#eugene tags: edits.

[zerctoherc]

KEITH POWERS? não! é apenas EUGENE ANDERSON FOSTER, ele é filho de ZEUS do chalé UM e tem VINTE E SETE anos. a tv hefesto informa no guia de programação que ele está no NÍVEL III por estar no acampamento há QUINZE ANOS, sabia? e se lá estiver certo, EUGGIE é bastante BONDOSO mas também dizem que ele é TAPADO. mas você sabe como hefesto é, sempre inventando fake news pra atrair audiência.

ɪ. 𝓅𝑜𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓈 —

Aerocinese — O usuário é capaz de moldar e manipular o ar, de forma que Eugene pode modificar a direção de correntes de ar e criar rajadas de vento que, dependendo da velocidade e pressão, podem ser usadas para machucar, cortar oponentes e até criar barreiras momentâneas. Através desse tipo de manipulação, o rapaz também consegue criar pequenas ondas de ar capazes de levantá-lo do chão por alguns instantes, dando uma breve ilusão de levitação. Ao influenciar na direção das correntes de ar, Eugene pode mudar a direção de nuvens ou dissipá-las, se elas estiverem carregadas com chuva ou eletricidade, no entanto, o esforço para movê-las é bem maior. Embora não seja capaz de criar tempestades, o semideus ainda consegue, ao se concentrar e se esforçar bastante, criar pequenos ciclones. Tal feito, assim como outras variações de seu poder que produzem efeitos mais poderosos, porém, é extremamente exaustivo e drena suas forças, tornando-o praticamente um peso morto em batalha.

ɪɪ. 𝒽𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝒹𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓈 —

Força sobre-humana e vigor sobre-humano.

ɪɪɪ. 𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓋𝒾𝒹𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓈 —

Membro da Equipe Azul de Queimada e Instrutor de Habilidades Específicas (aerocinese)

ɪᴠ. 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓈 —

Thunderclap — Eugene possui um taco de baseball de bronze celestial com marcas de raios desenhadas por toda sua extensão. Em sua forma comum, transforma-se em uma pulseira com diversos pingentes pequenos de raio e um pingente que é uma réplica exata do taco, para transformá-lo de volta em arma basta segurar a réplica de Thunderclap entre seus dedos. Ao atingir seus alvos, o taco é capaz de emitir uma onda de som que imita o som de um trovão. O som é alto o suficiente para amedrontar os inimigos do semideus, enquanto a onda em si dá conta de afastar seu oponente alguns metros.

ᴠ. 𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓉ó𝓇𝒾𝒶 —

— Parecia haver um certo consenso de que Zeus tinha um gosto específico para suas amantes: celebridades, grandes líderes e figuras de destaque. Entretanto, a paixão da vez do grande Senhor do Olimpo havia sido por uma mulher simples de Wyoming. Sienna não tinha nada a não ser as terras deixadas por sua família, a capacidade de ver através da névoa e um espírito feroz e aventureiro para guiá-la. Talvez tenha sido justamente sua natureza indomável que atraiu a atenção de Zeus e, dos frutos dessa relação, nasceu um lindo menino nomeado carinhosamente de Eugene em homenagem ao seu avô mortal. Depois que a criança foi concebida, o deus partiu, deixando para trás apenas um pequeno anel e um aviso: “O objeto ajudará a escondê-lo dos monstros até seus doze anos.” Isso foi tudo, não houveram palavras de despedida ou de conforto, como era de se esperar da parte de Zeus, e Sienna foi deixada para criar seu filho sozinha. Tal fato, no entanto, estava longe de abalá-la, afinal, ela tinha um menino para criar, seu filho.

— Primeiro, Sienna tomou suas precauções: Além de colocar o anel num colar para que a criança pudesse usar a todo momento, protegeu a fazenda o máximo que conseguiu de forma mundana — mesmo que isso não ferisse os monstros, talvez ainda pudesse atrasá-los — e passou os primeiros anos da vida do menino buscando por um sátiro. Felizmente, ela obteve sucesso e não foram precisas muitas palavras para convencê-lo a ficar e ajudar a proteger um filho de Zeus só até ele ter idade suficiente para ser levado ao Acampamento Meio-Sangue. A família Foster ganhou um vizinho e um amigo na figura do Sr. Benjamim, que trabalhava como zelador na escola que Eugene frequentava. 

— Eugene cresceu cercado de amor e gentileza, criado e educado pelo coração caloroso e ardente de Sienna, que ensinou ao menino o valor que existia em atos verdadeiros de gentileza, mas também o incentivava a ser aventureiro e ambicioso. Euggie era uma criança cheia de energia e era, sem dúvidas, o menino mais bondoso de sua escola, infelizmente, ele nunca foi o melhor quando se tratava de estudos. A fim de compensar sua falta de perspicácia acadêmica e, também, para direcionar sua energia acumulada, o menino entrou em uma turma infantil de baseball. Ele lidava muito melhor com esportes e, no baseball, encontrou sua verdadeira paixão, aos oito anos já tinha decidido que queria se tornar jogador profissional.

— Extremamente inquieto e um tanto quanto desajeitado, Euggie ganhou um padrasto aos dez anos. A entrada de James na vida de Sienna inicialmente não foi bem aceita pelo garoto, que tinha colocado em sua cabeça que, um dia, encontraria seu pai biológico. Sienna nunca fez questão de não falar sobre o pai de Euggie, sabendo que era apenas uma questão de tempo até que, de alguma forma, eles se encontrassem, entretanto, ela obviamente fazia questão de manter o detalhe de que ele era filho do Senhor do Olimpo bem escondido. Assim, o pequeno semideus tinha colocado em sua cabeça, da maneira mais teimosa possível, que encontraria seu pai biológico e o traria de volta para casa. Era algo obviamente impossível de acontecer, mas sua mãe apenas ria e bagunçava seu cabelo. Eventualmente, no entanto, James ganhou o coração do menino e os três passaram a viver como uma família feliz. A entrada do padrasto na vida de Eugene também o fez menos ansioso por um encontro com o pai biológico. 

— Foram doze longos e árduos anos escondendo e protegendo o menino, mas seu décimo segundo aniversário seria o maior desafio que os Foster enfrentaram. O amuleto presenteado por Zeus perdeu o efeito assim que bateu meia noite e os parabéns da criança foram celebrados. No entanto, nada aconteceu de imediato, por cerca de doze horas Sienna manteve a ilusão de que poderia viver mais um tempo com seu querido filho, porém, foi durante um dos jogos de baseball de Eugene naquele mesmo dia que a criatura enfim apareceu. Uma poderosa quimera atacou o garoto, que sobreviveu graças aos esforços  combinados de seu sátiro protetor, Sr. Benjamim, e sua mãe. Após esses eventos, Euggie foi levado pelo sátiro ao Acampamento Meio-Sangue. 

— Eugene chegou ao Acampamento no auge do conflito entre os Olimpianos e Cronos, de forma que passou algum tempo no Chalé de Hermes antes de, após o desfecho da Batalha de Manhattan, ser oficialmente reclamado por Zeus. Dizer que era muito para uma criança de doze anos absorver era, certamente, um eufemismo, mas Euggie sobreviveu ao choque, mantendo sua personalidade alegre e gentil. Levando em conta o temperamento geral de filhos de Zeus, chegava a ser um tanto chocante (haha) vê-lo como um descendente direto do Senhor dos Raios. De uma forma ou de outra, Eugene ganhou um “incentivo” de seu pai após ser reclamado: Um bastão de baseball de bronze celestial que foi batizado de Thunderclap. 

— Assim que foi considerado ter idade e experiência suficiente para sair dos limites do Acampamento Meio-Sangue, Eugene correu atrás de seu sonho, sendo descoberto por um olheiro e se tornando um jogador profissional de baseball. Foi preciso bastante esforço da parte dele para ganhar fama e reconhecimento, visto que, assim que saiu do acampamento, ele era apenas um ninguém. Eventualmente, porém, seu talento e potencial foram reconhecidos após uma partida particularmente apertada, na qual o rapaz trouxe a vitória para o seu time, fazendo-o essencialmente ir de zero a herói da noite para o dia e garantindo-lhe uma vaga de titular nos New York Yankees. Seu sucesso trouxe obviamente muito orgulho para sua querida mãezinha e padrasto, com quem manteve contato desde que foi levado ao acampamento através de cartas. 

— Apesar da carreira como jogador profissional, Eugene sempre tirava um tempo para visitar a família e voltar ao acampamento, no entanto, ele estava no meio de uma partida quando recebeu o chamado de Dionísio. Ele ainda ganhou o jogo, mas achou bastante inconveniente ter de dar uma pausa no meio de um campeonato para atender ao pedido do deus do vinho — ele teve de inventar uma lesão para ser dispensado temporariamente. Obviamente, ao chegar ao acampamento, Euggie compreendeu a gravidade da situação e espera dar o seu melhor para resolver essa crise o mais rápido possível, tanto para poupar os semideuses mais novos quanto para poder voltar à ativa… Preferencialmente, antes da final do campeonato.

ᴠɪ. 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓋𝒾𝒶 —

— em breve.

[kaylazer]

back on my bullshit (meeting men im in love with). Ben Schwartz is so kind and tall :-) I didn’t totally freeze like when I met the Jonas brothers but the selfies we took are blurry so 😔

(at least I have these bc I told sam to record the whole thing heheheh)

[pigeonriot]

NOT ME + AO3 TAGS (part 2/?)

[searchingfortheuniverse]

@hbowardaily’s The Pacific Appreciation Week 2023 Day Five: Favourite Quote

The War Snark in the Pacific

[sunlightdrop]

♡ a drop of sunlight ⋮ punzie's tangled blog! ♡ about me · main blog · art blog · carrd ✿

[antigonenikk]

 💖 eugene - say yes to heaven for lovely @guarnerepdf  💖   

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Six — Evolution

Aunt Sia moved away from behind me, setting Jerry back on the table as she moved towards the cupboards in the kitchen. “You know, it’s funny,” she began. “You realize the forced Conduits came out…wrong with the First Sons, too? The batch without that acceleration protein went through the same experience the DUP did.”

5.2k words | 17-26 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: why is there so much lore. Death, experimentation and human rights violations, explained but not described.

The adults didn’t seem to like that at all. 

Dad stayed staring at the screen as Dr. Sims scrolled, the two muttering to each other as they read away. Aunt Sia seemed to catch on to something, as she immediately moved Brent to sit next to me—where he couldn’t see the computers—and left, saying she wanted to get something to show us. 

“What the hell does evolution mean?” Dad muttered, leaning forward with a hand on the back of Dr. Sims’ chair as he looked at the screen. 

“It looks like…” Dr. Sims drew off for a moment, clicking away on his keyboard. “There’s a lot of files on rayacitin here, but they’re corrupted. At least, I think it’s rayacitin? They didn’t call it that back then. Maybe they were looking at the gene itself? Let me try something…”

Dr. Sims brought his hand up to the computer, palm going blue-white hot as he pointed it towards one computer screen, the pixels lifting away and collecting on his palm. He moved that ignited hand to a different laptop, the pixels floating away like blinking fireflies and sinking into that one’s screen. 

“That’s so cool,” Brent breathed, a slightly jealous look on his face. I couldn’t exactly disagree.

Aunt Sia rushed back into the room, a smile on her face as she moved to stand right behind us, reaching over both our shoulders as if to embrace us. But she didn’t; instead, her hands kept coming around, and plopped two rats onto the table before us. 

Aunt Sia and her rats; when we were younger, she’d always have at least two at home — or usually in her pockets. Apparently they’re smart enough to sneak notes or steal keys, which was something she trained them to do during the height of her anarchy with Project Sanctuary. Who was going to blink at a rat in an alleyway in downtown Seattle? Not any DUP agents. 

And certainly not Brent, the one out of the two of us who loved unorthodox pets; he rambled for an hour once about the dream house he wanted to build with a room dedicated to enclosures for snakes and lizards and probably multiple venomous creatures. He was so enamored with herpetoculture that he planned on dedicating himself to it almost as much as architecture.

Come to think of it, Aunt Sia probably caused that obsession in the first place. 

So it wasn't a surprise when Brent’s hand immediately reached out to grab one rat that’s fur was dusted yellow, his grip gentle as he brought it closer. “What’s its name?” he asked, looking up at Aunt Sia. 

She smiled. “I call him Jerry.”

Dad sighed in that way one does when they know their friend isn’t telling the full truth. “And that’s short for?”

Her smile turned a bit devilish. “Surgery. His brother is Archie—short for Anarchy.”

I snorted. Of course it was. 

Brent and I played with the rats while Dr. Sims took to typing on both laptops, the smaller chromebook pinging and pulling his attention away for a moment. “Zeke, do you know anything about the First Sons’ history?” he asked, glancing back. 

Zeke blew out a puff of air, eyes traveling off like he was trying to look into the past. “Lord, you’re asking for information only paleontologists give a shit about,” he muttered as he thought hard. “Well…Cole said something about the First Sons having been around for a long time. Like, Salem Witch Trials old? Apparently they got a lot more members after the Civil War.”

“The Civil War?” Brent repeated, tearing his eyes away from Archie. “Like, the…the first one?” 

Zeke nodded. “The one in the 1800s? Yeah.”

Dad’s brow furrowed. “Wasn’t it required for all the members of the First Sons to have the gene?” he asked. 

“I couldn’t tell you,” Zeke said. “I know John and Kuo were sent in playing spy because they had the gene, but I don’t know how they knew it existed or how they tested for it before. Just that they were a bunch of tinfoil-hat-wearing nutjobs that thought they could bend spoons with their minds like David Blaine.”

I had no idea who he was talking about but apparently Dad did, as his head tilted to the side and he asked, “The magician?” with the same tone of voice he would if Zeke was talking about aliens. 

“They practiced mentalism,” Zeke explained. “Telekinesis and the like.”

“Didn’t realize we were in a bad movie plot,” Brent muttered, glancing over at me. 

Zeke heard it, though. “Hey, laugh all you wanna, but if what Kuo said was true, they were dead serious about the idea. Believed they were the key to…” Zeke drew off, brow furrowing as he realized his next words. “Humanity’s advancement.”

“Evolution.” Aunt Sia added from beside me, glancing at Dad. 

Dr. Sims paused the scrolling to click. “I just found some sort of schematic, look.”

Dad’s eyes lit up. “Zeke, come here.” He commanded, continuing, “Doesn’t this look like those pods in the First Sons’ base?”

Zeke squinted, the lack of glasses keeping him from seeing the image easily. “Looks about right.” he agreed after a moment. 

Dad nodded, vindicated he was right as he asked, “What else does it say?” 

Dr. Sims’ brow furrowed as he took his time in reading, eventually pointing to his screen and reading aloud, “‘Enzymatic Evolution System: this module refers to the part of the power transfer apparatus meant to house the donor’s Conduit protein, artificially mature them via RFE, and…encourage rapid skill enhancement and ability progression cataclysm by implementation of an artificially-integrated enzyme meant to trigger the protein’s natural development.’”

“Natural development,” I repeated, looking at Dad. “Like…getting stronger with your power?”

“It’s gotta be,” he agreed, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The way his eyes glared at the table in thought made it look like his mind was going a mile a minute. 

Something dinged, that same single chime of something having finished downloading, and Dr. Sims looked at the small laptop in the middle of his setup. “The journal just finished decoding.” He announced, leaning forward a bit. 

“Plug in ‘evolution,’ see what you get,” Aunt Sia instructed. 

Dr. Sims did—and both he and Dad cringed at whatever appeared on the screen. “What is it?” I asked. 

Dad shook his head in disbelief and looked away from the computer, moving to grab the physical copy of Wolfe’s journal under a bunch of folders and opening it, flipping back and forth through the pages until he landed on the one he was looking for. And he cringed, hard, like something in it hurt to look at.

And when he set it back down on the table, I couldn’t help but do the same. 

The journal, indecipherable to me by word, wasn’t as incoherent regarding what the entry was about—especially when there was a polaroid paper clipped to the corner that showcased the horror the entry had to be describing. 

There was a man held down…or, what probably was a man. The flat stomach and chest seemed to suggest so, even if the four arms didn’t. One was clamped between metal teeth, the others lying limply at his sides—like even if he wanted to fight, he couldn’t. He just looked so exhausted. His head was leaned back into some sad excuse of a neck support, his waist held in place by what looked like the world’s worst diaper. His skin was purpled, the muscle strained and rippled and looking like it was threatening to shred from the strain. 

And at the foot of the metal platform he was laying against, was the Ray Sphere. 

“Jesus…” Brent drew off, looking away. He never had the stomach for grotesque stuff, not by a long haul—but even I was finding this hard to look at. 

“What is that?” Aunt Sia asked behind us. 

Zeke let his foot fall from being propped up against the wall, leaning forward to look around Dr. Sims at his computer screen. “Son of a bitch, I’ve seen something like this before.”

Dad glanced up at Zeke. “You have?” He asked, bewildered. I couldn’t really blame him; Zeke had seen something like this before? “Is it another one of Bertrand’s things?”

Zeke shook his head. “Nah, nothing like that. ‘Bout a week or two after Cole killed Kessler, when the military invaded Empire City? There was this…thing that was trying to hunt down Cole. Purple like this dude, had four arms too. Couldn’t tell you what it was from, though.”

“Did you ever find out why it wanted Cole?” I asked, moving to cover my cast with my sleeve as Jerry did his best to bite a chunk out of my cast’s plastic. Aunt Sia saw this, grabbed the little rat off of the table, and put him on her shoulder as a form of time out.

Zeke just shook his head. 

Dr. Sims’ head, though, tilted slightly to the side as he looked at the picture on the screen. “I think I remember that,” he said cautiously, trying to access the memory from somewhere deep within. “Remember Mr. Seay’s class, Alessia? He’d have us do these current event things based off of news segments he’d show us. He had us do a whole debate segment on the news reels from Empire City, and it had some creature that looked a lot like this.”

Aunt Sia nodded slowly. “I remember that. I also remember him getting fired and arrested for spreading pro-bio-terrorist propaganda.”

Dad huffed. “Nothing like living in a police state.”

Zeke didn’t concentrate on Dad’s distaste, instead confirming, “The footage that got Navarro impeached? Yeah, that’d be this guy.” 

Dr. Sims typed away for a moment, and I could see the distorted square of a window pop up in the reflection of his glasses as Dad leaned forward to read over his shoulder. “David Warner,” he read aloud to the room. “Looks like he was a…a security guard for the First Sons?”

“Is this what happens when you’re near a Ray Sphere?” Aunt Sia asked, looking down at the picture in equal parts distaste and fear. 

Dr. Sims began perusing through other pop ups. “Well, I imagine it works like mutations in animals that were born in the fallout radius of the Blast, except worse.”

“Anyone macrodosing radiation would probably end up with four arms regardless of if they’re human or Conduit,” Dad added as a joke, the ease of his words not at all reflecting the look on his face. 

Dr. Sims’ fingers settled, a pop up in his glasses’ reflection growing larger as he maximized it. “‘Subject coherent and exhibiting changes to epidermis after being exposed to the Ray Sphere for a thirteenth time,’” he began reading. 

“Thirteen?” Zeke repeated in shock, eyes so wide I could see the tops of them hovering above his sunglasses. 

“‘Subject’s initial mentalist abilities and impressive physicality have improved, that is no doubt—though not without cost.’” Dr. Sims continued. “Subject now needs a substantial amount of neuroelectricity on a biweekly basis to survive. It’s as if its body has rewired itself to depend on neural energy, constantly craving it to keep going. This dependency isn’t just a side effect; it’s a fundamental shift in its biology to the point of being able to seek out neuroelectricity. 

“‘But that’s not all; when presented with a food source, the Subject actually refused after detecting the Conduit gene within them. After Kessler demanded testing and this was proven true, he simply assigned the food source its own kennel and demanded more testing on the Subject; declared it was proof of further evolution of the gene.

“‘It’s evolving, yes, but into what? Cellular structures are changing so fast it might become pathological if we’re not careful. I can’t help but worry about the long-term implications. What if this need for neuroelectricity becomes insatiable? What if its body starts to deteriorate without it? We’re venturing into uncharted territory, and while the scientific discoveries are thrilling, the ethical and practical concerns are mounting. I need to look into stabilization of the metamorphosis of exposure. The potential here is immense, but so are the risks. Strong, formidable soldiers are necessary for the fight ahead, but futile if they have to feed on the people they’re meant to protect. We must find a way to sustain their powers without compromising their integrity.’”

“The fight ahead?” Aunt Sia asked aloud. 

“‘It,’” Brent repeated, looking at me. “You catch that?”

I did. Warner was It, Subject without a name or a history or someone to care about him beyond what he could provide in terms of research. 

Dad only glanced at us before going back to looking over Dr. Sims’ shoulder, eyes squinting a bit like it would reveal some new information to him. “He probably meant the Beast,” Dad answered Aunt Sia, chewing on his cheek. “Wolfe was one of Kesslers’ top scientists, right? Guy had to have told him about the Beast.” 

“Smell Conduits…” Zeke drew off, like the statement had meaning. “Y’know, there were two other Conduits I knew who could suss out the gene. The Beast, and Cole.”

Dr. Sims looked over his shoulder. “Cole could sense the gene in people?”

“He could see it,” Zeke corrected. “John gave him the ability when trying to convince him to join his side. Said it looked like a little glowing ball right in the chest.” He brought a hand up to hold it as a fist in the center of his chest, Dr. Sims’ head quirking to the side upon the movement. 

“That’s about where the conducrine is…” he mused before turning to the other laptop, typing away. 

“So they were making Conduits to take on the Beast?” I asked. I guess it made sense, right? To fight a war, you need an army. Kessler was proof there wasn’t enough manpower the first time, so yeah, it made sense he’d look for more. 

Even if it was in some depraved sort of way. 

“Warner’s name is mentioned in the Vermaak files,” Dr. Sims announced, going through the computer that deciphered the hard drive. “Something called a…Warner’s Threshold…” 

Dr. Sims did that a lot; jump between the computer that held the journal translations and the one that had the hard drives, cross referencing as he narrowed down what he was looking for. “Here,” he finally declared, clearing his throat slightly. “‘Repeated exposure to the Ray Sphere manifests as a double-edged sword for Conduits. While it grants them new abilities, there exists a critical threshold for irradiated Ray Field Energy absorption. Beyond this limit, adverse reactions emerge. Warner's case exemplifies this; heightened smell sensitivity coincided with progressive sight loss due to extended exposure. This delicate balance between gained abilities and physiological detriment underscores the need for a comprehensive reevaluation of RFE assimilation limits. Understanding these boundaries is vital to safeguarding Conduits' well-being amidst their transformative abilities without corrupting their being as a whole.’”

“Okay,” Dad drew out. He regarded Dr. Sims fully. “What does that mean?” 

“If the Conduit gets exposed to RFE too much, seems they start to mutate,” Aunt Sia explained. “Guess that’s why this David guy had four arms.” 

Dad stared hard at the grain of Aunt Sia’s kitchen table, brows knit. “Brent, Jean—they’ve both absorbed core relays.” he realized, raising his head to look around the room. Everywhere but at Zeke, but still. “Whatever’s happening to Jean, could it be because of that?”

Dr. Sims grimaced slightly. “I don’t…think they’d be related,” he admits. “These are two very different situations, and Brent’s not affected.”

Dad didn’t look convinced. He especially didn’t look calm. “Th–the journal—does it say anything else about the RFE intake? If there’s some sorta enhancing-to-corrupting ratio?”

“See, that’s the thing,” Dr. Sims turned to the hard drive computer and scrolled. “There’s nothing left on Warner.”

“Nothing?” Aunt Sia stressed. 

Dr. Sims shook his head, instead reading from the screen, “‘I’m still reeling from Kessler’s sudden decision to pull me off the Warner project and reassign me to New Marais. The directive came without warning or explanation, leaving me to pack up my research and relocate in a matter of days. To make matters worse, Kessler commanded that Warner be put in stasis, effectively halting all progress and declaring the project ‘done with’ despite the lack of any final results. The work we were doing in Empire City was groundbreaking, and I can't fathom why Kessler would interrupt such crucial experiments at this stage. Now, instead of continuing our promising advancements, I find myself thrust into a new and uncertain venture under Joseph Bertrand's command.’”

“Stasis?” Dad asked curiously. “Like...they threw him on ice and forgot about him?”

Zeke huffed. “Sure didn’t work. Fucker tried to eat my brain matter.”

Dr. Sims kept reading as they both spoke, eyes growing more curious the further he read. “Hey, listen to this,” he said, holding up a hand to silence them. “‘My task is to refine the integration process using retroviral vectors and to employ Ray Field Energy that will enable stable, accelerated evolution. The goal is to engineer Conduits who can replicate the abilities of a donor Conduit through the introduction of specific proteins. By successfully integrating these genetic modifications, we aim to create an army of soldiers, each with identical, highly potent abilities derived from a single powerful donor.’”

Aunt Sia exhaled hard. “Sounds familiar.” She muttered.

Dr. Sims agreed with a nod, scrolling further still. “I know. And while it looks like they figured out the acceptable sievert amount—that’s how much radiation someone can absorb before it begins affecting their soft tissues, or, in this case, their ability—they started trying to figure out how to mitigate the damage but keep the quick evolutionary benefits. So they started injecting people with liquidated raythium to try and activate them.”

Everyone flinched at that idea, Aunt Sia asking, “Jesus, and how did that go?”

“Not well,” Dr. Sims confirmed everyone’s thoughts. “Not ‘till they figured out it couldn’t only be raythium. But once they started making a concoction with artificial stress hormones, they didn’t even need a Ray Sphere to make Conduits.”

Dad cocked an eyebrow. “This is starting to sound really familiar,” he said knowingly, looking between Dr. Sims and Aunt Sia. 

The DUP. He had to be talking about them, right?

“You’re telling me.” Dr. Sims agreed, turning back to his computer. “Listen to this: ‘using retroviral integrase and advanced bioengineering techniques, CR13A successfully activated the Conduit gene in an animal model. The subject, a lab rat, demonstrated Conduit abilities mirroring those of the donor, albeit on a lesser scale. We’ve essentially created a forced Conduit—proof that we can transfer powers through genetic manipulation. And no longer will we need the sacrifice of some poor soul to grant a Conduit powers.

“‘This success opens a new chapter in our work. If we can refine this process, the implications are staggering. My next goal is to employ protein engineering to enhance this method. By designing specialized proteins, we could potentially create Conduits with tailored abilities, far surpassing the natural variations. This could lead to an evolved form of Conduits with optimized and diversified powers.’” Dr. Sims finished, looking up at Dad. 

“So that’s how they made forced Conduits…” Dad drew off thoughtfully. “What’s CR…something?”

“Conduit Retroviral Augmentation,” Dr. Sims read off. 

“So they wanted to be able to activate Conduits without the dirty work of disposing of bodies after a Ray Sphere,” Zeke hummed. “At least it cut down on lives lost.”

Dr. Sims’ lips pursed. “I wouldn’t say that.” He looked over his shoulder at Zeke. “Was there anything…wrong with the Vermaak?” 

Zeke huffed. “What wasn’t wrong with them? They were all crazier than a junebug on a string.”

Dad was the only one to react to the idiom, glancing over at Zeke like he was the one that was insane while Dr. Sims scrolled on his computer. “Do you remember why?” 

“He said something about the power transfer not supposed to be used on multiple people,” Brent chimed in instead. 

I agreed with a nod, adding, “That it would overtax the activated.” 

Dr. Sims seemed to be lost in thought as he read. “That’s nothing like what I have…”

“What do you have?” Aunt Sia asked.

Dr. Sims’ leaned forward, reading from the screen, “‘Our recent experiments with retroviral activation in humans has revealed significant drawbacks. While it appeared, at first, that basic, non-manipulated integrase do grant the Conduit abilities, they are weaker than we first predicted. What has me more concerned is our original animal subjects; their abilities have waned greatly, with significant instability to their wellbeing. Illness is rampant in our original test groups, and we’ve lost 30% of the overall batch to death. They gradually lose control over their abilities…and then themselves.’”

Dad’s jaw set as he listened to Dr. Sims speak longer, something in his eyes changing. Gradually lose control over their abilities. 

“She stopped healing first.” Dad had said in the hospital room, what felt like eons ago. “You remember! The healing went first, and then the speed, and then the fuckin’—I thought there was something wrong with her.”

Mom lost control of her powers. So did the old DUP soldiers, and apparently the Vermaak.

Was I next?

Dad seemed to be on the same wavelength as I, saying, “So they had the same issue as the DUP,” as his knuckles white-gripped Dr. Sims’ chair. 

Everyone made sure to avoid looking my way as they processed this. 

Eventually, Zeke shook his head. “That’s…not what was wrong with the Vermaak, though,” he interjected, being the first to meet my eyes and shoot me a genuine, albeit pitiful, look. I could never decide whether that was better or worse than not being acknowledged at all. “They were wild. We…there was a Vermaak soldier that defected, tried helping Cole out. Every time we saw the guy…it’s like he became less and less human.”

“How so?” Aunt Sia asked softly, hand coming up to rest on my shoulder.

Zeke crossed his arms as he stared down at the ground, trying to access a memory that looked like it was purposefully buried deep. “He’d help us out with little things. Fighting off those messed up things Bertrand made, tracking down a…a Blast core, I think. I can’t really remember. But every time we saw him, he’d be…different. I know it’s a shit way to describe it but he would evolve—his powers got stronger, he got bigger, even. But something was wrong with the guy, like, upstairs. He started muttering to himself a lot, saying things that didn’t make sense. Eventually…he became this monster, we called them titans.”

“Monster?” Dad asked. “Like Bertrand’s?”

Zeke threw his head side to side as he decided whether or not to agree with Dad, settling with, “Sort of. You remember the DUP? You had your little guys who could just throw around a bit on concrete, right? But then there were those big fish, the ones who were all decked out in concrete. There were some like that. But there were others…man, they were all ice. Like it took them over.” 

After a pause, Zeke looked back up. “The guy that was helping us? Became this big ice monster. Couldn’t control himself. It…Cole had to put him down.” 

Dad chewed on his cheek so hard I was sure he was going to rip a hole through it, before he shook his head. “But that’s not losing power,” he eventually said. 

Dr. Sims interjected, typing away on the opposite computer. “It’s not,” he confirmed, “Because the Vermaak didn’t get the basic retroviral integrase.” 

He scooted ever so slightly to the side so Dad could see it easier, reading off, “‘CR27B, augmented for enhanced physical performance, heightened cognitive functions to ensure near perfect application of powers, and evolutionary acceleration to achieve rapid and significant power enhancement.’” 

Dad used Dr. Sims’ chair as a prop as he leaned forward to look at the screen before saying, “Try CR27B, see what happens,” 

Dr. Sims looked up the word, following it past journal entries he deemed unimportant before pausing—and as his eyes scanned back and forth, his brow became more furrowed. “‘Bertrand is a fool.,’” he began reading. “‘Even before Kessler’s demise, we all had concerns about using retroviral integrase for gene activation in carriers. Now, he expects god-like production from a process still in its scientific infancy. Our efforts were meant to move away from the need for sacrificial subjects, yet he now seeks to amass an army of them—for his own profit.’” Dr. Sims scrolled a bit and I could see in his glasses’ reflection that there were sections of the journal angrily scratched out, like Wolfe messed up his writings so many times in his rage. 

“‘The buses arrived a week ago’” Dr. Sims continued once he got to the next page. “‘Long before the agreed timeframe Kessler informed me of. Bertrand immediately had me begin evaluating the new arrivals for genetic compatibility, refusing to answer any of my questions. His refusals were punctuated by threats, even brandishing his sword on one occasion.’”

Brent scoffed. “He had a sword?” He asked. “Tryhard.”

Dad shot Brent that fatherly look that said stop that without him having to actually speak, Dr. Sims continuing, “‘He ignores my warnings. The current serum is still in its preliminary testing phase, and the evolutionary acceleration is proving detrimental to the health of the forced Conduits. Illness is rampant in our first group. Splitting one Conduit’s abilities over multiple subjects is not sustainable. The transformations he seeks to impose, however, will tear them apart.

“‘By intubating subjects with a consistent protein supply and exposing them to Ray Sphere energy, I created a Conduit that evolved far quicker than any previous trials—but at a significant cost.’” Dr. Sims turned his head slightly as he read; this whole journal probably meant everything to a biochemical geneticist. “‘As the subject evolved, I observed a marked decline in mental stability. Hallucinations, both auditory and visual, led to incoherent ramblings and eventual loss of speech. When graphite began to overtake their body and they became extremely volatile, I had to euthanize the subject and perform an autopsy.  Tissue samples revealed that the subject required neuroelectricity to survive, similar to Warner. However, instead of draining this energy from others, the proteins began to consume the subject’s own neuroelectrical output, leading to severe brain damage and cognitive decline.

“‘Yet Bertrand intends to create hundreds of these unstable Conduits, planning to distribute them globally under the guise of providing security and welfare.’” Dr. Sims looked over his shoulder at Dad, finishing, “‘His ambition blinds him to the catastrophic consequences of his actions.’”

Everyone was quiet after that. I could barely hear the ringing voice of that one Vermaak soldier in my head as he asked Wolfe why he was warning him. 

“Kessler.” Aunt Sia eventually said. “Wolfe mentioned Kessler informed him of a timeframe. If Bertrand was in charge of this whole thing, why was Kessler involved?”

Zeke huffed. “Because he couldn’t help himself?” he asked with such disdain. 

It was funny how much he hated Kessler, considering who the man was. The only thing that kept me from asking him why he hated that man when it was also his best friend in another life, was how stormy Zeke’s face looked any time he was mentioned.

Dr. Sims shifted to the hard drive computer, scrolling away until one final click and a read later, he declared, “It looks like Kessler finalized a deal with the Vermaak to use them in the forced Conduit testing to prepare for ‘any threats…human or otherwise.’”

Or otherwise. 

“The Beast,” I said, everyone suddenly snapping their head my way as they remembered I was there. “That’s what the Vermaak were originally hired for.”

Dr. Sims clicked back a few times on the journal entry computer. “Wolfe’s entry on being reassigned happens three weeks after this contract,” he observed. 

“And Bertrand hated Conduits,” Brent remembered. “So once Kessler was out of the picture…he had full control over what happened to them.”

Aunt Sia moved away from behind me, setting Jerry back on the table as she moved towards the cupboards in the kitchen. “You know, it’s funny,” she began. “You realize the forced Conduits came out…wrong with the First Sons, too? The batch without that acceleration protein went through the same experience the DUP did.”

“Way quicker than the Dupes did, though.” Zeke pointed out. “I dunno how they did it, but they at least got a good couple of performances outta their monkeys.”

Dad didn’t seem to want to join in on the jokes; he left his place behind Dr. Sims, plopping down in the chair to his right and running a hand over his face. “None of this helps us, though. Sure, we know why the forced Conduits are messed up—but Jean isn’t one. She’s not growing extra arms or hallucinating or going insane. How did Archangel do to her what happened to the forced Conduits?”

No one really responded. 

At least, not verbally. 

There was a sudden poke in my side, and I turned in time to meet Brent’s eyes as he used them to motion towards Dad. He brought his hand up, finger going to his mouth and coming back down in one discreet, swell motion. Tell. 

And I just looked at him like he was stupid, mouthing What?

Brent rolled his eyes, bringing both hands into the equation as he signed Tell Dad about Mom. 

Oh, god. Hallucinations. But that couldn’t be the same as this, right? I pinched my two forefingers and my thumb together, both telling Brent no and hoping he understood that I was miming for him to shut up about it. 

Why not? He asked me, thumb running under his chin accusingly. 

I brought my fingers together in an okay sign, letting the circles connect before flaring the fingers out fully. It’s not important. 

Brent lifted his hands to say something else when we both froze at the sound of Aunt Sia clearing her throat. 

“Brent. Jean.” She said, setting the mug she pulled out on the counter and crossing her arms. Dad and Dr. Sims were looking at us now, both curiously—though Dad with a hint of annoyance. Brent and I would argue all the time around him in sign language when we didn’t want him to know what we were talking about, it always annoyed him. 

I mean, sure, it may have been for arguments about used pads or asking to borrow cash to buy a new dab pen, but we also used it to plan Dad’s birthday and Christmas gifts, so he learned to deal with it. 

But Aunt Sia? She didn’t look impressed at all. She cocked an eyebrow, and asked, “You know I know sign language, right?”

[onceupona-crossover]

a romantic moodboard of Kristoff (Frozen) and Flynn Rider (Tangled) with a blue theme, with pictures of ice, lutes, forests, male same sex photos, reindeers, adventure, outsmarting people, white horses (like maximus)

Requested by:anon

- Mod rapunzel

[rollingaroundin-bread]

This might have been a slightly ambitious comic to start 12 hours ago but hey I finished it literally as the finale was starting!! Hence why I’m just getting to posting it now haha :)

[rjalker]

Dear people who aren't physically disabled who plan to write fantasy settings:

[ID: Several images taken from the Geordi La Forge yes and no meme format, with Geordi holding out a hand disapprovingly for the no section, then pointing in approval for the yes section.

The first image is the meme:

No: "Saying the existance of magic in your setting means there are no disabled people (this literally just means disabled people are killed. AKA eugenics)"

Yes: "Having disabled people who use magical mobility aids and other assistive devices. Realizing that someone is still disabled even if their prosthetic arm is made of magic instead of plastic."

This is followed by four more panels of yes section:

"Geordi la Forge is still literally disabled. His visor helping him does not erase his disability and make him magically abled."

"Toph from Avatar: The Last Airbender is still literally disabled even though her Earthbending helps her. It does not make her disability ~magically~ go away."

"Having your disability be accomodated does not mean the disability goes away. Having a prosthetic hand, even one that's made of magic, does not mean you're not disabled."

"Magical mobility aids do not mean disabled people don't exist. It just means they use magical mobility aids instead of plastic or metal ones. A limb made of magic is still a prosthetic even if it's made of the soul of the universe instead of plastic and metal."

Then another no panel: "'There's no disabled people beacuse magic'".

Then one last yes panel: "'Magic helps disabled people in a variety of ways'".

End ID.]

This also applies to science fiction; just because Luke Skywalker's prosthetic hand is super advanced doesn't mean it's no longer a prosthetic, or that he's not disabled. Same with Darth Vader - just because he has a suit that lets him breathe and walk around doesn't mean he's not disabled. (And Star Wars' propensity for making the villains visibly disabled while the heroes disabilities get covered up by super advanced prosthetics is a topic that deserves its own post, especially with how ableist some of the authors of the books are. Troy Denning is especially ableist)

Edit:

Because people keep being fucking obnoxious and ableist in the tags, yes,,, motherfuckers, if you refuse to have disabled people in your setting, that does make you fucking ableist. If you say that the magic is used to cure all disabled people and that's why they don't exist, that's fucking eugenics.

You cannot ""cure"", more like remove all disabilities without fucking eugenics. Magically automatically destroying disabled fetuses (a very fucking popular trope!) is eugenics.

The only way to fucking "cure" autism is to fucking kill all autistic people, also known as eugenics!

What about people with PTSD? Do you just fucking brainwash them so they aren't traumatized anymore?

Do you force all Deaf people to be able to hear? Do you force all blind people to be able to see? Do you force all anosmics to be able to smell?

Do you magically force everyone with a speech impediment to speak to your standards?

Do you force everyone born with bodily or facial differences to live up to your fucking standard of beauty?

You cannot fucking say "disablities don't exist in this universe because magic cures everything" without inherently saying that eugenics exists in your fucking universe.

Not all fucking disabilities need a cure. If you ""cured"" my autism I'd just be fucking dead. You'd literally just be changing me into what you think is fucking acceptable.

Stop fucking arguing in defence of ableists on my fucking post so you can pretend that eugenics has never been written about in magical settings when it is extremely fucking prevalent.

And while we're fucking at it, let your gods damned characters become disabled over the course of their story, and call them disabled within the fucking story. I don't care if they're a robot. I don't care if they have magic. Not all fucking damage can be fixed. Curses exist. Hardware can go out of fucking date and no longer be manufactured anywhere.

Let your characters become disabled and do not magically fucking cure them back to brand new every single time they get hurt. The only thing you accomplish by doing that is destroying any chance of ever having stakes.

No, "magical healing leaves scars on the mind from the memory of the injuries though!!!!" is not fucking good enough. Let your characters have scars. Let them become disabled. Stop being fucking ableist cowards.

Edit number fucking 2:

No, motherfuckers, you do not get to comment "if the disability was caused by magic it's not ableist to cure it with magic". You are the ableist this post is about. Shut the absolute fuck up, stop treating being disabled as the worst possible outcome, and just admit you're a fucking ableist. If you don't want your characters to become disabled, then don't fucking make them disabled.

[ID: The Garfield "you are not immune to propaganda" meme, now edited to read:

"If your first thought upon reading this post is, 'Oh, but it's okay to magically cure disabilities caused by magic!' Congrats…you are the exact sort of ableist jackass this post is about."

End ID.]

Edit number fucking 3:

Autistic people exist! People who are born with disabilities exist! You cannot create a setting where disabled people do not exist because we're all "cured" or "fixed" and not inherently say that you are killing disabled people as soon as they're born, or fucking aborting us as soon as you figure out we'd be born disabled! That's fucking eugenics!

There is no way to "cure" autism without eugenics! There is no way to "cure" people with body differences without eugenics! There is no way to make disabled people nonexistant in your setting without eugenics! Thinking you can and should "cure" and "fix" all disabilities IS EUGENICS!

Also:

[ID: A character shouting at the camera, now edited to read: "Shut up about Dungeons and Dragons! Shut up about Dungeons and Dragons! If the rules of Dungeons and Dragons are ableist, then fucking change them! It is your fucking personal responsability to be a better person than your bigoted society wants you to be!". End ID.]

[ID: White text on a dark brown background with white and black borders around the edges, that reads:

"I don't fucking know or care about Dungeons and Dragons.

This post is not about Dungeons and Dragons.

Do not fucking throw the rulebook of Dungeons and Dragons at me like it's some sort of 'Gotcha!'.

You will literally just be blocked like the rest of the ableist assholes who've already tried it.

If you play dungeons and dragons, it's your responsability to make your games not be ableist, even if it means breaking the rules.".

End ID.]

I do not fucking care what the ableist rules are in Dungeons of Dragons. Do not fucking throw ableist rules for a game I have never and will never play at me on a post I made so that people could learn how to make their settings less ableist. If the rules in Dungeons and Dragons are ableist, then fucking change them. If you don't want to change them, then stop fucking playing an ableist game.

Disabled people deserve to see ourselves represented in fiction just like everyone else, without any fucking requirements that we be "cured" or "fixed" before the story ends.

How the fuck would you feel if a trans and gay character's whole story revolved around going on a quest to become straight and cis, did so, and only then was allowed to live happily ever after?

Why do you fucking think suggesting people write stories about disabled people going on a quest to be cured because it's the only way they'll ever be happy is any less fucking offensive?

Also:

This post is NOT a place for you to talk about how disabled people in fiction should have the option of curing their disabilities. It's just not. That's the fucking default for this society. That is not a revolutionary concept. It's not novel. We fucking know this society wants us gone. A post about how disabled people deserve representation is not the place to talk about how "Well, actually, in fiction disabled people should be cured!" Like that's not the fucking universal default???????????

Edit #4:

Everyone needs to stop tagging this singing praise for Fullmetal Alchemist. A story that uses disability as a punishment and the characters are on a quest to cure their disabilities is not the amazing representation you're all claiming it is just because the character who is only disabled because of DIVINE PUNISHMENT uses prosthetics.

Read this post, and this one. Fullmetal Alchemist is a hell of a lot more ableist than you people are letting on.

guess what you can now find a PDF version of this post on the web archive.

Edit #5! August 23rd, 2023!

A) Everyone. Disabilities that can only exist in the magical setting are still disabilities.

Trying to cure the younger brother's magical disability of being a soul floating around in a magical suit of armour is, in fact, going on a quest to heal a disability!

It doesn't matter if the older brother doesn't want to get his limbs back when they're going on a quest to heal the younger brother's disability! Especially when they BOTH get magically healed at the end!

Magical disabilities that can only exist in that setting, but not real life, are still disabilities, and it's not okay to magically heal them either! What part of the Garfield meme on this post did you all choose to ignore?!

B) When you leave tags on a post you are reblogging, the original poster can see them! When you leave tags on this post, I can see them!

If you think this post is ""too aggressive"" then simply do not reblog it! Don't fucking tone police me on a post I've had to edit five times now due to the constant ableism people have been commenting since I made it!

I have been called the R slur by multiple people in response to this post! People have literally reblogged this post to defend eugenics abortions! You can't see these comments or replies anymore because I blocked the poster!

If you think minorities are being too aggressive by responding appropriately to bigotry, you're a bigot! And you should either not reblog the post at all, or at the very least, shut the fuck up and not tone police us!

Do not fucking put tags on this post complaining I'm being too aggressive! That's called tone policing and you're a bigot if you do it! Don't fucking do it on anyone else's posts either! They can see your tags too!

C) When I fucking say Harry Potter fans are banned from this post, yes, this means YOU!

Either stop supporting a billionaire who's literally using the profits from her bigoted shittily written books to fund REAL FUCKING GENOCIDE, or fuck off!

By continuing to support the Harry Potter series, you are literally giving JK Rowling free fucking advertising! You are encouraging more people to read the series and watch the movies, spending more money and giving her more fucking money with which to LITERALLY SHAPE A COUNTRY'S LAWS TO COMMIT GENOCIDE. She is literally fucking fighting to make being trans illegal! She is literally fucking fighting to have even more of autistic people's rights taken away!

You cannot fucking be a fan of the Harry Potter series in 2023 and call yourself an ally to all the minorities harmed by JK Rowling and the bigotry baked into her shitty series!

Read another book! The Web Archive has tons you can read for free! Literally every single book on gutenberg.org/ is free! Including audiobooks for some of them!

If you write Harry Potter fanfiction, simply fucking get rid of the names and identifiable features and start writing original fiction instead! It's literally free!

Not supporting a literal fucking genocidal billionaire costs LITERALLY NOTHING! And if you refuse to fucking stop supporting JK Rowling, which is what you are doing when you support the Harry Potter series and squeal over her OCs, you are not an ally to any fucking minority! No! Not even if you're trans yourself!

= = =

Edit again Nobember 28th 2023 because this comment is just. such a perfect example for all of you that think this doesn't happen.

butter-whore2 said, two hours before this edit:

kind of a fan of tumblr's slightly more algorithmically elements for reminding me of the hell's other people construct for themselves but this one hits like five of the boxes. How do people do this to themselves? it's such a bizarre way to act over media I genuinely do not believe is capable of stirring an emotional response the metaphysics of disability here are unintentionally really funny but disability is not a coherent ontological framework, it's a vague descriptor for literally thousands of different things none of which lend themselves to categorizing Moralizing over fiction is incredibly lame.

Liking harry potter is also incredibly lame, it's not morally wrong nor transphobic and you do not get to decide that lol. people literally do get "cured" of their disabilities all the time, many of them have a positive experience in doing so. this is not what eugenics is.

the anti abortion stuff lol

Literally how do you live like this? you guys don't even read real books I don't get it.

Archived version of the comment for posterity.

So yeah, lofl, block this fucker.

[zerctoherc]

[caesium-55]

—seven days [ epilogue ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

warnings: mentions of death and suicide.

author's note: here's the epilogue and the end end of the seven days series. thank you everyone for showing love to this fic! i was honestly so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of all of you. also, i apologize for all the broken hearts i caused after posting chapters 4-7. stay safe yall! i'll rest my fingers for real now. my doctor wasn't very happy with me. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal @landorris @onecojg @leclercdream @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @spookystitchery @0710khj @strollnstroll @justab-eautifulmess @ssrcsm @seasonswinter @kravitzwhore @mycure156 i hope i didn't forget anyone

masterlist.

Julio [Name] was not an ambitious person. He didn't have dreams or concrete plans in life. But in 1985, his first dream was born. He wanted to be an F1 racer after reading about the Portuguese Grand Prix in a local newspaper where he saw a Brazilian racer even younger than him participate in it and winning it. Ayrton Senna was the racer’s name, twenty-five years old. At that time, Julio [Name] was the same age.

He immediately searched for the nearest karting track. He brought his then girlfriend, Sally Kingston, a dental student in USC, to the kart zone for their date. It was safe to say that driving was not exactly his forte. He crashed his rental kart and had to pay the damages. He was afraid that he made himself a loser in front of the Sally Kingston, the richest, prettiest, and nicest girl from L.A., and that she wouldn't wanna go out with a bumpkin like him anymore, but she had only laughed at him—her eyes turning into little crescents, showing too much teeth and gums—and from then and there, he knows he’s going to marry Sally Kingston one day. He might not have become a F1 driver, but he ended up marrying the girl of his dreams.

Him and Sally welcomed a son in 1991. They named him Damiano and he turned out to be a carbon copy of his beloved wife, not that Julio was complaining. When Damiano turned five, Julio brought him in the kart zone and let him try driving the kart. Damiano adored it so Julio signed him up for racing school. Three weekends later, Damiano got sick of driving around in circles so he stopped. Sally gave birth to a daughter in the same year—1996.

Five years later, he brings [Name], his mija, into the kart zone. He expected that you’ll be like Damiano, too, getting sick of the thing after three weekends or so. You didn't. You loved karting and going fast, almost dangerously so. You lasted five weekends so Julio signed you up for the kart zone’s junior racing school and you were their first female member. You won your first race when you were six, only seven months after you officially joined.

“She was born to race,” the team head told Julio. Julio then decided that he’d do whatever it takes so you could become a F1 driver.

Like his initial dream, his dream for you couldn't be brought to reality. When you were nine, you had to stop karting for financial reasons. Damiano was in high school, Rafael had leukemia, and Dominic had just been born. When Julio told you the news, you were sad but you understood why the decision was made so you never complained. You learned how to play billiards instead and your Abuelo was the one who taught you. It's cheaper than karting so Sally and Julio gave you their full support.

Julio [Name] was pleasantly surprised when you told him that you got accepted in USC’s engineering department years later. He half expected that you’d be like Damiano, who took an interest in dentistry, and was attending dental school. He was going to be a dentist like his mother. He was a perfect copy of Sally.

“If I can't be a racer, I’ll become a mechanical engineer,” you declared, head held high. Julio couldn't be anymore proud. You were living his dream.

If you asked Julio [Name] if he had lived a happy life despite not reaching his dreams, he would say yes without hesitation. He married the love of his life, Sally Kingston, now Sally [Last Name]. His first son, Damiano, had topped dental school and followed in his mother’s footsteps. His daughter, [Name], graduated with flying colors, a mechanical engineering degree under her belt and entered the motorsports industry, the first in the family to do so. (You even got him Fernando Alonso’s autograph! That's his second favorite driver!) Not only that, she volunteered at the LAFD during her college years and competed in a billiards tournament in Vegas, Australia, and the UK. You had the potential to be an international-level pool player but you didn't pursue the sport because you wanted to be an engineer. Rafael didn't let leukemia beat him and now, he’s finishing up his last year in CalTech, pursuing mechanical engineering like his older sister. A research team in Sweden had been eyeing him for a while now. Dominic, on the other hand, is steadily building a career for himself in volleyball. He was offered a sports scholarship in Harvard so, despite the fact that he’s going even farther than his siblings with no relatives near him like in L.A., Julio pushed him to pursue what he wanted. His children are his pride and joy. He spent every single day bragging about his children to his colleagues. The others had expressed their envy to him. Did Julio save a country in his last life to have such great children?

Furthermore, he’d been promoted to be the captain of Station 131 in Austin. Julio may not have driven an F1 car but he wouldn't even trade this family over anything in this world, not even the life of luxury and thrill of a Formula One Driver.

(What Julio didn't know was that Damiano had serious depression in dental school that he carried even after graduating, that you weren't accepted as an engineer in F1 and was stuck in a managerial position for the last five years, that Sweden found a better researcher than Rafael so he’s stuck suffering physically and mentally in a degree with his future unclear and cloudy, and Dominic was slowly losing passion in volleyball but it's the only thing putting him through college right now so he grits his teeth and put himself on court. No one told Julio. Julio got enough of his dreams broken already.)

Truthfully, despite working for Red Bull for half a decade, you never liked its taste. You were always the Monster Energy type of girl. It's the one drink that kept you functioning through all the all-nighters you pulled in engineering school. However, you kind of lost the palate for Monster Energy so now, here you are, standing outside a gas station mini mart in the middle of the dusty highway that leads to El Paso. You hold the chilled can of Red Bull against the side of your neck, satisfied with the feeling of something cool pressing against your skin. The temperature in Texas is going absolutely crazy this time of the year. In your other hand, two cigarette sticks balance in between your fingers. You crave the deadly nicotine. Desperately. But you're not stupid enough to smoke at a gas station because of your cravings.

Your phone vibrates and you pull it out of your pocket to see who messaged you. You snicker when you view the barrage of pictures from the Austin Grand Prix that Leo sent. A stolen shot of Logan, meme faces of Alex, the air show, a selfie with THE Fernando Alonso, and a Tiktok video with the other Williams mechanics.

You watched the race from the stands today and truthfully, you prefer watching the race in the garage than on the stands. It's unbelievably boring to be there. People pay thousands of dollars to sit under the excruciating heat of the sun and catch a glimpse of very fast cars for a nanosecond. You wouldn't even catch sight of if you blink. Nevertheless, you're happy that Leo is having the time of his life. You wish you share the same shoes.

leo: so so sad that u have to go

you: id be flattered if u actually mean it

leo: *rolling eyes emoji*

leo: i hope you choke on your beer

you: i hope you choke on the celebratory champagne

you: and i dont drink and drive

leo: good to know ur not stupid

leo: on a serious note make sure to drive to el paso safely

you: aight aight

leo: u know i have something to confess

you: if it's something stupid, don't bother

leo: ur stupid

you: fuck u

leo: shut up

leo: just wanna say i didn't break up with u bc u gave max too much attention

leo: i know that's what i said but i only said that bc i knew that u needed max to achieve ur dreams

leo: and idk i just thought max wouldn't give it to u not when im still dating u

you: that's stupid

you: max isn't like that

leo: hes in love with u

Your heart stutters. You ignore it.

you: liar

leo: i could tell u lil shit

leo: idk he looked like someone who’d hold a grudge

you: he does hold grudges

leo: and i cant allow myself to stand in between you and the one person who can give you your dream you know?

leo: i loved you enough to let you go to him

You choke on your saliva. You don't love Leo romantically anymore and you are sure that the feelings are mutual but his abrupt confession is enough to bring back the pain of loving him and letting him go all over again.

leo: u sure u won’t stay to see him?

leo: he’s the one who wants to see you the most

you: his ig messages makes me think otherwise

You're a fucking coward. A pussy.

leo: you didn't see the man [name]

leo: you don't know how empty he looks now

A shadow of guilt darkens your eyes. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your jacket. You open the Red Bull and take a large swig, almost draining the entire can. You exhale loudly after drinking, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You stare at the vast expanse of the dry earth before you, starting to understand the appeal of aimless road trips in the southern roads.

The world seems to be turning in slow motion now.

Ever since your father died, time feels like it was moving too fast. You arrived at the hospital half an hour after Julio was officially pronounced dead. At that time, you felt like the world was ending. Your knees gave out in the middle of the hospital hallway. Your mother’s wail echoed in your ears. Damiano and Dominic were trying to console her, both of whom were crying terribly. You stare at them, face empty despite the hurricane brewing within you. Rafael wrapped his arms around you and you held onto him as he cried uncontrollably.

Your mother possessed a weak heart. She’d grown weaker and weaker day by day after your father passed. Your father’s station held a ceremony for him to pay tribute to their fallen captain. You were the one who carried his helmet all throughout the ceremony because the entire station knew you were his most prized child. When you flipped the helmet, there was a photo taped on it. A photo of the entire family at your graduation ceremony in USC. You maintained that tired and empty stare during the entire procession. In the middle of the ceremony, your mother collapsed.

Your father’s death was the first domino to be tipped. Your mother’s collapse during the funeral was the second. From then on, everything turned to shit. Your mother had always been frail and prone to sickness so it didn’t surprise you when she had grown so weak in a matter of days. She couldn't sleep. She didn't want to eat. She lost her will to do anything else. You took her to the hospital after a week because you were afraid she was beginning to become malnourished. Damiano suggested moving your mother to El Paso, to your Abuelo and Abuela’s farm, so your mother could recuperate there, and you agreed. The entire family moved to El Paso quickly, leaving the house in Vista Del Pueblo empty and celebrated the New Year there.

You opened your phone for the first time since you landed in ATX on the 30th and a barrage of messages had been sent to you. From Daniel, Logan, Leo, Kendall, Julia. You freeze when you see Max’s name. Your finger hovers above it, hesitating. Your mind trailed back to the five years you spent in Red Bull, to all the memories with Max in it, to what happened inside his penthouse in Monaco, the jet, the night you spent in his sheets, the shoes and—

Fuck.

“Kelly,” you mumbled to yourself, typing her username in the search box. You began typing up a message. You're not mentally equipped to write a long message of apology. Your mental dictionary was not ready to use so you decided to half ass the entire message and hope for the best.

you: sorry about the breakup

you: i didn't know about the shoes

you: i didn't take it

you: im so sorry

you: i hope you're not too hurt

In truth, you loved Kelly for Max. You never had problems with her. At first, you were concerned about the great age gap between her and Max as she was even older than Danny but then you figured that you did not have a say because Leo was also younger than you, born in the same year as Max. Then, you saw how she was so caring to Max, so patient in dealing with his misplaced anger, so supportive. You saw how Max transformed into a better version of himself, something you are not even capable of doing, because of Penelope and Kelly. How he became the world's most massive girl dad without trying. You ignored every bitter feeling that sprouted on your chest because you saw Max was happy and his happiness always came first. And now, you’re here, apologizing to Kelly for taking Max away from her.

kelly: i think i’m the one who’s been taking him from you

kelly: take care of him for me

you: thank you for loving him

You can't imagine how hurt Kelly was. Imagine dating and preparing a man so he could be perfect for another girl.

you: but i can’t do what you're asking

you: not anymore

“Not anymore,” you whisper to yourself, as if uttering it to the wind would cement it as the truth.

Not anymore, Max. I’m sorry.

Rafael and Dominic told you that they want to drop out of college to help you out with Mama a few days after New Year’s. You quickly told them no, to finish college and that you could handle taking care of two senior citizens and your sickly mother and help out on the farm since you’re essentially jobless at the moment.

The third domino is Damiano. You were always aware he’d been clinically depressed, taking medications to help him get better. Whatever he went through in dental school, he carried it with him until he was working. You believed he was getting better. He was seeing a therapist for years now and you were checking up on him every day. Then, like Mama, he just…. became worse. Rafael found him submerged in the bathtub in his apartment, red painting his wrists. Had Rafael not been there at the right time, Damiano would have followed Papa Julio.

The fourth domino is Dominic. He ruined his hand in March. The doctor told him it was dangerous for him to continue playing volleyball competitively. It was either he learned how to set with only his non-dominant hand because his dominant hand is partially crippled or he stopped playing all together. He’d choose the second option with no hesitation as he had lost his passion for the sport but if he’s not playing for Harvard anymore, no one would be able to pay his fees until graduation. Not when Julio died, not when Sally was too sick to continue working, not when Damiano was currently unstable, not when you’re the only one who had been supporting the entire family through your entire savings account. Red Bull must have paid you a lot of money because you’ve been keeping the entire family afloat for months now.

The fifth domino is Rafael, who got his entire thesis overhauled so now, his graduation was out of the picture. It sucked. He’d always been expected to follow his older siblings’ footsteps, both of whom are academically excelling individuals and Rafael had been studying and studying and studying. So why was this happening to him? Why was this happening to his family?

The sixth domino was yet to be tipped over.

You refuse to fall.

You blink, suddenly back in reality when you hear a loud caw of a bird flying above your head. You shake your head, tossing the Red Bull in a nearby trash can and returning inside the mini mart. The amount of caffeine in a Red Bull isn’t enough. You need more. You need fucking coffee.

Gas station coffee sucks but you’re never the type who complains. El Paso is still eight hours away and you’re sure you're going to be driving your motorcycle the entire night just to reach the farm the next morning.

You walked towards the Yamaha XSR 155 parked in front of the mini-mart, a styro cup of coffee that’s as black as your soul and as bitter as your life in your hand. Hypnotizing swirls of steam rise from the cup. In each step you take, the key that is attached to your hip jingles.

It's a little past four in the afternoon but the darkness of the sky makes you think it's around six PM. You pocket your cigarettes and stand beside your motorcycle, hand on your hip while the other brings the cup of coffee to your mouth. A car suddenly arrives, coming to a screeching halt in front of you. You flinch in surprise, almost spilling your coffee in your hands. You hiss loudly, brows furrowing, a curse sitting on the tip of your tongue. You hear the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut and when you look up—

“Max.”

He’s still in his Red Bull overalls, drenched in sweat as if he ran to the gas station instead of driving. His hair is windswept, sticking out in multiple directions almost attractively so. He looks simultaneously distraught and relieved when your eyes met. The longing in his eyes. God. You unconsciously take a step back and turn around—a flight response—when he charges in your direction.

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, stopping you from your tracks and causing your coffee to spill and fall down pathetically on the floor. You avoided the puddle, hands reaching behind you to guide Max away from the steaming liquid. But it’s too late. You saw the hot coffee touch his skin.

“Max!” you exclaim, eyes going wide. Your hand wraps around his forearm, pulling it but his grip on you tightens so you resort to tapping his arm in hopes that he’ll let go and you can inspect his injured hand and make a quick run for the mini mart for first-aid supplies.

“Max, let go,” you say, panicking. “Your hand—”

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracks.

“I won't go, okay? Let go and I’ll—”

“No,” the hug tightens and you suck in a breath. “You’ll leave again. I know you’ll leave again.”

“I’ll fix your hand. You can’t burn your hand—”

“I can endure it. Let me have this please,” he pleads. You pull his hand but Max remains stubborn. Resigned, you sigh. It turns out that you’re still the same, giving whatever Max wanted.

“I’m sorry for getting angry,” he begins. “I’m sorry for stopping you from going to Renault. I’m sorry for promising that I’d talk to Christian. I’m sorry that I didn't. I’m sorry that you had to break up with Leo because of me. I’m sorry that I realized that I fell in love with you while dating Kelly. I’m sorry for the shoes. I’m sorry for getting drunk. I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry for not considering you. I’m sorry for loving you. I’m so, so sorry, [Name]. For everything.”

His words come rapidly and frankly, you don't want to hear Max like this. Max rarely apologizes. You're not used to hearing him apologize.

“Max—”

“I called, [Name].”

You freeze.

“I called so many times. Not once have you answered. Not once—” a loud sob erupts from his mouth, interrupting him. “You always come when I call.”

You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

“I sent you a message,” he continues. “To wait for me. I know I’m selfish but can I have five minutes please? Just….five?”

A pause.

“Okay,” you whisper. Max’s body trembles against yours and you stand still for a few minutes,

“Hey,” you say gently, suddenly reminded that you're standing in an open space and Max is still in his Red Bull overalls and he doesn't even have his usual cap on and this compromising situation you're both in was going to be bad for Max’s online reputation once the wrong pair of eyes manage to catch sight of you. You can already imagine what the headlines would be.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND HIS FORMER MANAGER CAUGHT HUGGING IN A GASOLINE STATION AFTER AUSTIN GP.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND FORMER RED BULL MANAGER IN A RELATIONSHIP?

FORMER RED BULL MANAGER POTENTIAL REASON FOR BREAKUP BETWEEN KELLY PIQUET AND MAX VERSTAPPEN?

MAX VERSTAPPEN CHEATED ON KELLY PIQUET WITH FORMER MANAGER?

MAX VERSTAPPEN, FULL-TIME WORLD TIME CHAMPION, PART-TIME CHEATING ASSHOLE.

God. You can already imagine the headache splitting the entire PR team’s skulls. The world already hates Max because of how good he was at his sport. You can’t allow people to shit on him more because of you.

“Max,” you try again, tapping his forearm so he can loosen his hold on you and you can turn around. “Max, baby, cooperate with me for a bit, yeah?”

You tug on his wrist and you can't help but sigh in relief when his arms loosen a little. He’s beginning to choke you a little bit. With his arms still around you, you pivot on your heels so you’re face-to-face with his broad chest.

When you look up to Max’s face, your heart shatters into a million pieces. His tears continue to flow and violent sobs wrack his entire body, robbing him of the ability to speak and barely allowing a breath to be drawn. He’s going to hyperventilate. Fucking dammit.

“Max,” how many times have you said his name in the last few minutes? “Hey, breathe with me.”

Your hand cradles his jaw and your eyes focused on his blue ones and fuck, they’re as insanely beautiful as you remembered.

“Breathe.”

You perform exaggerated inhales and exhales so Max can match your breaths, his hands settling on your shoulders. His palms feel heavy against your shoulders and his fingers dig deep into your skin.

“I’m here, Champ. I’m here,” you assure him. “I’m here now.”

You wait until he calms down a little and when he does, your right hand searches for his, intertwining your fingers together to assure him that you’re not going anywhere just yet. Your other hand comes up to hold the area below his neck and you slowly guide him back to his car. It’s a little difficult, Max obviously has no intention to let you go, but you know how to make things work.

Max sits on the driver's seat with you standing outside of the car. He's still clinging onto your hand and you use the other hand to hold the roof of the car for support. Max stopped crying now, staring blankly at you with a sad pout on his face. His tears are now dry, staining his cheeks.

“You okay now, Champ?” you ask, never failing to sound gentle. That's what Max needs now. Gentleness. God forbid you pull a Jos Verstappen.

Max shakes his hand, making you sigh deeply. Your eyes trail to the hands, the pale skin now an angry red.

“Max,” you call his attention. He looks up at you and you have to avoid his gaze because if you look at his face, your heart hurts. “I’ll get something from the mini-mart for your burn, aight?”

He shakes his head and his grip on your hand impossibly tightens. If he keeps this up, he’s going to break your bones.

“No.”

If you were the same person that you were in 2023, you would have let Max do what he wanted. What Max wanted, what Max shall get—that’s the philosophy you lived by. But things are different now. Leo told you that you’re allowing Max to take too much from you and Max needs to learn to actually listen to you.

You’ve been taught to treat even the most minor of burns as if it’s a major burn. That's what you are planning to do right now.

“Max,” you say, a little firmer now. “Gonna grab somethin’ in the mart real quick, you stay here, aight?”

“No—”

“Not askin’, Champ,” you interrupt him. “I'm not leavin’ yet, not goin’ anywhere until I make sure you’re okay. So stay here and wait.”

You swiftly remove the key attached to your belt and force it into his palm, “Here are my keys. I’m not goin’ to drive off and leave you here, aight? Do you trust me?”

You have a feeling that this anxiety of his might have stemmed from that one incident in his childhood where Jos left him at a gas station. Fucking son of a bitch that man was.

Hesitantly, Max says, “I do.”

“Good,” you ruffle his hair, dampening your palm.

You can see he does not like what you're doing now but he does not have any choice so he sits in the car, looking as pitiful as ever. You jog up to the mini-mart, immediately going to the beverage section to grab a bottle of water and passing by the hygiene shelf to snatch a handkerchief. You go to the counter and the middle aged guy manning the register obviously does not look impressed that you’re in his shop for the third time in the same hour, which is stupid because he should be glad that he has a customer. You put everything on the counter, pulling out some bills from your back pocket.

“You happen to have neosporin?” you ask.

“Do we look like a drug store?” he retorts. You roll your eyes, toss the bills to the cashier, and grab your items without even waiting for the guy to wrap them all up in a paper bag. You jog back to Max’s car.

“Excuse me,” you lean inside the car, opening the compartment to search for a burn cream you left inside there last year. Your eyes land on his keys, stiffening when you notice that Max kept every single gift you gave him. The bead keychain from 2020, the bottle opener keychain from 2021, the clay figure keychain from 2022, and the bracelet from 2023 sway slightly, staring back at you. You shake your head and resume doing your original mission. You find the burn cream and you immediately search for the expiration date. January 2025; it’s still good to use.

You straighten, take hold of Max’s wrist gently, and roll up his long sleeves up to his elbows. You open the water bottle and tug Max’s hand towards you so he won't get water on his car as you pour water on his burn. Once the bottle is nearly empty, you apply the cream on the reddened area of his skin. Then, you use the handkerchief, which you dampen using the leftover water, to dress it.

Max is silent the entire ordeal, watching you work your way meticulously and carefully around his hand. The same meticulousness one can expect from a former firefighter paramedic volunteer.

You step back to inspect your work, but Max’s hand stretches out towards you, grabbing the hem of your jacket.

“Sorry,” he says and yet you see his knuckles slowly turning white, which makes you unsure if he truly is apologetic or not. “Just…yeah, sorry. Can you stay for a while please?”

“Have to leave soon,” you say. “El Paso’s still hours away. I have to be there by morning.”

He nods, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, “Okay.”

“Thirty minutes, Max,” you decide. “Thirty minutes.”

You pull out your phone from your pocket to check the time and see the multiple notification bars. You type the password and direct to the message app to see the flurry of messages Max sent earlier. You have not noticed them.

max: i heard you came

max: where are you

max: please

max: can you give me ten minutes

max: just

max: please

max: wait for me

max: i’m not angry anymore

max: im begging you

max: or five minutes [name] im okay with just five

max: or even less

max: i just need to see you

“Who told you I was here?” you question, brows knitting together. There are currently two names in your head. They both start with the letter L and they both work at Williams.

“Leo called me and told me you were here.”

“Of course he did,” you roll your eyes. Logan will never dare betray you like this. You made Leo promise not to tell Max where you were in El Paso and the bitch told him where you were the moment you stepped out of El Paso. He didn't break his promise technically, but it's still a very bitch move for him to pull. You're going to have a lengthy conversation with him later.

“So you’ve been in El Paso?” he asks.

You nod.

“My grandparents’ place.”

He nods.

“Sorry about Julio, by the way.”

You sigh. God, you want to cry.

It's truly unfair how God decided to take away Julio [Last Name]. Death should happen to assholes and shitty people. To people who abuse their children every day. To people who waste years of their lifespan on nicotine and alcohol. To people who kill people. Death shouldn't happen to heroes, who risk every single day of their lives to save other people. Death shouldn't happen to Julio [Last Name], a firefighter who died saving a kid in a burning building. At least, not this early. Not until you fulfilled his dream for him.

(His last words: I don't regret doing what I did. I have kids, too. I want someone to save them the same way I did that kid if they ever get stuck in a situation like this.)

“Did Leo tell you that, too?” you hope that he didn't notice that your voice slightly wobbled.

“No,” Max shakes his head. “We—Logan and I came to Vista Del Pueblo in December. Your neighbor told us that…”

He doesn't need to finish his sentence for you to know what he’s trying to say.

You nod, “So that's why there was an article that day…”

You remember Damiano showing you the news article in his phone—AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP: MAX VERSTAPPEN OF RED BULL RACING AND LOGAN SARGEANT OF WILLIAMS RACING SPOTTED DRIVING AROUND AUSTIN. You shrugged it off at that time.

“How are you?”

You turn to Max, raising a brow at his question.

“How am I?” you echo, sounding a little bewildered.

You see, Max has never asked this question. You're used to “Are you okay?” but not this. Not this question. You can easily lie to an are-you-okay. You can say yes even if you’re not, and you won't give yourself away because you only uttered one word. But with how-are-you, it’s different. It's not a question that is not answerable by yes or no. You actually have to explain how you feel. That's why Papa Julio only asked, “How are you, mija?” rather than “Are you okay, mija?” Papa Julio wants to know how your day went even if you're okay or not.

Yeah. You're definitely going to cry at this rate.

“How have you been after Julio?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I wanted to be there for you at that time,” Max confesses. “When I learned that Julio was gone, I wanted to go to you. But Leo stopped me. He said I was not what you needed at that time and I agree. I was too angry at you for leaving me. I’m glad he didn't tell me where you are, despite how painful it was. I was selfish and immature that I cared about my grief and forgot to consider yours. I reflected on my actions a lot. I am not sure how different I am now from that version of me but I think I changed a bit. So yes, [Name], I want to know, because I want to know how you felt and help you in any way I can.”

You stand there, stunned at what Max has said. And perhaps it was his sincerity or the way his determined blue eyes stare into your soul that caused the sixth domino to tip. You break into tears, a raw cry escaping your mouth. You are so fucking tired of carrying everything on your shoulders.

Max is quick to engulf you in a hug and you don't hesitate to pull him into you, pressing your face against his shoulders as you let everything out. You claw his back as if you're trying to mold himself into you. Your nose turns red, snot drips out of your nose. You sob too loud and too heavily that you can hardly draw a breath. You don't cry pretty and this is the first time you allowed yourself to cry with another person bearing witness to your fragility.

When you calmed down, you found yourself sitting beside Max, shoulder to shoulder, in the backseat of his car, playing with the drawstrings of your jacket.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“Sorry, I was just so tired,” you tip your head upwards. You can feel Max’s eyes on you. “Things have been hard since Papa died.”

“Do you want to talk? I’ll listen.”

You chuckle humorlessly.

Jesus, what did Leo feed this guy?

It feels like the roles are reversed now.

“Everybody's been takin’ it pretty hard so I'm trynna to be strong for them, you know? But I’m not that strong,” you begin. “I’m just as lost as everyone else and it's hard pretendin’ like I’m not. I’m not really sure what will happen with my life now so I wander around and do car repairs for a few folks in El Paso.”

“What happened to your dream? The job?”

“Well, it's gone,” you say, making Max’s eyes widen. “Not my time yet, I suppose. Or rather, I’m never supposed to have time. I guess I’m just not meant to be an engineer.”

“No,” Max turns to you, clasping your hands in desperation. “No, no, no. You always wanted to become an engineer. You can't just—I’ll think of something. I’ll ask Christian. I’ll ask the other teams. Renault isn't in Formula One right now but I can—”

“Max,” you smile sadly. “Let it go.”

“But—”

“Do you know what my Papa’s dream was?” you interrupt. “It’s to be a Formula One racer.”

You smile, remembering all the times you’ve seen your father watch the races on the television since you were younger. He’d wake up even in the ass crack of dawn just to watch them live. He’d be so tired after a 24-hour shift at the fire station but he’d refuse to even catch a wink of sleep until the Grand Prix broadcast is done. He always received a beating from your Mama because of it.

“He saw Senna in the newspaper and decided that he wanted to be like him, too. Sadly, Papa never vibed with a steering wheel so there was no future in that industry. He's always so disappointed in himself, sayin’ he can do the most unhinge shit at work but can't even drive a car. When Damiano and I turned five, he brought us karting. I could tell he was disappointed that Damiano didn't share his love for racing and I hated seein’ him sad so I learned to love karting. He signed me up and I did my best to win. I think I was good. Good enough to make him proud of me. Papa looked so happy when I won my first trophy. He cleaned it every week.”

You smile fondly at the memory.

“Then, shit happened and I have to stop. Papa looked even more disappointed than me that I had to stop. It hurts. Disappointment from your parents, I mean, even if I know that it's somethin’ beyond my control. I figured that if I can't be a racer, I’ll work in a pit stop. That's close enough. When I told him that I got accepted into USC and how I wanted to be an engineer, it was the proudest I have ever seen him since I won my trophy. I was livin’ his dream. I applied for Red Bull and Renault because those are Papa’s favorite teams and the rest is history.”

You pause.

“He’s never got to see me become an engineer,” you choke out, wiping the stray tear that fell from your eye with the back of your hand. “It was his dream. He always had his dreams broken and I was gonna reach his dreams for him but he’s gone before I can do so. Now, I’m so lost because I realized that I was shapin’ myself to become an extension of Papa and now that he's gone, I am an extension of no one. I was reaching for dreams that I don't own. I’m so tired and I’m so lost, Max.”

Max stares at you sadly.

“I should have talked to Christian sooner. Fuck, I hate myself for not talking to Christian. Fuck, why was I so selfish?” he presses the ball of his palms against his eyes in frustration. You chuckle, shaking your head.

“That’s okay,” you say. “I’ll find my way.”

You look at the scenery outside of the window. Night has fallen. You should have left for El Paso by now.

“I need to go,” you say, heart heavy.

“So soon?”

Max is panicking again.

“Jesus, Champ, calm down,” you pat his shoulders.

“Will I see you again?” Desperation laces his question.

“Dunno really,” you shrug.

“Can you wait for me?”

Your brows furrow.

“I’ll retire by 2028. No, that's still long. 2027. Ah no—2026? Can you wait for me? I—” Max’s hand trembles. “I love you. I love you, [Name]. I—I love you even before Kelly. I can’t. I can't lose you.”

The world stops.

“I am stupid, I am selfish, and I think I’m asking too much. If you can just wait for me, I’ll—I can even retire next year if you think it's too long—”

“Hold up right there, Champ,” you stop him. “You're not retirin’ early.”

“If you want me to, I will.”

You sigh in exasperation.

“Max,” your voice is low. “That’s your career. I’m not gonna—Jesus, Max don’t retire, okay? Not even for me. Retire only when you want to.”

This man is just…

You don't know if you want to choke him or kiss him.

“I want you to have me, [Name]. I… I want to be with you, to love you, and if retiring is the only way I can do that then I will,” he says. “I love you.”

You purse your lips.

“I love you, too, Max,” you confess and now, your chest feels lighter now that you've said it out loud. “But not now, I can't love you like this. I’m too… I can't pursue a relationship with you right now. Not when…”

“It's not our time,” Max nods. “I understand.”

He really did change.

“I want to find my way through life first," you tell him.

Max smiles and he pulls you again in a hug. He has tears in his eyes again and he sniffles, chuckling at himself for crying again. He pulls away from the hug slowly and hands you your keys.

“See you around?"

“See you around.”

You exit the car and you notice that your heart feels lighter now compared to the time you left Monaco even though you are doing the same exact thing—leaving Max to go home.

At the end of 2023, you grace the paddock with your presence—your signature YSL heels is back on the tracks. You wear pants now, instead of the corporate pencil skirts, matched with a Prema Racing polo shirt. The label at the back indicates: AERODYNAMIC ENGINEER. By the end of 2024, you are promoted to the strategy team. By 2025, you become a race engineer of an up-and-coming racing superstar and you kept the job position until now.

The world didn't end just because your Dad died. It took you a while to realize that your Papa didn't own your dreams. It was always yours to begin with. He just played a part in inspiring them.

Max Verstappen became the 2024, 2025, 2026, 2027, and 2028 WDC, marking history as an eight-time consecutive champion. He retired after the 2028 season and disappeared from the face of the Earth. He had stopped going home to his penthouse in Monaco, had put his private jet on sale, and had cut ties to his father, Jos, who was very disappointed that his son had retired too early in the sport. Max retired willingly—he had achieved more awards than most of his seniors and it's time to give room to the younger ones. Rumors say that he had established a racing program somewhere in Belgium. Charles Leclerc, Max's friend, refuses to update the media regarding Max's whereabouts and only says: "He's happy. Don't worry."

Years later, a thirteen-almost-fourteen year-old girl named Emiliana Julia Verstappen, racing under the American flag, become the youngest driver in history to join the ranks of the F1 academy and later, she becomes the youngest driver to ever drive a Formula One car, racing for Scuderia Ferrari as second driver, at only seventeen and a hundred and fifty days old, overthrowing Max Emilian Verstappen, retired eight-time F1 WDC, whom the world has not seen since his retirement, from the list.

[hauntedrain]

Part 3: Unexpected | Max Verstappen x Fem Reader |

✮▹A/N: So sorry for not posting life has been BUSY. Hope you like this though, its potentially the last or second to last part of this series.

✰▹Warnings/Notices: use of pictures of Max and kelly. Pretty big time skip from part 2. NOT EDITED.

Part 2: Here!

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Y/N has posted to their story!

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MaxV1Updates: Max has been spotted with content creator Y/N L/N. Both had social media thrown through a loop after their interactions with each other online a few months back. Is Y/N officially the newest addition to the F1 WAG's?

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user1: OMFG Y/N

user2: Im actually crying wtf.

user3: Im sorry but this is straight out of the book oml.

↪ user4: No cuz its so cute and so unexpected too.

Y/N: Damn ive made it on a f1 updates page. IM WINNING.

↪ user5: MOTHER EXPLAIN.

↪ user 6: I was surprised too.

Liked by Y/N L/N, MaxVerstappen1, F1, and 12,577,697 others

RedBull: Another win in the books! Lovely and successful race today. Getting ready for next weekend!

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user10: PLZ LET THE OTHERS CATCH UP PLEASE.

Theo: Tu–tu–du–du Max Verstappen

↪ Lorelei: Let's shake it to the max Put your hands up, hands up Take it to the max

↪ Y/N: Please stop ive heard that non-stop since I've learned about f1

Y/N: he's a cutie tbh.

↪ user11: Y/N your on main stop.

↪ Y/N: posting this on every platform brb.

↪ RedBull: Glad to know you find our driver cute.

liked by Theo, Lorelei, MaxVerstappen1 & 23,345,567 others

Y/N: Middle slide him and I?

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user12: GURL PLEASE JUST CONFIRM IT PLEASE

user13: im sorry but how tf did she come from just making videos with her friends for fun to potentially dating a 3x WDC?

↪ Y/N: Its called being Y/N. its a lifestyle !

↪ user14: LMFAO

MaxVerstappen1: she's kinda a cutie tbh.

↪ Y/N: first time ive ever seen you say cutie.

↪ MaxVerstappen1: Yeah and its the last time

↪ user15: PARENTS

Y/N has posted to their story! Max Verstappen has posted to their story!

liked by Y/N, RedBull, Lorelei, Theo, & 26,456,567 others

Maxverstappen1: First personal post in a while huh? anyways lovely view on slides 2 & 3.

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user19: Y/N Y/N MY WIFE

↪ Y/N: I had no clue I was married but sure.

user20: THE VIEW.

user21: PLEASE WHAT. SADAITE ME BEFORE I GO FERAL.

↪ MaxVerstappen1: Oh.

↪ Y/N: um. okay !

user22: im sorry but this is so cute like wtf. she makes max not look like mad max.

↪ Y/N: did you ever think he was? He's the biggest dork to walk this earth.

↪ RedBull: As having to be around him 24/7, I can back this claim up.

↪ user23: REDBULL PLEASE DO A VID WITH Y/N PLEASE. IT WOULD BE GREAT CONTENT.

↪ Redbull: Working on it right now

↪ Y/N: CAN I BE THE SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGER FOR A DAY PLEASEEEEEEEEE.

user24: max hard launching?

Max Verstappen has gone live!

Y/N L/N has gone live!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ taglist: @holy-macncheese-balls @loloekie @cherry-piee @bloodyymaryyy @mangotaitai @the-untamed-soul @trouble-sistar @stinkyjax @minkyungseokie @weekendlusting @m0cha-bunny @formulanni @alex0808 @charizznorizz @imsiriuslyreal @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @67-angelofthelordme-67 @eugene-emt-roe @moonyzsworld @lpab @evie-119

Comment if you wanna be tagged (for what I believe is the last part) <3

⭒❃.✮:▹A/N: IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING, I had so much to do but hopefully you like potentially the last or second to last part of this series. love you guys and thank you so much. Much love.

[faithshouseofchaos]

Serenading Hadley — Dad!Logan Sargeant x Mom!reader

Fluffy extremely fluffy

Word count — 507

Honestly this is a little rough but super cute and based on this TikTok

Not edited

You chuckled as you watched Logan serenade your daughter with "I Like It, I Love It" by Tim McGraw while Hadley perched on the counter, playfully feeding her dad chips. "I like it, I love it, I want some more of it," Logan belted out. As he continued to sing, Hadley mischievously placed a chip in his mouth, causing him to pause his singing to munch on the chip. Hadley couldn't help but giggle at her dad's playful antics.

"You're such a ham," you said with a smile. "But I must say, you're an excellent singer." Hadley nodded in agreement, a chip still poised in her hand, ready for her dad's next request. "Can Daddy have another chip, my little princess?" he asked, feigning a pleading look. Hadley grinned and playfully placed the chip in his mouth, giggling as his lips tickled her fingertips. The room filled with laughter and joy as Logan continued to sing, his voice a beautiful melody intertwining with your daughter's cheerful giggles. Their bond blossomed with every note, creating a tapestry of love and shared moments. It was a snapshot of family life, captured in a moment of boundless affection, where a simple song became a bridge between generations. This memory would forever be treasured, a reminder of the unbridled love that found its melody in the company of a charming little princess and her affectionate father.

As you stood there, observing the scene before you, a sense of contentment washed over you. Your daughter's laughter echoed in the air, while Logan's voice danced around the room. It was in moments like these that you felt a deep sense of fulfillment, as if the universe had conspired to create this perfect tableau of family. And as you soaked in the joy and love that permeated the air, you knew you were blessed beyond measure, surrounded by a family that made life an endless serenade of happiness. As the last note of the song faded away, Logan turned to you with a warm smile. "I think my little stagehand deserves a round of applause," he said, his eyes twinkling. Hadley beamed at her dad, clapping her hands in agreement. "Bravo, Daddy!" she cheered. You couldn't help but join in, clapping and laughing at the silly spectacle. In that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the joy that filled your home, for the love that bound you together, and for the simple moments that made life worth every note of that beautiful song.

Hadley, her appetite now satisfied, happily snuggled into Logan's arms, her head resting against his chest. He couldn't help but press a loving kiss to the top of her head, a gesture that spoke volumes of the deep affection he held for his little princess. It seemed that in Logan's embrace, Hadley had found her safe haven, a sanctuary where she could rest and let her guard down, knowing that her father would always be there to catch her, to hold her, and to love her unconditionally.

Tagged— @ashy-kit @astraeaworld @67-angelofthelordme-67 @anedpev @amatswimming @alwayzbeenale @a-casual-romantic @bblouifford @bbtoni @badassturtle13 @barcelonaloverf1life @charlesf1leclerc @crashingwavesofeuphoria @clowngirlsstuff @dark-night-sky-99 @dudenhaaa27 @entr4p3 @eugene-emt-roe @embrosegraves @formulas-bitch @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @formulaal @ironcowboycopnickel @hangmandruigandmav @jeffs77 @kimiracing07 @lightdragonrayne @laura-naruto-fan1998 @moss-on-tmblr @omgsuperstarg @oconswrld @oconswrld @otako5811 @purplephantomwolf @raikkxz @toasttt11 @the-ghost-lovwr @tallrock35 @uluvjay @vellicora @venusisnothere @swifth0lic @starkwlkr @strugglingyetvibing @sweate-r-weathe-r @llando4norris @vivwritesfics — not me forgetting all my s’s moots in my tag list 🔪😭

[sinofwriting]

Horny on Main - Daniel Ricciardo (listen, please verse) (y/n's edition)

Summary: Y/N can’t seem to control herself in her boyfriend's comments. (Part of the listen, please verse. Read the first part here, Daniel’s version here, and explore the rest of the listen, please verse here)

Taglist | Masterlist | Patreon

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, riccisthicc, maxverstappen and 245,754 others danielricciardo: cheesin’

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yourusername: omg. He so boyfriend y’all yourusername: how the fuck man? yourusername: want you so bad ⤷ danielricciardo: when and where babe? landonorris: i remember when he use to smile like that at me ⤷ maxverstappen: same mate dannyriccsmile: another one for the collection!

danny3ricc

liked by tattattack, yourusername, and 1,283 others danny3ricc: New photo of Daniel’s thigh dropped! How we feeling?

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user1: i need to know his tattoo artists like stat yourusername: not feeling good. Who gave him the right to have such nice thighs? ⤷ danny3ricc: what are you doing here? ⤷ yourusername: nothing! Thanks for the photo! danny3ricc: why are her and daniel the exact same goddammit

danielricciardo

liked by landonorris, f1fans, yourusername, and 128,232 others danielricciardo: So many rules in Texas but always a pleasure to visit

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user1: daniel not having a seat when there’s race in austin just isn’t right ⤷ user2: i’m trying not to think about how austin is going to be in a few months yourusername: they say everythings bigger in Texas… that true? ⤷ danielricciardo: want to find out? ⤷ yourusername: i’ll be there in two minutes user3: why is orange still his color after mclaren? ⤷ yourusername: he got all the luck

danielricciardo

liked by yourusername, danny3ricc, redbullfanatic, and 203,382 others danielricciardo: LA bound for the next week

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yourusername: begging for a warning next time yourusername: i want to lick you yourusername: you are stupid hot ⤷ danielricciardo: right back at ya, sweets landonorris: i hate this app ⤷ yourusername: deal with it, child user1: y/n needs to find some chill. Goddamn. user2: could daniel forever go around shirtless ⤷ yourusername: i wish

danielricciardo

liked by mvdr333, sebastianvettel, yourusername, and 214,328 others danielricciardo: not allowed to wear shirts anymore, so working on my tan

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user1: the lords work 🙏 yourusername: best rule i ever made yourusername: also that seat taken? 👀 ⤷ danielricciardo: always available for you charlesleclerc: never letting you borrow a yacht again ⤷ danielricciardo: we weren’t that bad. And I paid for the cleaning bill. ⤷ charlesleclerc: never again

F1

liked by redbullracing, maxverstappen, yourusername, and 376,474 others F1: BREAKING! Daniel Ricciardo to replace Nyck de Vries at AlphaTauri for the rest of the 2023 season

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redbullracing: welcome back Daniel! user1: holy fuck user2: daniel in Austin??? Lets fucking go!!! user3: i don’t know if this is good or bad news yourusername: best looking driver is back on the grid and i can’t wait to be a wag.

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

[teabights]

Ah, last night i totally recorded the part where eugene rolled his fucking ankle in episode 6 and tagged Shane in it and he actually looked at it.

Edit: he laughed react to my message