that feeds you.

“Isn’t that more?”

Diana almost choked. On her mother’s sadness, and also her own. She had to think of Giselle and her family who had lost their home after their village burned down in a fire. Their lord wouldn’t rebuilt or relocate them and so they’d had to search for another settlement to take them in. They’d been living in Sieverling only for a few months. They didn’t have their own lands here, and had to rely on other villagers to employ and pay them day after pay.

And yet. Diana felt awful for Giselle who wouldn’t let her fears and uncertainty show – because she had to, if she wanted to go on and enjoy the only life she had. What Mama said, that wasn’t more, not really. Rather more of the same, and Diana felt tears rising along with her ire. She swallowed a sob, though she couldn’t fool her mother. She cupped Diana’s face in her hands and Diana was certain that despite Mama’s arguments, they shared an opinion.

“What do you want, Diana?”

Diana closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “More,” she repeated quietly, knowing that wasn’t a real answer. Or was it? She was just a child, what did she know? The rest of the world was a mystery to her, as she was caged in endless fields she couldn’t escape. She wanted to scream as she suffocated under the illusion of a peaceful life. The Red serfs were supposed to feel at home, to be happy on ‘their’  farms and glad the Silver lords left them mostly alone.

But nothing of that was true, when at any time, the same lords could take everything from you, make you lose your home because it was never really yours to own. Not even your life was, when you were forced into conscription as the peace in the north was also a lie.

Her tears did fall and she did nothing to stop them, just waiting for the feeling of helplessness to pass. So did her mother who continued to caress her cheeks.

“When Papa comes back,” Mama said, “not this fall, but for good, next year, he can teach you.”

“What?” Diana whispered.

Mama’s small shrug couldn’t hide her smile. It looked genuine now, exuding hope – and pride?

“What you want,” Mama said. “To fight, for example.”

 As the sun started to set, they arrived back at the fields. No Silver joined them until nightfall, when the last of the Reds left.

A/N: This is the conclusion of the events of this day - the next chapter will be about Farley as a teenager.

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @mareshmallow @mvaen @wessanade @scxrletguardsdawn @maudthebookeater @marecalrandomstuff @sxfik @neyrriz @misslucyhutton @shadykittentraveler @gamer670 @screams-internallly @vampsbeforetramps @almostconstantlyawkward @olivegreenolives @avid-author-activist @abbyboul @yjlover @ifyouholdmebackimightexplode @sparrow-ceol @choosemarecal @alicialichter @gisabarrovv @inopinion @redqueenfandom

[thegreenhorseman]

As a postal worker I delivered to a family that began their journey as chicken owners.  They frequently purchased items online so I delivered their packages to their porch.  One day in early spring I delivered a package and found some cute little peeps hanging out in a brooder.  I watched them grow up over the next few months and the owners built a very nice coop and run for the chickens.  Whenever I showed up the chickens came running to see me.  It was the first time I saw chickens as having their own personalty.  They seemed fun and very friendly.

It was that family that gave me the dream to try it out myself;  I love eggs, and I love animals.  Last year we were wrapped up in paddock creation and chomping at the bit to meet our deadline to get Blade home.  That was our first priority.

This year I still have goals for the horses but I no longer need to worry so much about them since I have 3 paddocks and my shelter.

The year I get to try something new…raise some chickens!

Meet the girls!  I call them “Lil’ Chicky Mamas.”

Every family has that weirdo.  Can you tell who it is in this family?

Zac and I have been back and forth for quite a while trying to learn about chickens and how to raise them; since this is new territory for us we are nervous to make a mistake.  We attended a webinar last spring hosted by Standlee’, the company I love and use for much of the amigo’s feed (beet pulp and alfalfa).  They invited The Chicken Chick to present in this webinar called WHAT DO I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT RAISING CHICKS?.  You can also visit The Chicken Chick for more information if you’re interested.  This webinar was a fantastic start and really inspired us to give this thing a real shot.

Last week we got all the materials and made a plan.   It is still far too cold outside for chicks but we are fortunate enough to have a 4-season room at home.  The room allows us to keep the chicks warm and safe from the cats.  It has excellent access to the sun and has heater vents.  We also brought in a space heater to make sure they were warm enough.

To set up a brooder we duct taped cardboard boxes around the area we wanted to use on the porch.  We had a tarp laying around so we “lined” the area with the tarp, allowing a few inches to rise along the sides so it creates more containment for the litter.  We purchased pine shavings to use for litter.  Instead of using a heat lamp (250 watts!) we opted for the safer more energy efficient option of a 25 watt brooder plate.  The peeps can nestle under the plate for warmth like they would with their mother hens.  The plate is adjustable in height so we can raise it as they grow.

From the webinar we learned about feeding the chicks.  We started off with a normal drinker but we also purchased nipples so we can train them to use a more easy-to-clean method of hydration (more to come on that later).  We also learned to find out whether or not the chicks had been vaccinated for coccidiosis.  If they had, then we would need to be sure to feed UN-medicated feed as medicated feed will destroy the vaccine.

Last Saturday, we pulled the trigger and bought some babies!  The law in New York requires a minimum purchase of six chicks as an attempt to prevent “Easter basket” chicks.  Chickens are social critters so having a few is only right, anyway.  We purchased 3 Columbian Rock crosses (yellow), and 3 Partridge Rocks (brown).   I am still learning more about them but these breeds are considered dual purpose birds, high producers of eggs, and cold tolerant.  They are also considered to be friendly and docile.  Sounds perfect!

We purchased the birds at Tractor Supply and learned that they were NOT vaccinated.  We decided to purchase a bag of medicated feed, which contains Amprolium to kill coccidia that could make them ill. Not everybody does this but we wanted to be extra sure they were healthy.

When we got the chicks home we noticed 5 of 6 had what we learned was “pasty butt,” which can be life threatening if not taken care of.  It happens under stress, which is understandable since they most likely had recently arrived to TSC by mail.  The temperatures and stress of travel could easily have caused this.  We carefully removed the hardened feces that was plugging up their bums (vents).  I used a Q-tip and warm water to coax it off piece by piece so it didn’t rip out any down.

By the next day all the chicks were happy and seemed very healthy.  They were moving around their brooder, napping, exploring, and eating a lot.  In only four days I’ve already noticed a big difference in their size.

I visit them at least twice a day and offer them food by hand.  I begin to talk to them so their are familiar with my voice.  As of Wednesday evening (four days later) they are beginning to recognize me as I enter the room.  Two of the six have been named; Rihanna is a Columbian Rock cross with a black dot on her head.  She was named because she’s a rude girl (as a play from the song “RudeBoy”).  One of the Partridge Rock girls is more eager to greet me than the others so I have named her Merida after the main character in “Brave.” The other four still need to be named (if you have a good one for a loudmouth let me know).  As I hand feed them they are very happy standing on my palm to eat.

They are also very curious lil’ chicky mamas.  I added a few branches from the yard to their brooder and they are already practicing on them.  I experimented with my phone and put my camera in the brooder with the “selfie” camera on.  They had a blast looking at themselves and pecking the screen (thank goodness for screen protectors).

We will have them on the porch for several weeks as they grow up and get their feathers.  In the meantime Zac and I will be busy planning out how to build their coop and run.  Last night we got together and discussed the plans to make sure we are on the same page.

The plan is to build an economical coop with a decent pen but to also allow them free range benefits as much as possible.  Chickens love to explore and I have heard wonderful things about their handiness in composting horse manure.  Free ranging may be tricky since we have a lot of predators around but Bardi is a fantastic protector as he used to care for his former owners’ flock.  We showed him the chicks Saturday when they came home. He looked at them and laid quietly next to us as if to say “I know the routine already.”  When we brought him outside I noticed he had stepped up his bird chasing game tenfold…I didn’t think that was possible but it was!  He knows his job and is very serious about it.

Although chickens are entirely different than horses I chose to add them to my story on the blog.  There is a lot to be learned about keeping chickens with horses so be sure to come back often to learn more about all of it in future installations.

As always I post every Thursday morning at 6:30AM Eastern time.  The first Thursday of every month Blade speaks out in The Blade Chronicles.  Please also join me on my Facebook page  so you can catch other fun posts.  On the Facebook page I share a cool video every Monday and I am beginning to share other quick fun updates on Fridays.

Have you had chickens?  Do you have any tips?

Like, Share, and Comment to show your love!

New Additions to The Green Horseman’s Clan As a postal worker I delivered to a family that began their journey as chicken owners.  They frequently purchased items online so I delivered their packages to their porch.  1,351 more words

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Red Huntress Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10jj

Epilogue

Find this on wattpad and on AO3

Deep in thoughts, Diana almost botched her handshake ritual with Madeline when her little sister arrived. Madeline smiled off her irritation, so Diana returned to her pondering, even as she chewed on her bread.

It was one of the rare truly hot and sunny days in the northern Lakelands, and it had rained the days before. So, were the Silver storms and nymphs even needed to prepare the soil for the corvee, or would the plants grow with the powers of the greenies just as well?

Finished with her meal, Diana glanced at her mother to mention her doubts. Maybe they were seeing this too negatively? But the words died on her tongue as she saw Mama occupied with chatting and giggling with Madeline.

Typical. Her mother – both her parents – freely shared their worries with Diana, the elder, while they continued to pamper Madeline. When Diana had been seven, as Madeline was now, she had already taken care of her baby sister, on her own, when their parents were at work.

So it was still, when Mama had a double workload for herself. Even last winter, after the evening Mama miscarried the baby they couldn’t afford. She’d left Diana and Madeline behind to go hunting again at the next dawn.

Although that night, all three of them had fallen asleep arm in arm, hugging each other and holding tight. Not only Mama and Madeline …

Diana sighed, taking a sip and using another splash to moist her face. She got up, looking for Giselle or another friend when her mother spoke.

“Diana, please help Madeline carry the baskets back to the village,” Mama told her.

Taking a breath, she prepared to argue. Madeline stood at their mother’s side, holding her hand, just like Diana had little time before. Jealousy added itself to this day’s general frustration.

But when Mama grabbed her shoulder, Diana could only nod. No wonder. Clara Farley was too formidable to be denied.

“Sure,” Diana agreed.

 Madeline didn’t stop talking on their way back to the village. It was one way to pass the long road home by listening to Madeline’s stories about their aunt Heather’s kids, who Madeline was closer to as they shared an age.

That still did little about Diana’s dim mood, though. Everything became clearer to her today. It had always been a burden how distant everything was, yet she only realized its weight right now. The vastness of the fields, to provide for the village just the needed amount of crop, cost its habitants a lot, in labour, time and energy. It was like they were always working or walking somewhere, with no time for anything else that the lords – or the villagers themselves, probably – would call “unnecessary”.

Diana hated she didn’t have even the option to try it out, whatever, “it” could be.

“And?” Madeline inquired. “Any Silvers showed up already?”

Diana snorted.

“Oh please!” Madeline insisted. “I can’t believe you saw nothing. Was it the queen? Tell me it was the queen!”

Diana stopped dead. “The what?!”

“Queen Cenra, the nymph?”

Diana laughed, but Madeline wouldn’t let her curiosity die. “You know, I kinda imagined …”

“What?” Diana said sharply. Couldn’t she be spared this? “Why do you have to be like this? So … so …” But she didn’t know like what. There had to be a word, Diana was sure, but no one had bothered to tell her, and likely the new queen didn’t want her to learn it. The Cygnets had never shown themselves interested in the northern Red peasants, even less in their education.

“Why do you look forward to wave and bow to the queen?” Diana said instead. “Like a good serf?”

Madeline shrugged. “It’d be cool, if we can say we’ve met her in person …”

“So you can say what to her? Ask her that Papa comes back and never has to leave again?”

Madeline’s jaw fell down, then started to shiver, like she was about to cry. Immediately, Diana felt horrible. However her day went, she couldn’t shove her anger on her little sister. She dropped the basket she carried and stepped toward Madeline.

“I’m so sorry, Madeline, please, I just want him to return, too …”

Madeline wiped her tears and swallowed her sob, not showing her sadness like their mother wouldn’t.

Diana didn’t know if she should be proud or hurt that Madeline managed to do this. She could only wait nervously for her sister to accept her apology.

Finally, her sister took the last step into her arms. “Sure, Diana,” she whispered. Then, having pulled away and picking up Diana’s discarded basket, she said “I can take this now, we’re almost there.” She paused. “I’ll stay the night at the farm.” She smiled faintly.

Diana nodded, and hugged her sister once more. “Have fun,” she said softly, but wondering if the fissure she pointed out was too blatant to ignore any longer.

Madeline dashed down the way to the farm kept by their aunt and uncles, taken over from their grandparents. Turning around, Diana herself hesitated to rush back to the fields. It felt so pointless, but what should she do? She strolled through the village, on the only street that had been tarred ages ago and now was more cracks and bumps than anything else. Hardly any street or road was long-living in the Lakelands, because of the marshy, humid ground. She supposed the Silvers had methods to build better streets, on better lands.

Yet in Sieverling, nature crept back in every crevice, in every corner, whether you looked at the plants growing in the holes in the streets, or at the houses interspersed with smaller fields, pastures or the outskirts of the woods, with some long branches reaching over and shading the paths its people used. Diana’s own home was rather in the forest than the village, given it had been the hunters’ lodge for generations. Her father had no living relatives on his side, so Mama and Diana’s assistance was welcome. Only that Mama always had a long walk between the forest and her work at the butcher’s, especially when she was dragging her game there ….

“Heh?”

While Diana had sauntered, her mother almost ran to her, to her surprise. What was she doing here? But Mama reached her before she came to a conclusion. She took Diana by the arm and urged her into another direction, toward their house.

“Mama?”

Her mother only looked forward. “We’ve something better to do than kicking our heels,” she said.

At home, Mama merely told Diana to feed their dog, Lily, then took a sack and her old hunting rifle. Diana was puzzled – that wasn’t enough equipment for a hunt. But her mother didn’t reply, only smiled earnestly and bid Diana to come with her into the woods.

It was obvious hunting wasn’t the goal. It wasn’t the right time for that, but a lucky hit was always possible. Yet Mama walked too fast to find game, and with a certain determination that unsettled Diana.

Instead of prowling through the brushwood, they entered a well-kept path, soil but better to walk on than on the damaged villages paths. “This one leads to the manor,” Mama said after they’d covered two kilometres or so. “Lord Isère wants us, that is, Papa, me, Anam and the other woodcutters, to maintain it perfectly. So he can show up in leisure in his transport or carriage, should the desire strike him.”

“And having a pretty view while he’s at it?” Diana added, glancing at the flowers planted on the sides.

Her mother grinned. “Yeah, that too.” She sighed. “I used to go along here quite often before I married Papa.” She paused, and Diana wondered where this was going.

“Before I had a secure, full-time job, I mean,” Mama continued. “When I was a teenager, I did all these odd jobs. To earn a few scraps of coin for the family, besides what I did at the farm. I went to another farm, or a shop, whoever needed a hand to help.”

“Like at the butcher?” Diana asked, guessing that was how she got her current job.

The corners of Clara’s mouth twitched and she nodded. “Like at the manor,” she added.

Diana’s eyes widened. “For the lord? I thought …”

“He has his own, regular farm hands, yes. But every now and then, he wanted more.” She stopped and looked at Diana. “Come. We’ve arrived.”

The path led on between several paddocks at the edge of the forest straight to the manor. Diana couldn’t help glimpsing at it, at a compound so much larger and richer than what she was used to. The paddocks and the steeds grazing it already looked noble, but were nothing compared to the flower beds and gravel yard surrounding the brick buildings. They couldn’t be exclusively living quarters, although the riding halls or stables or stores all appeared lavish on their own. There was no other way to describe the compound but as sprawling.

Diana didn’t want to call it beautiful. She wouldn’t.

Fortunately, her mother stopped at a paddock, assessing the horses in it. Suddenly, she grinned and whistled. Diana couldn’t believe it. Her mother was positively beaming – and one of the horses galloped toward them.

Startled, Diana inched away, but her mother waved her back. “Don’t be afraid,” she said, “I know this one from back in the day.” She started to stroke the red-brown horse’s head. “This is my old friend Diamond.”

Carefully, Diana moved closer and dared to touch the huge animal. She trusted cows much more, but she was happy for her mother’s sake, who clearly enjoyed this.

“Good horse,” Diana whispered, and smiled weakly at her mother, who patted her shoulder.

“Wait here while I look around, okay?” Mama said. “It’s safest here.”

Diana wanted to ask why they even came here, and what her mother was doing where it had to be not so “safe”, but she didn’t get the chance. Having placed her rifle somewhat hidden in a patch of higher grass, her mother hurried toward the buildings.

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