#qualify low finish high every race if this is what it means

[mcmuppet]

i need him in a mascara running down my face kinda way

[race-week]

F1 Glossary

This is just a combination of all the key words you may hear over an F1 weekend.

Beware it’s quite long, but these are the common terms I have been asked questions about.

Aerodynamics: The study of how the air flows over and around an object and is an intrinsic factor in the design of a Formula One car. Getting a grasp on this and a team can shave important tenths off of a lap time. This is often referred to in regards to the 2022 Aerodynamic Regulation Change.

Apex: The middle point of a corner at which drivers aim their cars. Driving as close as possible to the apex ('hitting the apex') ensures the driver is taking the straightest possible line and maintaining the highest speed through a corner.

Aquaplaning: When a layer of water lies between the tires and the track surface; the car will lose traction and slide.

Bargeboard: The piece of bodywork mounted vertically between the front wheels and the start of the sidepods to help smooth the airflow around the sides of the car. You often hear about the bargeboards picking up damage on the kerbs, this can cause a loss of downforce and make the car harder to drive.

Blistering: The consequence of a tyre, or part of a tyre, overheating. Excess heat can cause rubber to soften and break away in chunks from the body of the tyre. Blistering can be caused by the selection of an inappropriate tyre compound (for example, one that is too soft for circuit conditions), too high tyre pressure, or an improperly set up car. Blistering is a form of tyre wear

Clean air: Air that isn't turbulent, and thus offers optimum aerodynamic conditions, as experienced by a car at the head of the field.

Clean side of the grid: This is also known as the racing line, this is where (unless it’s rained) the majority of the rubber from the yres has been laid. This offers the best grip and essentially the best times; starting here means you get that great start which could push the driver up a couple of places before that first corner.

Dirty air: Air that is turbulent; usually when a driver is travelling behind another car for extended periods of time. This can have an effect on engine temperature and tyre degradation.

Dirty side of the grid: Obviously the opposite of the clean side; but to clarify it misses out on the advantages of that extra grip, and can also feature debris that is pushed over during the weekend. Without the help of cars clearing that side of the track is can hamper that all important start. 

Downforce: You’re going to hear this word a lot in reference to the cars and the tracks. Air passes underneath a car and its wings, it’s forced to accelerate past the car and thus creates areas of low pressure. The difference between the low pressure below and the higher pressure above the car creates the downforce and presses the tires into the ground. This is what every team wants to achieve as it increases the grip the car has. Downforce is basically negative lift.

DRS: Also known as adjustable rear wings, DRS (Drag Reduction System) rear wings allow the driver to adjust the wing between two predetermined settings from the cockpit. The system's availability is electronically governed - it can be used at any time in practice and qualifying (unless a driver is on wet-weather tyres), but during the race can only be activated when a driver is less than one second behind another car at predetermined points on the track. The system is then deactivated once the driver brakes.

Flags: You’ll see these at various points around the track during the race.

Checkered – waved at the end of each practice/qualifying session and to each car as it finishes the race

Yellow – danger. Single flag indicates to the driver to slow down. Two flags warns drivers to slow down and prepare to stop. No overtaking.

Green – All clear. Driver has passed the area of danger and can continue racing.

Red – Session/race has been stopped. Usually due to an accident or bad weather.

Blue – Warns slower drivers they are about to be lapped. Lapped drivers are expected to let the faster ones through; ignore three blue flags and risk a penalty.

Flat spot: The term given to the area of a tyre that is worn heavily on one spot after a moment of extreme braking or in the course of a spin. This ruins its handling, often causing severe vibration, and may force a driver to pit for a replacement set of tyres.

Graining: When the car moves across the track, or slides, it causes tiny pieces of rubber (grains) to fall away from the tyre. They consequently sticks to the tread of the tyre, essentially lifting the tyre off of the track surface. Even this tiny separation (and I mean tiny) makes the car feel like you’re driving on ball bearings. If a driver is careful they can eliminate this within a couple of laps, but of course this will slow them down, but the aim is to make it more efficient than pitting.

HANS Device: Short for Head and Neck Support Device, a mandatory safety device that fits over the driver's shoulders and connects to the back of the helmet to prevent excessive head and neck movement in the event of an accident.

Headrest: Another FIA required safety feature. The removable energy-absorbing foam that surrounds the driver's helmet in the cockpit. Three different grades of foam are used, depending on the ambient temperature.

Lock up: The term used to describe a driver braking sharply and 'locking' one or more tyres whilst the others continue rotating. Tyre smoke and flat spots are common side effects.

Marbles: The small pieces of tyre rubber that accumulate at the side of the track off the racing line. Typically these are very slippery when driven on. Drivers are often encouraged to drive on the marbles on their cool-down lap to pick up rubber to increase the weight of the car.

Oversteer: When a car's rear end doesn't want to go around a corner and tries to overtake the front end as the driver turns in towards the apex. This often requires opposite-lock to correct, whereby the driver turns the front wheels into the skid.

Pole position: The first place on the starting grid

Slipstream: An often used tactic to take advantage of the reduced pressure experienced behind the car in front. By doing this the driver is slipping into the air stream created by the car in front, the car in front is doing all the work by effectively punching a hole in the air.

Understeer: Where the front end of the car doesn't want to turn into a corner and slides wide as the driver tries to turn in towards the apex.

[uswntxfootball]

all smiles here (jackie groenen x photographer!reader)

focusing on your new job turns out to be a hundred times harder after seeing the smiley dutch midfielder..

word count: 2343 ish

——

today was the day.

here you were, 22, fresh out of college and about to step foot onto the dutch training pitch for the first time and start your new job.

last night you had spent hours fretting over tiny details, making sure your cameras were charged and ready, your lenses were wiped clean, and that everything was nice and tidy.

you had planned to wake up extra early, making sure you had time to get everything situated and set before practice began.

that was the plan.

that’s.. unfortunately not what happened.

in your excitement, you had forgotten to set an alarm, which led to your current predicament, biking as fast as you can, racing through the dutch streets.

you glance down at your watch, narrowly missing a parked car as you do so.

you arrive at 7:58, just in the nick of time.

seeing that the team was already out stretching, you throw your bike down with a crash and run onto the field.

the crash of your bike hitting the pavement caused a few heads to turn your way, with a certain number 14 taking particular interest in your entrance.

blind to the commotion you caused, you laid your camera bag gently down along the side of the field (amongst the other photographers), then bend over unceremoniously, trying hard to catch your breath.

considering you had biked 5 miles in 10 minutes, you were spent, forgetting all your excitement in the process.

when your heart rate had somewhat slowed, you began setting up your equipment, and quickly the nerves and excitement arose once again.

you picked up your camera and took a photo of the closest player to test lighting (that player being sari van veenendaal), all the while internally screaming that that was the fifa 2019 best goalkeeper while doing so.

disregarding how much of a mess your morning was, the next hour went splendidly.

you managed to get a few shots of miedema with gorgeous lighting, photos that your manager undoubtedly would want to publish later on.

few photos were “unusable” (you were pretty damn good at your craft), and your camera roll was soon flooded with a wide variety of individual and group pictures.

at this point you had almost gotten all the players individually, your task being to get each of them by the end of practice, which was coming up shortly.

you snapped a few pictures of wilms, grinning widely when you see how well they turned out.

scanning quickly through the list of players, you sigh with relief when you realize you only have one more player to take photos of, #14.

you scan the field with your camera quickly and your breath promptly catches in your throat.

jackie was laughing at something daan was saying, her smile gorgeously on display.

you couldn’t help but stare, your hand lowering the camera as you forget the task at hand.

but how could anyone blame you?

she was, without a doubt one of the most gorgeous people you had ever seen.

her gaze meets yours suddenly, you let out a squeak of surprise in response and fumble your camera, breaking eye contact as you lunge forward to catch it.

you let out a sigh of relief when you grasp it, cheeks blood red at your actions, the older photographer next to you letting out a chuckle as he shook his head.

“kid you gotta be more careful.”

you nodded and smiled at him kindly, before shaking your head quickly and resuming to the task at hand.

with the ten minutes before the end of practice, you took, in total, one photo of jackie.

this was a disaster.

you just kept getting lost staring at her, this time through the lens of your camera, so starstruck that you forgot to actually take pictures.

you let out a sigh as you began thinking of an excuse for your boss later.

~~

walking into the locker room, jackie rolled her eyes at jill’s words.

“but did you see her jacks? that new camera girl is..” jill letting out a low whistle to finish her statement.

“i mean i’m taken but i have to agree she is pretty cute” daan said, popping into the conversation.

soon whole the locker room began chatting about this “new camera girl”, and jackie couldn’t help but blush.

she had to agree with everyone, you were absolutely adorable, and watching you almost drop your camera upon seeing her only solidified that.

jackie was brought out of her thoughts by jill who, very loudly, pointed at her and said:

“oh. my. god. you like her.”

jackie swatted jill’s hand away.

“shut up no i don’t.”

“oh my god she’s blushing she totally does,” daan squealed.

the locker room was soon buzzing with excitement over jackie’s new crush, filling the air with:

a lot of “omg jackie!”

and

even more “ask her out!!”

with jackie of course very adamantly denying such a proposition.

even through all of the teasing, jackie couldn’t help but hope that she would see you again tomorrow.

~~

you arrived earlier the following day, much much earlier, so much so that no other photographers had arrived yet.

you set your bike nicely against the rack this time, taking your time to admire the nice day as you lay your bag along the edge of the field.

you take a quick look at your watch, 7:17, and upon seeing that no one was around, picked up a soccer ball you found in the corner of the field.

having played a little bit of high school and college soccer, you juggled the ball around a little bit and then attempted to score from midfield.

you hit the ball right into the corner of the net on your second try, jumping up in excitement, when you hear someone speak behind you.

“for a sports photographer, that wasn’t all that bad.”

you turn around abruptly and let out a small squeak of surprise when you’re greeted by the very girl who had enchanted you the day before.

she lets out a dazzling grin before putting out her hand and saying:

“hi i’m jackie.”

“i- uhm y/n” you mumble, eliciting a giggle from the dutch girl before you.

you wipe your palms against your jeans quickly and take her hand, trying to desperately ignore the sparks that shot up your arm from the contact.

an awkward silence followed for the next few seconds, until jackie spoke.

“so, y/n, do you want to kick a ball around with me before people get here?”

“i’m, uh i’m not that good i mean i played a little in high school and college but like just for rec teams and i mean you’re on the national level so like i’m i don’t know i should probably just stick to photography i hope i didn’t offend you i’m just not that great and i yeah.”

you stop your rambling and blush, hoping she can decipher your message through your jumble of words.

jackie just lets out a laugh and your heart melts a little at the sound.

“i can take a few pictures of you though if you’d like?” you offer, hoping to spend a little bit more time with the midfielder.

“i would love that.” jackie says, letting out an even larger smile if possible.

for the next fifteen minutes you took dozens of photos of jackie, all the while learning about her life in manchester and belgium, how she broke a bike on the way to practice once, her dogs, and other snippets of her life.

you honestly couldn’t believe that this girl, this incredibly attractive and funny and just stupidly gorgeous girl was talking to you.

it was 7:50 when the other players arrived, jill letting out a whistle and yell when she saw who was already on the pitch.

“get it jackie!”

the other players cheered as well, letting out wolf whistles when they saw the two of you.

jackie got up but before she left she turned and gave you a hug then saying:

“sorry about them. they’re quite an obnoxious bunch.”

you let out a laugh and the two of you parted ways as practice was about to begin, your heart beating so fast you were afraid it would burst.

~~

“y/n.”

your boss let out a sigh as he took his glasses off.

“why are there 864 photos of jackie groenen in your camera roll?”

“i- i dont know” you stammer.

“this isn’t what i meant when i said you took too little of her yesterday.”

you flushed a deeper shade of red in utter embarrassment.

if your conversation with your boss was any indicator, practice was a disaster.

it wasn’t the players or practice itself.

it was you. your gay mess of a self.

but you just couldn’t help but trail the midfielder for the entire practice, your lens (and eyes) never leaving her.

it was only at the end of practice when you looked through your camera roll when you’d truly realized just how many photos you had taken of her.

each and every page filled with pictures of the number 14, her smile as bright as the day.

in your defense, you had taken quite a few fantastic photos of her, though there was one that was your favorite in particular, with the sun shining at the midfielder at just the right angle, illuminating her eyes and leaving her smile with its signature glow.

and of course that was the photo that caught your boss’s eye, despite his disappointment of today’s “turnout”.

and of course he wanted to publish it immediately.

and of course jackie saw it. and posted it. and tagged you in it.

where did she even get your handle from?

~~

it was sort of an unspoken agreement between the two of you, with both arriving early each practice to spend time with one another.

each time there’s jackie, always smiling and always gorgeous, and each time there’s you, always bumbling and always blushing and always tripping over your words.

and occasionally your feet.

but jackie only saw it as endearing, and continued to talk to you even when you were making a fool out of yourself.

eventually came the time for the netherland’s first matchup against a team, that team being estonia for the euro qualifiers.

you were brimming with the excitement at attending your first match as a photographer, and you arrived extra early match day to set up and get a good spot on the field.

“well if it isn’t my favorite photographer.”

you spun around quickly to spot jackie in her full kit, a blush promptly forming on your cheeks and your heart skipping a beat upon seeing her.

somehow you managed to reply:

“well if it isn’t my favorite player.”

this was your first time saying something that remotely resembled flirting with her, clearly catching the midfielder in surprise, as her face flushed a bright red a second later.

“i’m offended. i thought i was your favorite player.” daan said, appearing behind jackie, who stood frozen.  

you rolled your eyes.

“hate to break up the love fest though, but we’ve got a game to play.” daan said, tugging on the arm of an even redder jackie groenen.

after they left, you continued setting up your equipment, checking lighting and just making sure everything was all set and ready for the game to start.

and boy was it a game. 

in short,

the netherlands absolutely destroyed estonia.

in a huge 7-0 victory for the netherlands, there were an abundance of great photo opportunities, and you got them all.

goal scoring shots and celebration shots, everything.

you however, did let out two very loud cheers when jackie scored, once in the 26th minute and again when she completed her brace.

you had forgotten how empty the stadium was in your excitement.

each time you shouted the dutch girl, blushed, met your eyes and grinned before being pulled away by a teammate, who said something that sounded a lot like:

“your girlfriend’s here cheering for you.”

but in general,

you had expected the dutch to win.

you had expected daan, jackie, sherida, aniek, and katja to score as much and as well as they did.

you had even expected that you would embarrass yourself in some way during the match.

what you didn’t expect however, was for jackie groenen to come running at you after the match.

you were packing up your equipment when you saw the dutch girl approaching, and you opened your mouth to congratulate her on the brace and win.

but before you could get a word out,

she pulled you in by the camera straps around your neck and kissed you.

you stood, frozen, as if you couldn’t believe what was happening (because you really couldn’t).

jackie had started to realize you weren’t reciprocating and began to pull back when you came to your senses.

you kissed her back, hands moving to her waist to steady the two of you.

it was everything you wanted a first kiss to be, passion fueled and full of sparks, her hands moving from your chest to cup your cheek.

jackie was the one who pulled away first, a smile plastered on her face much like the one that had drawn you to her that very first day at practice.

you pulled her in to kiss her again, forgetting that your camera was still looped in front of your chest, only noticing it when it was in the way of getting her closer to you.

you pull back with an annoyed huff and gently take the camera off, turning to drop it on the bench behind you.

“go out with me sometime” you say when you turn around again.

jackie’s face just splits into a sparkling smile.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

[thefinalcinderella]

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 8 - Winter Comes Again (Part 3)

I like how Kakeru seems like your typical “uwu I have a dark past and now I’m emo” sports anime protagonist but has a completely personality change when it comes to running

Full list of translations here

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After Chikusei-sou was introduced on the news, Kakeru and the others were frequently called out to on campus and in the shopping district, ranging from a casual “I saw you on TV!” or “Do your best!” to offers of “I’ll help out if you need a hand.”

However, there were no more applicants wanting to join the team, as expected; the rumor that Kiyose kept turning everyone away had probably spread through the school. Kakeru couldn’t help but hope that they wouldn’t give up and would come back to Chikusei-sou next spring.

The administrative preparations for the actual race were also underway, with Kiyose and Shindou taking the lead in making arrangements for the day.

In the Hakone Ekiden, each school placed people along the route. In addition to the people who handed out water at the fifteen-kilometer mark, it was advantageous to have someone relay information to the runners; it would be best if they could inform the athletes at each key point of the time differences with the schools running in front and behind them, and whether they should increase or decrease their pace.

The water providers had to run alongside the runners in order to hand out water. A complete novice would not be able to keep up with the runners' speed, so a certain level of running ability was desirable, and the short-distance runners of Kansei University’s track and field team graciously agreed to take on this role.

Kiyose and Shindou also discussed the personnel to be placed along the route. From among the students who had offered to help out, they picked those who lived near the course; they couldn’t put too much of a burden on them, since they had to round them up on New Year’s Day.

Even if they told the people of the shopping district not to come, they would probably rush over to support them, so they didn’t hesitate to include them in the number of people who would pass on information from the roadside.

In the leadup to the day of the Hakone Ekiden, Kiyose worked tirelessly on the details, not just for running but also for other tasks. Shindou assisted in negotiations with the university as well as communication with the Inter-University Athletic Union of Kanto, the organizer of the event. Hanako stood between the shopping district and the Kansei student volunteers; she efficiently gathered up people and informed the volunteers of their roles and the schedule on the day.

Kakeru was shocked at Hanako’s ability to handle the paperwork—he couldn’t have listened to the needs of that many people and coordinated everyone so that things ran smoothly. It seemed that she was even cutting down on her sleep to manage everything by herself so that Kakeru and the others could run the Hakone Ekiden without any problems.

It might have started with the fact that she liked the twins, but now Hanako seemed to be fascinated by the sport of track and field itself. She had become an indispensable asset to Chikusei-sou and frequently came by to discuss various matters.

“Hana-chan hangs out with us all the time. I wonder if she has any girl friends,” King suddenly said when Hanako wasn’t there, as though it had just occurred to him.

“She does,” Kakeru answered. For some reason, his voice was low.

Just the day before, Kakeru had seen Hanako in the school cafeteria: she had been laughing brightly as she ate lunch with a friend of the same sex.

Isn’t Katsuta-san putting off hanging out with her friends because she’s working for our sake? Kakeru felt irritated by King’s words, which were insensitive even though they weren’t meant to be offensive. And then he thought, “Huh?” Why am I getting so angry? Kakeru thought about it for a while and decided that it was because he was tired from training.

One night in early November, while eating dinner at Chikusei-sou, Hanako was reading out a report on the number and placement of the volunteers. Kiyose and Shindou mainly gave their opinions, which Hanako wrote down in a notebook.

I wonder if her feelings have gotten through to the twins, Kakeru wondered. The twins were busy shoveling dinner into their mouths, taking little notice of Hanako enthusiastically preparing for the Hakone Ekiden.

When they had finished the necessary discussions, Kiyose spoke.

“The Sunday after next, we’re participating in the Ageo City Half Marathon.”

“Where is this Ageo?” Musa asked.

“It’s in Saitama Prefecture. It’s a relatively big race with many citizens taking part as runners, and the schools participating in the Hakone Ekiden are invited. It’s good because we can join for free and it’s also a good way to practice on the road—we can get a good spot right behind the start line and experience running through a cheering crowd. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

With the exception of Kakeru and Kiyose, none of them had participated in a race on a public road during their high school years. As a rehearsal for the Hakone Ekiden, the Ageo City Half Marathon was the perfect race, both in distance and date. Most of the schools that had been selected to participate in Hakone were also participating in Ageo.

It was the first time he would be running more than twenty kilometers on the road in a proper event. Given the chance to see the results of his training, Kakeru suddenly felt motivated; he was fine with laboriously training by himself, but Kakeru liked races where he could compete with other runners.

The twins, however, objected.

“The Sunday after next? We already have plans.”

“We’re forming an amateur soccer team with friends from our language class. We finally found someone to play against, so we’re going to the Tama riverside area to play.”

“Say you can’t do it,” Kiyose said.

“Then there won’t be enough people.”

“There’s still time to find a couple more people. Also, you’re playing soccer at a time when you have to train? What if you get injured? You’ve been slacking off lately.”

Kiyose too must have been steadily getting frustrated by the awkward atmosphere; he was condemning the twins in a harsh tone that he never used. Kakeru, not knowing what to do, raised and lowered his chopsticks in midair for no reason.

“Training this, training that, what’s the point in training so much?” Jouji roughly slammed down his bowl of miso soup. “It’s just like that Sakaki guy said: no matter how hard we work in Hakone, we won’t have enough members when spring comes.”

“He’s right,” Jouta said. “We’ve all been tricked by Haiji-san. We’ve been training our asses off every single day, like idiots.”

“Tricked?” Kiyose clacked his chopsticks. “When did I trick you?”

“You said it at the beginning, didn’t you! ‘With the power of all ten of us, we’ll reach the top of the sports world!’” Jouta shouted. “But that’s impossible. I did my research—no matter how much we try, we can’t beat Rikudou. We can’t win Hakone!”

Yeah, what they said, King blindly followed the twins’ lead. Kiyose seemed like he was going through his memories for a while.

“It’s true that I said we’re going to the top,” he nodded.

“See, Haiji-san’s a liar!” Jouji denounced him. There was an uproar around the dining table.

Musa asked Kakeru in a whisper, “Is it true that we cannot win no matter how hard we work?”

“Well…”

Kakeru was evasive, but Yuki, who valued theory, was merciless in that regard.

“To put it bluntly, it’s impossible. Our times prove that.”

“Good grief.” Nico-chan, sitting in his chair, gave a big stretch.

“It’s easy to guess how the race will unfold and which team will win if you look at the runners’ personal best times, and it’s impossible for that to be overturned unless something extreme happens. That might be one of the boring things about long-distance.”

“Hmm,” Prince said, reaching for the salad bowl with his chopsticks. “In baseball, soccer, basketball, or any other team sport, unless there is a huge difference in ability, you don’t know which team is going to win unless you try it. Is there that big a difference in ability between us and Rikudou?”

“There is.” Yuki, who seemed to have analyzed the data, flatly vouched for that once again. “Almost all the regulars at Rikudou are good enough to become aces at any other school. In addition, they have a big lineup of runners, and even the reserve runners who aren’t entered in Hakone—in other words, the second-string runners—would be very likely to rank higher than us if they were to run.”

“So, what you’re saying is that Rikudou University is a group of elite runners, and the best among them are our opponents?” Shindou said gloomily, his shoulders drooping.

“But depending on how you think about it, aren’t we lucky?” Prince said, chewing on lettuce. “Even though Rikudou’s second-strings are fast, they can’t participate in Hakone. We’re weak, but we can run in Hakone because we passed the qualifiers. Even if we don’t win, I think it’s worth more to be able to just be in Hakone.”

“There’s no point if we don’t win,” Jouji said.

“It’s a sport where the results are obvious, so what are we doing it for?” Jouta stared up at the ceiling.

Kakeru was indignant. “If you want to win, then this isn’t the time to be playing soccer,” he said, finally snapping at the twins. “You should train more and be in Ageo.”

“Ah, there goes Kakeru and his idealism again.”

“Didn’t we tell you that even if we wanted to train, we couldn’t bring ourselves to do it?” the twins counter-attacked together.

“So if you can’t win, you can’t run? So are you two gonna stop living just because you’re gonna die eventually?”

“We didn’t say that.”

“It’s the same thing—the same logic.”

“It's completely different. And don’t call that logic, you don’t even know what that means.”

“I do!”

“You don’t, you’re an animal who only knows how to run!”

“Let’s take this outside!”

“Why don’t we!?”

“Stop this now,” Kiyose said, but they didn’t listen.

Kakeru and the twins kicked their chairs away and stood, glaring at each other across the table. Musa pulled on the hem of Kakeru’s shirt, but Kakeru shook him off. It was a child’s quarrel, with the reason already forgotten and the argument confused. Yuki and Nico-chan watched the events unfold, grinning. Prince muttered in admiration, “Kakeru’s words about life and death earlier were an unusually clever expression.” King might have been close to the twins on an emotional level, but he pretended not to see, probably not wanting to get punched.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Hanako put her hands out to desperately restrain Kakeru and twins, who looked like they were about to leave the kitchen at any second. “Calm down! Look, every Rikudou runner might come down with food poisoning on the day of the race, you know?”

The people of Chikusei-sou turned their attention to Hanako, who had raised her voice, but deflated at what she said.

“I don’t think that’s possible…” Musa said reservedly.

“Ultimately, we still can’t beat Rikudou in terms of ability, right?”

That’s not a good follow-up, Shindou sighed. However, thanks to Hanako, the tension between Kakeru and the twins, which had been about to burst, had nowhere else to go.

“Thanks for the food.”

The twins put their bowls in the sink. As they were about to return to their rooms, Kiyose called out to their backs.

“I did say that we’re going to the top. But by that, I didn’t mean winning. It might sound like an excuse, but…”

“We’re over it,” Jouji said, and the twins went upstairs. His voice held a mixture of rejection and resignation, which could be taken to mean that he didn’t want to hear Kiyose’s words, or that he wanted to stop fighting and practice as usual. Kakeru didn’t know what to do with his will to fight that had ended up not going anywhere, and he sullenly sank down into his chair.

“Umm, I’m going home now.” Perhaps unable to stand the awkward atmosphere, Hanako quickly stood. “Thank you for the meal.”

Kiyose stopped Hanako as she was about to put away the dishes and called to Kakeru, “Send Katsuta-san home.” Normally, the twins would walk Hanako back to Yaokatsu, but they were unlikely to come down again tonight. “It would be good for you to get some night air and cool your head.”

“I can go home by myself,” Hanako declined, but Kakeru said, “I’ll do it,” then stood up and went to put on his sneakers at the door.

In the kitchen, Yuki and Nico-chan were gossiping.

“Alone with Katsuta-san at night.”

“I hope the blood doesn’t rush to Kakeru’s head, if you know what I mean.”

“They are correct. What if Kakeru and the twins get into another fight over Hanako-san?” Musa criticized Kiyose.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Kiyose fended him off easily. “Just as he looks, Kakeru is a man who honors friendship deeply.”

Kakeru, of course, had no idea he was the topic of conversation, and he matched Hanako’s pace as they made their way towards the shopping district.

Kakeru almost never walked—if it was within walking distance, he preferred to run. Going to school and going to the shopping district were all part of jogging for him. Normally, he passed by these places so quickly that he never really took a look around.

It was so slow walking with Hanako that he didn’t know what to do with all the time on his hands, so his gaze roamed around, reading the nameplates illuminated by the street lights, looking at the fruit-covered mandarin tree branches sticking out into the road. Hanako was wearing a thin coat and a light purple scarf. It’s the color of akebia, Kakeru thought. He used to eat them a lot when he ran around and played in the hills and fields. His tongue recalled their taste, like very diluted sugar water.

“I was a bit surprised,” Hanako said. Her white breath spilled out of her mouth. Kakeru looked away.

“About what?”

“Even you guys fight.”

“Well, of course. We live together in a small apartment and we’re always running together. Someone’s always fighting about leaving hot water in the bucket for the bath, or smelling the socks that have been taken off after training.”

“Smelling socks?” Hanako laughed a little. “Who would do something like that?”

Jouji did. But Kakeru felt it was wrong to throw cold water on her feelings of love.

“I can’t tell you that,” he answered. Would this make it seem like I’m projecting? He worried, but there was no helping it.

“For some reason, I thought most long-distance runners were untalkative and patient.”

“I don’t know about that. I lose my temper easily, and the twins and King are pretty annoying.”

“Kurahara-kun, you’re one of the more mature ones, but I think everyone at Chikusei-sou is gentle and kind. I guess a patient personality really is suited for running long distances every day.” Hanako kicked a pebble that had been lying on the white line. “That’s why I was surprised that you guys were fighting, but also relieved. You can run twenty kilometers or so at a fast speed, and now you’re going to be in the Hakone Ekiden, and I keep thinking you're going further and further.”

Oh, Kakeru thought. She really does like the twins.

He secretly touched his chest. What is this? There was a shrieking pain in his chest, like when a cold drink soaked into your teeth—a pain like it was gradually swelling up around him, and heating up.

They turned the corner at the park and entered the shopping district, where fake autumn leaves hung from the street lights at both ends of the road, swaying in the wind. The day’s work had finished, and most of the stores had their shutters down.

From out of a half-shuttered small bookstore, three men who looked like high school students came bursting out, each of them carrying a large sports bag over their shoulder. All at once, they ran towards Soshigaya-Okura Station. After them, an old lady who was working as the shopkeeper ran into the street.

“Stop, thieves!” the old lady shouted and tried to run after them, but her slip-on sandals were no match for the legs of young men. The old lady looked at Kakeru and Hanako, who were standing stock still from surprise. Her eyes were filled with expectation.

Hanako seemed to come back to her senses.

“Kurahara-kun, go catch them.”

“Huh, me?”

“Go, go!”

The high schoolers were about fifty meters ahead of him, but he could still see them clearly because the shopping district was a straight line. Kakeru dashed off.

The high schoolers must have been relieved, knowing that the old lady would not chase after them, so they slowed down, but when they noticed Kakeru’s footsteps approaching, they shouted “Crap!” and began running with all their strength again.

However, they were carrying heavy bags and they were amateurs after all, and Kakeru was soon in range of them. Observing their running from behind, he thought, “I could catch them at any point if I feel like it.”

But, there were three of them. If he jumped at them alone, some of them would probably escape. Even if he hit them, it would be a bad idea to get into a violent situation right then.

The best thing to do would be to get them to give up running. Kakeru decided that and followed the three closely.

“Hey, you guys!” he called out to them as he ran. The three turned back with a start and sped up, panicked. But for Kakeru, it was like turtles going faster.

“I can easily chase you guys for thirty more kilometers at this pace, you know!” Kakeru said, not even out of breath.

“Who are you?” one of the high schoolers said, scared. Kakeru didn’t answer his question and tried to persuade them.

“Just stop this. Apologize and ask the old lady at the bookstore to forgive you.”

The station came into view. At the same time, he saw two uniformed police officers running towards them from the police box in front of the station.

“Stop right there!” the policemen shouted. They caught two of the high schoolers, holding them from the front. Kakeru had no choice but to grab the remaining one’s arm.

“Open your bags.”

The high schoolers seemed to have given up and meekly followed the policeman’s instructions, revealing a large number of stolen manga in their sports bags. They probably stole them to sell, not to read. Prince would be furious if he saw this, Kakeru thought.

“You did a good job. Come with us to the police box over there," the young policeman said, smiling from under his hat.

“No, I…” Kakeru said, but there were two officers and three shoplifters. He had no choice but to follow, still grabbing the high schooler’s arm.

“Kurahara-kuuun!”

He turned around and saw Hanako pedalling furiously on her bicycle, the old lady from the bookstore sitting on the back. It seemed that Hanako had called the police on her cellphone, and her message had been relayed to the police box. Kakeru thought it was problematic to have two people ride on the same bike, but the policemen pretended not to see.

The old lady climbed off the back of the bike.

“I heard that you’re a runner in the Hakone Ekiden. You have been a great help, thank you," she thanked Kakeru.

The high schoolers were going to be taken to the local police station in a police car. The old lady was going to accompany them to make her witness statement.

“You should come to the station too. You might get a certificate of thanks.”

It was a horrifying thing to be told, and Kakeru desperately declined. The policemen seemed disappointed, but Kakeru left without telling them his name. Hanako pushed her bike and followed.

“That was amazing, Kurahara-kun. The old lady at the bookstore was having a lot of trouble because there were so many shoplifters. She was very grateful that you chased after them for her.”

Kakeru walked, looking down. He hadn’t intended on doing a good deed, it was just that he was good at running—he only chased them because Hanako told him to catch them. It was the same reflex as a dog chasing a frisbee.

Hanako was delighted by Kakeru’s good deed like it was her own. Kakeru couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t know about that kind of thing,” Kakeru finally said to Hanako in a low voice. “I’ve shoplifted too. I don’t think it’s good or bad. I don’t really get it.”

Kakeru felt Hanako looking up at his profile in surprise.

“I don’t care about anything other than running. If I’m hungry, I shoplift. If I’m angry, I hit someone. You said Haiji-san and the others are gentle and kind, but I’m different, at the very least. Just as the twins said, I’m an animal who…”

“Animals don’t worry over not knowing right from wrong,” Hanako said quietly. “You’re too hard on yourself, Kurahara-kun. The old lady from the bookstore was grateful to you. Everyone at Chikusei-sou always has high hopes and trusts in your running. Why don’t you trust in that more?”

When they reached the front of Yaokatsu, Hanako waved her hand with a smile. “Thanks for sending me home. See you.” Kakeru watched Hanako disappear into the service entrance of Yaokatsu. His ears turned hot as he realized that he had raised his hand, as though drawn in by Hanako.

Trust the people around you, Katsuta-san said. Come to think of it, Haiji-san once told me to believe in myself more. I feel like what the two of them wanted to tell me was the same thing, in the end.

I fought with the twins again, Kakeru thought. He had clashed violently with TSU’s Sakaki and his high school track coach because they couldn’t understand each other. Kakeru got angry easily—running was an important act for him, and he spent almost all his time running. That was why he overreacted when his opinions clashed with others on the topic of running; it felt like his very existence was being denied.

But that’s no good, Kakeru thought. Anger was the flip side of fear and a lack of self-confidence.

He thought Kiyose and Hanako were telling him to “accept without fear” when they told him to “believe.” Accept himself as well as others.

Just running doesn’t make me strong. I have to control myself. Convey my heart with words, just like Haiji-san and Katsuta-san. Once again, Kakeru resolved to do just that.

Kakeru ran the whole way back to Chikusei-sou.

The next afternoon, a reporter from the local news section of the Yomiuri Shimbun came. Apparently, the old lady from the bookstore was so moved by what Kakeru did that she had called them. The newspaper decided that it would also serve as promotion for the Hakone Ekiden and decided to devote space on a page for it as a “nice little story.”

The twins forgot about their fight and were happy for him, saying, “That’s great, Kakeru.” Prince also praised Kakeru’s achievement, saying, “Shoplifting in bookstores is a crime that must be eradicated.” Yuki teased him, saying, “And you were finally alone with Katsuta-san too. Didn’t you have something to do before catching shoplifters?”

Kakeru didn’t turn the interview down. The article was published with the headline of “Kansei U Runner in Hakone Ekiden Catches Shoplifters” and a photo of Kakeru’s face.

Previous | Next

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Losing candidates of the last 60 years

1960: Richard Nixon, Vice President (1953 - 1961), unsuccessfully ran for governor of California in 1962 after which he threw a piss baby shit fit press conference where he vowed to retire from politics, but rescinded that vow to run for president again in 1968, this time successfully because the Democratic vote was split between liberal northerner Hubert Humphrey and conservative southerner George Wallace (Nixon won with 43.4% of the vote, a record low not broken until Bill Clinton with 43.0% in 1992)

1964: Barry Goldwater, Senator from Arizona (1953 - 1965, 1969 - 1987), segregationist, staunch "states rights" activist, mentor to Ronald Reagan, father of modern conservatism, retired in the 80s, replaced by the more moderate John McCain

1968: Hubert Humphrey, Vice President (1965 - 1969), former senator from Minnesota (49 - 64) father of modern liberalism, would be considered a progressive by today's standards, pro-civil rights, later re-elected to the senate (71 - 78, died in office).

1968b: George Wallace, governor of Alabama (63 - 67), staunch segregationist, made Barry Goldwater look like MLK, famously stood on the school house door to try and stop integration, didn't let black people vote, nearly assassinated in 1972, paralyzed, continued serving as governor (71 - 79, 83 - 87), renounced racism later in life, claimed he was never truly racist, just pretended to be because he supported "states rights" (bullshit). Most recent third-party candidate to win a state.

1972: George McGovern, senator from South Dakota (63 - 81), lost every state but Massachusetts and DC, in part because President Nixon cheated (Watergate scandal, Nixon hired goons to wiretap DNC and steal intel from their HQ, forged a letter to discredit strong candidate Edmund Muskie to he would drop out and give the nomination to weak McGovern, tried to plant McGovern's campaign literature in Wallace's assassins apartment so conservative southerners would associate the attack with the Democratic Party and vote for Nixon instead)

1976: Gerald Ford, President (74 - 77), Republican House leader (65 - 73), became VP in 73 after Spiro Agnew resigned due to a bribery scandal. Democrats controlled Congress, so Nixon nominated Ford because he was a popular bipartisan mediator who the Democrats wouldn't object to, became president when Nixon himself resigned due to Watergate (Ford is the only president who was never elected to the presidency of vice presidency), started out super popular but tanked his credibility when he pardoned Nixon for his crimes

1980: Jimmy Carter, President (77 - 81), governor of Georgia (71 - 75), elected as a Washington outsider, humble peanut farmer, boring, malaise, fumbled Iran thrice (the revolution, recession, and hostage crisis), lost re-election to actor turned governor Ronald Reagan (segregationist Goldwater's protege; started his career giving anti-union speeches in the 60s despite being the president of the Screen Actor's Guild, a major union), had a much more successfully post-presidency than presidency, Habitat for Humanity, philanthropy

1984: Walter Mondale, Vice President (77 - 81), Senator from Minnesota (64 - 76), protege and successor to Hubert Humphrey, decent man, very boring, lost every state but Minnesota and DC, would later become ambassador to Japan under Clinton (93 - 96)

1988: Michael Dukakis, governor of Massachusetts (75 - 79, 83 - 91), army specialist (55 - 57), rode in a tank wearing a bullet proof vest and doofy headphones, looked like an idiot, actually polled ahead of VP Bush for a while, forgettable

1992: George HW Bush, President (89 - 94), VP (81 - 89), relatively moderate before becoming Reagan's VP (referred to trickle down as "voodoo economics"), said "read my lips, no new taxes," then raised taxes, oversaw Gulf War, sent the troops in, Iraq retreated without a fight, war was over in a couple days. Didn't invade Iraq, didn't topple Saddam; his son claims this is why he lost re-election, so he invaded Iraq and toppled Saddam in 2003, to finish what his daddy started. Faced opposition from both Democrats under Clinton and Independents under Perot; Perot didn't win a single state, but took 19% of the vote, the strongest third-party campaign all century

1992b: Ross Perot, businessman, independent, very strong candidate, qualified for debates with the major party candidates, closest thing to a 3-way race we've had since Teddy Roosevelt in 1912 (Wallace won some states in 68, but only had regional appeal; he was only on the ballot in the South, only conservatives liked him, whereas Perot was a nationwide spoiler)

1996: Bob Dole, senator from Kansas (69 - 96) senate majority leader (85 - 87, 95 - 96), fought in WW2, has a bum arm, the senate's version of Newt Gingrich, helped defeat Clinton's healthcare plan (he's part of the reason we can't have nice things). He was VP candidate under Ford in 76; Ford's VP Rockefeller was too liberal (yes, liberal Republicans used to exist, just as conservative Democrats exist), so Ford replaced him with the conservative Dole to appeal to Nixon and Reagan voters (Reagan almost unseated Ford in 76 for the nomination)

1996b: Ross Perot again, Reform Party, didn't get nearly as much support this time around (only 8.4%)

2000: Al Gore, Vice President (93 - 01), senator from Tennessee (85 - 93), very boring, but competent, actually won the election but Bush's brother was governor of Florida and illegally stopped the recount, delaying it until it was too late to restart it (subsequent investigation shows Gore would have won the recount and therefore the presidency), used his post-VP career to be a climate change advocate

2004: John Kerry, senator for Massachusetts (1985 - 2013), unremarkable but competent, lost because Bush started 2 wars and the country didn't want to change horses midstream, later became Secretary of State under Obama (13 - 17), and climate envoy under Biden (a position Biden made up to try and appeal to green advocates, but it doesn't really mean anything because he opposes the green new deal)

2008: John McCain, senator from Arizona (1987 - 2018, died in office), succeeded Goldwater but not nearly as conservative (at least, not a segregationist; he defended Obama as "a good man" when a Karen called him an Arab, got booed for it), Vietnam veteran, war monger (wanted to bomb Iran after Bush bombed Iraq and Afghanistan), actually saved healthcare by voting against Trump and McConnell's Obamacare repeal (he didn't support Obamacare, he just didn't want millions of Americans to lose their insurance; the Republicans didn't have a replacement plan, they were solely dedicated to getting rid of Obama's)

2012: Mitt Romney, governor of Massachusetts (03 - 07), relative moderate (Massachusetts is the bluest state in the country), super Mormon, hates poor people, kind of racist in a grandfatherly way ("oh, peepaw doesn't hate black people, he just grew up in a different era"), once wore brown face to try and appear tan to Hispanic voters, later became senator from Utah (2019 - present), first senator to ever vote to convict a president of their own party in impeachment (twice!)

2016: Hillary Clinton, Secretary of State (09 - 13), senator from New York (01 - 09), First Lady (93 - 01), boring gramma, disingenuous, moderate but pretends to be progressive, wasn't responsible for Benghazi but blamed for it anyway, out of touch, thinks she's the hottest shit since sliced bread, coasted to second place because she thought she didn't have to try, thought she deserved to be President, actually won the popular vote, but lost the electoral college because of low voter turnout, high third-party media coverage, and a major rightward swing in the Rust Belt

2020: Donald Trump, president (17 - 21), no prior experience, dumbest person to ever hold the office (makes George W Bush look like. Rhode's Scholar), diet Fascist: all the ideology, none of the appeal (fascists are usually good speakers, but Trump only had a base of about 35 - 40% of the country, which he couldn't grow, so instead he tried to shrink the opposition by attacking voting rights and calling the election fraudulent), super racist, super sexist, petty, vindictive, cruel, childish, spent the first two years just undoing everything Obama did for no other reason than he just hated the man (there are legitimate reasons to hate Obama, but Trump chose racism and jealousy over valid criticism), first president to be impeached twice, first president to have members of his own party vote to convict him, had a cult-like following among Republicans, close to zero support from everyone else

2024: TBD

[marlahey]

wsitd part fifteen (sneak peek)

a shawn mendes rpf fic rating/warnings: can anyone tell I still find fandom really annoying misc notes: so...hello again. literally so much has happened since the last time you saw me, so much that all I can really say at this point is that I hope you’re all safe and well, despite everything. I swore I wouldn’t abandon this fic and I haven’t! thank god for that. I wish I could’ve finished it for today as planned, but my job’s been nuts for the last few weeks and it totally ruined my writing mojo. in any case, here’s the first last ~3k of we stumbled in the dark. happy second birthday, wsitd. I can’t believe how old you are, suddenly. thank you to everyone who’s messaged me over the last little while and especially in the last few months when this last part was only like 300 words deep and felt so vast and scary. I can’t tell you how much your support has meant to me.  (oh and pls just pretend for the sake of an upcoming scene not found here, Taylor’s Lover is already out in the world. just– just pretend. you’ll see.)  so without further ado:  (previously; start at part one here; find all parts here) (toronto; now) Shawn wants to FaceTime. Slide to answer.

His voice appears first. “Before you say anything, it’s not as bad as it looks.” “What–” You straighten automatically. “Shawn? Are you okay?” Bruises. On his beautiful face. Bruises and a tiny cut below his left eye, the beginnings of a scab along his jaw. Shawn’s rueful expression calms the start of your heart, like jumper cables jolting a battery into a steady rhythm. “I’m an idiot.” “What happened?” you demand, trying not to sound shrill or hysterical. He’s not dying. But his face. “You’re going to laugh at me.” “I won’t.” You’re too glad to hear from him – it’s been two weeks of rain checks and brief goodnight calls. Shawn sighs. The soft light of whatever room he’s in makes his features hazy. It’s late in Nashville. “I fell off a Bird.” “A what now?” “It’s a…” Shawn chuckles like he knows what he’s about to say sounds ridiculous. “Like a motorized scooter?” “Is that even a thing?” Your phone pings with messages: too-high, too-bright angles of him grinning, one hand on the handlebars of said motorized scooter, shots from behind of Parker and Geoff that are too blurry to be Kelsey’s work. Your heart pangs. “So totally worth it, huh?” He laughs. “Yes. Absolutely. I just wanted to tell you first before I like, story it or whatever. Didn’t want you to worry.” “Aren’t you performing? That country music thing?” “Tomorrow,” Shawn nods. You’re too late to conceal your wince. “National television, I know.” “Good thing you’re not just a pretty face?” He laughs so hard that he tips out of frame. Joy blooms inside your chest. “Ow. I think I bruised a rib. Damn El, way to kill a guy’s ego.” “Yeah,” you retort, “because your ego definitely needs taking down a peg.” It’s so easy with him. Somehow you’d forgotten that, amidst everything. A strange kind of sadness sticks in your throat. It clearly shows on your face because Shawn tilts his head. “What is it?” You almost say, nothing. “I miss you,” comes out instead. It feels like weakness, this honesty. You couldn’t really articulate why. “I’m sorry, I–” “I miss you too.” Shawn cuts you off so rarely in conversation that you genuinely stop out of surprise. His smile softens, oddly serious, as though he can hear the lost words: I know I put us here. “Every day.” There’s nothing accusatory in it, nothing reluctant or angry. Shawn says, I miss you, like he’d say, I love this song, with unequivocal certainty and ease. How can you feel better and worse at the same time? “One day at a time, right?” Shawn says gently. You nod. It’s what you agreed, after all. “You should get some rest,” you say. “Near death scooter experiences have to be exhausting.” Shawn snorts, his laugh crinkling around his eyes. It settles you in a way that you have to hang onto, in the days to come. “You sure you’re okay?” you ask, partly so he can’t pose the question himself. “Totally fine, El. I promise.” He’s giving you the out and you both know it. Shawn’s fingertips brush the edges of his camera, like he’s reaching for you through it. (He’s probably just adjusting his grip, but it’s a nice thought nonetheless.) “Call me tomorrow?” he asks. “We have the day off. Maybe we can watch a movie or something.” “Sure. Sweet dreams.” Shawn never hangs up first. He’s always still looking when you end the call, like he’ll never be able to stare for long enough. *

(new york; then) You If you only had one day in NYC what would you guys do with it?

Parker How much time are we talking actually? You As of right now?  Charlie Precision is essential Sinclair. You 37 hours. I’m on the red-eye out tomorrow. You Already packing. No one asks why, though you’re sure there are questions. The band doesn’t voice them in the group chat, much to your relief. Geoff Sophie’s all over it. Have you guys eaten dinner? Shawn Nope, cancelled our reservation last minute. Geoff Be ready in 45. Coming to get you. Brian PIZZA. PIZZA. PIZZA. Suddenly there’s like a hundred pizza emojis blowing up your phone. You’re still laughing when Ava comes to check on you. The laughing might become crying but no one needs to know that. * (toronto; now) “I’ve been thinking about getting another tattoo.” “Oh yeah?” You’d nearly forgotten how much you miss home. High Park in the spring may not be Hyde or Central, but it’s yours all year round – even if you missed cherry blossom season by a mere two weeks. You’ve been lamenting it for three minutes, Shawn mhmm-ing in your ear at appropropriate intervals. He’s in a park too, a brief respite from rehearsal. It’s nice to trade photos of the view and pretend to be together. Tell me something new, you’d asked. This qualifies. “Is this another impulsive itch?” “I thought you liked my little meditative man!” “Oh I love it,” you assure him. You can picture Shawn’s false offense so clearly, struggling not to grin like a loon in front of an eldery couple sitting on a bench as you walk past. “I’ll never forget how terrible you and Brian are at it, and I love that you now have matching tattoos as a permanent reminder.” Shawn mhmm’s again, like he doesn’t believe you. Your cheeks hurt from trying not to laugh. “I’ve thought about it, you know.” “What, meditating?” “No you goof.” You lose that fight against a giggle, a stupid smile. “I mean, nothing against meditating. I’m sure my therapist would recommend it.” “Okay, so what have you thought about?” It sounds just suggestive enough – even in broad daylight at two in the afternoon – that a shiver races up your spine. He doesn’t mean that. But now that the idea’s in your head, you’ve definitely thought about that. “El? You still there?” “Yes!” you say, a little too high pitched. You have to clear your throat. “Hi. I meant a tattoo. I’ve been thinking about a tattoo.” Shawn mutters something too low to catch, your attention caught by laughing children chasing each other across the grass. “Sorry, what was that?” “Nothing.” He’s a terrible liar, but you let it slide. “That’s awesome! Do you know what? Or where? How is this the first I’m hearing of this?” Fondness for him swells like a wave. You shrug before you remember Shawn can’t see you. “I think I just wanted to put a lot of thought into my first one. Not...jinx it, or something? You have to be 18 right, so I figured if I still wanted it by my birthday that I’d just…” “Just what?” You swallow around a sudden knot. How the hell do people maintain long distance for years at a time? This feels like agony. “Get it when we came home from tour. I was gonna… I was gonna ask you to come with me.” “I still could, if you want.” “You’re only home a few days,” you object, half surprised even as the words leave your mouth. “You promised your parents you’d spend that time with them.” “Are you planning on getting a massive sleeve or something, El?” You snort. “No. I just...I know how precious your time at home is to you.” Shawn doesn’t say anything for a moment. Anxiety drops like a stone in your stomach. “I mean, if you get it soon, it’ll be pretty much healed by the time I’m back in the city. Might be a good idea.” You wish sometimes he wouldn’t let you off the hook so easily. “And if you were really mean, you wouldn’t even tell me what it was and I’d have to wait forever to find out.” “I haven’t completely decided yet,” you admit. “I know the artist I’d love though, down on Bathurst. I’ve been stalking her Instagram for like two years. I’ll send it to you.” “Can’t wait. I gotta go, I’m back at the venue. But I’ll call you later?” “See you Shawn. Have a great show.” “And El?” “Hmm?” “Unless you’re planning on getting it like, down your spine or something, it doesn’t hurt as much as everyone says. I dunno how much that scares you, but...it shouldn’t. You’re like, one of the bravest people I know.” A pause, in which you genuinely don’t know what to say. “That’s kinda dramatic. It’s not like, war or something. God. You know what I mean right? It’s really not that bad, I promise.” You haven’t cried in nineteen days. You’re not starting now. “Yeah. Thank you.” I love you. You’ve been swallowing those words for so long and you have no idea why. *

@lightsshawn: she’s gone guys we did it @cruelsummermp3: did what? @dancingwithshawn: got rid of ellie - she hasn’t been seen in three weeks! @afterglow: what the fuck is wrong with you guys? * Shawn For the record I said “Fuck that’s hot.” Shawn And then I thought it might be Shawn Too much. You Not too much at all. You Definitely not.

*

(new york; then) “Next!”

“I never thought I’d be so happy to line up for pizza.” You’re shoulder to shoulder with other patrons in Prince Street Pizza, inhaling the delicious scents of dough and cheese with Kelsey, Kristin, and Ava. The boys have bee-lined for the first available table that’s definitely too small for all of you, while Ava points out all the famous faces that line the walls beneath fairy lights. “I’m glad you’re here,” you tell her, barely loud enough over the din. Your sister just squeezes you gently. “Remind me to print some photos and buy some lights when I get home. I’m really digging this vibe.” “Think you’d get some use out of this?” Sometimes you could swear Ava’s purses are like Mary Poppins’.

“What the– when did you get that?” “From your Amazon wishlist, silly.” Your sister presses an Instax camera into your bewildered hands. “They’re cheaper here. I thought it might…” Ava’s smile softens. “Ease the sting a little. Be a nice project for your room? And I didn’t want you to lose that photography spark.” Not crying. “Did you put film in this already?” Ava nods. “Have at ‘er. Tonight seems like a good night.” You throw your arm around her neck, pointing the camera at your faces, twisting away from the people in line just behind you. The flash is so bright but it hurts in a way that’s almost sweet. “Next!” As predicted, there’s definitely not enough room at the table when you and the other women arrive with The Fancy Prince and a Spicy Spring pizzas. Shawn waves wordlessly towards him, sliding from the absurdly tall chair to offer it to you. As you clamber up, his arm snakes back around your chair and he steps back closer to you. On the outset it’s a space saving measure. But Shawn seems pretty comfortable eating with you essentially tucked against him. You can’t say you mind either. *

They sneak you into a bar.

(or more operatively, Kelsey slides a fake ID into your back pocket on the subway platform while you’re timing a shot of the train arriving. You gawk at it so long that you nearly trip through the doorway. It’s identical to your Ontario license – so much so that you have to check your wallet to make sure you haven’t irresponsibly lost your ID – save your birth year. Ava pointedly avoids your eyes. “Did you have something to do with the fact that I’m suddenly magically 21?” you ask Shawn. Just as he was pleased to eat pizza in close proximity, Shawn seems delighted to wrap his fingers just a few inches above yours around the centre pole inside the subway car. Looking up at him now, you know with a striking certainty that you’ll never tire of it either: the sharing space, the strokes of intimacy that seem so carefully brushed when you touch – incidental seconds hiding more yearning that you thought yourself able to feel. (You wonder if it’s mutual. You hope so.) Shawn just raises his eyebrows, reaching for the card between your fingers, but you jerk it back. “Oh no way are you seeing my driver’s photo.” “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he says, reaching into his back pocket. Shawn tightens his grip against the pole, stepping even closer as the car shifts back and forth. Something in your gut wants to flush at his words but he’s already extending an identical card to you, unabashed. The voice inside your head that used to see wanting whenever he looked at you now speaks in insistent imperatives: want. want. want. “Shawn Mendes.” You lower your voice in mock shock. “Are you telling you have–” you cast a furtive glance around the subway car, and he chuckles– “a fake ID?” Shawn tips his chin down towards you so that his mouth nearly touches your temple. “Don’t tell, El.” (You do flush this time, damn him.) The youthfulness of his face on his license startles you in a strange way. You forget sometimes that despite the two-ish years (and entire career) between you that makes Shawn feel much older sometimes, twenty isn’t exactly ancient. He can’t even legally drink tonight, for Pete’s sake. “You’re so cute,” he says quietly, like a secret. Your cheeks are hot when he hands you the counterfeit back to you. “And no, nothing to do with me.” “Will this even work? Don’t people get their licenses stolen by bars all the time because Americans don’t understand the concept of different countries?” Shawn shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”) You don’t end up needing the fake in a stroke of good luck, but it burns a hole in your pocket nonetheless. (Kristin hands you a red lipstick as you stand in line – “Just in case we gotta sell it.”; it makes Shawn double take in the reflection of the window.) Sophie exchanges pleasantries with the doorman at Hollow Nickel and he waves the group inside to a modest weekday crowd. “We got the first round,” says Geoff. Brian and Charlie blow a series of kisses. “Love you too, dorks.” Sophia returns with two bottles of red and a question in her eyes, to which Ava says, “Fries for everyone?” “Hear hear!” Parker tips his beer. “Got a toast in you, Sinclair?” “A toast?” All evening you’ve been thinking about Paris. And as everyone looks with warm expectancy, you finally have the words you didn’t then. “My birthday was one of the most memorable nights of my life. And I think I was worried that it was the only night like that I’d ever have. But it wasn’t really the city that I loved.” You can’t look right at Shawn. “Thank you.” You lift your glass. “For making that night and every night of this amazing journey so wonderful. I know we’ll see each other again, but I guess – we have tonight, and we’ll always have Paris. I love you guys so much.”

Not crying. “To you Sinclair!” Charlie tilts his bottle with a grin. “We’ll miss ya.” The sound of everyone reaching forward and their glasses clinking hurts too, in that same sweet and painful way. *

(toronto; now) Hey, it’s me. I think you’re either asleep or in rehearsal so don’t even worry about not picking up. I know it’s just a volunteering thing at the humane society but I’m like, weirdly very nervous about it, like god what if all the dogs hate me Shawn? How the fuck would I go on after a blow like that? I’m kidding. But only mostly. I just wanted to hear your voice before I went in. Even if it was just your answering machine. Is that lame? Probably. Anyway...god Ellie, wrap this up. I’ll let you know how it goes. *

You This is Earl and I love him with my whole heart You Sent an image You Look at those ears he’s like a bat I’m dying. Shawn Loved your photo You I’m considering him a good luck charm for my Sick Kids application. You How was the show? Shawn Good :)   It’s unlike him to be so monosyllabic, smiley notwithstanding. Especially about a show. You Where are you? A crosswalk light turns in your favour. You’ve been walking just behind a couple with a giant white Samoyed, admiring his beautiful fluffiness as he sat at his owner’s heel. “Appa, yip yip!” The dog gets up immediately to walk. Holy shit I’m gonna die.  

You’re literally typing Shawn oh my god I just–  when your phone rings in your hand. “Hi.” You catch your reflection in the glass of a restaurant. Do you always look this happy when you talk to him? “El.” Shawn hasn’t said your name like this in a long time – not since In My Blood’s release. It immediately deflates your The Last Airbender excitement and you stop in your tracks; Appa’s swinging tail disappears around the corner.   “Can you ask me again?” You turn down a local greenspace next to your building. The bustle of Queen Street fades and you press your phone closer to your ear. “Where are you, Shawn?” “Back in the hotel in Raleigh. You know that hammock thing by the window?” “In your story, sure. What time is it?” You know the answer, of course. Same time zone. “Eleven something.” Nerves pinch at the base of your spine. “And how do you feel in that hammock thing in Raleigh at eleven something at night?” Shawn sighs. “A little better now that I’m talking to you.” Your stomach jumps. “But? What is it?” The line is quiet for a moment, though you can still hear Shawn’s even breath. “I feel like I’m not doing enough.” “What do you mean?” “Remember what you said when you were filling in your application for Sick Kids? You have all this time and energy so you may as well use it to help other people?” “Yeah…I mean I spent a good portion of my day cuddling cats, but–” He huffs a gentle laugh in your ear and it feels like a victory. “Yes. I remember.” “I just feel like… like I could be doing more to help. What’s the point of having all these followers or this like, platform, if I can’t do good with it?” It seems important to choose your next words carefully. “You know your music really helps people, right? Like Morgan, from London? Like me?” Shawn sighs again. “Yeah. You know how much that means to me.” “I’m not saying you can’t or you shouldn’t look to do more – I dunno, fundraising or educating, or whatever. You’re right, you can and do reach so many people. But it’s not like Instagram is gonna solve every single major social issue in the world, or that you or any single person has all the answers or right opinions.” “I feel like an idiot sometimes,” he says, like a shameful admission. “I literally only have a high school diploma and I feel like, out of my depth all the time.” “It’s not fair that people expect you to speak about every trending topic of the day,” you insist. You can feel yourself on the edge of getting worked up, a surge of overprotectiveness you haven’t felt in a long time. “That’s not your job. What happens when you say something well-intentioned and it blows up in your face?” “That’s what I’m afraid of.” “Shawn…” It takes a second to straighten out all the thoughts now whirling around in your head. “I understand what you’re getting at. And I admire you for it, more than you know. I’m sure there’s a way to help people and use your platform in a productive way without all the...noise.” He’s quiet for a long time. “God, I miss you.” It’s ridiculous how he can still make you blush, even from hundreds of miles away. “I miss you too.” “Are you home yet?” “Just about to get in the elevator. Can I call you back?” “Yeah. Wanna watch something?” “You’re not tired?” “No. Just wanna be with you for a bit, if that’s okay.” There’s no one around but you bit back another stupid smile anyway. “Always okay.”

[random-thought-depository]

So, in my last post I wrote this:

“Like … right now I’m planning out a story I intend to write in January; it’s supposed to be a kind of deconstruction of the Fremen mirage, and very much one of the thoughts going into it is “yo, a Proud Warrior Race would be a horrible society to live in or have as neighbors, we shouldn’t romanticize them!” and yet … I feel that the “bad guy” culture in it is much better, from a literary viewpoint, for me having given some thought to the material base of their society and how that would shape their culture. I could have just written them as flat edgelordy-grimdark barbarians, but thinking about their culture in materialist terms gave me a more complex and nuanced picture that I think will make for a more interesting and nuanced story and a fictional society that feels more interesting and human and alive.”

So, I want to infodump a little about this fictional culture I’ve thought up! I’m splitting this up into two posts because otherwise it’d be long in a way my Tumblr’s format is not kind to; in the first post I’m going to talk about the material base that defines this fictional society I’ve thought up, and in the second post I’m going to talk about more historically contingent features of their culture.

Note: for a lot of what’s in this post, I tried to make something hard SF-ish, but much of what I’ve written was the result of kind of “working backwards” from the sort of culture I was imagining to a material base that might create such a culture. So this is more playing with an idea than an attempt at anything particularly realistic.

Material base:

The basic political and economic unit of this society is the semi-self-sufficient space habitat community. These communities are about the size of a small town, I’m thinking thousands to tens of thousands of people (though I haven’t quite fixed it firmly, and anyway there’s wide variation; more successful communities are bigger). This town-size community lives in a semi-mobile space habitat, which I’m thinking is more-or-less a hollow cylinder spun for centrifugal gravity attached to a central spindle which is spacecraft construction facilities, engines, etc.. This space habitat contains enough hydroponic gardens, industrial machinery, etc. that the habitat can sustain itself completely independently for at least a few years. The space habitat has a rocket engine and a hyperspace engine, so it’s mobile, and these people are at least semi-nomadic, often moving their habitats when faced with opportunity or danger. The space habitat carries smaller spacecraft that can be detached and sent out to mine asteroids and KBO-type bodies, scoop helium 3 up from gas giant atmospheres, etc. and return these resources to the main habitat. Along with a closed life support system and efficient recycling, this makes such a community almost self-sufficient (though the almost qualifier is important, as I’ll discuss later).

People who are remembering Brett Devereaux’s last essay here may have noted a certain parallel with steppe nomads, with the main habitat being kind of analogous to the mobile but vulnerable main nomad camp where the non-combatants, livestock, and valuables are kept while the smaller resource-gatherer etc. craft are kinda analogous to the highly mobile horse-mounted war parties.

The reason these communities are so small is that their economies are not resource-limited but machinery-limited, labor-limited, and skilled specialized labor limited. Most raw materials these people may need are super-abundant to them, the bottleneck is transforming those raw materials into air, food, machinery, furniture, useful energy, etc. and maintaining efficient almost-closed loops of recycling. Sustaining a space community requires lots of complex machinery and lots of specialized skilled labor, and maintaining and replacing the machinery often requires more complex machinery (tools to make the tools) and more specialized skilled labor. Keeping humans alive in space is hard, so the return on investment from this is low. Therefore, these communities generally try to make efficient use of labor and maintain more-or-less the smallest viable population.

This implies reproduction within communities like this will probably be carefully controlled. A community like this must stay within a delicate balance; they must have enough people to do all the necessary labor with a comfortable safety margin to avoid situations like the only person with some important skill dying unexpectedly before they could train their replacement, but they must not have so many people that they strain the life support capacity of their habitat. That suggests reproduction usually tightly and deliberately controlled to stay at more-or-less replacement rate and no more.

It also implies a community like this will probably be quite communitarian and disciplined. Consumption will have to be tightly controlled. The means of production will probably be directly controlled by the political leadership. Its economy would probably look communist-ish to us, or maybe like a Bronze Age palace economy, with most necessities and luxuries being distributed basically as rations. Commercial transactions will be marginal to the internal economies of these communities; they’ll probably exist, but only in the form of informal mostly small-scale barter (think something similar to the cigarette economy that may exist in a prison), and they will not be anyone’s primary occupation or source of subsistence or power. Internal economic inequality within a community like this will be mostly a matter of status, not wealth; if somebody eats better it’s because they receive more and better food as an entitlement associated with their political office and/or social status, not because they own a big pile of gold that they use to buy food or something. Probably a community like this will be fairly economically egalitarian even if it is socio-politically unequal; if there’s a king he might have a somewhat bigger apartment, somewhat more and better food, a nice wardrobe of good-quality clothes with lots of bling, etc., but the difference in access to resources between him and one of his servants would be trivial compared to the difference in access to resources between me and a billionaire.

OK, but these people are supposed to be “bad guys” and a “Proud Warrior Race,” so where does that come in? Well, now let’s look at the economy of a community like this and ask: what might they need to get from other communities, and by extension what might they want to violently steal from outsiders?

Certainly not raw resources! If they want water, nitrogen, deuterium, iron, copper, platinum, etc. they can just send out a mining ship to an asteroid or KBO-like body to get some and bring it to them. If they want helium 3 they can just send out a scoop-ship to go down into the atmosphere of the nearest gas giant, gather some up, and bring it to them. And so on. Raw resources are mostly super-abundant to a culture like this and it would make no sense to risk injury or death stealing them from armed outsiders (there are a few exceptions to this that prove the rule, more on that later). So, if not raw resources, what?

Remember that their economy is machinery-limited. They need lots of complex machinery to survive, and then they need more complex machinery to repair and replace that complex machinery (tools to make the tools), and then sometimes they need tools to make the tools to make the tools, and so on. If each community had to be completely self-sufficient this might spiral out unmanageably. But it becomes much more manageable if they are just mostly self-sufficient and tap into larger commercial/industrial networks, e.g. a mostly planet-dwelling society with some orbital infrastructure and asteroid mining that has millions of people. Then if there’s the occasional hard to make spare part they can’t make themselves, it’s not a big deal, they can just send a trading expedition to get some of those parts from outsiders every ten years or so. Or if there’s some hard to make anti-viral drug they can’t make themselves, again, no big deal, they can just send a trading expedition to get some of it from outsiders every few years. A trading expedition ... or a raiding expedition.

Probably they would usually prefer to trade, humans usually prefer sharing or trading to violent theft because it’s less risky, violent theft means the possibility of injury or death (plus in this case complex machinery would be likely to get smashed up in a violent heist). A mutually beneficial trading relationship between a culture like this and a planet-dweller culture would be quite natural; to these people a planet-dweller society is rich in labor but poor in mineral resources such as platinum, while to planet-dwellers this space-dweller culture is rich in mineral resources but poor in labor and certain kinds of machinery and high value added finished goods. But here we have a potential basis for a culture that follows a Viking-style strategy of “if they outgun us, trade, if we outgun them, raid,” with the consequence of this culture’s relationship to other societies being a mix of trade and war.

Some raw resources may be worth stealing here; exceptions that prove the rule that for a space-dwelling culture like this raw resources aren’t worth stealing but value-added finished goods may be. For example, it’s theoretically possible to sift small quantities of naturally occurring antimatter from gas giant magnetic fields, and that stuff might be valuable for catalyzing fusion reactions. That might be worth stealing, because in a sense it’s a raw resource that’s kind of like a finished good; the difficulty is concentrating the very diffuse stuff; an antimatter capture facility with its Penning traps almost full might be worth raiding in the same way a big hoard of gathered acorns might be worth raiding for hunter-gatherers (this resource is abundant but diffuse, somebody else has taken the trouble to gather a lot of it into one spot, you can effectively appropriate their hard work by stealing the hoard). Similarly I could see this culture opportunistically intercepting freighters carrying helium 3, mined semi-refined asteroid material, etc., not so much stealing the resources as functionally stealing the labor of gathering and refining the resources.

There’s another thing a community like this might want to take from outsiders: people.

The economy of a community like this is also skilled specialized labor limited. In fact, that’s probably the more fundamental bottleneck: they can’t build and operate all the machinery they need to be truly self-sufficient because they don’t have the skilled specialist labor, and this is an equilibrium trap because trying to create more skilled specialist labor has a low return on investment for them; keeping a human alive in space is resource-intensive, and a new human probably won’t begin to give them a return on the investment for at least 15 years or so, likely longer (skilled specialized labor, so think e.g. doctors and engineers and literal rocket scientists; training them will take time). One way a community like this can adjust the equation to be more in its favor is to acquire skilled specialized laborers who have already been raised and trained by a different community; then they can skip all the investment in the child and go straight to benefiting from the labor of the fully trained adult.

There’s another reason a community like this might want to take people: genetic diversity. We’re talking about a small community, maybe a few tens of thousands of people, that is somewhat isolated. Inbreeding and lack of genetic diversity can kill small and isolated communities. As I said earlier, reproduction in a community like this will probably be extensively controlled, and I think one aspect of that might be controlling marriages to eliminate or minimize the risks associated with inbreeding. But it would be helpful if a community like this could assimilate some outsiders every generation, to increase its genetic diversity. So the community may want to assimilate even outsiders who don’t have any particularly in-demand specialist skills, to boost its genetic diversity.

Note: while this is a setting where aliens exist, it’s one that’s demographically dominated by humans, so most of the foreigners these people interact with will be other humans. This is significant here.

These two motivations synergize with each other. Most obviously, assimilating a skilled specialist outsider increases the community’s skilled specialist labor pool and also the community’s genetic diversity. But also, because of dynamics adjacent to Baumol’s cost disease, even relatively “unskilled” labor would be valuable in a community like this. Somebody who cleans toilets frees up somebody else to be e.g. a doctor or a nuclear engineer, in a much more reliable and direct way than is the case in a high-population capitalist society like ours. So even assimilating a relatively “unskilled” outsider could both increase the community’s genetic diversity and give it a real economic boost (as with a skilled specialist, compared to creating a new worker through natural reproduction and education, it’s a significant savings to the community if the new worker has been raised to adulthood by a different community).

I’m putting “unskilled” in quotes here cause I think when people say “unskilled” when talking about labor often what they are really talking about is “skills that are taught outside formal school institutions” or “skills that are transmitted but not taught.” I think “unskilled” in this sense is often a political term used to devalue people’s labor and justify people being paid little, worked hard, exposed to unpleasant working conditions, etc., so I don’t like using it ... but I can’t think of a better word to quickly communicate the concept I want to communicate here; I must work with the language my culture has given me. But I’ll put it in quotes here, to indicate I’m not using the concept uncritically.

Aside: you might think that a labor-limited community would make lots of use of robots and other automation, but I’m not sure that’d be true of these people. You’d think a futuristic super-Roomba would be a labor savings compared to a person with a simpler hand-pushed vacuum cleaner, but what about all the labor and machinery needed to make the Roomba? A Roomba represents a strategy of investing secondary sector labor to save tertiary sector labor, and that makes sense if you’ve got a big population and can build big factories so you can benefit from economies of scale, but it might not work as well for almost-self-sufficient small communities. A Roomba factory may be worth it if it saves the labor of a million human cleaners, but what about if it saves the labor of 100 human cleaners? A human is a very useful general-purpose gadget that can replace many specialized gadgets. So I think, counterintuitively, in a community like this you might actually see a lot of theoretically relatively easily automated manual labor being done by humans. This would synergize with a strategy of assimilating some relatively “unskilled” outsiders to increase genetic diversity; these people must be fed, given air to breathe, etc. like everyone else, so it would make sense to try to take advantage of their “as a human, they are a very useful general-purpose gadget that can replace many specialized gadgets” feature. Remember, this is a community that would want to make efficient use of labor and that would want to maintain approximately replacement rate reproduction.

As I said, humans generally prefer sharing or trading to violent theft, because violent theft is risky, and I think that would probably apply here too. Space communities like this would likely have traditions of peacefully “trading” people with each other. One relatively nice way this might happen is e.g. every ten years communities exchange groups of young volunteer emigrants. A less nice way is something like a political leader selling another community’s political leader a doctor and receiving as payment two relatively “unskilled” but young, pretty, and fertile women to be brides for his sons. But again, where trade is a possibility, violent theft is also a possibility. So along with stealing machinery and value-added finished goods, a primary goal of raiding may be capturing people; especially skilled specialists such as doctors, nuclear engineers, etc., but anyone who looks like they might make a good slave might be opportunistically abducted.

If this is starting to sound like nightmare fuel, you’re not wrong, but there is one significant mitigating factor. Remember that the most high-value and sought-after captives would be skilled specialists such as doctors, nuclear engineers, etc.. This is the kind of work where trying to extract labor from people by simple brutality doesn’t work well. You can’t just whip a computer programmer to make them code faster, and you really don’t want to anger the person who fixes the machine that makes the air you breathe, one of the people who tend the nuclear reactor that creates energy for your community, or the person who might do surgery on you. So the experience of being captured and enslaved by these people will often be less chain gang or Gor novel stuff and more “You are given a small but comfortable apartment, decent food, and moderate work assignments. It is made clear to you that bad things will happen to you if you make trouble or don’t work. If you obey your captors and do the work they tell you to do, they will be nice to you and treat you well. Their ultimate plan is to get you to become accustomed to your new life, make friends, get a boyfriend or girlfriend and make a child or three with them, and in this way become sufficiently invested in your new community that you wouldn’t want to go home even if you could.”

Of course, let’s not be too charitable to people who are basically enslavers; that’s how relatively high-value captives are treated, less valued captives are at much more risk of physical and sexual abuse, reproductive coercion, and unsafe and unpleasant working and living conditions.

If you’ve read James C. Scott’s The Art of Not Being Governed and Against The Grain, this may remind you a little of Mr. Scott’s thesis that for much of the history of civilization states were labor-limited, not land-limited. Mr. Scott’s work was a big inspiration to me when I was imagining this culture. Someday I might make a post talking about how I think “the purpose of war isn’t to acquire resources, it’s to acquire people, infrastructure, and machinery” is one of the more plausible paradigms for war in space, but this is long enough so I’ll leave that for another day.

Earlier I drew an analogy between the resource gatherer ships of these people and the war parties of steppe nomads. The context I’ve described here makes the analogy much better. Communities like this won’t just carry resource gatherer ships, but also raiding ships, built for raiding and heavily armed. This also implies violence will be a substantial factor in the life of a community like this; either they will have a significant class of professional warriors, or raiding and preparing for raiding will be a significant part of the average person’s life. I’m going with the first option, which is how you get a Proud Warrior Race instead of weekend-warrior types; as is usual in cases like this, the “Proud Warrior Race” is actually a specific privileged class within this society, and when you read that they are proud you should think of it in that context. I’ll talk about that a lot more in my next post, in which I’ll talk about these people as a culture instead of just as an economy.

[bravonovel]

FINALLY FOUND YOU - Lisa Mathew & Augustus Carlos - Read Online - Bravonovel

FINALLY FOUND YOU https://www.bravonovel.com/finally-found-you-8170

FINALLY FOUND YOU novel is a Romance story about Lisa Mathew and Augustus Carlos.

Lisa Mathew worked as a receptionist in a 3-star hotel. She cherished this job very much as a widow with a six-year-old-son. One day, she met a dashing hot guest name Augustus Carlos. She didn't recognize that he was the new boss of their hotel. All her colleagues believed she had annoyed their new big boss and would be fired. But Augustus weirdly forgave her and promoted her as the vice manager?!! More astonishing, the man said he had a secret crush on her for over six months and proposed. But she had never met him before. She should refuse, but her mouth had already spoken "Yes"....

You can read FINALLY FOUND YOU novel on Bravonovel Web or App.

FINALLY FOUND YOU novel Chapter 1

It’s the starting of the month of October. It’s usually warm in daytime and cold at night in Rome, Italy. A beautiful woman with the height of 5’9 ft was jogging in Villa Ada Park. She used to come here since her husband died and her life became a mess. She kept herself locked and started to get depressed. When her best friend, Sasha saw her like this, she took her to Villa Ada Park to cheer her and encourage her to start her life again. Not for her but for her son.

Then, she started to walk in that park every morning and slowly her mind started getting clear and she started to look for job. As she was young, when she got married. She didn’t have any qualification to apply for job. But, by her appearance she looked well qualified. The way she spoke to people impressed them immediately. She didn’t have any choice for job so she applied for receptionist in many hotels, restaurants and parlors. She was not really confident about getting a job. But, one day out of the blue, after a month of her interview. She has been called from a Hotel named Hotel Colosseum, a 3 star hotel. Asking her to start the job as a receptionist.

It was totally unexpected for her, she said yes immediately and started her job as a receptionist, two months ago. It was not a big salary but atleast she has taken a first step towards her new life. As usual, she was jogging in high spirits without noticing a powerful gaze on her.

From the last 3 months, that gaze was constantly on her. But she never looked at him as if he’s invisible for her. He had been exercising in this park for long time. But, nobody was able to get his attention except her. When he first saw her, she was so skinny, pale and looked pitiful sitting on the bench, thinking of something and crying for half an hour. He used to see her crying quietly but never tried to console her. He wanted her to come over from it. And one day, he saw her walking instead of sitting at her regular place. She was walking with headphones on, still not interacting with people. But at least, she is not crying now. He used to follow her for walk.

As usual, she didn’t notice him at all. After exercise, she turned all sweaty and her skin became red like a tomato. For other woman, being sweaty means ugly but she looked more beautiful after being exhausted. Now, her skin is not pale anymore. It’s getting her colour back and though now her body shape is also going back to normal. After finishing her walk, she gets back to her home. And he headed back to his home. He didn’t follow her after that, he just used to see her in the morning at the park. It’s the main purpose of his to come to this park. He didn’t follow her further nor did he know her name at all.

...

After Lisa Mathew reached her home, she took shower, ate breakfast, and headed to the Hotel in her working clothes. When she reached hotel, everyone was discussing something and suddenly one of her colleague pulled her and told her the shocking news.

“Hey, do you know that owner of Hotel caught red-handed by his wife. She has taken everything from him. He is left with this hotel only and he’s going to sell it to survive. I don’t know if new owner would bring his own staff or let us continue this job.?” After listening to it, she got really nervous. It’s just been two months, she started her job and now someone can kick her out just like this. Just when she was feeling grateful, Life again shows her there is no peace without any hardships..

Just as she was lost in her thoughts, her colleague pulled her back by saying, “See, your newcomer but still you feel disappointed and what about us.? We have been working for more than 5 years. I swear, if they kick us out. We are going to protest about it.” As she said it, other colleague also nodded in agreement. As Lisa had just started this job, she never gossiped about her colleague. And never got herself in the work politics. She managed an apologetic smile to her colleagues and went straight to her desk.

Till afternoon, she did her work ignoring the gossips around her. While she was working with her head down, a man tap on the desk. She looked up and saw a man wearing black colored suit and black sunglasses looked like a spy or serial killer. “Hello.! How can I help you.?” She asked politely. “Hello.! I forget my card inside the presidential suite. Can I get another one.?” He asked with a straight face. She searched in her computer for presidential suite to verify the man before handing key. She saw that it was booked by the name of Augustus Carlos.

So, she asked him, “Are you Mr. Augustus Carlos.?”

He replied, “No” She said, “I’m sorry sir, the suite is booked by the name of Augustus Carlos. I can only hand him the card not anyone else except him.”

“What.?” The man got angry and shocked. “Do you know who I am.?” He asked.

Lisa gave him a polite smile and said calmly, “Sorry sir, Rules Policy.” While the man was staring at her, a hand approached from behind him calmly said in a low voice, “Go, I’ll handle this.” Lester saw his boss and a look of fear appeared on his face. He tried to apologize to him because that Stupid woman is not handing him card. His boss would think of him as useless man, who couldn’t even bring a room card for him.

He ignored Lester and stand in front of desk. “Hello.! I am Augustus Carlos.” Lisa looked at him from her screen. His face looked like mixed-race, she couldn’t tell if he was Italian or American. His body looked well built in his three piece dark blue suit, long legs and cheetah like physique. He was about 6’3 ft tall. He was wearing blue colored branded glasses in which she can see her face. After taking a close look at him, she asked. “Hello.! Mr. Augustus can I see your i. d please.?” Augustus looked at her with admiration and there was a slight light in his eyes, he immediately think of something and said, “Well, I forget my i. d in my room with my card.”

“Sorry sir, Rules Policy. I need to see your i. d.” She said apologetically. “Why do you think I would pretend as Mr. Augustus Carlos.?” He asked curiously. “I don’t know, sir.” Lisa said. “Maybe he is a famous man. What do you think.? Ms. Lisa Mathew.?” He asked teasingly.

“Sir, I can’t comment on this. It’s rules policy even if man is famous or not I have to follow the policy.” She said in a serious professional tone. “How about this. You come with me and I’ll show you my i. d card I left in my room.” He offered. She hesitated then said, “Ok sir.” “Great” As he was about to enter in lift. He signaled Lester not to follow. Lester stopped and turned away from elevator.

After the door closed, Lester said to himself, “What’s wrong with the boss.? Just now when he told me he forgot his card. He was so angry. Before stepping out of the car, he has send me to bring the key and now suddenly his mood changed. And he’s happily heading in elevator with the receptionist, when he can call the manager for card and get her fired.” He scratched his head and looked at the front desk astonishingly.

......

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[itracing]

11 Consequences of the Le Mans Postponement

There has only been one other delayed start in the almost 100-year history of the race: In 1968, the Le Mans 24-hour race was contested on 28/29 September due to ongoing unrest in Paris. The postponement of the race also has wide-reaching consequences for the Porsche GT Team. This includes changes to the schedule as well as the waiving of popular fan events in the town square and the drivers’ parade the day before the start.

The long night In mid-June around the summer solstice (June 20th), the days are longest in the northern hemisphere. On the originally planned date for the 88th edition of the endurance race on 13/14 June, the vehicles would have driven in darkness for only 8.02 hours. On the new September date, the sun sets on Saturday evening at 8:01 pm. The first rays of light will appear on Sunday morning at 7:44 am – which means that the period of darkness is almost four hours longer than it would have been shortly before the official start of summer. In the fight twice around the clock on the Circuit des 24 Heures, teams will spend only around 12 hours in daylight.

The fast pace The long night means a longer period with cooler asphalt and air temperatures. As a result, the engines of the two ca. 515-hp Porsche 911 RSR can run longer at an optimal level. Cooler air means more oxygen saturation and thus better and more efficient burning of fuel in the six combustion chambers. A good rule of thumb: If the ambient temperature drops by five degrees Celsius, the output of the engine increases by one per cent. Hence, in the long night of the 2020 Le Mans 24 Hours, a higher average pace can be achieved in the race. “If the weather conditions are good, we’ll witness a significantly faster race compared to June,” says Pascal Zurlinden, Director of Factory Motorsports at Porsche. With the sun setting earlier on Saturday evening and rising later on Sunday, temperature profiles will be different. The average temperature over a 24-hour period in mid-June (data from the last 30 years) is 16.8 degrees Celsius. The September average is exactly one degree lower. Like the higher oxygenation, this factor further influences the vehicles’ performance.

The soft tires The cooler night-time temperatures also have the advantage that the soft compound of the Michelin tires can be run over longer periods. This rubber not only offers more grip but also more consistency when track conditions are good. “Unfortunately, we’re not permitted to drive triple or quadruple stints in the GTE-Pro class,” explains Zurlinden. After two stints, the GTE vehicles must be fitted with new wheels. “The changed regulations no longer allow refueling at the same time as a tire change, and every tire change costs additional time. We’ll definitely see more double stints. That’s why we have to keep our pit stops as short as possible,” says the experienced engineer.

The anticipated rain The weather statistics over the last three decades show that the highest and lowest temperatures during the day and night hardly differ between June and September. However, the data also clearly shows that although there is less rain in September, the showers are heavier than in June. “We just have to take it as it comes,” says Pascal Zurlinden. At the endurance classic, however, there is the old saying: It always rains at Le Mans. The big question is, at what stage during the race? “The possibility of rain plays an important role in the teams’ tactics – especially if the car isn’t 100 per cent competitive in the dry. In the wet, the cards are reshuffled – and that opens up new opportunities,” explains Zurlinden.

The low sun During dusk and dawn at the 24 Hours of Le Mans, drivers often have to contend with sunstrike. At sunset on Saturday evening, the light shining through the windscreen at a low angle can blind the drivers, especially in the Indianapolis and Arnage passages. At sunrise on Sunday morning, this phenomenon occurs in the famous Tertre Rouge. “Our seasoned works drivers are very familiar with this problem. As the sun is generally lower in early autumn compared to the summer months, our boys will just have to squint a little more often. It’ll be okay. They’re professionals after all,” smiles the Frenchman.

The earlier start time Unlike in previous years, the 24 Hours of Le Mans in 2020 will start at 2.30 pm local time. One of the reasons for this is that the final stage of the Tour de France, the famous road cycling race through France, ends in Paris in the late afternoon on 20th September. To avoid a clash with this event, the 88th edition of the long-distance race as part of the FIA World Endurance Championship (WEC) will finish on Sunday at the earlier time of 2.30 pm. “From the outside, this slight adjustment may seem insignificant but it has a major impact on our team. We have to finish our preparations even earlier for the start on Saturday. This means shorter breaks and even more stress,” outlines the Director Factory Motorsport. That allows only four hours between the end of the warm-up and the start of the race to complete the final preparations.

The missing fans For motor racing fans, the 24 Hours of Le Mans event is high on the list of favorites. Every year, around a quarter million people flock to the track to watch the race. Once a year on this occasion, the capital of the French Departement Sarthe with its 150,000 residents bursts at the seams. But not this year: The organizer, ACO, has prohibited spectators at the racetrack. “Fans always give us huge motivation,” says Pascal Zurlinden. The large grandstands opposite the pit lane are usually packed out, especially at the start on Saturday and the finish on Sunday. “When I look at the spectators from my gantry at the pit wall on Saturday and Sunday, I basically see the same faces. These euphoric fans always give me an additional boost when energy runs low after 24 hours. That’ll be different this year. Still, despite the restrictions, it’ll definitely be another great experience for the spectators watching from home.”

The cancelled pretest The official one-day pretest held a fortnight before the race is a traditional part of the Le Mans 24-hour event. It is the one chance for manufacturers, tire partners, teams and drivers to prepare for the unparalleled quirks of the 13.626-kilometre racetrack prior to the greatest classic of the year. The Circuit des 24 Heures is a combination of the permanent Circuit Bugatti and public roads. Such a constellation is virtually unique in the motor racing scene. Moreover, there are no other chances to test on this circuit outside the race week. “The elimination of the pretest is a big challenge,” says Pascal Zurlinden. “This is the first time we’re fielding our latest 911 RSR there, so we have some unanswered questions about the setup. We would’ve liked to have done this work during a test so that we could analyse the results and arrive at the official sessions as well prepared as possible. We would also have preferred to checked-out the handling of the tyres during test drives. Now we only have the practice sessions just before the race do to this work.”

The compact schedule This year’s 24 Hours of Le Mans deviates from the well-established time schedule. The practice sessions, which in the past were held alongside the qualifying on Wednesday and Thursday, are now scheduled for Thursday (ten hours free practice plus qualifying) and Friday (free practice and hyperpole). “The longer practice sessions allow us to do extensive work on the setup and tire management,” explains Pascal Zurlinden. “We can complete a lot of tasks, but compared to the usual pretest, we are disadvantaged in that the breaks are no longer sufficient to conduct a really detailed analysis.” The Friday before the start of the race was always the last chance for drivers and team members to relax and catch their breath before the biggest race of the year. The so-called “Mad Friday” was normally all about the fans.

The missing drivers’ parade During the day, wildly souped-up cars roll through camping grounds and over thoroughfares lined with fans. Every burnout is greeted with thunderous applause. The “Le Mans holiday” on Friday before the race traditionally ends with the famous drivers’ parade through the town center. Not so in 2020: The spectacle with pilots driving classic cars from the Place des Jacobins to Place de la République has been cancelled. “It’s a real shame for the fans, but there’s no other way around the restrictions required to contain the coronavirus. We’ll try to offer our passionate Le Mans fans the same gripping and spectacular program via our social media channels,” says Zurlinden, explaining Porsche Motorsport’s plans.

Flying pollen Watery eyes, runny noses and medication at the ready belong to the usual picture in the Le Mans paddock in June: many drivers, team members and fans suffer from pollen allergies. In summer, the amount of grass pollen in the grain-growing Sarthe region in France is enormous. “I’m one of those affected,” reports Zurlinden. “There’s no way around taking antihistamines in June but the medication makes you tired. And that’s definitely something you don’t want at a 24-hour race. In this respect, I’m certainly not the only one who is happy to work almost allergy-free at Le Mans in September.”

[musingsofsaturn]

Opening Up [Kristanna ‘Waitress’ AU] - Chapter Four

[Masterlist for this fic]

Fandom: Frozen/Frozen II

Ship: Anna/Kristoff

Side Pairings: Anna/Hans, Elsa/Honeymaren, Bulda/Cliff

Chapters: 10/10 [COMPLETE]

Rating: M

This Chapter’s Rating: T for mentions of alcoholism

This Chapter’s Word Count: 1,900+

Summary:  Waitress and baker Anna Westergaard’s life changed forever when she discovered some startling news. Dr Kristoff Bjorgman didn’t anticipate liking his new patients quite as much as he did. For better or worse, the residents of the small town of Småby Bend were about to be changed forever.

Author’s Note: Hi folks, apologies for leaving it so long between chapters - it's been a bit of a manic weekend! (The exact reason I never set scheduled upload days - life has a habit of getting in the way!) I hope this chapter is worth the wait. Thank you so much for your support on this so far, It's always greatly appreciated! :)

~ Saturn

[Photo from Serious Eats. The recipe to accompany this chapter is Green Chilli Chocolate Pie. Looks yummy!]

The waiting room’s seats were hard and cold, and Anna found herself reflecting on how unwelcoming that felt as a patient. She was feeling nervous about what the upcoming appointment might reveal about the health of her and her baby, and her mind raced with apprehensive thoughts of what was to come with the pregnancy, and eventual child. The last thing she needed right now was an uncomfortable chair.

“Anna Westergaard?” Kristoff’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she got to her feet to follow him.

As they settled into their respective seats, Anna basked in the feeling of friendly familiarity she found herself experiencing with him. He’d been coming into The Snøffnug Café at least once a week for a slice of pie, cup of coffee, and a quick chat with Anna and the other two waitresses. Even Cliff had begun to give the doctor a friendly greeting and occasional discount when he visited.

“How are you doing today, Anna?” he asked her, friendly but professional.

“I’m doing alright. I feel good, no uncomfortable symptoms. Well, a little bit of morning sickness, but it’s not severe or anything.”

He nodded as he quickly typed up some notes on her answer. “The sonographer at the hospital forwarded me a copy of your scan – did you decide to find out the sex or are you keeping it as a surprise?”

“I don’t want to know,” Anna replied. “I just call it- uh, them ‘baby’.” Her hand subconsciously made its way to her belly, where a small bump was beginning to surface, just little enough for it to still be her secret, though she knew that would soon change.

“Alright, ‘baby’ it is.” His eyes were twinkling with the knowledge of a secret, and Anna couldn’t help but smile. “If you could just hop on the bed for me, and I’ll have a quick measure so we can see how baby’s growing.”

No one would have ever accused Anna of being graceful, and she demonstrated that perfectly as she clumsily mounted the bed. She tried not to move the paper that had been placed down on it, and as a result her movements looked as awkward as they felt. Kristoff was kind enough to pretend not to notice, but Anna couldn’t help but grimace inwardly.

To distract herself from the embarrassment she felt, Anna found herself asking, “So what made you transfer to Småby Bend anyway? You’ve never said.”

Kristoff had just turned to her after rummaging in his desk drawers for a tape measure, and Anna noticed the flicker of hesitation that came across his features. He quickly recovered though, and she thought she might have made it up.

“Oh, it’s kind of a long story. I’ll try to give you the Sparknotes version.” They shared a grin, and he quickly asked her permission to lift her top so he could measure her tummy. She consented, and he went on, “I, uh, I’m actually married. I don’t wear the ring anymore because we’re… separated, I guess? We got married just after I qualified, so like two years ago. Which is a very short time to be married, but apparently long enough for her to realise that she’d actually rather be with someone else, so…”

Anna kept silent as he spoke. His hands on her stomach were warm, and ever so gentle as he carefully measured the small bump from top to bottom. She felt her heart beating faster as he leaned in close to read the numbers on the tape measure. Nervously, she suppressed that feeling as far to the back of her mind as she possibly could.

“I didn’t even see it coming.” He laughed, but there was a great sadness in it. “She just came home from work one day, told me she didn’t love me anymore, and that she was leaving me to be with her best friend.”

In a whisper, Anna let out a soft: “I am so sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. It was for the best. She’s happier now than she ever was with me, and it’s better to have split up early than to keep up a façade for decades. But I couldn’t stay where we’d started to build a life together, so I went looking for a new job, and it turned out that Småby Bend was in need of a doctor, so here I am!” He paused, glancing up at her in a way that made her think that he was debating whether or not to carry on. “I like it here. It’s a beautiful little town, and it’s got everything I need. The people here are… really lovely as well.” Anna couldn’t ignore the warmth in his expression, but she dismissed the notion that it was for her.

“For what it counts, I’m glad you ended up here.” She meant it.

Standing upright, Kristoff cleared his throat. “Baby’s growing perfectly. Just the size I’d expect them to be at this stage.” He turned around so she could readjust her top to cover her tummy up again, and she heard him typing up something into her notes once more. When he finished, he reached for a blood pressure cuff and turned back to her. “We can take your blood pressure while you’re still lying down, it’s easier for you.”

Not for the first time, Anna recognised how respectful and caring he was towards her. Of course, he was a doctor, so it was to be expected, but she still appreciated how he respected her body and her privacy, and wanted to make these appointments as non-invasive and easy as possible. Her instincts had told her the first time she met him that he was someone she was safe with. Maybe it was that sense of safety, or the idea that she had to reciprocate his honesty, but she started to speak.

“Hans wasn’t always a drinker. We started dating in high school, so obviously he wasn’t drinking then. I’d had a crush on him for years; he was so handsome, and sweet, and funny.” She smiled to herself. “When he asked me out, I thought I was so happy that I thought I was going to faint. He was so nice to me, you wouldn’t believe. My mama died when I was sixteen, and he was right there to support me through it. What teenage boy can take that responsibility?

“Did you know Småby Bend used to have a cloth manufacturer? It was a factory for knitting wools and fleeces and stuff for blankets.” Kristoff nodded that he knew what she was referring to, and Anna went on, “Hans worked there after graduation, six days a week for seven whole years. It paid for our wedding, for the house, and all the little things we needed. And I worked in the café, just to keep myself busy more than anything.

“The businesses that used the factory’s supplies weren’t happy with their profit margins, though. Not only could they get the same material cheaper from elsewhere, but we’re so ‘middle of nowhere’ that we were really hard for them to get to so they could pick up their stuff. So more and more companies stopped buying from Småby Bend, and eventually they just closed the factory altogether.

“We’d only been married for two months, but after that, Hans was miserable. He felt useless, like a failure, and he used to have a drink every night to take the edge off his worrying. Then he started drinking through the day too, and now I think he drinks more beers than he does water.”

Kristoff hadn’t moved while she was telling him all this, but he carefully stepped towards her now to begin sliding the blood pressure cuff up her arm.

“It’s been four years since the factory closed. Now he’s got a job at the garage, but he still drinks every day. Sometimes I think that he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to anymore. It makes him angry. The world makes him angry; he feels lost, and not himself, I can tell. And I make him angry sometimes. Some of the things I say, or do, just… I piss him off. I don’t mean to, but I do.”

She was finished, and she knew that Kristoff picked up on that, although he didn’t say anything. In silence, he filled the cuff with air, before taking the reading and going to write it down.

“Your- the reading suggests that your blood pressure is a little low,” he said eventually. “It shouldn’t be too serious, but just to make you aware.”

“Okay, thank you,” she answered politely. She didn’t like this new way they were speaking to each other. It felt so professional, so distant. “I brought you a pie,” she told him at last. “‘Death by Chilli Chocolate’. It’s a new recipe I’m testing out, so I want to know what you think of it.”

“I’ll be sure to stop by with my critiques.” He smiled at her, and she basked in the warmth of it. “That’s it for today, you can hop down whenever you’re ready.”

She got up quickly, too quickly. The dizziness hit her like a sack of bricks, and she felt herself losing her balance. The ground seemed to be galloping up towards her as the room spun, and she cried out as she realised that she was falling.

Strong arms on her own helped her to regain her balance. Kristoff’s grip was firm as he steadied her, and her dizziness slowly receded as he held her upright. She looked up at his face, meeting his concerned gaze as she came back to herself.

“Are you alright?” he asked worriedly.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” She made no move to step away from him, and neither did he.

They could have pretended that they stayed that close for that long simply because they were concerned. He could say that he was keeping hold of her to make sure she was fully recovered before he let go. She could have said that she still felt dizzy, and she needed his strength to steady her.

But that wouldn’t have explained why his hand went to her face, gently brushing aside a piece of hair that had come loose when she lost her balance. That gentleness was magnetic to Anna. She stepped closer to him, so close she could feel his breath on her.

“Anna,” he murmured, “You deserve so much more than a husband who doesn’t realise how lucky he is to have you.”

She didn’t reply. She didn’t even think. Instead, she moved her hands to his shoulders, rising to tip-toe even as he leaned down towards her. Kristoff’s hand cupped her face and his arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her closer to him and making butterflies flutter in her stomach. Her heart was pounding, and the room was spinning for an entirely different reason than before. It felt as though every moment in her life had been leading to this one, here, with her leaning in desperately to kiss Kristoff Bjorgman.

A knock on the door caused them to jump apart mere milliseconds before their lips met.

“Come in,” Kristoff called, startled but recovering now that they were separate.

A nurse opened the door, and Anna didn’t hear a word they said as she fumbled with her bag, placing the cake tin she’d brought for him on his desk. Her fingers were shaking as she buttoned up her coat, and when the nurse left, she all but ran from the room.

Next Chapter

[gamesto245]

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[ilovejevsjeans]

Daniel Ricciardo: 'This season emphasised my love for Formula 1'

It has not been an easy year at Renault, but Daniel Ricciardo nevertheless says this season has "emphasised his love" for Formula 1.

The Australian seven-time winner left Red Bull to join Renault on a two-year contract for 2019 and 2020 worth more than $50m (£40.2m), and his new team started the season with the ambition of closing on the top three teams.

Instead, Renault have slipped backwards. But Ricciardo says he "still feels good" about the decision, has no regrets, and that he would like to continue with the team if they can show sufficient improvements next season.

"Do I want to stay? Yes, because ideally we do get this to the next level," Ricciardo tells BBC Sport in an exclusive interview.

"It was my massive intention to come here. My intention wasn't to have a two-year layover somewhere else. I know people might still think that, but I really want this to work. I feel like the hours I have put in this year have shown I have the drive to want to do so."

After comfortably finishing fourth in the constructors' championship last year, Renault are fifth with seven races left in 2019, one place behind McLaren, a customer of Renault's engines.

The regression - and the contrast with the startling progress at McLaren - has led to disappointment and significant internal pressure, but Ricciardo says he was expecting a difficult season all along.

"Definitely not to be negative, but regardless of even if we were coming sixth every weekend, I knew there were still bigger targets and that we were still not going to be where we want to be," he says.

"Yes, we're at times further back than we expected and hoped, but I knew there would be work to be done and a lot of hours to put in. I feel like I was prepared for that.

"Even though I feel like I have worked more hours and probably worked harder this year than in previous years, it has still been quite enjoyable because the environment is different - new people, new relationships.

"If anything, it has reiterated what I want in the sport."

'Get me back to the front'

There have been some dark moments along the way, though, and the nadir was a weekend in Austria at the end of June when Renault were uncompetitive.

"Austria, literally, I can tell you conversations going in my head during that race," Ricciardo says. "I am literally driving around - I don't want to say not present - but my thoughts were: 'I don't want to be here.'

"When I say that, I mean: 'I don't want to be in this position.' I was 14th or something and it was one of our worst weekends. But it wasn't a head-down defeat, it was: 'Get me back to the front - this is not where I should be. This is not where we should be.'

"So a really bad weekend emphasised my passion and love for the sport and how much I wanted to get everyone back up to the front, including myself."

There have been some strong weekends, too, especially Canada, where Ricciardo qualified a brilliant fourth, splitting the Ferraris and ahead of both Red Bulls.

"Through some of these struggles, it has been really quite positive for me this year, and it's really driven me to want more from it," he says. "That's been cool.

"And on an actual pure positive - Canada. We've had some lows but that high was for me like a pole position. There have been some moments that have lasted."

Reputation intact

In five years at Red Bull, the team were never consistent frontrunners, but Ricciardo took seven victories, and established a reputation as one of the sport's most exciting drivers, in addition to being possibly its most likeable and amusing character.

Most of his victories were outstanding, featuring drives through the field and audacious last-minute overtaking manoeuvres.

Ricciardo has inevitably faded slightly from the limelight this year, but the move to Renault has done nothing to damage his reputation as a driver.

He has comfortably out-paced his team-mate, German Nico Hulkenberg, who has out-qualified Ricciardo only four times in 14 races. This performance disparity will have made Renault's decision to release Hulkenberg and sign Frenchman Esteban Ocon for at least the next two years all the easier.

And while Ricciardo would obviously prefer to be further up, he says he is enjoying the intensity of the midfield fight.

"If anything, [qualifying] is tighter than last year," he says. "The battle a lot of the time was just me and Max [Verstappen], where this year it's all the midfield. So that's definitely getting the blood flow going. I am enjoying the driving."

Why have Renault gone backwards?

As for the car's performance, Renault think they know what has gone wrong this year.

Their strong performance at tracks such as Canada, and the past two races in Belgium and Italy, all 'power circuits', have emphasised that the French manufacturer has finally made a good step forward with its engine after years of underperformance. The issue now is the car.

Ricciardo says: "It seems when I speak to the team, the base of the car, the fundamentals, the base direction, has limited us. So we developed it a little bit but it's reached, I don't want to say its peak, but it can't really be developed that much more with this philosophy.

"So, as far as now looking at next year, it seems like they want to change the whole aerodynamic philosophy of the car. Instead of focusing on this part of the car, say the middle part, and trying to generate as much downforce in the middle, it's like, no, we need to focus on the front.

"It seems like it might be more difficult at first, but in the bigger picture we'd be getting more downforce 'points', as we call it, from that."

This sounds very much like Renault have done what Ferrari have done this year - pursued an aerodynamic philosophy that looks better initially, but which limits overall downforce; in contrast to Mercedes, whose car was harder to get working initially, but is better in the end.

For Ricciardo, then, a lot hangs on Renault getting that right. If they can make their new direction work, and take a big step forward, Ricciardo may well stay. If they can't, they fear he would leave.

This was emphasised by Renault Sport managing director Cyril Abiteboul, when he said recently that signing Ocon "wasn't just about 2020, but also 2021 and what's happening to his team-mate".

Does Ricciardo think Abiteboul suspects he might be looking for pastures new for 2021?

"I definitely haven't made any decisions yet," Ricciardo says. "I haven't had this discussion with Cyril. I don't want to speak for him, but he's frustrated with this year.

"I think part of him feels like - I don't want to say [he feels] he's let us down, but we did expect to do better.

"When we chatted last year, there were higher hopes for this year. We're confident next year is going to be a lot better, but he's thinking probably: 'If it doesn't go [better], why would Daniel want to stay?' That's probably where his head's at and that's probably where those comments come from.

"It's him just being brutally honest with himself and wanting to do better and wanting the team to do better - to basically keep me and any other assets."

The contracts of most top drivers come up for renewal at the end of 2020. Along with Ricciardo, Sebastian Vettel at Ferrari, both Mercedes drivers Lewis Hamilton and Valtteri Bottas, and Red Bull's Max Verstappen are all on the market next year.

"So next year, what would I need to see?" he asks rhetorically. "Obviously improvements - not just from one position to the next, but solid improvements that actually we could realistically fight for a podium at some point next year. That would be very encouraging and motivating for everyone.

"I know we're still a long way off that but I still believe it's in reach. I don't think we're dreamers; we just have to clean up a few things. I still look back at Canada - if we can qualify fourth at the seventh race of the season, I still believe anything's possible with these guys."

[bleachanimefan1]

In Noctem

Chapter Nine, Troll In The Dungeon And The Potion Master's Assistant

It was Halloween night, as everyone gathered in the Great Hall for the feast. Floating pumpkins were flying high above the ceiling. Everyone has sat down and were eating some of the food that was on the table. Fae looked around and noticed that Quirrell was not there. Where could he be? She thought to herself. Then she glanced over at at the Gryffindor table and saw Harry talking to Ron but noticed that Hermione was also not present as well. Suddenly, the doors burst open and everyone quickly looked up to see Quirrell running in with a look of sheer look of terror on his face.

"TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!" He screamed. Dumbledore stood up. "Thought you ought to know." said Quirrell as he collapsed on the floor passing out. Suddenly, a loud roar echoed throughout the room. All of the students screamed and began to panic as they scrambled out of their seats.

 "SILENCE!" shouted Dumbledore. Everyone in the room went dead silent. "Everybody, please do not panic. Now, Prefects will lead their house back to the dormitories. Teachers will follow me to the dungeons." said Dumbledore, calmly. 

As the prefects, lead their houses to their dormitories, Fae noticed Harry and Ron slip away and followed after them, wondering where they were going. As she came around the corner, she was them further down the hall hiding behind a pillar. She walked over to them. As she approached them, she heard them whispering to themselves.

 "What are you two doing?" Fae asked. The two boys were startled as they jumped and they quickly turned around to her.

 "Professor Craft!" The two of them exclaimed in surprise. Then the two of them flinched seeing that they were caught. "We uh-! Ron stammered nervously. "We we're -!"

"It's Hermione, she's in danger!" Harry shouted.

 "In danger? What do you mean? You two aren't making any sense." said Fae. Suddenly, the three of them heard low growling sounds down the end of the hallway. Fae's eyes widen as she saw a huge silhouette of the troll as it began to walk into the girl's bathroom. Fae gulped as she swallowed nervously then turned to the two boys.

 "Okay, boys stay here. I will handle this." She said.

 "You can't go in there on your own!" Harry exclaimed. 

 "That thing is huge!" Ron exclaimed. Fae laughed and smiled.

 "I'm very flattered that you care for my safety, but I can-" Fae was cut off by Harry.

 "Please, let us come." He said. "Hermione's in there!"

 "Merlin's beard, you two." Fae pinched her, frustrated, and sighed. "Alright fine, you can come. But, stay right next to me don't even leave my side for a second, understand?" She said.

Both boys nodded their heads. "Good. Now let's go help your friend." said Fae. Then the three heard a loud crash coming from the girls lavatory and quickly rushed in to see that the stalls were all smashed and completely destroyed. In front of them was the troll. Harry saw Hermione from underneath the dilapidated stalls and also saw the troll was about to swing his club again.

 "Hermione, move!" warned Harry. 

 "Do something!" cried Ron as he looked at Fae. Fae took out her wand and pointed it at the troll. "Stupefy!" She shouted as the spell flew straight at the troll. It was knocked back as it stumbled away from the stalls. But, now it had set its sights on the three.

It charged angrily raising its club in the air. The three quickly moved out of the way.

"Hey, pea-brain!" Ron shouted as he threw a piece of plank at the troll hitting it on the head. Harry did the same throwing some at the troll.

 "You two are making it angrier! Stop!" Fae shouted. Suddenly, a club connected with her chest as she flew back as her back collided into the wall. She hissed in pain as she tried to stand up. Fae looked and saw the troll raising his club and smashed it into the sinks but Hermione crawled out of the way.

 "Help!" She screamed. Harry ran up to the troll and climbed into it's back until he was on top of it as the troll violently jerking him around until Harry stuck his hand into the troll's nose. Fae, Ron and Hermione made a disgusted look. Then the troll grabbed Harry's let pulling him off and tried to club him.

 "Do something!" Harry shouted.

 "What?" Ron shouted as he looked around.

 "Anything?!" Harry exclaimed.

"Cast windgardium leviosa on the club." said Fae. Ron pulled out his wand and aimed it at the troll's club.

 "Windgardium leviosa!" He shouted. Then the groom's club slipped out of it's hand and floated above its head for a second before it came down smacking on the troops head.

 "Cool." Ron laughed. The troll dropped Harry as he scrambled back as he saw that the troll was falling until it crashed onto the floor, unconscious.

Then Mcgonagall, Snape and Quirrell ran into the room until they saw the troll at their feet knocked out.

 "Explain yourselves-" Mcgonagall stammered as she looked at the two boys then towards Fae until Hermione spoke.

"It's my fault, professor Mcgonagall." She said. The four professors looked at her as did the two boys.

"Miss Granger?" questioned Mcgonagall.

"I went looking for the troll. I've read about them and thought that I can handle it. But, I was wrong. If Harry, Ron and Professor Craft hadn't found me, I'd probably be dead." She said.

 "Be that as it may, it was an extremely foolish thing to do. I would have expected more rational behavioral on your part. I'm very disappointed in you Miss Granger. Five points will be taken from Gryffindor, for your serious lack of judgement. As for you two gentlemen, but I just hope you realize how fortune you are. Not many first-year students could take on a fully grown mountain troll and live to tell the tale. Five points, will be awarded to each of you, for sheer dumb luck." said Mcgonagall. 

The four followed after Snape and Mcgonagall while Quirrell stayed behind to watch the troll.  "Perhaps, you ought to go. M-Might wake up." Quirrell stammered. Fae quickly walked passed him not even glancing but she could feel glares from behind her as she did. 

As Mcgonagall, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Snape left the bathroom, Fae followed behind. Fae stopped when she noticed that Snape was walking funny.

Why was he limping?

"Darn this blasted thing!" Snape hissed as he tried to apply the bandage to his leg. He was standing his foot on the chair as He was struggling to wrap the bandage around his injury but was struggling. He immediately shut his eyes as stinging pain hit his leg. Suddenly, Snape heard the door creak open as someone walked in. He looked up and saw Fae. The two stared at each other silently for a moment before Fae's eyes trailed down to his leg to see the gaping wound.

 "Severus, y-your leg, what happened?! " Fae asked as she stared, she's wide in horror. "It looks like a wild animal got a hold of it!" Snape frowned. The thing is an animal did get a hold of him, a big three-headed one.

 "Who told you that you could barge in here?!" Snape shouted angrily.

"What happened?" Fae asked. She walked closer to the wizard to get a closer look. Snape moved away from her. 

 "I'm fine,"  Snape said. "It's nothing for you to be concerned about."

 "This qualifies as fine?! Sev, you're bleeding everywhere. You need to go see Pomfrey!" shouted Fae, concerned. Shape glared at her.

 "I told you to never call me that, " He said quietly. "I'll go and see her once I put the bandage on it."

 "At least, let me do it," said Fae. She bent down to her knees and took the bandages from Snape's hand and began to sterilize the wound as she casted a spell to clean it then started to wrap Snape's leg.

 "I don't need your help," said Snape as Fae continued to wrap the bandage around his leg, dressing the wound.

 "Stop being so stubborn. Everyone needs help once in a while." said Fae. She finished tying the bandage and stood up. "What's really troubling is how did a troll get into the castle without anyone onto it."

 "It was Quirrell." Far looked at Snape as she turned to him.

 "How do you know that it was him?" She asked. 

 "He sent the troll as a distraction to get to the door on the third corridor, hoping that no one would notice. But, I did when he didn't attend tonight feast and realize that it was set up. But, what Quirrell didn't know that the door was being guarded by Hagrid's mutt. I stopped him but got bitten instead, and the bloody bastard ran off." He growled.

"What's so important behind that door?" asked Fae. Snape stared at her for a minute before answering. "The sorcerers stone." He answered. Fae looked at him in shock. The stone that grants everlasting life? But, why does Quirrell want it? She thought to herself. She shivered as a cold rush of and ran down her back. Everything about that man was off. He gave off an evil presence.

 "Maybe that was why I've been feeling weird around him?" Fae mumbled quietly to herself but Snape heard what she had said.

 "What do you mean weird, Craft?" He asked quietly.

 "Every time when I'm near him, I feel drained. Like all my magic's been sapped out of me but it's not. More like a heavy weight is being pressed down on me and I can't use it." said Fae. Fae saw Snape's face grew more paler than he was. Was this the reason Dumbledore told him to look after the girl? If she can't use her magic, she would be in mortal danger, should it ever arise. 

 "Can you tell me why this is happening to me?" asked Fae, breaking Snape out of his thoughts.

He looked at her silently as he thought. Snape remembered something that he had read years ago when he was just a student, although it has never really peeked his interest at the time. Uncontrollable bursts of magic, stronger magic casting, and feeling unexplained weakness, never aging... It lead to one answer.

 "You're not exactly a human, Miss Craft." said Snape.

Fae furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "What are you talking about? Or course I'm human!"

 "The reason these strange things are happening to you is because you not a human, Fae. But, a Fae, a powerful race of supernatural beings, commonly known as a fairy. Unfortunately, there isn't much about them. They supposedly died out several hundreds of years ago. But, I guess that's not the case."

 Fae's whole world around suddenly began to blur as her whole body went numb in shock. All her life she thought that she was a human but she wasn't. Why didn't mother and father ever tell her? Maybe it was to protect her or her brother? She began to grow angrier as her brother appeared in her mind then Salazar. Fae clenched her teeth as she grinded them. They lied! Her entire life was a lie! Fae tightly clenched her fists angrily. Snape could practically see steam coming from the witch's ears. 

 "There is more that you need to know. But, first, you need to calm down before you blow my classroom up again." said Snape. Fae sighed as she took in a deep breath then looked at Snape and he continued.

 "This is a serious matter. If word gets out that you are a Fae the ministry will hunt you down." said Snape.

Fae's eyes widen "Hunt me down? What do you mean? Why would they do that? It's not like I'm a danger to anyone." She said.

 "That may be the case, but, Fae's are considered to be wizards and witch's mortal enemy, because of how powerful they are." Said Snape.

 Fae's eyes widen more alarm as her thoughts drifted. Fae's are consider enemies? Did Dumbledore know? He must have. Otherwise, why would he made her quit ministry.  Fae took a seat in a chair as She sat down. She couldn't believe it.

He had saved her life.

 "That's enough talk for today. It's getting late and I've got things to do." said Snape. Fae stood up and begin to head towards the door. As she opened it, heard Snape say something and turned to him.

 "What was that?" She asked. Snape drifted his eyes away from her.

 "Thank you for helping me." He said quietly. Fae felt her heart flutter as she looked at him in shock. She smiled and turned around walking out.

 "Goodnight, Professor." She said as she closed the door.

[jylener22]

Headcanon: Orihime is the primary bread winner in the family and works as a famous news anchor.

Ooohhh…I like this idea. And this is what came to mind!!! Also, I added in two of my OC���s for Ichigo and Orihime’s family: twins Reika and Ayaka. Read more about them here.

“Look out below! Aliens are coming in from the engine room! What should we do Captain?”

“Man your battle stations men! Defend the ship! Fight to the last!”

Three sets of little feet came barreling down the stairs with screams, squeals, shrieks, giggles and ‘pew-pew-pew’ laser gun sounds.

“Captain! We’ve been cut off! Where should we go now?”

“Quick! Head for the brig!”

From upstairs, a deep male voice inquired dryly, “You sure you want to head down to the ship’s dungeon, Kazui?”

“Ummm…” called the ‘captain’ back up the stairs, “Where do we want to go?”

“Try the helm.”

Looking back at his ‘subordinates’, Kazui pointed towards the kitchen and ordered, “Quick! Head for the helm!”

The seven year old boy took off with his four year old twin sisters, Reika and Ayaka, close at his heels. They continued playing and frolicking for another ten minutes or so, before their father came down the stairs with a hamper of laundry piled so high that it nearly reached his chin. Rounding the corner to head into the living room, if it had been a cartoon movie, Ichigo might have allowed the basket of dirty clothes to slip from his numb fingers and add to the mess that he had just walked into. Couch cushions had been pulled from their intended places and strewn in a rather haphazard way (at least that was what it looked like at first glance) all about the room, while a couple of afghans and even one of their everyday tablecloths were draped across and now bare couches and the coffee table and that might not have been so bad if it were for the ‘Hansel-esque’ trail of unidentifiable crumbs leading into what Ichigo could only assume was the command center/helm of his offsprings’ imaginary space craft.

“Lieutenant! Behind you! Don’t let the alien touch you with it’s anti-awake stuff!”

“Augh! Captain! Save me!”

“Wahhh! Captain, the alien caught the lieutenant! What’ll we do?!”

“Stand back and keep your nose plugged! I’m going to get her back!”

“Captain!”

Just like with his wife, Ichigo couldn’t help but grin and do his best to stifle a chuckle as his children’s antics. Honestly, it boggled his mind how they managed to come up with such elaborate games to play together when he was 98% sure they had never seen the kind of sci-fi movie or show that their story was seemingly based off of. Then again…they had to take after their mother in other ways than just her good looks.

As he was wondering just how to get their attention as it was getting close to their bedtime and unless they cleaned up this mess there was no way they were going to get through their usual bedtime ritual. Then he spotted a walkie-talkie laying nearby and got an idea. Setting down the laundry basket and turning the device on, Ichigo took a couple moments to breath deeply to try and compose himself before briefly inserting himself into the kids’ game.

Pressing the talk button, Ichigo said in a flat, officious tone, “Captain Kurosaki! Come in, Captain Kurosaki! This is the General Commander Patriarch! Over!”

Immediately all other screeching and giggling stopped and Ichigo could imagine all three of them looking at each other in surprise and then delight as they realized their father had joined in their game.

Apparently they did not wish to break from the storyline they had already established as Reika responded on the walkie, “Sorry Genner Command Party, but the captain is trying to save the lieutenant right now. Um…over.”

Squeezing the corners of his mouth between his thumb and forefinger, Ichigo then went on gravely, “I see. That is most unfortunate. Tell the captain, though, that very soon the queen will be addressing the nation and if he and his lieutenants wish to see her speech, the aliens need to be taken care of and this space ship cleaned up good and proper or it will make the queen very sad. Over.”

There were a few moments of silence and Ichigo was just beginning to wonder if maybe his kids’ were a bit too young for those kind of vague directions when suddenly the screaming and squealing commenced again, only this time it was followed by a kind of explosion of the blankets covering Kazui, Reika and Ayaka as they all raced around trying to put the room back together as best they could. Kazui did fine on his own folding the afghans and tablecloth, but Ichigo took pity on Reika and Ayaka, helping them to pick up and arrange the pillow cushions again as most of them were at least half as big as the four-year-olds.

With the floor cleared, Ichigo could see a package of some kind of chips they had apparently shared, which seemed to be the source of the crumbs. Before he could even say a word, Kazui snatched up the bag to throw in the garbage while Reika and Ayaka knelt down to pick up as many of the pieces as they could with their little fingers.

Heart melting instantly at their sincere and desperate attempts to be helpful, Ichigo wrapped his left hand around both of Ayaka’s then Reika’s with his right as he said, “Don’t worry, Aya-chan, Rei-chan. Daddy will take care of this while you and your brother head upstairs and get changed.”

As twins are sometimes wont to do, Reika and Ayaka looked at each other then in perfect unison straightened up, gave their father a big smile and leaned over to give each his cheeks a big kiss. It wasn’t until he let their hands go (which he purposefully didn’t do for at least four seconds) that the girls leaned away with a big ‘Muah!’ sound and raced out of the room and up the stairs to get their pajamas on so that they could see ‘the queen’s address to the nation’. Unable to control the pleased flush of his cheeks or the rather dopey grin on his face, Ichigo quickly headed to the closet to pull out the vacuum to dispatch of the pesky crumbs.

Less than five minutes later, the whole Kurosaki clan, minus the ‘queen mother’, were comfortably ensconced on the couch before the television while the ‘general commander patriarch’ adeptly turned on the set and swiftly selected the channel they were all anxious to watch. They had to sit through a couple of tedious commercials before the show began and even then it took a few minutes before the camera moved away from the head newsman who was announcing the various stories that would be covered during that particular news hour to the woman Ichigo, Kazui, Ayaka and Reika all wished to see. As per usual, their waiting was rewarded quite spectacularly.

Tonight, Orihime was wearing a particularly flattering ruffled blouse with an onyx brooch fastened at the neck, while over top she had on an emerald colored suit coat. Her hair was loosely twisted and pinned so that the low hanging ponytail hung over her right shoulder, while her make-up was only minimally done so that her natural beauty shone through. To make her eyes pop, however, there was the faintest trace of green and black make-up on her top eyelids, seemingly to match her outfit.

The first half hour of the news always covered topics that both Ichigo and Orihime felt their children could handle: an animal shelter throwing an event to help promote adoptions, a new restaurant sending one of their chefs into the studio to demonstrate how to make one of their not-quite-so-signature dishes, a successful sports team/player or exceptional students excelling in their particular field and so on. Once all the ‘feel good news’ was out of the way, Orihime would secretly signal to her children and her husband that it was time to head upstairs.

On this particular evening, Orihime and her co-anchor had been interviewing a young gymnast who was well on their way to qualifying for the following years Olympic Games but had had to do some intensive training after they were diagnosed with a malignant tumor that was successfully removed and Orihime wrapped the segment up by laying a hand over her heart and saying sincerely, “I’m sure your mother is so proud of how far you have come after such a scary diagnosis. The best of luck to you both in the next few months.”

The camera pulled back to show a wide-shot of both anchors and while the man began introducing the next topics that would be discussed after the commercial break, Orihime looked into the camera and smiled before giving her children the signal that said ‘I love you all and I’ll see you in the morning’. She placed her index finger next to her eye and tapped it slowly and deliberately one, two, three times.

Wrapping his arms around the small bodies surrounding him, Ichigo said, “Okay all. Brushed teeth and under covers in five. Go!”

While most kids would get even more wound up by the directive to hurry and borderline refuse to settle down when it was time, the Kurosaki children had no such issues. They could be wild and crazy one minute and then calm and docile the next, especially at bedtime. Kazui, Ayaka and Reika were by no means ‘perfect children’, but they came pretty darn close in Ichigo’s estimation.

After taking the time to tuck them all in, kiss them affectionately on the forehead and wish them pleasant dreams, Ichigo headed back downstairs to attend to the previously forgotten laundry before settling back down in front of the tv to finish watching his wife with his heart swelling with pride every time he saw her smiling at the screen and listening to her compassionate voice talk about the more difficult topics the news had to cover.

Unbeknownst to the kids, Ichigo also had his own special signal that Orihime would give him at the end of her news hour. In all the time they had been married and she had started working in front of the camera, he had not missed a single broadcast. Honestly, he wasn’t sure which part he loved more about the whole thing: the fact that Orihime cared enough to think of a way to deliberately show him how much she loved him every night in front of an entire studio as well as viewing audience, or the fact that while he needed to be comfortable with his wife being so much in the public eye, open to all their criticism and overblown affection alike, there were parts of herself that Orihime reserved just for him and their kids.

Ichigo snapped out of his reverie in just enough time to catch the signal: a subtle hand over her heart, while she brushed the tips of two fingers along her lips. Unable to contain his smile, Ichigo returned the gesture regardless of the fact that his wife obviously could not see it. However, for some reason, Ichigo thought she knew as almost immediately after he did it, Orihime’s smile would become just a little bit brighter.

Switching off the tv as it went to commercials, Ichigo leaned his head back and closed his eyes, listening to the various sounds throughout the house. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the soft breathing of his kids upstairs and the constant ‘tick-tick-tick’ of the clock in the master bedroom along with the other typical sounds that could be heard when all was still in the house.

As per usual, Ichigo dozed off for a couple of hours on the couch, but immediately became alert when he sensed a familiar, warm presence hovering over him. Opening his eyes slowly, the smiling face of his queen came slowly into focus. What a perfect sight to wake up to, if he did say so himself, even if she was upside down at the moment.

“I’m back,” said Orihime as she reached down to stroke her fingertips along his lips.

Reaching up to take hold of her hand, Ichigo responded with, “Welcome home.”

Shaking her head in gentle admonition, Orihime said, “Honestly, Ichigo. Why don’t you head up to bed? You’ll put such a kink in your neck sleeping like this.”

Chuckling and shaking his head in response, Ichigo replied, “Don’t wanna. Can’t sleep up there by myself. It’s too cold.”

“Oh, you…what am I going to do with you?”

Grinning cheekily, Ichigo’s answer was to cup a hand around the back of her head and carefully pull her down so that he could officially welcome his wife home.

When he finally released her, Ichigo stretched and groaned as he said, “I’ve gotta move the laundry into the dryer before it starts to smell. You head upstairs and get comfortable, all right?”

“Okay,” said Orihime and she started to walk away before she turned back around and said, “Would you rather I wear something comfy so we can snuggle or…something else?”

Inhaling deeply, Ichigo shrugged his shoulders and said, “Surprise me.”

Before she went up the stairs, Orihime gave him another smile that gave him absolutely no indication as to what he would find when he did come up. That was just fine with him. He would be the predictable one in the family who enjoyed allowing the others to surprise him with their spontaneity, while they could always come to him when they needed something firm and steady to hold them together.

[gobigorgohome2016]

Cultivating Positivity

If you have talked to me in the past 10 days, you know I can’t stop talking about Deena Kastor’s book.  

The truth is that it came to me at a time when I really needed to read it.  

From September 2015 – July 2017, I worked really hard on cultivating positivity.  Gratitude journaling, re-framing negative thoughts, developing mantras, being conscious of the words I used about myself, and practicing a positive mind frame during workouts were all my jam.  

Then, in the fall, I got sick and running stopped being fun.  When I was back to being healthy (but not fit) I was so focused on regaining fitness and doing all the right things, that I somehow let the positive thinking roll to the wayside.  

And I could feel it.

March and April were particularly rough.  How is it possible for me to be living the exact life that I want yet feel so unhappy?  Am I doing it wrong?  Is this actually the life that I want?  What happened to that buzz I used to feel about the most mundane things, like a good cup of coffee or seeing a pretty bird in my yard?  I tried reflecting on different things:  what does the perfect day look like? Perfect life?  I made lists of things that made me happy. Things I could do to make myself happy.

I chalked it up to the long, cold, miserable winter we were still having.  I thought maybe my iron or vitamin D levels were getting low.  Maybe the mileage was getting to me?  Maybe I just secretly hated my husband and was having a 1/3 life crisis?  

Then Dave and I got in a fight at Barnes and Noble because I caught him in the self-help book section. I thought he was looking for books for him (and was impressed at his internal reflection) but then he said a book caught his eye that he thought could help me.  OH HELL NO.  

That night, I picked up Let Your Mind Run, the self-help book I didn’t know I needed (and NOT the one Dave tried to recommend).  As I was reading, bits and pieces started coming back to me.  Oh right, I used to do that.  I made lists, thought about things for which I was grateful, and started reframing the things I had thought negatively about.

Then I read Deena’s chapter about her time in Finland.  She, too, had a period of time where she stopped working the mental muscle, and that ultimately resulted in a panic attack (I had one in December).  The way she felt in Finland was very similar to how I had been feeling.  A lot of what’s the point?  and feeling sorry for myself.  Within weeks of reframing her experience and thoughts, she ran a US leading 5k.  Light bulb moment for me.  

My mental game coach and I were chatting yesterday and the chicken and the egg argument arose.  Are athletes confident because they are running well, or running well because they are confident?  I know that my confidence was at an all-time high between August 2015 and January 2016 when every time I toed a starting line I ran a PR. Literally.  I ran 6 PRs from 4k xc to marathon.  

My best races and workouts have been the ones where I stood on the starting line and knew that whatever happened, it didn’t really matter.  Even at Twin Cities, which was my last chance to qualify for the Trials, I felt an unprecedented sense of calm.  I think my calmness surprised – and concerned – my coach.  For the first time, possibly ever, I was completely at ease with whatever happened that day.  I knew I had prepared to the absolute best of my ability and that if I didn’t get the result I wanted, it was probably due to circumstances entirely outside of my control.  I went to bed that night forgetting to even set an alarm (thankfully Dave realized my mistake).

What was the secret? How could I feel that way again? Would I ever feel that way again?

Fortunately, I found the answer in Deena’s book.

Gratitude. Positivity.  Removing emotion from performance.  Visualization.  Maintaining emotional control.  Creating a plan to execute [this is a big factor.  Up until I was reminded that I run my best when I am executing my plan, my marathon strategy had been to go out and run fast.  That type of goal does not keep my brain engaged].

How had I forgotten all of these things I had worked so hard to utilize just 6 months ago?  Well, it turns out it’s kind of like those core exercises you say you’re going to do every day.  Once you get slack, it’s easy to put them out of sight and out of (literal) mind.  

I started with gratitude lists.  I was grateful to be healthy.  To have achieved new mileage highs in training.  To have been able to recognize weaknesses with enough time to strengthen them. For my support team.  

Then I worked on reframing negativity.  Removing the word setback from my vocabulary.  Focusing on what if things go right instead of what if things go wrong.  Making plans for positivity based on any circumstances that might arise on race day.  Realizing that Cherry Blossom was a pretty freaking great race considering I was at such a low point, mentally, that I couldn’t wait to get out of DC once I got there.  

The potentially scary thing about a marathon is that anything can happen.  But instead of thinking about the what ifs (what if I fall off pace?  What if I start hurting at mile 8 instead of mile 16? What if I go out too hard?  What if I don’t OTQ?), I realized that it doesn’t matter.  I have full control over how I react to any situation that is thrown at me, and I have learned and practiced mental strategies for whatever situation occurs.  I am looking forward to seeing how hard I can fight on Sunday, mentally and physically.  As far as I am concerned, the worst thing that can happen (outside of injury) is that I don’t meet my C goal of running under 2:45. What will that mean?  That I will have learned something from the race that I can use in my next training cycle for a fall marathon ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

That’s not to say that I wouldn’t be disappointed, but without being able to know or predict what I will encounter on race day, I’m not going to waste the mental energy on those thoughts. I’m either going to have a good day, or a great day on Sunday.  

I ran a very encouraging workout this morning.  I met up with Rebecca, who is running the Mini this weekend, and we did my favorite pre-race workout:  2 x 4k @ race effort with 7:00 recovery.  This workout can be deceptive because you *think* it should be easy because it is *just* marathon pace.  The truth is that when you’re trying to run a fast marathon time, race day goal pace isn’t easy.  It’s not something you just casually run.  I would never arrive the starting line of a marathon without a full warm up because I don’t know about you, but I’m not one to just casually start dropping 6:00 miles.  RT and I chatted about our expectations for the workout a bit, and I told her I didn’t want anything faster than 6:00 pace.  This workout is much better to be too slow than too fast.  She said she was mentally prepared for anything slower than 5:40.  

The irony of me, pulling us through in 5:35 for the first mile (usually RT is the one to go hard and I’m the conservative one) was not lost on me.  While it wasn’t a perfectly paced workout, it was good to shake out the legs and know that I am FIT right now.  I know that I can hold a full conversation at 6:10 pace, and that 5:35 apparently feels like the proper marathon race pace.    At this point, the outcome of my race is entirely up to me.  

I am 2 years stronger. 2 years more race savvy, and I reminded myself recently that I have done something really brave the past 2 years: I have stood on starting lines all over the country with the nation’s best and raced distances that are not my forte, but treated them as though I deserved to be in the top 10.  Yes, this shook my confidence a little when I didn’t perform to my extremely high expectations, but it developed my competitiveness and gave me the race experiences that I missed out on in college.  

What’s going to be the outcome on Sunday?  In many ways I feel like I have run the race, because I have visualized nearly every inch of the course and have acutely felt the way it would feel to cross the finish line in every possible scenario, from 2:30:00 to 3:00:00.  I feel at this point there won’t be any surprises, just opportunities.  

[runawaywithalli-blog]

My Favorite Track Memories

Track has brought many ups and down and memories that I’ll cherish for a long time. While some memories were better than others, I wouldn’t trade any of them for the world. If you want to laugh or think back to your athletic days, continue reading to rewind to my favorite track memories from high school and college.

1.    Getting a concussion

Yes, you read that right! I got a concussion from a non-impact sport—how glamorous.  I’m sure you’re wondering how this event happened, so I’ll tell you the entire story.

I was lining up to race the 200 at the biggest meet of the season, besides State of course.  I was very nervous for this race because for some reason, they had put me in the slower heat.  I was upset that I wouldn’t be running with the best girls and knew that I had to run my best race despite not having the best competition.

As I was waiting for my turn to race, I began talking to my sister about how I wasn’t feeling well and that I didn’t want to run this race.  She assured me that I was probably just nervous and low on energy.  Convinced that everything was okay, I got into my blocks and waited for “on your marks, get set, go!”  I felt great during my race, until…

I crossed the finish line and faceplanted.  Yup, I am one graceful runner.  In my defense, I did pass out, and the faceplant was a result of going to lean to finish and then passing out.  The next thing I remember was opening my eyes and seeing my coach in my face asking if I was okay.  The crowd was silent, and my whole body hurt.  I managed to come to my senses and get up from the ground, receiving the pity clap. Every track runner has heard the “pity clap” before.  It’s a slow clap usually reserved for when a slow runner finishes a race.  I was mortified that it was for me this time.

Once I was pulled off the track, my teammate ran up to me and immediately asked if I was still good to run the 4x4. Despite the horrible road rash, I felt okay and decided to finish out the meet.  Not my brightest idea.  The night after the meet, my head killed me and I couldn’t bear to leave the lights on. I ended up with a mild concussion that sat me out for a week.  Let this be a lesson that concussions are possible in any sport, even the non-impact ones.

2.     Becoming a state champion

Back when I started to run track in 7thgrade, I made a goal to become a State Champion. I didn’t care what event it was in, I just wanted it to happen.  My senior year of high school, it finally happened.  I started running the 4x4 in sophomore year and made my first appearance and State that year.  We had competed well at State each year and beat our school record at each State meet, but our times excelled my senior year.  Halfway through the season, we competed against another top team in the state and that’s when we knew we could actually win at State.  Our rival school had the top 400 runner in Division 3 so they were tough to beat.  After being ahead of them after the second and third lap of the relay, their anchor came back strong. However, ours was stronger and we ended up winning that night. We were so excited and that’s when we knew that if we continued to run well, we could become State Champions.

At the State Meet we had won the preliminary round and were seeded first going into finals.  I remember how nervous we were sitting in the waiting area before finals the next day—we were all silent.  I remember my coach coming into the tent to tell us that our rival’s top runner had dropped out with a stress fracture.  A huge sense of relief rushed through me and I instantly felt more confident.

We went out onto the track and ran our hearts out.  We set a new school record (again) and finished 5 seconds ahead of the second place team. I’ll never forget the feeling of finally reaching a goal that I had set since 7thgrade.

3.     An engagement at Nationals

One of my teammates had always joked about how awesome it would be to get engaged at the NCAA National Meet.  To be honest, most of the girls on the team have dreamed about this scenario.  Picture this:  they’ll get off the podium after becoming an All-American and find the love of their life down on one knee asking them to marry them.  It’s a track girl’s dream come true!

This proposal didn’t happen quite like the scenario above, but it was still very magical.  My teammate, Mal, unfortunately did not advance to finals in the 400 hurdles like she was supposed to.  After a fall on the homestretch, she wasn’t able to make up the time to run a qualifying time for the final that was scheduled for the next day.  We were all sad for her, since this was her last race.  There were tears in her eyes all day.

At the end of the day, our coach came up to us and said that we needed to find Mal because she had won a sportsmanship award and she was going to be presented with it once the final race of the day was over. We were all confused knowing that there had never been any awards on the first day of the meet.  However, we obeyed and went to go find Mal.

Still confused, we watched as Mal was called on the field to receive her “award”.  Once she stepped onto the field, I looked at another teammate and instantly knew what was about to happen.  Needless to say, we were freaking out!  Mal’s mom was also standing next to us and was shocked that we weren’t in on the plan. She has thought that our coach would have told us.

The next few minutes were a blur.  Mal’s boyfriend, Wes, had been hiding out all day at the meet trying to not run into Mal.  He said after the proposal that he almost ruined it after nearly running into her before her race.  Anyway, the proposal was one of the cutest things I have seen.  Wes was hiding on the field under a tent and surprised Mal when she was called out onto the field to receive her “award”.  Mal was so surprised and began to cry immediately. Before getting on one knee, he said some romantic words, which I definitely forgot because I was so caught up in the moment.  But like I said earlier, it was the cutest proposal I’ve seen.

Mal’s sad day had turned into one of the best days of her life! She of course said “yes” and would now get to marry her best friend.  Wes told us that the proposal took months to plan.  He first contacted our coach to see if proposing at the meet was even a possibility.  Our coach then helped him get into contact with the NCAA Committee to help organize the plan.  Emails were sent back and forth and calls were made up until the big day, but his hard work paid off!  We were so happy for Mal!

4.     Disqualifying every relay

So this memory definitely isn’t a happy one, but it’s something I’ll remember forever.  During my sophomore season of college, I messed up every hand off.  And when I say that I messed then up, I mean I really messed them up.  I dropped batons, ran out of the exchange zone, you name it.  Each one of my mistakes resulted in my team being disqualified and not scoring any points.

Perhaps my worst mistake was dropping the baton during the 4x200 at Drake Relays.  At this meet, the 4x200 is a fun race and since it is usually not competed at every meet, it was important for us to run well.  We needed to run well in order to have the ability to compete in it the following year. Pretty much all we had to do in this race is make it all the way around the track and finish.  Well, I ended up dropping the baton and of course we didn’t finish the race.  I completely blew it and now we don’t have the ability to run the 4x200 at Drake again unless a miracle happens.

Like I said, this isn’t a very happy memory for me.  I spent a lot of time crying after each race and ignored my coaches after each mistake.  Sometimes you win some, sometimes you lose some.  We’re all human and mistakes are unfortunately inevitable.  Since then, I’ve learned to trust my practice and be confident in my races.  I haven’t dropped a baton since (fingers crossed)!