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[pucksandpower]

The Princess and the Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Princess of Denmark!Reader

Summary: in which you follow the time-honored tradition of Danish royalty falling in love with Australians

Note: dedicated to my favorite Dane, @struggling-with-drivers, who had to put up with me taking months to finally get the proper inspiration to write this

“And if you’ll just follow me, Your Majesty and Your Royal Highnesses, I’ll take you to meet Kevin now,” the overly peppy Haas PR representative says as she gestures down the garage.

You force a smile, trying not to physically recoil as you take in the assault of garish Haas branding surrounding you. The white, red, and black color scheme is far too harsh on the eyes this early on a Saturday morning.

“Oh goody,” your younger sister Josephine says flatly, eliciting a snort from your younger brother Vincent.

Your mother, Queen Mary, shoots the two a reproachful look before turning back to the PR rep with a polished smile. “We’re very excited to meet Kevin and support Denmark’s driver.”

The PR rep beams and starts leading you further into the Haas garage, rattling on about Haas’ ambitious goals for the season as you pass mechanics in matching black Haas polos barely paying you any mind.

You internally groan, already dreading the interaction ahead. As the Crown Princess, you’ve long perfected the art of feigning interest, but this weekend has tested even your limits.

“And I know meeting the future queen will just make Kevin’s day!” The rep continues enthusiastically. “He was so honored when King Frederik reached out about you all coming this weekend to support him.”

You resist the urge to snort. More like the royal communications secretary reached out when they realized the Australian Grand Prix overlapped with your visit to your mother’s family in Australia. Nothing like conveniently timing a royal appearance to drum up positive press.

Your younger sister, Isabella, sidles up next to you, linking her arm through yours commiseratingly. At 16, she’s already mastered your family’s signature skill — conveying boredom through a pleasant facial expression.

“I have some fresh sets of Haas merch we would love for you to wear when you meet Kevin,” the rep says, holding out stacks of Haas emblazoned caps and shirts insistently. “It would mean so much to the team for you to showcase your support.”

You force a smile, already shaking your head. “Oh, I’m afraid we can’t wear anything with advertisements or sponsors per royal protocol.”

The PR rep’s face falls slightly before she plasters the smile back on. “Of course, Your Royal Highness, I understand. Shall we?”

She gestures further down the garage to where the Haas drivers are standing with team personnel. Kevin Magnussen spots your approach, nudging his teammate before they turn towards you.

As you reach them, Kevin steps forward first, offering a short bow. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highnesses, it’s an honor to meet you.”

You offer your hand, which he takes, bowing again as he brushes his lips over your knuckles. “The honor is ours, Mr. Magnussen. Denmark is proud to have you representing us in Formula 1.”

Kevin smiles bashfully as you drop his hand. “Please, call me Kevin.”

You return his smile politely. “Very well, Kevin it is.”

The rest of your family exchanges pleasantries with Kevin before the PR rep guides you towards the pit wall to observe the action on track. Practice is getting underway, and you’re grateful for any chance to extract yourself from the oppressive Haas environment.

As you exit the garage into the sunlight, you breathe a sigh of relief. Two bodyguards fall smoothly in step behind you as you start down the paddock, taking in the buzz of activity.

You smile softly, the excitement infectious despite your general disinterest in motorsports. There’s something about the frenetic energy at a race that gets your blood pumping.

Your eyes light up as you spot the unmistakable papaya motorhome of McLaren up ahead. Now that’s a team you can get behind. Cool retro appeal and a driver line-up you’ve heard is full of young talent — what’s not to love?

You pick up your pace, eager to get a closer look at the iconic livery, when suddenly you collide headlong into a firm, muscular body.

You gasp as strong arms wrap around you, stopping your momentum abruptly. Your hands brace against a solid chest as you glance up, prepared to stammer out an apology.

But the words die on your lips as you find yourself staring into warm brown eyes set in an unfairly handsome face. The eyes widen in surprise, clearly not having expected the Crown Princess of Denmark to go careening into his arms.

His mouth opens, no doubt to ask if you’re okay, but you stand frozen as the hustle of the paddock fades into background noise.

In this moment, it’s just you and this beautiful stranger. A stranger who hasn’t let go of you yet, one hand still pressed gently against your back.

You know you should pull away, apologize for your clumsiness and be on your way. But something about his eyes makes you want to stay right here, wrapped safely in his arms.

You stand frozen, lost in the stranger’s mesmerizing brown eyes. You vaguely register your bodyguards stepping forward on either side of you.

“Your Royal Highness, are you alright?” Henrik, your lead bodyguard, asks urgently.

You blink, the spell broken as Henrik’s hand lands on your shoulder, gently tugging you back.

The stranger’s eyes widen further as understanding seems to dawn. His eyes flick over the royal crest on Henrik’s suit jacket before moving back to your face, a hint of panic in his gaze.

Before you can offer any reassurance, a voice calls out sharply from behind the man.

“Oscar! What are you doing, mate? We’ve got the strategy briefing in five!”

You watch as the man — Oscar, apparently — glances reluctantly over his shoulder to where a thin harried man bearing a McLaren team pass stands tapping his foot impatiently.

Oscar’s hands slip from your waist as he takes a small step back. “Sorry, I—”

But whatever he was going to say gets lost as the man strides forward, clapping a firm hand on Oscar’s shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s go. No time for chatting up fans when we’ve got quali coming up.”

Oscar allows himself to be steered away, casting one last, almost wistful look back at you before the brisk man hustles him around the corner.

You stare after them for a long moment before Henrik’s voice breaks through your daze once more.

“Your Highness, are you injured at all? Shall I call for a medic?”

You blink, shaking your head quickly as heat floods your cheeks. Honestly, they must think you a simpleton, standing here gaping after a man you collided with.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assure him quickly. “Just a bit clumsy this morning it seems.”

You force out a breathy laugh, hoping your flaming cheeks can be explained away as embarrassment from your blunder.

Henrik eyes you skeptically for a moment before nodding. “Very well. But please be more careful, Your Highness. Next time we may not be so lucky.”

You nod contritely before allowing Henrik to usher you back towards the Haas garage, your other bodyguard falling smoothly back in step behind you.

As you near the garage, you spot your family gathered by the pit wall, watching as a group of track marshals examines a particularly suspicious drain cover. Your younger siblings all turn as one to look at you, eerily in sync.

The knowing looks on their faces make you shudder. Of the many curses of growing up in a big family, the inability to keep secrets ranks near the top. You’re sure they’ll have the truth out of you before long.

“Nice of you to join us, Y/N,” your younger brother Christian remarks wryly as you reach them. “Have a nice stroll?”

You resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him. Barely.

“Lovely, thank you,” you reply breezily instead, moving to stand between your mother and Isabella.

You determinedly avoid meeting any of your siblings’ gazes, focusing on the timing sheets instead. But you can feel their curious stares boring into you.

“You look a bit flushed, darling. Are you feeling quite alright?” Your mother murmurs, pressing a hand to your forehead in concern.

“Just peachy!” You chirp in response, internally cringing at the unnatural brightness in your tone.

From your other side, Isabella leans in, voice sly. “You do seem rather … distracted. Anything you want to share with the class?”

You glance at her sharply, taking in her knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes in warning, but Isabella just smiles innocently.

“Oh leave your sister be,” your mother chides. “I’m sure Y/N is just overwhelmed by the excitement of experiencing her first Grand Prix.”

You make a noncommittal noise of agreement, turning your focus back to the timing sheets. Isabella elbows you subtly and you pointedly ignore her, keeping your gaze fixed ahead.

You’re immensely thankful when the Haas PR rep appears again, ushering you towards the back to “give the team space to prepare for qualifying,” and drawing your family’s attention away from you.

You trail after your family to the cordoned off hospitality area, gratefully accepting a bottle of water from the proffered cooler.

As the mechanics spring into action around you, Isabella sidles up next to you again, playful smile still in place.

“Soooo,” she drawls, bumping your shoulder with hers. “Who’s got you all flustered then?”

You nearly choke on your water, whipping your head to face her. “What? No one! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Even to your own ears, the denial sounds feeble. Isabella merely arches one perfect brow, clearly not buying it.

You huff out a breath, scanning the room quickly to ensure none of your other family members are in earshot before hissing under your breath. “I may have accidentally careened into a McLaren crew member during my walk.”

Isabella’s grin turns positively feline. “Oh, do tell ...”

“There’s nothing to tell!” you insist, face flaming once more. “We collided and his reflexes were quick enough to catch me before I fell. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm, I’m sure that blush is just because you’re so very embarrassed by your clumsiness and nothing else.”

You scowl and take a long swig of your water.

Isabella chuckles. “So was this mystery McLaren man at least handsome?”

You nearly choke again. “Isabella!” You admonish under your breath.

She holds up both hands innocently, still grinning. “What? It’s a perfectly reasonable question. No judgment here, promise.”

You narrow your eyes, considering her carefully. Before you can think better of it, you mutter reluctantly, “He … wasn’t entirely unfortunate looking.”

“Aha!” Isabella crows triumphantly. “I knew it!”

You shush her frantically, glancing around to make sure her outburst didn’t draw any unwanted attention.

“Do you know his name at least?” Isabella asks, slightly more quietly this time.

You hesitate before admitting, "... Oscar, I think. His colleague called him that.”

Isabella hums thoughtfully. “Very mysterious ...”

You roll your eyes, shoving her shoulder. “Oh stop it. Can we please just drop this?”

“Of course, of course,” Isabella relents, though the impish twinkle remains in her eye.

You’re prevented from further interrogation by the start of qualifying. You rejoin your family, studiously keeping your gaze away from your siblings’ knowing looks.

You determinedly put the morning’s events from your mind, focusing on Kevin’s qualifying efforts. Though you can’t help the occasional wish that the handsome stranger from McLaren — Oscar — was the one flying around the track instead.

The session proceeds fairly predictably, with the top teams claiming the top spots and the backmarkers bringing up the rear.

As Kevin pulls into the garage after qualifying 17th, you paste on an encouraging smile.

“Excellent job out there, Kevin! You and the team should be very proud.”

Kevin smiles wryly back at you. “You’re too kind, Your Highness. But I think we all know 17th is nothing to celebrate for a team with our aspirations.”

You nod sympathetically. “Of course, there’s always room for improvement. But you showed admirable pace given the circumstances.”

Kevin inclines his head gratefully at your measured response. “You have a bright future ahead as queen with such judicious words.”

You thank him sincerely for the compliment before your family takes their leave, the day’s obligations finally complete.

As you all pile into the waiting cars, Isabella leans over and whispers, “Do you think Kevin would’ve qualified higher if Haas wasn’t so slow?”

You have to smother your snort of laughter into your hand.

“Without question,” you whisper back. “I think a snail could qualify ahead of Haas at this point.”

Isabella dissolves into muffled giggles next to you as the cars pull away from the circuit, leaving the chaotic world of Formula 1 behind. At least until tomorrow.

***

You stare contemplatively out the car window as the city lights of Melbourne streak by in the darkness. Despite your family’s teasing, you can’t seem to remove a certain McLaren crew member from your thoughts.

Oscar. Even his name sends a flutter through your stomach.

You know it’s foolish to get caught up over a brief collision with a stranger. And yet … those eyes. You can’t shake the connection you felt in that moment, however fleeting.

The car slows to a stop outside your hotel and you make a split-second decision. Turning to your mother, you adopt your most winsome tone.

“Mor, I was hoping you might allow me to go out for the evening. To experience the Melbourne nightlife before we depart.”

Your mother’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Go out? Alone?”

You rush to reassure her. “Oh no, I’ll take Henrik and Simone with me of course. I would just love the chance to explore the city a bit, like a normal young woman.”

You see a flash of understanding on your mother’s face and press your advantage. “In fact, didn’t you and Far meet during a pub crawl?”

Pink stains your mother’s cheeks but her lips quirk up. “I suppose we did. But those were different times ...”

“Please Mor?” You plead. “When will I have a chance like this again?”

Your mother regards you shrewdly for a long moment before sighing. “Oh very well. But Henrik and Simone must accompany you at all times. And I want you back by midnight at the latest.”

You beam, leaning over to smack a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, thank you! I promise I’ll stay safe.”

As you exit the car, your younger brother Christian pipes up from behind you. “Hey, can I come too?”

“Absolutely not,” your mother shuts him down swiftly, leveling a quelling look at his crestfallen face.

You hide a smile as you sweep into the hotel to change, giddiness rising in your chest. A night out is just what you need to clear your head from a certain handsome distraction.

An hour later you slide into the backseat of one of the discreet royal security vehicles, now wearing jeans, heels, and a silky camisole, your long hair spilling over your shoulders.

Henrik raises his eyebrows at your outfit but doesn’t comment as he pulls away from the hotel, heading for the club district.

When you arrive, the bouncer’s eyes widen at the royal crests adorning your bodyguards’ suits. But a few quick words from Henrik and you’re granted access without a fuss.

The heavy beat of the music washes over you as you enter the fashionable club. Bright lights flash hypnotically over the crowded dance floor. You glance back at Henrik and Simone stationed near the entrance, allowing the music to carry you further inside.

You weave your way to the bar, excitement simmering in your veins. Tonight you’re just Y/N, anonymous clubgoer. No titles, no expectations, no watching eyes judging your every move.

Well, except for your bodyguards of course. But they’re discreet enough to give you space.

You’re so lost in the heady freedom of anonymity that you don’t notice the nearby figure doing a double take. But as you step up to the bar, waiting to order, a now familiar voice sounds behind you.

“Y-Your Highness!” He stammers, nearly dropping the drinks he just received. “I mean, Princess, uh Crown Princess? Sorry, I’m not actually sure—”

You whirl around to see Oscar standing there, looking devastatingly handsome in a button-down and jeans.

“Oscar!” You gasp, a smile breaking across your face unbidden. “What are you doing here?”

Pink stains Oscar’s tanned cheeks. “Ah, well my mates from the team wanted to go out and blow off some steam before the race tomorrow.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “But what brings Denmark’s future queen out to the clubs?”

You shrug lightly, grin turning impish. “Can’t a girl just want to dance and have some fun?”

Oscar’s eyes gleam with understanding. “Suppose she can. Well then, may I get you a drink … er ...”

He trails off, clearly unsure how to address you in this unusual context.

You take pity on him and lean in conspiratorially. “Tonight, I’m just Y/N. No need for fancy titles.”

Relief flashes across Oscar’s face and he smiles. “Y/N it is.”

Soon you’ve got drinks in hand and are chatting easily at a tall table beside the dance floor. Oscar is witty and charming, and laughs freely at your sarcastic commentary about Formula 1.

You’re amazed by how at ease you feel in his presence, the crown’s ever-present weight lifted from your shoulders. With Oscar, you’re not an heiress apparent, but just a girl talking to a boy she really really likes.

When he asks what you think of McLaren, you perk up eagerly. “Oh yes, what is it exactly that you do there? Are you an engineer or mechanic of some sort?”

Oscar’s eyes shutter briefly and he clears his throat. “Ah, something like that. Mostly just tinkering to try and make the car faster.”

He steers the conversation to safer waters before you can inquire further. You make a mental note to look up the full McLaren staff list later and figure out his specific role.

The night flies by in a blur of laughter and stolen glances. Oscar gamely joins you on the dance floor, his hands resting lightly on your waist as you sway together.

When at last you note the time, disappointment sinks heavy in your gut. Oscar’s face mirrors your own regret as he insists on walking you to meet your bodyguards.

Outside the club, you turn to him reluctantly. “I wish this didn’t have to end. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

Oscar shuffles his feet, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Would … would you want to meet up again tomorrow? Maybe outside the McLaren garage before the race?”

Your face lights up. “I’d love that.” Overcome by boldness, you lean in and brush a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

Oscar’s hand drifts up to his cheek, eyes dazed. “Brilliant. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

You bid him goodnight before allowing Henrik and Simone to usher you into the waiting car, unable to keep the giddy smile from your face the entire ride back.

***

The next morning, you awake with a smile stretching across your face. The memory of Oscar’s brown eyes gazing into yours as you swayed together in the club fills you with warmth.

As you dress and prepare to head to the circuit, an idea strikes. There’s no rule saying you have to spend the entire pre-race hours cooped up in the Haas garage after all.

You slip into the hotel dining room, grabbing a piece of toast. “I’m afraid the petrol fumes in the garage were giving me a dreadful headache yesterday. I think I’ll take a walk around the paddock this morning for some fresh air before the race.”

Your mother’s brows furrow in concern. “Oh dear, that won’t do at all! Yes, a nice walk sounds wise.”

You thank her profusely on your way out, hiding your triumphant smile until the door closes behind you. Phase one complete.

You hold yourself back from rushing through the paddock once at the circuit, maintaining a sedate royal pace. But inside, excitement bubbles through your veins at the thought of seeing Oscar again.

As you make your way to the McLaren garage, your steps falter at the larger-than-life image emblazoned on the wall. Oscar beams back at you, brown hair just barely poking out from under his McLaren cap. The block letters beside the photo proclaim OSCAR PIASTRI #81.

You press a hand to your mouth to smother your gasp. Oscar is a driver? Your Oscar?

Speak of the devil, you spot him emerging from the garage, already dressed in fireproofs with his race suit half hanging around his waist. His face lights up when he sees you, lips curving into that boyish grin that makes your knees weak.

“Good morning!” He chirps, moving in for a brief hug.

You return the hug distractedly, still grappling with this new discovery. As you pull back, you arch a questioning brow at him.

“So … you’re a driver. Funny, I don’t recall you mentioning that last night.”

Pink stains Oscar’s cheeks and he rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, right. I may have omitted certain details about my role here.” His eyes turn pleading. “I hope you can forgive me? I just liked talking to someone who didn’t already know everything about me for once.”

You regard him thoughtfully before allowing a teasing grin to emerge. “Well, I suppose I can understand the appeal of a fresh slate. And it’s not as if I was fully forthcoming either.”

Oscar’s shoulders sag in relief. “Too right. Quite the pair we make, Princess.” His eyes dance playfully.

You open your mouth to respond but are interrupted by a shout from the garage. “Oscar! Debrief in two minutes, let’s go!”

Oscar smiles apologetically. “Duty calls. But let’s continue this later?”

At your nod, he squeezes your hand briefly before jogging back inside. You make your way back to Haas, butterflies still fluttering wildly.

Once the race starts, you have to work to restrain your enthusiasm as Oscar quickly moves up the field. More than once, you catch your lips curving upward as he deftly overtakes a competitor, and have to rearrange them into careful neutrality.

A discreet glance sideways shows your family members focused intently on Kevin’s efforts in the Haas. You allow yourself a small smile. Watching Oscar race with no one the wiser feels like getting away with something deliciously secretive.

The checkered flag finally waves after 58 intense laps. Your heart leaps as the McLaren crew begins celebrating Oscar’s podium finish. You have to force yourself not to join the applause as he climbs from his car, settling for clasping your hands tightly to contain your glee.

Meanwhile, Kevin finishes in 18th position while his teammate Nico suffered a mechanical retirement. You paste on an encouraging smile, tamping down your excitement over Oscar’s podium.

“Nice recovery there at the end, Kevin. Surely the team can build on this result in the next race.”

Privately, you think Haas would be lucky to keep a wheel attached long enough to make it to the end of a full race, let alone fight for points. But you keep that thought to yourself for now.

As your family rises to congratulate a dejected Kevin on completing the race, Isabella leans in close to whisper in your ear. “Not a great showing, I dare say. Perhaps you are considering transferring allegiance to a certain papaya team instead?”

You press your lips together to contain your smile. Trust Isabella to have guessed your conflicted loyalties.

“Indeed,” you murmur back. “One must be open to supporting all teams in the spirit of global unity.”

Isabella’s eyes dance with mirth, but she simply links her arm through yours, giving a sage nod. “Spoken like a true diplomat.”

As the celebrations kick off for Oscar’s first home race podium, you sneak glances over your shoulder, hoping for another glimpse of him through the chaos.

Someday soon, perhaps you’ll be able to cheer for him openly. For now, you hold the image of his smiling face in your mind as you reluctantly follow your family back out of the disappointing Haas garage.

If nothing else, this surprise-filled weekend has shown you that your heart will not be so easily commanded. And it seems to have rather fixated itself on a certain charismatic McLaren driver.

***

You hover near the paddock exit, half hoping to catch one last glimpse of Oscar before your departure. Your family made their polite farewells to the Haas team and you seized the opportunity to slip away.

You’ve just resigned yourself to missing him when hurried footsteps sound behind you.

“Princess! Wait up!”

You whirl around to see Oscar jogging towards you, face freshly showered but still flushed with elation. He draws up before you, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“I’m so glad I caught you before I had to leave,” you smile brightly. “I had to come say a proper congratulations for your podium first!”

Oscar ducks his head bashfully even as his eyes shine. “And, well, I hoped maybe you were cheering me on out there today?”

Heat floods your cheeks as you let out an embarrassed laugh. “You know I can’t answer that. But I will say you drove brilliantly and I’m so pleased for your result.”

Oscar’s grin widens, clearly reading between the lines of your diplomatic answer.

“Well I’m glad I could end your weekend on a high note after the woeful introduction to Formula 1 from Haas.”

You groan good-naturedly. “Ugh yes, I think Kevin was grateful when I finally made myself scarce from that garage of doom.”

Oscar chuckles before his expression turns wistful. “I suppose this means you’ll be heading back to Denmark now though?”

You shake your head, curls spilling over your shoulders. “Oh no, we’re spending a few more weeks visiting my mother’s family in Tasmania first.”

At Oscar’s look of surprise, you elaborate, “My mother is originally Australian. Her family is from Tasmania.”

Understanding dawns on Oscar’s face. “Well how about that! Danish royalty certainly seems to have a taste for us Aussies.” He winks playfully.

Heat blooms in your cheeks but you rally to return his banter. “I suppose we do. Though from what I hear, McLaren seemed rather keen on Danes once upon a time as well.”

A rather in-depth Google search earlier that day taught you that Kevin Magnussen once raced for the papaya team. You rather wish he never left, if only so you did not have to suffer through the tedium of being in the Haas garage for the past two days.

Oscar barks out a laugh, eyes dancing with mirth. “Too right, you’ve got me there.” His laughter fades to a soft smile. “But I can’t say I blame my predecessors in the slightest.”

The tender look in his eyes makes your breath catch. Before you lose your nerve, you hurriedly dig out your phone.

“I should give you my number. So we can keep in touch.”

Oscar’s face lights up as he scrambles for his own phone. You quickly swap devices, inputting your contact info and trying not to notice how his name looks lighting up your screen.

Once you’ve traded phones again, an awkward silence descends. You clutch your phone tightly, unsure how to say goodbye when this thing between you feels so new and delicate.

Oscar clears his throat, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. “Well, I suppose I should let you get on your way ...”

“Right, yes ...” You trail off, searching for the right words. Because as silly as it sounds, the thought of not seeing Oscar’s smile for who knows how long makes your chest unexpectedly tight.

Acting on impulse, you step forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders in a hug. Oscar’s arms immediately curl around your back, clutching you close.

You breathe him in, imprinting this moment in your memory. The noise of the paddock fades away until it’s just this — the two of you suspended in time.

Far too soon, Oscar pulls back reluctantly. His eyes search your face like he’s trying to memorize it.

“Travel safely, Princess. I’ll see you soon.” His voice holds a promise.

You nod, not trusting your voice. With a final squeeze of his hand, you turn and walk steadily towards the exit. Your bodyguards fall in step behind you.

You don’t look back, though you can feel Oscar’s gaze on you until you disappear from view. As your car pulls away, you finally chance a glance backwards, just in time to see Oscar still watching wistfully after you.

Your breath escapes in a shaky exhale and you clutch your phone like a lifeline. Everywhere else suddenly feels much too far away.

***

You collapse back onto your bed, phone already pressed to your ear before the first ring even finishes. Oscar picks up on the second, voice warm and teasing as always.

“Eager today, are we Princess?”

You roll your eyes even as your lips quirk up. “Oh hush, you know you wait just as anxiously for my calls.”

Oscar’s answering chuckle makes your heart skip a beat. “Guilty. I’ll gladly admit your voice is the highlight of my day.”

Warmth floods your cheeks as you get comfortable against the pillows. “Flatterer. Now distract me from the drudgery of royal life with some F1 gossip. How go things in the glamorous world of racing?”

“Oh where to even start!” Oscar launches eagerly into the latest paddock drama — teammate clashes, contract disputes, and salacious hookups. You listen eagerly, living vicariously through his tales.

“Meanwhile Lando has been his usual chaos gremlin self ...” Oscar continues, recounting his teammate’s latest antics.

You laugh until your sides ache, picturing the outrageous scenes. “Honestly, I don’t know how McLaren copes with you two!”

“We keep things lively, that’s for sure,” Oscar agrees, audibly grinning. “Although we’d love an even livelier paddock with a certain Danish princess around again ...”

He leaves the statement hanging tentatively. You chew your lip, heart racing as you gather your courage.

“Funny you should mention that … I’ve been thinking lately that it would be nice to attend a race again soon.”

Oscar’s sharp inhale crackles through the phone. “Really? You’d come to another race?” His voice turns playful. “Any particular reason for the sudden interest?”

You laugh, hoping he can’t hear the breathlessness in it. “Oh you know, miss the atmosphere, the excitement ...” You pause before adding softly, “Getting to see a certain Aussie driver again.”

Oscar makes a pleased little noise that sends butterflies swirling wildly. “Well I’m sure that driver would be absolutely thrilled to see your face in the paddock again.”

Warmth spreads through your chest, emboldening you further. “As it happens, my godmother is the Queen of Belgium. So it should be easy enough to arrange an appearance at the Belgian Grand Prix.”

“That’s perfect!” Oscar enthuses. “Spa is one of my favorite circuits too. Say you’ll be there?”

His boyish eagerness melts your heart. “I’ll speak to our communications secretary this week. I’m sure they can make it happen.”

“Brilliant.” The tender hope in Oscar’s voice finds its mirror in your own thudding heart. A new chapter is beginning.

You chat longer about lighter topics until Oscar reluctantly says he should get some rest before practice tomorrow.

“I suppose I should let you go then ...” He trails off reluctantly, neither wanting to be the one to end the call.

You clutch the phone tighter, casting wildly for an excuse to keep him on the line. “Wait, you haven’t told me what ridiculous outfit Lando is wearing today!”

Oscar huffs out a laugh. “Trust me, words don’t do justice to the monstrosity. I’ll send pictures so you can experience it fully.”

“It’s a deal.” You know you’re only delaying the inevitable, but the thought of hanging up is unbearable.

Just then, the bedroom door crashes open and your younger brother Christian strolls in.

“Hey Y/N, Mor wants to know if … is that Oscar you’re talking to?” He raises his eyebrows knowingly.

You frantically shoo him away but Christian swoops in and plucks the phone from your hand. “Sorry mate, gotta steal my sister back. Royal duties call and all that. But great chatting, bye now!”

Before you can wrestle the phone away, Christian ends the call with a cheeky grin.

You smack his shoulder indignantly. “You little brat! I was right in the middle of important diplomatic relations!”

Christian just cackles gleefully. “Oh yeah, I could tell. Your dopey romantic sighing was a big clue.” He laughs harder at your outraged stammers.

“Just you wait until you’re madly pining over someone, I’ll get my revenge,” you threaten.

But inside, not even Christian’s teasing can diminish your euphoria. The promise of seeing Oscar again soon eclipses all else.

***

Your heels click rapidly over the pavement as you sweep through the Spa paddock gates. Bodyguards trail discreetly behind but you barely notice them, eyes scanning the bustling crowd for one face.

And then you see him. Oscar stands just ahead, back turned as he bounces on his toes, head swiveling in search of you.

Joy bubbles up in your chest. You break into a run, calling his name. “Oscar!”

He whips around, eyes lighting up when they land on you. His arms open wide and you launch yourself into them with a breathless laugh.

Strong hands grip your waist, swinging you in an enthusiastic circle before setting you back on your feet. Neither of you make any move to step back, standing tangled together.

“You came,” Oscar murmurs, voice awed like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

You lean into him, his warmth chasing away the months spent missing him. “Of course. After all, I made a promise to a certain driver.”

Oscar’s answering smile outshines the sun. Reluctantly, he loosens his hold, keeping one hand entwined with yours.

“Well then, allow me to escort you inside properly.” He presses a quick kiss to your knuckles before leading you towards the paddock entrance.

After scanning your VIP guest pass, courtesy of Oscar, you pass through security hand-in-hand, giddy smiles fixed in place.

The paddock buzzes with activity but you only have eyes for Oscar as he guides you straight to the McLaren garage.

Mechanics glance up curiously as you enter behind Oscar. He squeezes your hand, leaning in close.

“Ready to meet the team, Princess?” At your answering nod, he steers you confidently through the organized chaos.

You run a suddenly nervous hand over your hair as Oscar approaches a genial looking man conversing with a slimmer bearded man.

“Zak, Andrea — there’s someone special I want you both to meet.”

The two men turn, eyebrows raising in polite expectation. Oscar gently tugs you forward.

“This is Crown Princess Y/N of Denmark. Y/N, meet Zak Brown, our CEO, and Andrea Stella, team principal.”

Zak’s eyebrows climb higher but he recovers smoothly, extending a hand. “Your Royal Highness, welcome. We’re honored to host you in our garage.”

You return his firm handshake. “The honor is mine, thank you. Your team has been so welcoming.”

After greeting Andrea as well, Oscar steers you further inside just as a mop of fluffy brown hair zooms by.

“Oscar, mate! There you are, I’ve been ...” The words die on his lips as he spots you, mouth falling open comically. His eyes dart between you and Oscar rapidly.

“Lando, come meet the princess!” Oscar calls out cheekily.

Lando snaps his jaw shut, looking utterly bewildered but offering you a hasty bow. “Your Highness! I mean, lovely to meet you, really.”

Amusement flickers through you at his gobsmacked expression. Oscar shoots you a playful wink over Lando’s shoulder as he scrambles to regain composure.

“But, wait.” Lando glances between you again in confusion. “You mean all those times you cooed ’good morning, Princess’ over the phone … you were talking to an actual princess!”

Oscar bursts out laughing while you press a hand to your mouth to smother your own giggles. Lando flushes but eventually joins in your laughter.

After extracting a promise to explain everything later, Oscar steers you away so they can focus on final prep.

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of during the race before I have to suit up,” he promises, getting you settled with refreshments.

The anticipation builds until finally the cars are screaming away from the grid in a blur of color. Your nails dig into your palms as positions shuffle wildly on the first lap.

But soon Oscar settles into a rhythm, battling wheel to wheel with Lewis Hamilton. You’re on your feet with every overtake, yelling yourself hoarse.

The final laps loom with Oscar still fighting for a podium finish. But suddenly disaster strikes for the leaders. Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc collide attempting to lap a backmarker on the Kemmel Straight.

You watch in disbelief as both the Red Bull and Ferrari limp to a stop off the track, clearing the path for Oscar to sweep through into the lead.

The McLaren garage roars in elation as Oscar maintains the gap and finally, finally crosses the line to claim his maiden Grand Prix win.

Chaos erupts as a stampede of papaya uniforms makes its way towards parc fermé but Oscar’s performance coach Kim grasps your arm urgently. “Quickly, he’ll want you there for this!”

Kim rushes you down towards the area where Oscar guides his car to a stop. He vaults out, pumping both fists and clambering atop the chassis in triumph.

Your breath catches at the sight of his windswept hair and exultant grin. As McLaren swarms Oscar, his gaze catches on you at the barrier, pressed close by Kim.

In two strides Oscar is right there, joy and adrenaline shining in his eyes. His hand cups your cheek … and then his lips find yours.

The roar around you fades away. For one perfect, suspended moment, your world narrows down to Oscar’s lips slanted over yours, his fingers tangled in your hair.

When you break apart, eyes flying open, the full reality crashes back in. But with Oscar’s breathless laugh warming your skin, the rest of the world no longer matters.

***

You pace the plush hotel carpet, nerves jangling as you await the imminent video call with your family. Since Oscar’s podium kiss yesterday, you’ve been hyper aware of your phone blowing up with notifications but too anxious to check them.

A brisk knock precedes your royal secretary poking his head in. “The call is ready whenever you are, Your Highness.”

Squaring your shoulders, you take a seat at the polished desk as the large monitor springs to life. Your family’s faces fill the screen, ranging from sympathetic (Isabella) to highly amused (Christian).

Before you can get a word in, the royal PR advisors elbow into view, expressions like thunderclouds.

“Your Royal Highness, might we have a word about this … incident from the race?” The chief advisor’s tone drips disapproval.

Ice trickles down your spine but you keep your face neutral. “Of course.”

“I trust you’ve seen the coverage?” At your hesitant nod, the advisor continues, “Then you understand what an embarrassment this is, how damaging to the dignity of the crown.”

You clench your jaw, anger rising. But he barrels on, “Such scandalous behavior, and broadcast globally! You must see how this recklessness reflects poorly on Denmark.”

The rest of the advisors murmur emphatic agreement. Your cheeks burn in humiliation even as you desperately blink back furious tears.

“The narrative has already spiraled out of control. Such associations cannot be tolerated from the future queen.”

The scorn in his tone ignites your temper. But before you can spit out a scathing retort, a commanding voice interrupts.

“Enough!” Your father’s stern face fills the screen, pinning the advisors with an icy glare. They recoil, mouths snapping shut.

Satisfied, your father turns to you, expression softening. “My dear, you’ve done nothing wrong. What matters most is that you’re happy.”

Hope flickers tentatively inside you as the advisors gape. But your father silences them with another quelling look.

“I know a thing or two about duty versus matters of the heart.” His eyes soften, finding your mother. “I’ll not see my daughter denied the same chance at love that brought me such joy.”

Your mother smiles gently, affection shining through the screen. On her other side, Isabella squeezes her shoulder in solidarity.

The fight drains from the advisors under your father’s resolute gaze. With a few grumbled concessions, they disconnect from the call.

Your muscles uncoil in relief as your attention returns fully to your family. Isabella waggles her eyebrows.

“Soooo … looks like someone had an eventful race!”

Heat floods your cheeks but you can’t suppress a giddy smile. “It just sort of happened in the heat of the moment.”

“This Oscar must be something special,” your mother remarks kindly.

Your insides turn to mush at the memory of Oscar’s kiss. “He really is. I can’t explain it, but it feels … right with him.”

Your normally stoic mother looks touched. “Then he has my blessing.”

On her other side, Christian smirks. “Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re in looooove.” He exaggerates a swoon, cackling when you stick your tongue out at him.

“Hush dear, let your sister be happy,” your mother chides, swatting his shoulder before smiling indulgently. “Reminds me of another young prince long ago, besotted with an Australian girl ...”

Your father laughs, eyes crinkling. “Too right, darling. Clearly our Y/N takes after me.” He winks at you. “We Danes do seem to have a weakness for Aussies.”

You groan good-naturedly at the gentle teasing, buoyed by your family’s support. With their love behind you, the rest no longer matters.

You conclude the call with hugs blown through the screen and a heart full to bursting. No matter what the coming days hold, you won’t be facing them alone.

Later, a hesitant knock interrupts your contented musings. You open the door to find Oscar, eyebrows pinched anxiously.

But at the sight of your radiant smile, the tension melts from his frame. His hands settle comfortably on your waist like coming home.

“So ...” he begins, nose scrunching up adorably, “Think your family will let you keep me around?”

You answer by pulling him down into a long, sweet kiss. When you finally separate, foreheads pressed together, Oscar sighs out, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Your answering laugh fills the space between you as he lifts you effortlessly into a spinning embrace. The setting sun gilds the hotel room in amber, basking you both in warmth and promise.

Let the world say what they will. You’ve made your choice, the only one your heart would allow. And with Oscar’s arms encircling you now, you know you’re right where you belong.

***

“Come on, it’ll be great! When’s the next chance you’ll get to come down under?”

Oscar’s pleading face fills your laptop screen, bottom lip poking out beseechingly. You try to stand firm, but your resolve is crumbling.

“I don’t know … won’t I be imposing on your family time?”

Oscar waves a hand breezily. “Nah, Mum and Dad have been hassling me nonstop to bring you for a visit. Trust me, they’ll smother you with Aussie hospitality.”

You chew your lip thoughtfully. A trip together does sound tempting. And you’re endlessly curious to see where Oscar grew up.

Sensing your wavering, Oscar presses his advantage. “There’s so much I want to show you! The beach I learned to surf at, my favorite cafes and shops ...”

His voice turns coaxing. “And just think, falling asleep under the southern stars ...”

Your heart flutters traitorously. Oscar knows your weakness for astronomy. With a defeated huff, you nod.

“Oh alright, you’ve convinced me. I’ll see if I can clear my schedule for next month.”

Oscar whoops, pumping a victorious fist. “Yes! You’re gonna love it, I promise.”

The rest of the call passes in eager planning until Oscar reluctantly disconnects to start his day. As the screen goes dark, butterflies swell in your stomach. A whole trip together!

The weeks crawl by agonizingly until finally you’re boarding the royal jet bound for Melbourne, giddiness rising with each mile.

Oscar is waiting when you deplane, sweeping you up joyfully the second your feet hit the tarmac. You cling to him, breathing in the scent of home you’ve missed so much.

As the hug extends well past proper etiquette, your bodyguard Henrik pointedly clears his throat. You spring apart, blushing when you meet his knowing gaze.

Oscar just grins unrepentantly, grabbing your hand to lead you towards where his parents are waiting.

You spot them immediately — Oscar’s smile mirrored on his mother’s face and his kind eyes reflected in his father’s crinkled gaze. They hurry over, clasping your hands warmly.

“Your Royal Highness, we’re so honored to finally meet you!” His mother gushes. “Oscar’s told us so much, I feel as if we know you already.”

You smile, charmed by her easy manner. “The honor is mine, Mrs. Piastri. Please, call me Y/N.”

She pats your hand merrily. “Of course, dear! And you must call me Nicole. Now come, let’s get you home and settled.”

The ride to Oscar’s childhood home passes quickly, filled with lively conversation. His parents’ sweet banter reminds you so much of your own.

When you arrive, Nicole loops her arm through yours, bustling you inside. “We’ve freshened up Oscar’s old room for you, I do hope it’s comfortable.”

You take in the posters of racing legends and cricketers adorning the walls, the cluttered bookshelves full of well-loved texts. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

“Excellent!” Nicole claps her hands. “Now, you two get settled. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

She disappears down the hall with a parting wink that makes Oscar flush beet red. You stifle a laugh and let him tug you further inside.

Dinner passes in a blur of delicious food and easy laughter. Chris’ eyes twinkle knowingly as he refills your wine.

“We’re just delighted to finally meet the girl who’s made our Oscar so happy.”

Oscar covers his face in exaggerated mortification, but his fingers squeeze yours under the table. You lift your joined hands to brush a kiss over his knuckles when his parents aren’t looking.

The peaceful mood continues as Nicole breaks out photo albums. You coo over baby pictures of Oscar, smothering laughter at his gap-toothed grin and wild hair.

Yawns eventually take over and everyone reluctantly shuffles off to bed. In Oscar’s room, you borrow his old karting club shirt to sleep in.

Oscar looks up from turning down the duvet, eyes darkening as he takes you in. “This was a terrible idea, you looking so cute in my clothes.”

You giggle and kiss the tip of his nose before climbing into bed and patting the space next to you. Oscar obliges, pulling you close and nuzzling into your hair.

Outside the window, the infinity of the southern skies beckons. But here in Oscar’s arms, you have everything you need.

Oscar hums contentedly, dropping a kiss to your hair as your eyes drift closed.

“Sweet dreams, my princess,” he whispers. You float off cradled in his warmth, perfectly at peace.

The rest of the trip passes in blissful domesticity — lazy beach days, intimate dinners, long talks under the stars. Meeting Oscar’s family feels like coming to a second home.

On your last night, you creep outside to sit curled against him on the back porch, committing every detail to memory.

“I don’t want this to end,” you whisper into the quiet night.

Oscar presses a lingering kiss below your ear. “It’s only the start for us.”

And basking in his touch, the infinite potential of the future unfolding before you, you know he’s right. This is just the beginning.

***

You smooth your hands over your dress, peering anxiously out the palace window overlooking the winding driveway. Any moment now, the car bringing Oscar should pull through the gates.

It’s his first time visiting the palace and meeting your family officially as your boyfriend. You know they’ll love him, but nerves still flutter in your chest.

The crunch of tires on gravel draws your gaze back outside. You watch Oscar emerge from the car, craning his head back to take in the towering palace facade.

Unable to wait any longer, you gather your skirts and hurry downstairs just as he steps inside the grand entryway.

Oscar turns at the click of your heels, face melting into a smile. In a few quick strides, he sweeps you into his arms, spinning you joyfully.

You cling to him, breathing in the soothing scent of home you’ve missed. When he sets you down, hands come up to frame your face tenderly, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“There’s my beautiful girl. I’ve missed you so much, Princess.”

Heart swelling, you lean in to capture his lips in a kiss that conveys weeks of longing. Oscar responds urgently, fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close.

A pointed cough interrupts your reunion. You pull back to see your brother Christian smirking knowingly.

“Well now I see why you were so eager for Oscar’s visit. Should I come back later?”

You stick your tongue out at him even as a blush stains your cheeks. Taking Oscar’s hand, you lead him towards the family wing.

“Come on, everyone’s excited to finally meet you properly.”

Voices carry from the dining room as you approach. Inside, your family looks up, faces alight with warmth and curiosity.

Your father strides forward first, clasping Oscar’s hand firmly. “Oscar, welcome. We’re delighted to have you here.”

Oscar returns the handshake graciously. “The honor is mine, Your Majesty. Thank you for the invitation.”

More greetings follow before your mother guides everyone to the table. Oscar pulls out your chair, pressing a discreet kiss to your temple as you sit. Happiness bubbles up inside at having him here with your family.

Dinner passes enjoyably, conversation flowing. Oscar charms them all effortlessly with his quick wit and humor. Laughter fills the room, the atmosphere light and intimate.

With dessert finished, your siblings seize their chance to grill Oscar playfully.

“Sooo tell us,” Isabella begins, propping her chin on her hands. “What exactly are your intentions with our dear sister?”

Oscar just grins, unfazed. “Why, to make her happy every single day, of course.”

You melt at his simple sincerity, grasping his hand under the table.

“Good answer!” Christian crows. “But know if you ever hurt her, you’ll have the entire Danish army to answer to.”

Despite his teasing tone, you know Christian means every word. Oscar inclines his head solemnly.

“You have my word such a day will never come. Her happiness means everything to me.”

Your siblings appear satisfied, moving on to pepper Oscar with questions about his career and interests. He takes their antics in stride, witty comebacks drawing fond laughter from your parents.

The relaxed family atmosphere reminds you so much of that first dinner at Oscar’s childhood home. Your heart swells with quiet joy at how seamlessly he fits here too.

Eventually Oscar politely extracts you both, citing early flights in the morning. Alone in the hall, he sags against the wall in exaggerated relief.

“Whew, your family is something else! I think that interrogation was more intense than any press conference.”

You laugh and swat his shoulder before lifting on your toes to kiss him sweetly. “You were wonderful. I’m so happy you’re here.”

Oscar’s eyes soften. “Me too, Princess. Being here with you feels like home.”

Heedless of any lingering eyes, you kiss him again under the twinkling chandelier.

A loud retching sound interrupts you. “Ugh, get a room you two!” Christian complains, dodging your swat.

Oscar just tugs you closer with a chuckle. “Don’t worry mate, I plan to.”

He silences Christian’s protests with another searing kiss. And surrounded by Oscar’s warmth, you can’t bring yourself to care who sees.

***

Moonlight filters through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft glow. You lay curled against Oscar’s chest, fingers tracing idle patterns over his heart.

The steady rhythm soothes you, but your own heart feels anything but calm. There’s something you need to discuss, but nerves stall your tongue.

Sensing your tension, Oscar’s hand comes up to sift gently through your hair. “Penny for your thoughts, love?”

You lean into his touch, gathering courage. “I was just thinking about the future. Our future.” You twist to meet his gaze. “I know it’s still early days for us, but if this continues to get more serious ...”

You trail off uncertainly, but Oscar’s eyes are warm with encouragement. Bolstered, you continue.

“There are certain expectations that come with being attached to the heir to the throne. Traditions and duties to learn.”

You watch Oscar’s face closely, but he simply nods thoughtfully. “Of course, that makes sense. I’m happy to learn whatever I need to.”

Relief trickles through you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, smiling softly down at him.

“For example, even before my mother was engaged to my father, she decided to learn Danish. The protocol and duties, the public role … it was a massive life change.”

You take a bracing breath. “I don’t expect you to make such changes overnight. But someday, if this continues on the path we hope ...”

You trail off meaningfully. Oscar’s hand comes up to cradle your face. “Hey, if being with you means learning Danish, or attending stuffy banquets, or anything else, I’m in this 100%.”

His eyes bore into yours. “I’ll do whatever it takes to build a life together.”

Emotion clogs your throat. You have to swallow thickly before responding. “Well, maybe we start small then. How about I teach you a few phrases?”

Oscar grins, pulling you back down against him. “Ja, det lyder perfekt.”

You jerk back in surprise, swatting his chest. “You brat, have you been practicing without telling me?”

Oscar’s eyes dance with laughter. “Maybe just a few key phrases. Wanted to surprise you.”

His smile turns tender. “I’d love nothing more than for you to teach me, sweetheart.”

Happiness bubbles up inside you. You snuggle closer, thinking. “Alright, let’s start simple. Like hej simply means hello.”

Oscar repeats the phrase dutifully, brow furrowing in concentration. You cover his hand with yours.

“Jeg elsker dig,” you murmur, gazing into his eyes.

“Jeg elsker dig,” Oscar echoes. “What does it mean?”

Sudden shyness has you ducking your head. “It means I love you.”

Oscar’s sharp inhale lifts your head. He grasps both of your hands, staring deeply into your eyes.

“Jeg elsker dig,” he repeats reverently.

Emotion clogs your throat. You lean in, whispering against his lips, “Jeg elsker dig, Oscar.”

The kiss starts soft and unhurried, a confirmation of feelings conveyed best without words. Oscar’s arms wrap securely around you as the kiss deepens, pouring every ounce of love and promise into it.

When you eventually break apart, Oscar keeps you cradled close, dropping kisses into your hair. “What else can you teach me?”

Happiness bubbles up at his tentative Danish endearment. You settle back against him, whispering translations as his steady heartbeat lulls you towards sleep.

But too soon, Oscar is reluctantly packing to leave, both clinging to these last private hours before he has to set off for the next race.

You wind yourself around him, unwilling to let go. Oscar holds you close, murmuring promises of next visits and calls into your hair.

As you finally part at the airport, his whispered “jeg elsker dig” warms you from the inside out. No matter the miles between you, your hearts remain entwined.

***

You adjust the diamond clips in your elegantly twisted updo, scanning your reflection critically. The deep blue gown hugs your frame perfectly, but nerves still flutter in your stomach.

Because tonight, Oscar will be attending his first official function as your partner — a lavish gala in honor of the new children’s hospital bearing your mother’s name.

A knock precedes Oscar peeking his head in, hands clapped over his eyes. “Safe to look?”

You smooth your skirt with a shaky exhale. “Yes, come in.”

Oscar drops his hands, mouth falling open. “Wow. You look absolutely stunning tonight, my love.”

He takes your hands, eyes roving appreciatively over you. “Going to have to beat all the envious blokes away with a stick.”

You laugh, swatting his shoulder lightly. “Oh hush. You look rather dashing yourself, Mr. Piastri.”

And he does in his impeccably tailored tuxedo, hair swept back neatly. You brush a piece of imaginary lint from his lapel, nerves melting away under his warm gaze.

“Shall we?” He offers his arm gallantly. You lay your hand atop it, spine straightening.

“We shall.”

The ballroom glitters under fairy lights as you make your entrance, immediately garnering interested looks and murmurs. On your arm, Oscar draws admiring glances of his own with his rakish good looks and easy confidence.

You greet various dignitaries and philanthropists, Oscar a steady, charming presence at your side. As you speak with the hospital’s key figures, his hand at the small of your back anchors you.

But as the speeches drag on, Oscar leans in subtly. “Is it terrible I’m already bored senseless? I’d rather actually meet these kids we’re meant to be helping.”

You hide a smile behind your wine glass. The same restlessness plagues you as schmoozing patrons preen and prattle.

As dessert wraps up, an idea strikes you. You catch Oscar’s eye, tilting your head meaningfully at a side exit before excusing yourself discretely.

Understanding dawns on his face and he trails casually after you. In the entry hall, you hurry to a secluded alcove, grabbing his hand.

“Quick, while we won’t be missed. Let’s actually go see the children.”

Excitement flashes across Oscar’s face. “Brilliant thinking. Lead the way, Princess.”

Adrenaline courses through you as you sneak out to the waiting car, bodyguards eyeing you curiously.

“Rigshospitalet, please. Quickly.”

At the children’s hospital, you sweep inside, Oscar at your heels. The receptionist gapes as you approach.

“So sorry to drop by unannounced. We were hoping there might be a chance for us to visit with some of the patients?”

The receptionist’s mouth opens and closes before she stutters, “O-of course, Your Highness, right away!” Clearly your boldness has paid off.

You exchange exhilarated looks with Oscar as she pages a nurse to escort you up. On the cheery pediatric ward, you peek into rooms, greeting curious families.

At one doorway, a gasp stops you short. A little girl sits up in bed, pointing.

“Mama, it’s the princess! And her boyfriend!”

You glance at Oscar to find him rubbing his neck bashfully. Clearly his fame extends beyond the F1 sphere here.

You laugh and enter slowly. “We were hoping we might visit you, if that’s alright?”

The girl — Else — nods eagerly, blond braids bouncing. Her mother rises to curtsy but you wave her off kindly as Oscar produces a small plush racecar from his pocket, to Else’s delight.

As you chat and play with Else, joy lights up her face. For a short time, she’s just a normal girl again. Your chest aches at her bright spirit despite her poor health.

All too soon, a nurse taps her watch. As you make your goodbyes, Else throws her thin arms around your waist.

“Thank you! This was like a fairytale.” Over her head, her mother mouths a tearful thank you of her own.

You hug Else gently before kneeling down. “It was our honor. You stay strong, little one.”

Her returning whisper warms your heart. “Don’t worry, I will!”

Similar scenes play out in room after room. Your cheeks ache from smiling but it’s a welcome ache. The children’s awed joy makes the real reason for tonight crystal clear.

Watching Oscar kneel patiently as a shy boy shows him a prized toy car, your heart clenches with love. Catching your gaze, Oscar’s eyes mirror the same emotion.

Far too soon, your bodyguards notify you it’s time to return before your absence draws notice. A chorus of disappointed groans follows you out.

Back at the gala, you slip in just in time for closing toasts. No one seems the wiser about your little detour.

Under the table, Oscar squeezes your hand. The contact says it all — this is what truly matters. Not accolades or commendations, but joy brought to hurting hearts.

You know you’ll be back. Both of you. Not for galas or acclaim, but for the chance to see young faces light up, if only for a moment.

Late that night, you slow dance alone in the empty ballroom, music and laughter faded. Oscar’s arms circle you from behind, chin tucking onto your shoulder.

“I think tonight was the most important royal function I’ve ever attended,” he murmurs.

You cover his hands with yours, leaning back into him with a contented sigh. No more words need be said.

The rest of the world may see events like tonight as social currency and networking. But you hold the truth in your heart — the only currency that counts can’t be bought, only given freely through love.

***

Two Years Later

You smooth your hands over your dress, pulse thrumming as you await the imminent news conference. Just hours ago, the palace formally announced your engagement to Oscar, sending the public into a frenzy.

Now, you’re about to face the media together for the first time as an engaged couple. Press stands crowd the palace gardens, cameras poised and ready.

At your side, Oscar seems calm and collected, fingers threaded loosely with yours. But you sense the storm brewing beneath his tranquil surface.

You reach up and gently adjust his suit collar, fingers lingering on the lapels as you meet his eyes. He gives you a small, grateful smile before you both turn to face the expectant crowd.

Because today also brings another announcement — one that will upend Oscar’s world irreversibly.

Your father steps forward first to formally confirm the engagement and expound on Oscar’s character. As he returns to your side, Oscar squeezes your hand and you nod in encouragement.

Oscar clears his throat, stepping closer to the microphones. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Y/N and I are over the moon at the chance to spend our lives together.”

He gazes at you softly before continuing. “I’m truly the luckiest man in the world to have won the heart of Denmark’s lovely princess.”

You have to resist the urge to kiss him senseless then and there. Cameras flash brightly as Oscar details your romantic (and heavily abridged) love story, punctuated with charming wit.

But gradually, his mirth fades. With another fortifying hand squeeze, he steels himself for the harder part.

“While I’m elated at this new chapter ahead, it also brings difficult changes. I’m announcing my retirement from Formula 1 following this season’s conclusion.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Oscar’s grip tightens as he pushes forward.

“As a member of the royal family, I will no longer be able to continue racing competitively. I am grateful to have achieved my dream this year of winning the championship.”

His voice falters briefly and your heart clenches. Racing is Oscar’s passion — having to walk away is unimaginably hard.

Oscar visibly gathers himself. “But as difficult as this is, marrying Y/N is worth any sacrifice. She is my true dream now.”

He turns to you then, eyes glistening. “The honor of being your husband eclipses any trophy or medal. You are my greatest victory.”

Emotion clogs your throat and without thinking, you wrap him in a fierce embrace. The rules of propriety fade away, only your pride and love for Oscar remain.

His arms clutch you close as flashes erupt around you. But in this moment, you see only each other.

Eventually you separate and Oscar takes your hand once more, gracing you with a tender smile. He turns back to the microphones for one last address.

“Til Danmark og det danske folk. Jeg lover at tjene jer med ære, respekt og kærlighed.”

The Danish press reacts first, visibly surprised and impressed at Oscar’s speech in their native tongue.

You blink back a fresh wave of tears at his poignant promise — to serve Denmark with honor, respect, and love.

Overcome with emotion, you step forward to the microphones as well.

“Oscar’s love for me and Denmark is clear to all who meet him. I am truly blessed to have found such a selfless, caring partner.”

Your voice wavers with feeling. “Though it grieves me to see his racing career ended prematurely, I could not be more proud of the man he is.”

You reach for Oscar’s hand, gazing at him through tear-filled eyes. “He gives up much out of love for me. I only hope I can bring him a fraction of the joy in return.”

Oscar’s fingers tighten around yours, eyes shining with affection. Cameras flash furiously at your raw display of love and emotion.

But you remain lost in Oscar’s eyes, the rest of the world fading away. In this moment, all that matters is your shared devotion and the bright future stretching before you.

Questions start flying from the excited press corps but Oscar politely extracts you both, ceding the floor to the waiting palace officials.

Alone inside once more, Oscar sags against the wall in clear emotional exhaustion. You wrap him in your arms, heart aching for the pain this transition causes.

Oscar clings to you tightly, face pressed into your hair. “I meant every word,” he whispers fiercely. “You are my whole world now.”

You draw back just far enough to meet his eyes, hoping he can see the depths of your love reflected there.

“I know, min kæreste. We’ll face this new future together.”

The answering kiss speaks what words cannot. No matter what comes, your love remains constant.

A new path lies ahead now, one you will walk hand in hand, till the end of your days.

***

Five Years Later

The roar of engines draws nearer as your car nears the Copenhagen street circuit. In the seat beside you, Oscar bounces his leg restlessly, face alight with anticipation.

In the backseat, your three-year-old daughter, Margrethe (affectionately called Maise for short), mimics her father’s excitement, chattering cheerfully about anything and everything.

You reach over to still Oscar’s jostling knee, smiling indulgently. “Easy there, we’ve barely arrived and you’re already wound up.”

Oscar shoots you a boyish grin. “Can you blame me? It’s been so long since I was last in the paddock. Feels like a lifetime ago.”

Your heart swells with quiet awe once more at the sacrifices Oscar has made for your future together. While racing still runs through his veins, his duties as Crown Prince of Denmark now take precedence.

But today offers a joyous reunion, with Oscar instrumental in bringing Formula 1 racing back to Danish soil for the first time since 1962.

As the car pulls through the paddock entrance, Oscar cranes his neck eagerly, drinking in the familiar organized chaos. Before the door even opens, you hear a familiar voice shouting.

“He lives! The prodigal prince returns!” A blur of McLaren papaya hurtles towards Oscar as he steps out.

Oscar just manages to brace himself before Lando Norris tackles him in an exuberant hug. Laughter bubbles out of Oscar as he returns the embrace.

“Good to see you too, mate. It’s been way too long.”

You round the car to find Oscar’s former team already swarming him, clapping his back and jostling each other good-naturedly to greet their long-lost driver.

Oscar’s eyes shine as he falls back into easy banter, trading inside jokes and reminiscing. With Maise balanced on your hip, you hang back contentedly, letting Oscar have this moment.

As the reunion finally winds down, Lando gestures to you and Maise. “And who do we have here? Don’t tell me this little beauty is your daughter?”

Oscar beams, waving you both over. “She is indeed! Lando, meet my little girl.”

Lando pretends to stagger back in shock. “No way, our little Oscar is all grown up and domesticated now!”

Oscar shoves him playfully before sweeping Maise into his arms. “What can I say, my fast living days are behind me now.” He kisses Maise’s wavy hair, eyes finding yours. “I’ve got all I need right here.”

Your insides turn mushy at the adoration in his voice. The years have only deepened your love further.

More drivers trickle over to greet Oscar, ribbing him good-naturedly about his new royal status. But the obvious affection underlying the teasing is clear.

Zak Brown claps Oscar on the back. “It’s so good to have you back, even just for a day. You and your family should stay, watch the race from the garage!”

For a fleeting moment, naked longing flashes across Oscar’s face at the thought of experiencing race day excitement again up close.

But reality settles back in quickly, his expression turning regretful. “That’s a lovely offer, truly. But I’m afraid we’ll have to make our way to the royal box.”

He bounces Maise gently, tone wry. “Some of us have a job to do handing out trophies later.” Maise giggles and tugs at his ear happily, blissfully unaware of the wistfulness simmering beneath her father’s smile.

You slip your arm through Oscar’s, offering a comforting squeeze. His answering smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

After more fond farewells, you exit the nostalgic bubble of the garage. Oscar pauses, taking a moment to just breathe and gather himself.

You shift Maise to your other hip, wrapping your free arm around his waist. Oscar leans into you gratefully, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Can’t believe it’s been five years already,” he murmurs. “Feels like another lifetime.”

You smile up at him sadly. “I know, my love. But look at everything you’ve accomplished for Denmark in that time. This race wouldn’t even be happening without you.”

Oscar huffs a small laugh. “Too right. Who needs driving when I’ve got you two anyway?”

He tickles Maise playfully, eliciting delighted giggles. The melancholy edge has left his eyes now, replaced by contentment.

Hand in hand, with Maise toddling happily between you, the three of you set off together towards the royal box. The Danish Grand Prix awaits, along with the bright future you continue building as a family.

This may no longer be Oscar’s world, but he now shapes the path for future generations of drivers. After the race, as Oscar graciously awards the beaming winner while Maise excitedly cheers from the side of the podium, you know this is precisely where he’s meant to be.

[iwtvfanevents]

Rewind the Tape —Episode 1

Art of the episode

During our rewatch, we took note of the art shown and mentioned in the pilot, and we wanted to share. Did we miss any? Do you have any thoughts about how these references could be interpreted? How do you think Armand and Louis go about picking the art for their penthouse in Dubai?

The Fall of the Rebel Angels

Peter Bruegel the Elder, 1562

This painting is featured in the Interview with the Vampire book, and it was important enough to be included in the draft pilot script!

Bruegel the Elder was among the most significant Dutch and Flemish Renaissance artists. He was a painter and print-maker, known for his landscapes and peasant scenes.

Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion

Francis Bacon, 1944

Bacon was an Irish figurative painter, known for his raw, unsettling imagery and a number of triptychs and diptychs among his work. At a time when being gay was a criminal offense, Bacon was open about his sexuality, and was cast out by his family at 16 for this reason. He destroyed many of his early works, but about 590 still survive. The Tate, where these paintings are displayed, says this about the work: "Francis Bacon titled this work after the figures often featured in Christian paintings witnessing the death of Jesus. But he said the creatures represented the avenging Furies from Greek mythology. The Furies punish those who go against the natural order. In Aeschylus’s tragedy The Eumenides, for example, they pursue a man who has murdered his mother. Bacon first exhibited this painting in April 1945, towards the end of the Second World War. For some, it reflects the horror of the war and the Holocaust in a world lacking guiding principles."

On the Hunt or Captain Percy Williams On A Favorite Irish Hunter and Calling the Hounds Out of Cover

Samuel Sidney, 1881 [Identified by @vfevermillion.] and Heywood Hardy, 1906 [Identified by @destinationdartboard.]

Sidney was an English writer, and his prints usually accompanied his publications about hunting, agriculture, and about settling Australia during the colonial period. Hardy, also British, was a painter, in particular an animal painter. There's also a taxidermy deer, ram, and piebald deer on the wall.

Iolanta

Pyotr Tchaikovsky, 1892

The opera Louis and Lestat go to was composed by Tchaikovsky, another gay artist. The play tells a story "in which love prevails, light shines for all, lies are no longer necessary and no one must fear punishment," as put by Susanne Stähr for the Berliner Philharmoniker.

Strawberries and Cream

Raphaelle Peale, 1816 [Identified by @diasdelfuego.]

Peale is considered to have been the first professional American painter of still-life.

Outfits inspired by J.C. Leyendecker

Leyendecker was one of the most prominent and commercially successful freelance artists in the U.S. He studied in France, and was a pioneer of the Art Deco illustration. Leyendecker's model, Charles Beach, was also his lover of five decades. You can read costume designer Carol Cutshall's thoughts on these outfits on her Instagram.

The Artist's Sister, Melanie

Egon Schiele, 1908 [Identified by @dwreader.]

Schiele was an Austrian expressionist painter and protege of Gustav Klimt. Many of his portraits (self portraits and of others) were described as grotesque and disturbing.

A Stag at Sharkey's

George Wesley Bellows, 1909 [Identified by @vfevermillion.]

Bellows was an American realist painter, known for his bold depictions of urban life in New York City.

Mildred-O Hat

Robert Henri, undated (likely 1890s) [Identified by @nicodelenfent, here.]

Henri was an American painter who studied in Paris, where he learned from the Impressionists and determined to lead an even more dramatic revolt against American academic art.

Starry night

Edvard Munch, 1893 [Identified by @vfevermillion.]

Munch was a Norwegian painter, one of the best known figures of late 19th-century Symbolism and a great influence in German Expressionism in the early 20th century. His work dealt with psychological themes, and he personally struggled with mental illness.

If you spot or put a name to any other references, let us know if you'd like us to add them with credit to the post!

Starting tonight, we will be rewatching and discussing Episode 2, ...After the Phantoms of Your Former Self. We hope to see you there!

And, if you're just getting caught up, learn all about our group rewatch here ►

[pandiongames]

Substratum Protocol, the Solo+ Apocalyptic Mystery TTRPG by Pandion Games

The Substratum Protocol campaign is nearing its end! There are less than 24 hours left to join over 600 scientists on the expedition to save the planet!

If you haven’t yet, check out the campaign before it’s too late!

There have been some fun updates since launch, including additional artwork by Galen Pejeau, new rules for environmental hazards, and a big story update!

If you want to see what the game is about, we also have a free preview PDF for you on the campaign page.

An Anomaly

During our interview with Rascal News, we realized we had made a fundamental mistake in writing an open-ended mystery: We said what was at the core of the planet, an interdimensional portal. The portal being is now just one possibility. We spent last weekend updating all the writing to now be an anomaly. The otherworldly abilities you get from taking stress are now Anomaly Influences, rather than Portal Influences, for instance. The Expedition can still decide it's a portal, but calling it an anomaly opens up a huge range of possibilities. What is the anomaly that's splitting the earth open?

Is it a massive cosmic egg hatching a world eater as part of a natural lifecycle? 

Did an advance interstellar ship accidentally exit hyperspace at the center of the planet due to a miscalculation, and its damaged engines are holding open a hyperspace bubble? 

Is there a cult of advanced species calling forth eldritch gods with a powerful ritual that consumes planets to power it?

Substratum Protocol is about letting the clues and your answers determine what is really happening, and we think this update opens the floodgates for it.

Depth Sector Deep Dives

In our campaign updates, we have been talking about the different sectors players can visit and their inspiration. These are all available publicly on the campaign - but we wanted to share the Fracture Opening sector with you here.

How the Depth Sectors Work

Substratum Protocol is a collaborative mystery game. The text gives hints and whispers of possibilities, but strays away from definite answers. What you discover and imagine at your table becomes canon to the story and the setting. Each sector shows its location in the Fracture, includes in-universe handwritten notes from an unknown scientist, relevant art, and a table of events - each giving a glimpse into what the sector contains. Scientists can spend as much or as little time in a Sector as they want. When they're ready to venture deeper, whoever leads the way rolls for the Travel Action.

The Fracture Opening

This is the first sector of the expedition experiences. At 1,300 kilometers long, it covers the distance between New York City to Miami, Florida. London, England to Naples, Italy. Melbourne, Australia to Alice Springs. Buenos Aires, Argentina to São Paulo, Brazil. It is massive. Where did the fracture open in your game? What exists teetering at its cliff walls? The world at the surface is a hellscape of the apocalypse, and much of the Fracture Opening is littered with crumbling buildings, detritus, and ancillary debris of civilization. Oceans spilling over the edge seem small in scale. Sitting suspended over it, is the Fracture Observatory. The Fracture Observatory, the home of Mission Control.

Furthest from the anomaly, this sector is rooted most in the reality of the surface. Here, players may find groups of survivors from the cities that tumbled into the great fracture, steam vents, cave ins, and earthquakes make finding solid footing and a reliable path difficult, and even here, strange subterranean creatures may make an appearance. Old research stations, part of the Substratum Protocol's monitoring efforts may still be intact here, and dangerous fast flowing waters threaten to whisk away scientists into massive whirlpools to further below. When we were first designing Substratum Protocol, the thought was that players would start in the action of the expedition and wouldn't really spend time on the Fracture Observatory or on the surface. The Fracture Opening was our way of showing what the surface was going through while still being en route. It is meant to showcase the incredible destruction happening, and give the players a sense of urgency to stop it from getting worse. How do the scientists descend into the fracture before being left to their own power? Lowered on a cable lift? Paraglide down? Or perhaps they are more like hell jumpers, free-falling through the gargantuan opening (or Link entering the depths in Tears of the Kingdom!)?

The title screen fades to klaxon alarms and screams of the world above, slowly giving way to a deafening silence of rushing wind as the expedition descends past the cliff walls into the abyssal black depths of the Fracture Opening...

Join the Expedition!

[doubleddenden]

Okay I was just sharing a tweet I saw with my friends, right. Then I realized the background- one of the possible decorations you can set for the Blueberry Academy League Club Room, the Dark theme- could potentially be a hint towards ZA. So basically I saw a gold mine in a meme, so thanks for accidentally inspiring me :)

1. The "hag" meta is definitely in for vtubers, so that tracks for Iono lol, but 2 moving away from that, 2. Follow me into this rabbit hole and look here, friends

Besides Larry being beautiful and questioning his life, a lot of us saw the portrait and thought it could resemble Caitlin of the Unova Elite 4 and formerly princess of the Sinnoh/Johto Battle Castle- fitting since Blueberry Academy is off the coast of Unova in the case of Unova Elite 4. Some of you probably think this is old news- be patient, I'm going somewhere with this.

The resemblance is there, especially in the hair in gen 4, but the eyes are different and she's holding a Banette or Banette doll, a ghost type. It was dismissed by many to just be a creepy little girl.

Except, I think it might be a hint or teaser. And before anyone dismisses this. Take a look at these screenshots (from Nintendo Life via google)

A lot of people immediately turn to the painting of Uluru- aka the rock monolith found in Australia, and many tend to focus on that for Gen 10 hints- myself included, of course, I've wanted Pokemon Australia since I was 10. However, what if I told you that if a Z-A hint were a snake...

...It would have bitten you. That's Lumiose Tower in that one sketch, a cleverly hidden tree in a forest of brighter colored trees. There's other stuff there I wanna look at, but unfortunately the angle is purposely bad in Hassel's art room, so you can't focus on it.

So if we go back to the creepy girl in the portrait, knowing that Game Freak already planted a Z-A hint that tiny on that wall, we could possibly go a little nuts and say that maybe she's a character we meet in Z-A.

If that weren't enough- Banette has a Mega Evolution, introduced in XY. So yeah.

Anyway here's what I think: Caitlin has an ancestor that used to be royalty in Kalos, or more fittingly, part of the Lumiose Aristocracy in Z-A's fan proposed time frame of 1850s Rennovation of Paris, or so. Caitlin has psychic powers, fitting for a Psychic type user- but Ghost type trainers also have been known to exhibit supernatural abilities similar to Pokemon Psychics as well, and Caitlin is so powerful that she either had her butler run the Battle Castle for her or sleeps most of the time as an Elite 4 member to keep her powers in check. Perhaps her powers are passed down and a result of a family line of involvement with supernatural Pokemon.

The girl in the photo is either the first or just another of the family that has some kind of innate power or connection to Pokemon in this manner- in this case, ghost types.

Lumiose in XY is actually not that far from the haunted swamp and supposedly haunted house/tourist trap, so perhaps Caitlin's ancestors are losing power in the aristocracy at the time period but still retain some sway, and most importantly could be the proprieter of ghost Pokemon we'll need for the dex AND an "alpha" equivalent ghost type Pokemon.

Picture this: there's a haunted mansion to the north of Lumiose. There's some old documentation inside that will help with your goal of rebuilding Lumiose- but it's haunted. Like HAUNTED haunted. It's layout kinda large but manageable, like Luigi's Mansion in a way. Caitlin's ancestor- maybe of some partial relation to Shauntal as well- helps guide you through this mansion that's infested with ghost type Pokemon.

That's an idea anyway, which admittedly could be a stretch from just a couple of screenshots- but do keep in mind that Gamefreak hid Gmax Toxtricity in their Alolan office in Ultra Sun and Moon on a poster at a bad angle. Not to mention they probably had DeNA use Masters to tease at Volo with Cynthia's Giratina Sygna Suit. Plus the Kitakami Easter egg at Larry's own gym before SV DLC was even announced, or using the English word for Blueberry- a North American berry, instead of the Spanish words for Grape and Orange- to signify Blueberry Academy being off the coast of Unova/America.

Sometimes their hints are right in your face, sometimes cleverly hidden, sometimes it doesn't even register until it hits- so imo, I think I might be onto something here. At the very least, a haunted house in Pokemon is LONG overdue at this point- we haven't had a new one since Alola in gen 7, although that was a destroyed grocery store- the others we've had are repeats of Lavender Tower or Lost Tower and Old Chateau.

... WHICH, BTW, A chataeu... is French :) the Old Chateau- haunted by ghosts, in Sinnoh, where Caitlin was first introduced. Come to think of it, in Hisui, there isn't even a NEW Chateau yet.

So now I think it's a possibility that Caitlin's ancestors were the ones that built the Old Chateau, and possibly used blueprints from one in old Lumiose to build it in the freshly colonized lands of Sinnoh. Blueprints WE help find.

Or, as a lot of people who made it this far are probably SCREAMING at me right now- all of this is nothing and the little girl is just a generic little girl made to be creepy on purpose.

But we like to have fun here in DD's theory corner. And it'll be so hilarious if I got some of this right in the slightest.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Lauren Aratani at The Observer:

An elderly billionaire goes to war with his adult children over the future of his media empire. His only ally is his eldest son, crowned leader of his father’s enterprise after years of jostling with his siblings. In choosing a successor, the patriarch spurns three of his other children, who remain threats: when he dies, they will each have just as much power as the eldest son to shape his companies, potentially against the rightwing ideologies that have guided them for decades.

Away from the public eye, he makes a dramatic move. To deliver control to his eldest son, the mogul quietly launches an extraordinary bid to alter the trust set to hand the other three influence upon his death. But they stand ready to fight. This may sound akin to HBO’s Succession, but it’s life imitating art – which was, in turn, imitating life. Rupert Murdoch, 93, the billionaire owner of News Corp and Fox Corporation who helped inspire the show, is trying to give his eldest son, Lachlan, full control of his media outlets upon his death. While his other adult children – James, Elisabeth and Prudence – will still receive equal shares of company profits, this would leave them with no say over the companies upon his death.

This battle is in fact bigger than anything featured on Succession, according to Robert Thompson, a media scholar based at Syracuse University. “This is arguably the single most influential media outlet in all of the English-speaking world,” he said of News Corp and Fox. “How this turns out has a real, significant impact on real people living on planet Earth.” News Corp owns more than a hundred major and local newspapers, including the Wall Street Journal and the New York Post in the US, as well as the Times and the Sun in the UK. Meanwhile, Fox is the parent of Fox News, the leading conservative cable network in the US, with millions of viewers.

The Murdochs’ legal fight played out in secret for months – until Wednesday, when it burst into the open. The New York Times reported on a decision from a Nevada probate commissioner, which is under seal, that Murdoch can rewrite his family’s irrevocable trust if he can prove the change is being made in good faith and benefits his heirs. The ruling sets the stage for a high-profile trial over the future of his vast array of media interests, with Murdoch and his three children slated to duke it out in court in September.

Both sides, according to the Times, have bulked up on high-profile lawyers. William Barr, the former US attorney general, is helping Murdoch rewrite the trust, and he has also hired Adam Streisand, a trial lawyer who previously worked on estate cases involving Michael Jackson and Britney Spears. The feuding appears to have taken its toll on the family. When Rupert married his fifth wife in California last month, Lachlan was said to have been the only one of his four eldest children in attendance. The other two also reportedly steered clear.

With Lachlan as his father’s successor, Fox News and News Corp will continue to be a conservative force. But under the trust’s current structure, the three other siblings, who are deemed more politically moderate, can push back. Murdoch is seemingly keen to avoid this prospect. Conservatism has been the backbone of his empire since its inception. It has proved to be remarkably profitable.

Though Murdoch had successfully formed relationships with powerful conservative figures in Australia and the UK, it was not until Donald Trump’s ascendancy that he had close ties to the White House. Though Fox was initially dismissive of Trump, the network soon turned into his most powerful megaphone. In turn, Murdoch had direct access to a commander-in-chief. Not all of Murdoch’s children were happy about this. During Trump’s presidency, Elisabeth, Prudence and James started to drift away from their father’s politics.

When Roger Ailes, the longtime Fox CEO, left the company in 2016 off the back of multiple sexual harassment allegations, James reportedly believed he could push the network in a new direction, bringing in an experienced executive who was less of an ideologue. Instead, the elder Murdoch took over as chair himself.

In the summer of 2020, James – once a senior executive at News Corp – announced he was resigning from the board over “disagreements over certain editorial content”. He and his wife, Kathryn, were particularly vocal about the climate crisis and seemed to resent Fox News and News Corp’s climate denialism. “We’ve been arguing about politics since I was a teenager,” James told the Times in 2020, about his father. In 2020, James and his wife donated more than $600,000 to Biden’s campaign. Murdoch eventually crowned Lachlan as his successor. While Lachlan does not speak publicly about his personal political views, reports have said they usually lean more conservative than his father’s. And while Lachlan appears less interested than his father in political influence, he cares about profit. And Trump has been profitable.

The Observer (the Sunday version of The Guardian) has an illuminating piece on the Murdoch media empire, and how Rupert Murdoch is going to war over who gets to succeed him upon his death by rewriting the trust to benefit stridently right-wing Lachlan at the expense of the other three (and less right-wing) children.

[cokowiii]

Hello, the last post I saw where you talked about what animal Cali was you had no idea and he was just a cool character to make and stuff. Well, I took some inspiration from Cali and might have an animal that Cali might have a mix of. :D

It's an animal called a thorny devil, native to the outback of Australia. It make a close relationship with the spikes and stuff. :/

Also love your art and hope you have a nice day!

This is a pointy lil fuck!

Ty this is going on the “random stuff I might need” wall!

[scottelkartwork]

ARTWORK

Sean Scully

Wall of light grey pink, 2010

Art Gallery of South Australia

Sean Scully is considered a leading international abstract painter known for his compositions of layered blocks of colour and textured surfaces. Born in Dublin, Ireland in 1945, Scully grew up in South London and began painting in the late 1960s before migrating to New York City in 1975.

This commanding painting is part of a major ongoing series, Wall of Light, which evolved from small watercolours on paper completed during trips to Mexico - a destination that for almost two decades has influenced the artist's approach to painting. The interlocking horizontal and vertical blocks of colour in the series were inspired by the patterns and rhythms of light and shadow that play across Mayan stacked stone ruins in the Yucata. An experimentation with colour and light, in this painting Scully has built up diffuse layers of grey and pink oil paint, in varying degrees of light and darkness, on an aluminium surface.

Scully does not shy away from grand Romantic ideals and the potential for personal revelation and enlightenment through art. With his paintings, he strives to combine, as he has said, 'intimacy with monumentality'.

What I connect with…

An artist I have been looking at this past year in art history. Scully’s work lacks the transcendent beauty of a Rothko but is still pursuing similar ideas as colour field paintings. The term ‘colour fissures’ I believe originates from Scully to describe the little bits of edge colour poking through, although I dislike the term I love the use of this as a device in a painting that helps give vitality to these areas of colour. This painting isn’t ground breaking but I love the rough edges found throughout that are echoed in the way the paint comes almost to the edge.

[hungerpunch]

should not be possible to be so dorky and so alluring at the same time. should not be legal to somehow remain endearing and charming while wearing his own merch next to COFFEE wall art that is right out of tacky interior decor 101. my mind should not be capable of disregarding the famously loathed swimwear export of australia but, indeed, i find i do not care at all. it defies logic to be afflicted with that many varying, incongruous tan lines yet still inspire my mouth to water. some people once dared to suggest this man possessed a boring nature yet he is out here displaying multitudinous dimensions that their faves could not pay an elite pr agency to contrive. harvard should want to trap him under a cloche to study his contradictions. it's incredible.

[holycatsandrabbits]

So excited to get my author copies of Clamour and Mischief!

This is an awesome anthology edited by Narrelle M Harris (@221b-hound), with cover art by Andrea L Farley (@altocello)

Orders are open: Order in America or Australia

The anthology

Clamour and Mischief brings a veritable storytelling of crows to the corvidae, the bird family known for intelligence and cunning and for their connection with folklore and urban legends. These storytellers come from around the world and include award-winning and -shortlisted authors as well as emerging writers and fledgling authors in their professional debut.

This anthology’s sixteen striking stories are imbued with all the humour, darkness, wisdom, artfulness, vengefulness and magic of the birds that inspired them. Take them as a jest, a guide, or a warning – but don’t, whatever you do, ignore them!

My story

“Branwen and the Three Ravens”  is a retelling of the Grimm’s fairy tale “The Seven Ravens”: The creepy adventures of a woman attempting to free her brothers from a curse.

In those days, one could walk to the palace of the Sun. It lay at the last point of land before east became west and day became night. As a child, Branwen had read of the home of the Sun, with its open blue skies and green fields, its maze of a garden laid out in tangled rays, and a palace of bright white walls that had no ceiling.

The reality of it was somewhat different.

You can read an interview with me or watch me read an excerpt

Ao3 ~ DannyeChase.com ~ Linktree ~ Serial romance ~ Weird Wednesday writing prompts blog ~ Ko-fi ~ Newsletter

[finaltouchdecor]

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[artwallaus]

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Dive into the world of art and relaxation as you create your own masterpiece.

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Luke Arnold, Doc Wyatt talk the teamwork and insanity that defines ‘ESSENTIALS’

The compelling new OGN is funding via Kickstarter.

by Chris Coplan (April 18, 2024)

You may know Luke Arnold as Long John Silver in the Black Sails and/or INXS’ own Michael Hutchence in the Never Tear Us Apart miniseries. Doc Wyatt, meanwhile, is best known for his production work on the iconic Napoleon Dynamite and the animated Rocket and Groot for Marvel. So, what happens when a lauded actor and a TV writer/producer get together? Why a brand-new graphic novel, ESSENTIALS.

For ESSENTIALS, Arnold and Wyatt were brought together in part by The Lab Press, a new publishing outfit that focuses primarily on graphic novels. Together, the pair then collaborated with a veritable smorgasbord of comics artists, including Bill Sienkiewicz (who does the cover), Dani, Jason Howard, Andrea Mutti, and Glenn Fabry. (The book’s colors were provided by Jordie Bellaire, Brad Simpson, and Wesley Wong, with lettering from DC Hopkins of AndWorld Design).

Once fully assembled, this superstar team behind ESSENTIALS set about crafting a story in which “the world you see around you is not real.” More specifically, we follow “disgraced mathematician Harris Pax” as he and Buttons (an “interdimensional being possessing his niece’s favorite toy”) set about smashing the walls of this faux reality. ESSENTIALS asks some big questions — “What matters most in a well-lived life? Is joy more valuable than truth?” — just as much as it’s a rollicking, dimension-hopping adventure story.

ESSENTIALS is currently crowdfunding via Kickstarter, with the campaign having raised $13,000-plus (of a seemingly $1,111 goal) on the way to its May 16 deadline. (Head here to contribute.) To get a better idea of the work that went into ESSENTIALS, we recently got to field questions to both Arnold and Wyatt. The duo spoke about the somewhat involved creative process, the big themes at the book’s heart, working with The Lab Press, and much more.

The talent behind ESSENTIALS. Courtesy of The Lab Press.

AIPT: I’m curious: what’s the collaborative process look like between a TV writer and an actor making a comic book?

Luke Arnold: It’s hard to summarize this process because there are so many stages. We broke most of the story on zoom between Australia and LA. Then, we outlined in pieces, trading them back and forth multiple times, rewriting and recrafting until we were happy. After that, we’d take a chapter each, write them, share them, editing and/or rewriting each other’s work. Then, it would go to the artists, and we’d wait for the first sketches to roll in.

Because the team (Doc, myself, and everyone at The Lab) is spread around the globe, we found that the best place to review artwork was actually in VR. We all got Oculus headsets that allowed us to sit around a table together with the art displayed on a huge board in front of us, marveling over the work and deciding on any notes to send back to the artists.

The next few stages would take place over email, and then when all the art was finished, Doc and I would get back on Zoom to take another look at the script. Once you have those final pages, you can quickly realize that a lot of dialogue feels unnecessary, so we’d go through and make changes before sending everything to the letterer. That was one of my favorite stages, as you have an opportunity to write some parts all over again, inspired by the work of the artists.

Doc Wyatt: Luke’s an actor, but he’s also a novelist. His novels blow me away. I knew Luke first as an actor, and on set, he was talking about these fantasy novels that he wanted to write. But when it actually happened, I was blown away. The Last Smile in Sunder City was Luke’s first book, and it kicked off a series that’s a mashup of the noir detective genre with urban fantasy. Anyone who’s missed it should catch up with it.

As a writer, Luke is intricate. He works in levels and layers, meanings behind meanings, and philosophical underpinnings. It was a really rich and rewarding experience because we’d start out talking about the story we were breaking, but the conversation would drift into all these other, unrelated places… until suddenly it would snap back into story mode, but bringing along all these influences from our seemingly unrelated conversations.

AIPT: What’s the elevator pitch for ESSENTIALS? It seems like there are a lot of big questions churning at the heart of this book.

LA: Our world has collided with another dimension and reality has become untethered. Most humans were killed in the collision, and those that survived are now trapped in their own subjective realities as their beliefs, thoughts, and fears become manifest around them. Harris Pax – the only scientist who foresaw this apocalypse and managed to protect himself – has teamed up with Buttons – a being from the other dimension. Together they must travel into these subjective realities and convince the people inside to give up their illusions and return to the real world.

DW: Honestly, it can sound complicated, but at the end of the day the story is pretty simple. A cosmic catastrophe has killed most human life, with the few survivors unknowingly stuck in their own bubbles of subjective reality. It’s the job of our heroes to pull them out of these private realities before they’re killed by them.

AIPT: Similarly, it seems like this book may be about/interested in simulations and subjective reality and the like. Why are those kinds of massive ideas interesting, and how do you come at them from a new angle?

LA: It’s a cliché now to say that we’ve never been so divided. We started writing this four years ago, and things seem to have only gotten worse. In this age of reactionary politics and algorithms, we really are starting to live in separate realities where even basic facts are up for dispute. But this feeling of disconnection was an existential issue long before the internet. Artists and writers have always explored the pain of isolation, our yearning for interconnection, and the despondency that comes from witnessing the perpetual division of the human race on both an intimate and planetary scale. With ESSENTIALS, we found two heroes, a villain, and a reality-spanning quest that allows us to dig into these concerns in a way that feels fresh and kind of limitless. There are already so many realities we’ve had to cast aside and many more we hope to include as the story continues.

The Jason Howard cover to ESSENTIALS. Courtesy of The Lab Press.

AIPT: What’s it like to be the debut release from Lab Press? Does that pressure help or complicate your process as creators and then also promoters of said creation?

LA: I can really only speak to it from a creative standpoint. It has awarded us a kind of freedom that is rare to find. The Lab and ESSENTIALS were formed at the same time, so the publishers had no preconceptions about what this book needed to be. There were no expectations, either from the reader or the company itself, so the book was able to find its form on its own terms. And being their debut, The Lab was likely more open to our wild ideas, such as jumping between so many artists in the way we do.

DW: For me, sure– it’s a little nerve-wracking to be the first book from a new publisher, because they’re going to be doing all their learning on our book. But that said, we believe in them. They’ve certainly taken a risk on our weird, little, indie book, so it’s only fair we take a risk on them!

AIPT: The book has a slew of talented artists attached, including Dani, Andrea Mutti, and Bill Sienkiewicz. What’s it mean to have such a roster of sheer artistic talent, and do you have any standout moments/pages?

LA: Even though this book has been in development for years, from the artists signing on to sending their pencils, their inks and colors, and now holding the final version, I still can’t really comprehend that we were able to work with artists of this caliber.

This is the first comic I’ve written, and so I was still wondering how all our scripts would come out after being interpreted by the artist. There’s a sequence in chapter two with a collage of a conversation that passes through a bunch of scenarios across a double page spread, and when Jason Howard sent us his pencils of that section, I started to believe that this world Doc and I had dreamed up could actually be realized.

I also have to say that I’m a huge Glenn Fabry fan. We gave him some of our weirdest pages, and his beautifully textured detail is everything we hoped for and more.

DW: The Lab Press had us submit a list of dream artists we’d be dying to work with. We did, thinking–well, they’ll never be able to get these… But they did!!! They didn’t tell me that they’d gotten Bill Sienkiewicz for a cover, who has been a very important artist to me since childhood. Instead they just revealed to me the fully finished cover at a party at New York Comic Con as a big surprise, and I just about lost it. It’s such an amazing cover. And it’s so Bill while still being so ESSENTIALS!

AIPT: Do you have a fave sci-fi book/film/show/etc. that maybe made its way into this project in some way (intentionally or not)?

LA: Doc is a font of sci-fi knowledge, and our original scripts were stuffed full of amazing references. Eventually, we decided to remove most of them before sending the scripts to artists because we didn’t want to cloud their minds with other visuals before we could see what their imaginations offered up. On quick flip though, you could see references to Alien, The Blob, and Night of the Living Dead, but we’ve done our best to use that imagery as a starting block to build something weirder.

AIPT: Why should anyone support the forthcoming Kickstarter for ESSENTIALS?

LA: Because this book is done and it’s incredible. We’re teaming up with Kickstarter because it’s the best way to get the books out to everyone around the world. We’re not asking for support to get it finished or anything like that. Not long after we launch, the book will be out of the printers and in your hands.

DW: We love our weird little story, and we want to tell more of it in the future, but we’ll only get the chance to do that if people read and love this one. We want to get the word out any way we can, so backers will find and support and read the book. It’s strange, it’s heady, and it’s not for everyone, but the people who it’s for– we hope– will really love it!

Source: AIPT Comics

[mybeingthere]

Michelle Mischkulnig, Textile Art/MultimediaMichelle studied Textile Design at RMIT, graduating in 1981 and has 35 years’ experience establishing her own creative business. She has also curated exhibitions, displayed her work in galleries throughout Australia and sold her work around the world. 

‘My work is an expression of my life, my life full of happiness, joy, a beautiful family, good friends and laughter. My inspiration comes from warm winter sun, the sound of the ocean, darting dragonflies, places I have been, family holidays, first spring gardens and everyday life. To wake each day knowing I will be creating an art work that brings joy to those who see it is very fulfilling. From the time of our birth we are surrounded by colour and texture. The softness of baby’s skin, butterfly kisses laid gently on our cheeks. As we move through our life, colour and texture bring to us emotive feelings, memories good and bad. Colour and texture affect our emotions, the motion and blueness of the sea, the first stirrings of spring. I am passionate about my art, created with joy, love and passion, often evoking a feeling of happiness in others. When I sell a piece of my work it is a sense of loss personally as each piece has a piece of me in it.’

Michelle’s art includes a range of media. Hand painted silks, a variety of fabrics, yarn, threads, paper and other treasures are collected and drawn together by freehand machine embroidery to create joyful, textual and vibrant pieces. These include framed wall art, wearable art and unique home wares.

https://www.stonehousegallery.com/michelle-mischkulnig.html

[itsbansheebitch]

(Click on picture for better detail)

This a piece I made today. It's inspired by the robot titled "I Can't Help Myself" by Sun Yuan and Peng Yu. The robot would try to being red dye to itself using a robotic arm. However, whenever it got a good bit of it close to itself, the arm would jerk, trying to get more and fling red dye (which resembles blood) onto the clear wall between itself and the audience. I wanted to use this imagery to show that AI itself isn't evil, but the people who run it are. AI isn't racist, misogynist, ablest, or transphobic, that's just the internet it was given to work off of. You can't blame a mirror for looking bad.

I wasn't proud of this one. I thought that the perspective was janky, the wall with the red dye was drawn strangely, etc. But then I realized that's the point of this piece. Anyone can draw. Anyone can make art. But people are making it easier than ever to STEAL other people's art and threaten their livelyhoods. Especially indigenous artists (specifically Australian artists).

I'm tired of dead artist's art being turned into NFTs

I'm tired of people calling it an "accessibility tool" when it STEALS from disabled, chronically ill, and mentally ill artists. I'm tired of people who aren't disabled speaking over people who are and saying they should be GRATEFUL to have their work STOLEN.

I'm tired of disabled artists having to get traction on social media just to be told to fuck off by someone who's already made bank off of their work.

We need regulation NOW. This threatens ALL of our livelyhoods.

AI art is just a shiny new way to exploit marginalized groups. Period.

[eihyndaye]

The Aussie Nightcreeper

NIGHT ONE

The buzzing of Bush Crickets carried on into midnight hours in (rural town), Australia. Hidden in the dark, their cumulative songs carried throughout the dusty plains and engulfed the lone house at the end of a gravel road. The only source of light in the area beamed through the chipped windows.

 Alicia stood in front of her easel in paint splattered overalls with a mug of steaming hot Milo by her side and half unpacked boxes lining the four walls of her living room. Guitar riffs from a local Australian punk rock band blared through her stereo and helped guide the brush.

Feelings of being energized, relaxed, relieved, and optimistic overwhelmed her at once and flowed into her newest painting – the first of a series she had planned for this next chapter of her life. Her flow state, a state of mind in which all time vanishes, had itself been absent for nearly 6 months. Survival instincts reigned in its place. Tonight was the first time she felt like she was back to being her true self.

A quick glance at her phone revealed that it was approaching one in the morning. Hours had vanished as a vibrant lioness appeared on the canvas. A sigh escaped her, and the corners of her lips turned slightly up. She was satisfied for the night.

Grasping her art supplies and empty mug, she made her way around the corner and into the kitchen to begin cleaning up. The left-over paint washed out of the brushes and spiraled down the drain, swirling the blues and purples together until disappearing into nothingness.

The punk rock playlist she had been listening to for hours came to a deafening end. “Good timing” she thought as she rinsed the last brush and clinking it into a cup to dry. A creaking from the outside the kitchen window above the sink followed immediately after, snapping her out of her mind and back into the moment.

She flicked on the outside light to half peer out the window and intently listened. It was dead silent. Even the Bush Crickets had gone to bed for the night. After scanning the illuminated wooden porch and into the blackness outside, the assumption of it being nothing more than an old house seemed to be the most reasonable explanation. She turned off the light and retired to bed, excited to pick up where she left off the next night.

NIGHT TWO

     A setting sun created a multitude of orange hues in the sky that Alecia felt inspired by. A light breeze blew past her as she closed her eyes to breathe it in. Expanding her lungs fully and holding it in, she felt gratitude to be out of Darwin. As simple as that, she was ready to finish off her day with painting. Feeling inspired by the sky, her porch seemed like the perfect place to set up.

She collected the mug from the previous was sitting in the sink. “Why dirty another dish?” she thought as she gave it another quick rinse and prepared another hot Milo.

Making her made her way into the more put together living space, she collected her supplies but stopped to admire the work she had completed during the day. Previous paintings she had done had hung on the walls, a bookshelf of various ocean life books was neatly pressed in the corner, and string lights traced the edges of the ceiling. This small house was beginning to feel like a home.

The buzzing Bush Crickets filled the space between her and the vibrant sky. Its oranges had now been accompanied by pinks. Instead of continuing with her series from the night before, she wanted to paint the landscape from her porch. Then time melted away.

Halfway through her painting now and intently focused on getting the scattered vegetation just right, a rustling in the distance caught her attention. She peered beyond her easel to wild shrubs, looking intently through the darkening area.

They were still. She thought to herself that it’s nothing more than some wildlife that she isn’t used to and started carrying on with her painting. Trying to get back into her state of mind, she had noticed that it was eerily quiet. The gentle breeze from not that long ago had stopped, and so did the buzzing that filled the air. She tried thinking back to a time where it was this silent but couldn’t recall any.

Goosebumps ran down her spine as she raised her mug up to her lips. The feeling of being watched suddenly overtook her. She glanced past her painting again and noticed a pair of glowing white eyes at the top of the shrub.

Caught off guard and gasping while drinking, she began to cough uncontrollably as it ran down the wrong pipe. Wiping her mouth and the tears that formed in her eyes she quickly turned her attention back to the shrub. The eyes that had been there before were no longer there.

After a short time, the assumption that it must have been a wild dingo seemed like the most reasonable thing. She took a deep breath and refocused on her painting that was now spattered with bits of drink she had coughed up. “Fuck me dead!” she expelled.

     A disappointing sigh escaped her. Shaking her head in disapproval, she carried her supplies inside to retire for the night.

NIGHT THREE

      Water boiled and danced with Alecia in the kitchen. She twirled with a glass of red wine in her hand between cooking her favorite shrimp pasta. Uplifting music filled every corner of the house and her soul.

     It was especially late for dinner, but after her fourth glass wine nothing sounded better. She hazily served herself up a portion and finished the last bit of wine in her glass.

     “I shouldn’t get another, but why not” she thought to herself. Stumbling and giggling, she imagined the floorboards under her were really of a pirate ship traversing in rough seas. Falling into the way along the way into the living room, she lost her footing and gently lost her footing.

“I reeeaaaallllyy shouldn’t get another… but I’m already here” An angel and demon were arguing on her shoulders, but the latter was winning.

A smirk appeared on her face as she was digging through one of the last unpacked boxes, searching for that other bottle of wine. Finally, she found it and pulled it close to her face. The crimson color appealed more to her than the actual taste.

“Saw-vin-non!” she half-heartedly tried pronouncing in a poor French accent. The joints in her knees cracked as she stood.

She started returning to the kitchen when she faced the SCREEN DOOR. The wine slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor, but it may as well have been her jaw. Her vocal cords desperately wanted to scream, but not a sound escaped from her mouth. She tripped back, falling into the easel and hitting her head and causing her to go unconscious.

A tall dark figure with two glowing eyes watched intently on the other side of the glass.

NIGHT SEVEN

Days had passed when she came to, but it felt like weeks to Alecia. At times she faded in and out of consciousness but was locked in a state of paralysis. Even at the most alert times, her mind spun and everything she perceived slowed and twisted in her bloodshot eyes.

A cloaked figure peered at her with those vibrant white eyes behind the corner. The moonlight barely touched his porcelain skin. The shine from those eyes were the last thing she saw as she faded back into blackness.

Chills ran over her body with prickly goose bumps closely following. At one point something wet and spongy dragged up her face, accompanied by a warm iron stench. A low growl whispered in her ear “my queen”.

Brrriiing… brrriiing… brrriiing…

Her eyes widely shot open as she instantly sat upright with a loud gasp. “What’s happening?” she thought. Her gaze darted around her bedroom.

Brrriiing… brrriiing…

She patted around her bed searching for her phone. Quickly tapping under the sheets and pillows with no luck.

Brrriiing…

Her head creaked sideways. “Kitchen” she whispered. Gliding her way through the house, she managed to snatch it up off the counter just in time to answer it before seeing who it was calling.

“Hello?” Her voice was dry and cracked.

“Grammy!” screeched through the phone. It was so loud she thought it was on speaker.

“H-hey there, kiddo.” She spoke up through her hoarse voice as loud as she could.

“Where have you been?” The high-pitched voice shrieked through her phone. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you so we can visit!” She was half paying attention, half wondering why it was so bright outside. The rays piercing through the kitchen window felt like acid on her skin and soap in her eyes.

Moving out of the way of the light and holding the phone away from her face she replied “Oh… I’ve just been busy”. She crept out of the kitchen and noticed the broken glass of wine and dark crimson everywhere. She tried recollecting but in the moment it was too much. Tiptoeing over the shattered glass and puddle of wine, she continued “Getting everything set up and ready takes time”

“Okay, but when can we come see you?” the overly excited voice turned to two. She cringed with how loud everything was.

“S-s-sooon… darlings. But grammy isn’t feeling well right now. Can I call back?” she gently said, hoping they’d understand to be quieter.

“Sure! But whe-“ she hung up and retreated back into her dark bedroom, burying her body and face under the blankets.

“I’m never drinking again” she thought

NIGHT NINE

A deafening silence flooded her ears awake. She felt incredibly well rested – more so than she had in years. With a deep breath inflating her lungs, she reached for her phone again.

0237 20/04/2023. She sighed and flicked it off. “Wait” she checked again. The 20th of April? She had only been here in her new home for a few days. “What…”

A light creak from outside caught triggered her head to snap to the door. She listened intently but didn’t hear anything else. Instead, she noticed how the room was dark, but a different kind of dark. One she could see through more easily. She sensed that something was off.

Creeping off the bed and seemingly to glide down the hall, she backtracked to her reflection in a large mirror that hung in the hall. Her eyes glowed white and her memory flashed back to her.

The eyes outside the screen door, being carried to bed, that iron stench… She gasped and held her hand up to her mouth. Now noticing the large splotch of crusted blood on her neck. She pulled the collar of her shirt down to reveal it more, exposing marks of teeth and bits of flesh missing.

Her heart started beating rapidly. Another creak caught her attention. This time instead of investigating she retreated to her bedroom, shutting the bedroom door as quietly as she could and pressing her ear up to it.

The screen door slowly dragged open and gentle taps of footsteps crept in shortly after. Her eyes darted around the room for an exit but there was none. She was trapped. The footsteps gently crept closer, causing her to back away from the door and dart behind her bed to hide.

She crouched down as the footsteps got closer and stopped at the door. The only thing she could hear was her heart seemingly beating out of her chest.

“I hear your heart, my queen.”

Her jaw dropped as the door creaked open slowly. The tall figure from her dreams, what she thought was just dreams, was on the other side of the door with glowing white eyes locking with hers.