#stefano is never at fault

[steffigraf]

"In my opinion, Andrey is one of the most skillful players on the tour... I'm sure that he can win Grand Slams. Hopefully, he can beat this guy who said it many many times and I wish this for sure."

[formulinos]

I would like to preface this by saying that this has no basis in facts, as in I haven't personally talked to anyone that could confirm the stuff I'm about to say. I'd like to name this a conspiracy hypothesis instead of a theory, since I have no proof. I'll sprinkle some links here and there as I go about, but they are just basically temporal marks so you know I didn't pull this whole thing out of my ass. I am very much aware, however, that most of the time I'll sound like this:

I also am aware that I might seem biased in this, but give me a chance to explain who the real villain of the story is. Also feel free to just ignore it, again, this is not factually true as far as we know and I did have a schizophrenic episode in 2013 that led me to 6 months of antipsychotic treatment. It could be happening again! 

Anyway, here we go. I believe that the 2022 Formula 1 Championship declared its winners before it even began, that is, Max Verstappen and Red Bull Racing. NO WAIT COME BACK HEAR ME OUT.

Consider the situation before and after the 2021 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. I think a recent quote from Stefano Domenicali actually resumes it well:

“The World Championship being decided on the last lap of the last race, last year in Abu Dhabi,” Domenicali told the Corriere della Sera when asked what his most satisfying moment was, “leaving aside the controversy.”

By the end of 2021, Formula 1 had become a culmination of what Liberty Media wanted for it: a full spectacle where racing was just the necessary background for something that gives much more money, that is, storytelling. The Lewis Hamilton v. Max Verstappen created a rivalry, which is EXCELLENT for marketing, as this article by Dr. Cody T. Havard and Dr. Vassilis Dalakas highlights:

The rivalry phenomenon in sport also infuences the way fans consume the sport. In particular, playing a rival team positively infuences fan likelihood to attend a live game (Havard, Shapiro et al., 2013) and the amount they are willing to pay for tickets (Sanford & Scott, 2016). Rivalry can infuence the way fans evaluate team branded merchandise (Kwak, Kwon, & Lim, 2015), team sponsors (Angell et al., 2016; Bee & Dalakas, 2013; Dalakas & Levin, 2005; Grohs, Reisinger, & Woisetschläger, 2015), league-wide cause-related marketing (Nichols, Cobbs, & Raska, 2016), fan behavior (Wann & Dolan, 1994; Wann & Greive, 2005; Wenger & Brown, 2014), and player performance (Wann et al., 2006). 

Rivalries means money, and at the peak of Hamilton v. Verstappen, F1 was making BANK. However, the fact that Domenecali had to say "leaving aside the controversy" means that the decisions taken on those fateful laps were impactful enough to create a significant divide on the consumers. This happened because from the moment the checkered flag was shown, it stopped being just Red Bull and Mercedes' business and it became the sports' business as a whole. Therefore, two things happened:

1) The spectacle that Liberty Media had created was crumbling down in front of them. 2) The legitimacy of FIA's actions were being put to question directly, since this was down to the actions of their highest representative in the racing aspect.

How can you move past this? In fact, many fans still haven't and might never will. But still, there are things you can do to try and mend things. The first was the Report. A half-assed mea culpa from the FIA that included a long evaluation of the events that transpired that day and the implementation of measures to keep it from happening again. Michael Masi was (rightfully, even though he was the scapegoat) shown the door and although it took them a long time to show a verdict, the release date right before the start of the 2022 season means this was the last of it for them and they were turning the page.

Still, an issue remains that still highlighted points 1 and 2, the question of Max's championship being retained. Surely, the FIA couldn't not admit any fault in the report or else the lack of self-criticism would doom them in the eyes of fans, but admitting too much fault meant that their decision to stick to Max's championship would be forever contested and so their actions from then on. For Liberty Media and the storytelling issue, it means that their conclusion of the Young Hotshot that defeated The Sport Giant never happened and instead The Sport Giant would just become Bigger. This can't do.

So far, I've discussed this from the FIA's and Liberty Media's POVS, but consider this from Red Bull's perspective. Christian Horner was on the record straight after Abu Dhabi defending Max's championship and saying that the championship as a whole was enough proof of his skills and the teamwork. But even more, he states that the Drivers' Championship is the most important out of the two given at the end of the season:

"The constructors' is where the money is," he said. "That is where the revenues that come into the sport are distributed, based on your performance in the championship. I think every employee within our team, and probably in most of the teams, is rewarded on where they are in the constructors' championship, as opposed to the drivers'. But the drivers' obviously has the popularity and it has the prestige. I don't think there's a single employee within our business that would have traded the first place in the constructors' for this drivers' championship."

If the drivers' championship has all the popularity and the prestige, then it also has the power to take those things away if its integrity is put into question. So, all that's left to do is convince people that this result would naturally take place. If many of Max's supporters said that "he would have won it anyway," then you best make sure that he does win it again, because once can happen by chance, but twice means that the level of talent and professionalism involved is too high and the results of 2021 were bound to happen. While there would still be skeptics, for a large majority of the doubtful fans, a bi-championship would be enough proof and the sport is considered legitimate again. 

This is the motivation, so, what's the plan? Well, you need Max to win the championship, but there can be no doubt about it. Leaving it for the last race means that it could get out of control and this wouldn't be enough to quench people's thirst. Max has to win by a landslide to be considered a dominant force that's inescapable, which also means that Red Bull should be considered at the top of their game. Therefore, if last year they could afford to lose the WCC, this year they have to take it as a way of reclaiming their power and their role in enabling Max to be the best he can be. 

Now, this is a sport. They can't rely just on Red Bull doing their best to make sure this goes smoothly, they also need the cooperation of others. Honestly, if they asked every single team to help them out, most of them would imo. Again, the events in Abu Dhabi didn't just impact RBR and Merc, they affected the sport as a whole and it is on everybody's interest to get past this slump. If the controversy only gets worse and fans' viewership and engagement goes down, it's over - it's not gonna happen from one day to another, surely, but it's not forgotten either. BUT, realistically, they don't need to talk to Haas or Williams or Alfa Romeo. They just need to ensure that the teams that could directly face RBR come out behind, and there are basically two that could truly do it: Mercedes and Ferrari.

With Mercedes, the approach taken was... do nothing. They didn't have to, since the "nerf the dominating team" initiative that FIA regularly does was already being implemented since 2019. The small technical regulations tweaks that were left for 2021 were already good enough to close the gap between Merc and Red Bull and allow for more competition, and the overall 2022 regulation haul did just as any reg change intends to: remove domination out of the equation. I'm not mad about this since well, it is their job to make sure there is a competition and you just need to reset things from time to time. Ferrari has been through this, McLaren has been through this, Red Bull has been through this, etc. For once, it's really just business. Sure, Mercedes shot themselves in the foot with their initial design, but they were set up for failure anyway. 

Now, Ferrari.

Ferrari had a few things going on for them. First, a solid duo of drivers, one of them being a usually very solid, reliable and stealth grid climber and the other literally nicknamed by the fans "Il Predestinato". Then, they managed to unfuck things up from 2020 to 2021 and get back to the top 3, orbiting just outside the two main forces of F1 at the moment. In this aspect, they also could afford to relax a bit on the 2021 championship and focus on the 2022 car in June, way before Mercedes and Red Bull due to their relative safe place in the championship - back in June, P3 seemed most likely, but even if it was a P4, the money prize made no difference to FERRARI and the extra wind tunnel time would even be a plus. 

This is all to say that they would inevitably come out with a banger car, there was no other way this could go. In the hybrid era, only two cars were major flops: the F14 T that managed to get one fucking podium in an entire season, but still landed 4th, so a good birth in relation to the field nevertheless and the SF1000 that was the consequence of its own actions. Other than that, Ferrari was regularly in the vice-leadership or Top 3, and you can bet they were coming to snatch wigs again.

Well, pre-season testing comes and Ferrari takes Barcelona in relation to Red Bull. Red Bull posts the fastest lap but they present reliability issues, while Ferrari does fine and dandy in experimentation. This is rectified by Bahrain, that shows in theory a better Red Bull car, with its hiccups fixed. However, it's noted that Ferrari are still behind, and less farther than one would think. 

So, we get three initial rounds with Ferrari working flawlessly and striking two double podiums and two wins. Charles emerges as the championship leader while Red Bull show they have the pace, but their reliability issues can't be ignored. But by round 4 RBR are back on their feet and Ferrari suffer from home race luck, making weird strategy calls. It's okay, you can understand it once.

One thing to note is the difference in tone adopted in regards to this year's early rivalry, During the first semester, a few headlines we've seen were:

"There’s not been a lot of politics and bullsh*t" - Red Bull and Ferrari moving ahead in 2022 F1 season with 'genuine respect,' says Christian Horner

Max Verstappen says he 'prefers' F1 rivalry with Charles Leclerc to battle with Lewis Hamilton

Marko: Ferrari rivalry ‘won’t escalate like Mercedes’

All of the time, it's highlighted that there is a rivalry in place, which is good for the sport, but that it won't get as toxic and bad as last year with Mercedes. The idea is to be less aggressive, in order to show that such behaviour is in the past and that F1 can be entertaining on and off track without needing to resort to fighting.

But, as I said before, we do need Max to win, and by a landslide. Yet, by Miami, Charles was still very much in the run recovering from his 6th in Imola with a second place and Carlos getting back on the podium after two retirements. The tides started shifting harshly in Spain, when Charles retired and Carlos struggled to 4th. In the same race, Charles loses the championship lead to Max. From then on, as Sky Sports point out, from Spain to Hungary Charles loses on 108 points due to team-related issues in comparison to 32 points from individual errors. In Belgium, more scenes as strategy demands Charles to try to go for the fastest lap and pit. He fails to get the lap and gets a penalty that pushes him one place down (6th). From the Dutch Grand Prix to Singapore, Charles has managed to recover his form and feature in the podium all three races, but it's now Max's championship to lose. To sum up, Ferrari who seemed majorly solid until the fifth round started flopping left and right out of the blue, seemingly making a point of losing the championship by sheer incompetence.

When faced with criticism, Mattia Binotto has repeatedly stated that there was no need for changes at his Ferrari staff. In fact, some of his most outlandish claims include that the Hungary Grand Prix win wasn't possible for them anyway, regardless of Charles' display that day. Curiously, his tone only changed after the Italian Grand Prix (RIP Ana Formulinos' dream of going to Monza, 2000-2022) when he finally admitted something needed to be done. A bit too late, considering that from the next race onwards, the title was Max's to win on a mathematical basis. 

So, here comes a question: what's in it for Ferrari, exactly? Honestly... I've no fucking clue. They were punished over an engine that fell in the "not legal but not illegal" limbo in 2020 by the same FIA which, in this scenario I'm hypothesising, would have cut some sort of deal with advantages for them in the upcoming seasons. This is for us to see in the future, as nothing is bound to happen for us in 2022. However, I think a factor that is important is that while Ferrari is the crown jewel of F1's teams, the records and titles mean nothing if the sport is dead and/or perceived as illegitimate. Therefore, the same way it is the other teams' interest to keep the show going, Ferrari might be the one to need it the most. They need each other. So, I could see Ferrari, Liberty Media and the FIA all in the same side for once anyway.

Now, an important addendum. In all of this, am I saying that everyone in Red Bull and in Ferrari are involved in this? Is Max Verstappen devilishly laughing as he wins and wins and is Charles binning it on purpose? Are the mechanics at Ferrari armed with hammers to destroy the chassis while no one's watching? NO OF COURSE NOT. You can tell that these drivers are real people that get frustrated with their losses and happy with their wins. You could tell how Max was starting to feel relieved after the reliability issues were gone, and how the light in Charles' eyes dimmed race after race. Same thing with the mechanics whenever there was a failure. In fact, I don't think that for this hypothesis to work everybody needs to be in on it, just the right people. One single strategist is enough for Ferrari to lose a whole race, while Red Bull just needs to make sure the car is running since Max is more than apt to win a race, no denying that.

Cool. Now, here is an interesting point: the budget cap controversy. While things were peaceful between Ferrari and Red Bull until then, things quickly went astray after the first reports of Red Bull possibly breaching the cost cap, with Binotto and Toto meeting up to gossip about it during the Singapore GP. The stance taken by Ferrari is that they mad. They really mad. I suppose that, in this scenario I'd be too, if I had been made to look like a fool bottling every race, even having to take it on the chin after a technical directive so these fools could win and still they're able to splurge on cash to save their season? That would have been bad enough, but the fact that if these extra expenses went undetected, this means they'd be free to do as they please for the 2023 championship... I have a feeling that this is not part of the deal.

Christian Horner went extra defensive, claiming indirectly that there was a snitch in the FIA responsible for the leak and, most importantly:

“One can only assume it’s not coincidental this is at a point where Max has his first strike at a World Championship,” he said.

Speaking later to Sky F1, Horner added: “Do you think that’s a coincidence? Or do you think there might be a little bit of a campaign to discredit what the team has done?

“It’s a little bit suspicious.”

Concerns about a discredited championship, AGAIN. As this report says, it's highly unlikely that the FIA consider harsh penalties as they will probably decree it as a minor breach. Can't go unpunished as again the FIA's decision skills will be put into questioning, but can't be declared a major breach since a harsher penalty might put Ferrari back in the running and we need that landslide, lads.

It's yet to be seen if Max takes it at Japan, which would be kinda curious since the 2021 Japanese Grand Prix was supposed to be about Honda's swan song from F1 and now a celebration of its strengthened ties to Red Bull. Either way, it won't be long now, and the championship will be long done by the last round.  

As an interesting afterthought, I think it's curious how little reporting there has been on the rift between the FIA and FOM/Liberty Media. The creative differences between the two has been significant as Liberty Media presents more changes in the racing format and increases the calendar, something that our current president isn't a fan of. Latest developments have been about the FIA publishing the calendar before FOM, something that's unheard of. In fact, the rift has been said to have gotten worse after... Abu Dhabi, since the FIA perceived it as an indirect result of Liberty Media's push for spectacles :) How lovely is the state of things in F1 right now. 

In conclusion, the result of nearly a year of observation of this championship led me to hypothesise that the result is being constructed to re-legitimise the sport and its organising bodies after the 2021 Abu Dhabi scandal. In this aspect, it's not Max Verstappen, Red Bull and even Scuderia Ferrari per se the direct villains of the story, but the FIA and Liberty Media who in their push to save themselves only get deeper and deeper in the chaos. While I can't prove for sure this is real (and false tbh), there are still further developments in 2022 and 2023 that can change things, so don't take it to heart. Cheers everybody, I'll go back to my cave!

[mannequinreligi0n]

Stefano Valentini Drabble

A little blurb about stefano pre-stem but post-accident. Y’know him dealing with the angst of recovery after his accident. I have it posted here on my AO3, if you’d rather read there. Also if you’d like, you can check out on my main blog, where I’m actually active lol. Enjoy!

It’s strange waking up to only seeing half the world. Such an adjustment. Stefano awoke every morning with his subconscious still expecting to see a full view of his bedroom, til he finally rubbed away the sleep and could register that this was his new normal. ‘A new way of seeing’ is what his doctor had told him, but how could a doctor fully grasp what sight meant to an artist? His eyes were an extension of the camera he held, they were a tool, a necessity. What is a painter without hands? A singer with no tongue? Useless. And that’s how he felt - useless. It was a cruel joke that he couldn’t find the humor in, yet he could see everyone else point and laugh in harmony in the back of his mind.

Still, he slowly made his way out of bed and mentally gathered himself for the day. Making his way to the bathroom, he flickered on the lights to expose his distorted image to the mirror. Almost with guilt, he furrowed his brow at the reflection. It’s one thing to look tired from a night’s sleep, but it’s a completely different anomaly to look tired due to life. It ages the soul and deepens the wrinkles that litter a face. Stefano leaned forward to study his face further, removing the bandages around his head. The asymmetry of his eyes hurt his still waking brain. It’s like looking at a puzzle that has lost a few pieces; you know what the image is supposed to be but it’s not what it should be.

A deep breath takes him out of the staring contest with himself, forcing his aching body into the shower. It’s been a month since he left the hospital and yet every time he blinks, he expects to be right back on the field, staring at an open sky while men scream and scurry around him. No one prepares you for life-changing accidents, but no one really prepares you for the aftermath. To wake up every day after and know that you can never be who you were before - there are now two versions of yourself, past and present. Stefano can’t help but feel that the past version of himself lingers like a shadow, mocking him for how pathetic he is now.

The warm water hits his skin lightly, ghosting around the scars on his right shoulder that creep up his neck. Shaking hands carefully kneed at the flesh, aiming to soothe his growing frustration and discomfort. The doctor said it would take several weeks, maybe months, til he felt like himself again.

He couldn’t wait that long.

Patience is a virtue and Stefano had none left to give. Anger and restlessness ate at him, awaiting for the moment he had control of his life once more. He hated not being able to put full effort into his work, and he especially hated that it was his own fault. There was nothing to blame but his own reckless ambitions. ‘Guilt is an ugly thing’ , he thought. Sighing, he continued his shower, nursing the wounds on his face. Cleaning them gently, he familiarized himself to his still new features. This was his life now. Disfigured and damaged. But he supposed that the most beautiful things in the world were almost always imperfect. However, he always found it quite hard to apply his own ideologies to himself.

Turning off the water, Stefano stepped out carefully and dried himself off. He re-bandaged his right eye as precisely as he could in the early morning hours and made his way to get dressed for the day. He had a decently full schedule of work ahead of him, and though his doctor pleaded that he’d take it easy, Stefano knew that fully diving into back into his work routine would bring him closer to closing the gap between the past and present versions of himself. No medicine or therapy appointments would heal him quite like holding a camera in his hand. So he packed his bag and gathered his equipment, muttering small encouraging words to himself. It would be a long day, but perhaps it was a step in the right direction.

[ladysophiebeckett]

this is what i think would have happened had there been a 5th season:

caroline was for sure gonna run out on randy to be with richard

richard would have ruined it by assuming that caroline would still move to italy to be with him and caroline would have been like 'no??? ur insane??'

so now caroline has officially ran out on 2 weddings but her parents say it was 3 bc they still count richard

richard is forced by del to come back to work for him bc del owns richard's work and starts putting it on greeting cards for a new market (funeral cards) and it's booming.

so now u have richard and caroline both working in the same building, making greeting cards. and its awkward.

single father richard\stefano plot line where caroline hangs out with them and strangers assume she's the mother. and its super awkward but so sweet bc richard will look at her like he used to when he was pining in s1 but caroline doesn't notice.

randy sues caroline for leaving him at the altar plotline and she has to go back to pestigo to settle it and richard flies out after her bc its his fault that she's getting sued. caroline settles it by selling the house to randy as symbol of her letting go of things and learning to move on. richard overhears this and he feels bad bc he remembers that she bought it when they were still together and she wanted a future with him. its a sad episode. u get it. u see my vision.

annie and del get engaged somewhere but they get married by xmas. caroline is both the maid of honor and del's best man. charlie rollerblades into their wedding ceremony right as the 'forever hold your peace' bit. (insert 90's gay joke insinuating charlie was for del). ceremony continues. fast forward to reception where richard's tricked into giving a speech and he brings up sincere amore while looking at caroline. episode ends with them kissing. (xmas reconciliation)

this is just covers the first half of a never s5 but obviously it ends with them together,bc duh. that was always gonna happen.

[emma-radfemcanu]

Anyway I’m sad because the US Open final is tomorrow and I really don’t want either of them to win lol- I have an irrational dislike of Carlos Alcaraz, not because of him personally but because his fanbase are so annoying and obnoxious, and I’ve gone off Casper Ruud for similarly irrational reasons because I feel like he’s got unfairly lucky this year

Like the RG draw was super unbalanced and he really lucked out, and the same thing happened here- obviously it’s not his fault and he’s by no means a bad player. Honestly a lot of this is me being bitter that my fave (Stefanos) hasn’t won a slam yet but objectively his draw at RG last year was much harder than either of the draws Casper has had this year. Obviously it’s the win that matters not the way you got there, but idk it doesn’t seem fair that people act like Stef is underperforming when in reality he had 3 tough opponents (Medvedev, Zverev, Djokovic) in a row whereas Casper didn’t face a single top 10 player until either final...

For clarification, neither Carlos or Casper are bad players at all and they both seem perfectly nice, this is largely me being bitter lol, but nonetheless I am annoyed- especially if Carlos wins a slam before Stef does we will never hear the end of it 

[stateofsport211]

Perugia Ch R1: Stefano Travaglia [LL] def. Dominic Thiem [4/WC] 2-6, 7-6(6), 6-1 Match Stats

📸 ATP Challenger Livestream (via website)

Thiem appeared to be in control of the flow until the middle of the second set tie-breaker, where his error sprees started to hit and Travaglia was able to bring more pressure to his shots. As a result, not only Travaglia entirely shifted the moment, but also the Italian won the match altogether.

Although Thiem scored 2 more aces than Travaglia, both players won 65% of their points from their first serves. On the other hand, Travaglia kept his service game consistent by winning, also, 65% of his points from his second serves (20% more than Thiem). Thiem's 2 double faults were not it, as well as his shot rushes afterward.

Speaking of Thiem's shot rushes, they also played a role in shifting the moment under pressure, especially toward the end of the match. Since then, Travaglia had two times more opportunities to break than Thiem (14 to 7), successfully converting 3 of them, which all came in the third set at the expense of Thiem's errors. However, Travaglia's shot winners (including the two volleys at the end of the second set tie-breaker), signifying his level-raise and better aggression than the first set, also played a part in opening the path or creating the opportunities to break, which paid off by the end of the match.

In the second round, Travaglia will face Francesco Maestrelli, who earlier defeated Renzo Olivo 7-5, 6-4. While this might or might not be a possible run according to the draw, taking into account this was his first Top 100 win after a year, post-injury comebacks have never been easy for both players. Travaglia had one Challenger final earlier this year as a wild card in Tenerife 3, for the record, which could be a boost for this run.

[sbknews]

Sasaki slams down the gauntlet to take second win of the season

The Japanese rider overcomes two Long Laps and slices back through from P24 to just pip compatriot Suzuki, with Muñoz third. Ayumu Sasaki (Sterilgarda Husqvarna Max) directed a true Spielberg masterpiece in the CryptoDATA Motorrad Grand Prix von Österreich, with the number 71 overcoming two Long Laps to slice back through the field from outside the top 20 and take the win. His second victory of the season, it was some statement. Tatsuki Suzuki (Leopard Racing) came a very close second as he homed in to within 0.064, with David Muñoz (BOE Motorsports) completing the podium. Deniz Öncü (Red Bull KTM Tech3) took the early lead from the front row before Sasaki took over at the front, but the number 71 was quickly given his notification to do his double Long Lap given for causing the collision at Silverstone. He dropped back into the classic freight train and made his way forward again, and then repeated the feat with some fastest laps all set one after the other. As low as P24 at one point, by Lap 10 the Japanese rider was back into the top six, and by 11 to go he was back in the lead. Suzuki was on his tail as Öncü held third and Izan Guevara (Autosolar GASGAS Aspar) vs teammate and points leader Garcia raged behind in the group. Drama then hit with 7 to go for Jaume Masia (Red Bull KTM Ajo) as he crashed out, leaving nine riders in the front group before it split into two groups of four; Ivan Ortola (Angeluss MTA Team) fading slightly in the last few. Sasaki, Suzuki, Öncü and Muñoz were the first, with Garcia, Diogo Moreira (MT Helmets - MSI), Guevara and polesitter Daniel Holgado (Red Bull KTM Ajo) in the second. Starting the final lap, Sasaki led Suzuki, with Öncü fending off Muñoz. The first mover was Muñoz as he got past Öncü, and the Turk locked on to fight back. But the four were absolutely on the limit, and in the end the tension stayed high but the positions remained the same. Sasaki just, just stayed ahead to the line as Suzuki tried to draft but couldn't, the Husqvarna rider able to complete the fairtyle - from the lead to 21st and back to the lead, holding on for victory. Muñoz was able to keep third and take another impressive rookie podium, with Öncü forced to settle for fourth but maintaining his record of big points hauls in 2022 - and his record of being the sole scorer in every race. Garcia finishes in fifth place to gain a few points on teammate Guevara, who took P7. Moreira split the two in another impressive show of speed from the rookie Brazilian, and Holgado, from his first pole, was P8 and just 0.035 behind Guevara over the line. John McPhee (Sterilgarda Husqvarna Max) took ninth ahead of Kaito Toba (CIP Green Power), with both passing Ortola. A second behind the Spaniard, Dennis Foggia (Leopard Racing) had a tough day at the office, taking P12 and only a few points. Ryusei Yamanaka (MT Helmets - MSI), Xavier Artigas (CFMoto Racing PrüstelGP) and Stefano Nepa (Angeluss MTA Team) completed that group and the points scorers in Spielberg. Sasaki struck back in style on Sunday, and he's now fourth overall - only 55 off the top and six behind Foggia. What will San Marino bring? We'll find out in two weeks!

Moto3™ PODIUM 1 Ayumu Sasaki (Sterilgarda Husqvarna Max) - Husqvarna - 39'03.516 2 Tatsuki Suzuki (Leopard Racing) - Honda - +0.064 3 David Muñoz (BOE Motorsports) - KTM - +0.292 Ayumu Sasaki: "I don’t know, I just never gave up. Last week in Silverstone, I made a mistake, it was my fault, and I got penalised. This season has been really tough for me but every hurdle in front of me, I am overcoming, and today I just didn’t give up. I got here on Friday knowing I had a penalty but still I thought, ‘Okay, then I have to be faster than anyone else, and then win the race.’ I think my attitude was very good all weekend. I rode by myself in qualifying and had incredible pace. Fortunately, it was dry, and incredibly, every lap, I didn’t make a mistake. Even on the last lap, I was faster than in qualifying, which is incredible. I just want to say thank you to all the people. It’s a home race for KTM and for my sponsor, Red Bull, so it’s just incredible and hopefully we can catch the front guys in the Championship in the last seven races.." For more Moto3 info checkout our dedicated Moto3 News page Or visit the official MotoGP website motogp.com Read the full article

[solo-net]

Stefano has never once considered that he could possibly do anything to anyone that could cause a disturbance, so when suddenly his relationship or friendship is put to the test, it's always and only due to the other party's fault.

He’ll find fault in everyone but himself, and if anyone blames him, he’ll snub them for even considering this. Stefano blame others for everything that has ever gone wrong in his life, and owning up to his own garbage will never happen.

[persimmononroll]

“The Harlan isn’t accepting visitors at this time,” comes the nasally voice on the other side of the intercom. “You’ll have to come back another time.”

Neht does not curse because she refuses to display any sign of weakness in her husband’s domain (she loves him dearly, really, but there is still a part of her that wants to destroy that man completely and utterly, especially when he hides behind his assassins when he doesn’t want to deal with something, which is often) but she does pointedly glare at the microphone as she leans out of the window closer to the speaker.

"I hardly need to make an appointment to see my own husband,” she says, perhaps a little too coldly considering that it’s hardly the Italian’s fault that her husband is an absolute trainwreck. “You will open these gates and I will talk to the Harlan and there is nothing he can do about it.”

“Hi, Uncle Stefy!” exclaims the pudgy little girl in the backseat, Jodie’s ears perking up at the familiar voice. She hasn’t been maintaining the distinction between cat and vampire very well lately and Neht frets terribly about that because however will he send her off to school if she turns back into a cat mid-lesson? He’s homeschooled her so far but he thinks she’d thrive better with more socialization.

"Oh, the baby is here! Hey, babe, wake up! The baby is here! Babe? Oh, he’s really conked out, wow. Hiiii, Jodie-Podie~” says the assassin, sing-song, before he remembers his job. “Look, ma’am, the boss is the one signing my paychecks. I’m just doing what he tells me to do. If he says no visitors, then no visitors.”

“Yes, and you’re doing a marvelous job, Stefano, I really do appreciate the work you two do for him, but...Jodie, would you be a dear and put your headphones on? Listen to a very fun song, whatever you like. Mommy and Daddy must discuss very boring things meant only for adults to hear and you won’t like it much.”

Jodie, bless her, never likes being told what to do but even still, she shifts back into a more vampiric ear configuration and slips her headphones on to listen to one of the little boy bands the children like these days.

“Harlan, I know you’re listening, you wretched old bat,” Neht hisses once he’s certain their daughter isn’t listening. He speaks in Vampiric -and not only that but the dialect of Anachrom that’s near-incomprehensible to those neither well-studied on ancient tongues or raised in the heart of the Egregorical wastelands- but even still, he's not certain how much of the language his daughter had picked up. The assassin will, of course, be spoken to in English as he only speaks their ancestral tongue as a third language at best and certainly not the variant spoken now.

“If you do not open the doors this instant, I will personally see to it that all of your holdings come to ruin, that none shall ever speak of you ever again, that your forest burns and your land is salted. I will rip out your heart with my own teeth and devour it raw. I will not give your body the dignity of the flames. I will cast your bones out for the vultures to pick over. Do not test me. Stefano, open the gates.”

"No. Absolutely not. Stefano will do no such thing. I permit only Jodie to enter,” comes the imperious voice of his husband, the former ambassador of the Daughters of Egregori to the other, less enlightened families before the great upheaval eliminated his position and rendered all his years of conditioning and training completely meaningless.

“And I’d like to see you try. You haven’t killed me yet. What makes you so certain you can do it now? Yours is the coward’s way. Fight me in righteous combat and we shall see who triumphs here.”

“Do not forget you are permitted to live under my will only. The only reason I have not driven my blade through your heart is because it pleases me to see what you’ve become. Stefano, be a dear and open the gates or I will open them for you,” growls Neht.

"...Boss, I feel like I’m getting in the middle of your marital issues. Hey, do you think I could just take a little break and maybe get a snack or something while you two figure this predicament out? A little snicky-snack? Please?”

“Our marriage holds strong and it would do you well to follow our example, Stefano. A beast tends to the needs of his base needs of his belly when the adversary beats down his door. Are you a man? Or are you a beast?”

“Stefano may enjoy a snack if he so wishes, Harlan. Stefano, my poor and sweet darling, make yourself a hot cup of spiced blood just as you like it.”

“He doesn’t need a snack. He had enough at lunch,” his husband declares. “Angel, you will not bring that thing inside. Put it back where it came from. I don’t want to look at it. Don’t leave it here.”

“...Aw, man, can we stop discussing my eating habits? I’m just trying to do my job, Boss.”

“Open the gates and I’ll fund a trip to Fisney Land, Stefano,” Neht says even though she definitely doesn’t have the money for that.

“Stefano doesn’t want to go to Fisney Land. He would like to go to the World of Fisney, which I will fund when he does not open the gates so that he may go to the second, fake Italy to be amongst his own kind.”

“Oh, oh geeze, would you look at that? Would you just look at that? It looks like there’s a threat over there somewhere. I better go investigate that. Byyyyye!”

“Stefano, you worthless scum, get back here at once and defend me! Fine. Be that way. Useless. Pointless. Ought to dock your pay. I’m going to take you back to Italy and let the Christians point crosses at you or whatever they do. Stefano! Do you hear me? You are scum. Scum. Not even fit to clean my floors.”

Jodie shrugs her headphones off, frustrated that this is taking so long.

“Mommy hates Jodie? Daddy hates her? They are cruel? They do not love her? Daddy does not let her inside? Mommy does wickedness and makes her, a baby, be in the car with not even any snacks?”

She sniffles a little for dramatic effect, though her eyes are suspiciously dry, Neht’s daughter through and through.

“My child, we do not have snacks because we have already eaten the snacks. Come on, let’s have none of that, dear girl, we-”

“Jodetha,” his Harlan interrupts because he’s a rude creature. “You are the triumph of my line and the crowning jewel of all the ancestors who came before you, radiant in your glory. Before the Fall, a child such as you would be raised in fine splendor by the strictest of tutors so that you might grow up to be the voice and will incarnate of Anachrom itself -no, why stop at that, you would speak for all that are and all that were, certainly- but sadly you must be raised by flawed creatures such as us and be denied your proper station in life. All that I can offer now is a feast. Stefano! Come back at once! Why aren’t you opening the gates for my daughter and my angel? Do you expect me to press this button myself? It has germs on it. I will not die of illness.”

Neht sighs because the thought of his child growing up to become a thoughtless tool like her father is a terrible thing (and his Harlan comes so close to realizing that at times before he abruptly shuts off that line of thought because he may be elderly now and he may be a lot better than how he used to be but that doesn’t mean he’s shrugged off all his indoctrination; everything about the man makes so much sense when you remember a cult raised him in a tower) and it’s very, very good indeed that her husband’s former position has been eliminated (because the Egregori do not communicate with other Families anymore and therefore no longer raise a non-infected child to become a carefully monitored mouthpiece, cut off from most aspects of society) but it isn’t proper to argue about such things when Jodie is paying attention, so she pulls through the gates to park in the garage of the little beige house.

Her husband doesn’t live there, of course, though his assassins maintain the decoy house and have really fixed up the place splendidly. The Harlan lives in the secret underground bunker so enemies that no longer exist won’t come after him. That might’ve included her once upon a time but considering they married, she supposes she won’t kill him after all despite all their not-very-serious threats. She could, of course. It wouldn’t even be hard. You could just push him over, honestly. She wouldn’t even have to draw her sword or even poison his tea. Really, a stiff breeze could knock the man over and she’d get all of his life insurance money.

“Jodie, can you be a very helpful girl and carry the diaper bag for me so that everyone sees how strong you are?” she asks as she helps her out of the car. She’s getting a lot bigger but even still, she seems so tiny. She wonders if that’s normal but there’s probably no normal when your daughter is a cat. She never felt like she knew what she was doing with Jesseth and she certainly feels out of her element with her youngest.

“I am mighty,” Jodie says solemnly as she accepts her burden.

Neht struggles with the car seat for a bit but then they go in at last: witch, cat, and the baby she technically kidnapped.

[brooklynislandgirl]

📝 for the answering of applicable questions, please!

~Quietly, in the Lower Garden District~

~Colour~

The man behind the counter is ready to reach over and strangle her. She can see it in his expression, so put upon by each time she shakes her head and asks if she can have another sample made. She almost wishes he would try, he'd lose more than the hour that she's been at this. That might be uncharitable of her but the man reminds her of the kind of person who, when not wearing his little vest, is exactly the kind of person who sees Beth and Anakin walking down the street together and curls a lip, makes passing commentary to other middle-age white guys. Too poor, too weird, too questionably ethnic to suit them. The kind of person who would walk faster when it got dark, or would lock up before they could make it to a door. There's more of those than either one of them care to acknowledge, and the irony is almost delicious. Except that sometimes Anakin cannot help but to be very aware of that kind of prejudice and it really takes another chunk out of his self-confidence.

"Allow me to explain again," she says softly, in crisp and enunciated haole. "I said I want a very specific shade of blue. A hint of royal with a tinge of cadet number five. Then mix at the edges a touch of Prussian and just enough Turkish Steel to give that depth soft edges. Then overly sky atop it all. Or better yet, please find me a customer service specialist who can, in fact, understand what I am looking for because clearly? You're not it." That might be her fault, she does want to paint the living room the exact shade of Anakin's eyes.

~Song~

She doesn't play as well as Andy could, and she would never be a singer though she enjoyed it maybe because it was more about intent than execution, one of the few things that held true in absolute. And sometimes neither one really mattered when he folded himself up like an envelope just so he could rest his head against her chest and instead of plucking strings, she only ran fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and she focuses hers across the back yard. Beyond the pool and past the grass. Colours blur and fade and there's a ripple of dissonance within the Tapestry to make a boundary between what is solid and inflexible and what is hidden in a space outside of the Tellurian. Words they don't use in every day conversation. She isn't quite singing now instead humming a tune that would reveal more than maybe they're ready to dive into. Other words they don't use, either. Her palm comes to rest on his brow as tender as she knows how. The other reaches around him to tuck one of the knitted blankets around him. He doesn't seem to mind the combination of warmth between herself and the acrylic, is maybe the only other person who could be cold in anything else less than 80 degrees and 90% humidity. It takes an infinite amount of patience, skill, and mana to redirect the rain to a different part of the city. He'll forgive her weariness even if he doesn't understand why she will go to bed early, sleep in late. And that's okay. He doesn't need to know. It's better if he doesn't, it would spoil the gift. 'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home.

~Scent~ The balcony door is open letting muggy air move sluggishly in through the French doors. Beneath her the bed is a little too stiff for comfort. Her laptop almost too warm as it rests on her thighs and only serves to remind her that she should probably get out of the charcoal grey suit she's wearing. She closes the screen and pulls her glasses off, raising them so they rest in her hair. Takes a sip of the wine she'd bought at...some store she won't remember the name of... but that came recommended by the bellhop.

She didn't have the forethought before leaving for Baton Rouge to steal borrow something to bring along. For reasons that she didn't want to explain because there's no very polite way to explain she's grown used to having him sleep beside her. That there's something soothing that comes wafting up from his skin the closer he gets, arm wrapped around her, leg half thrown over. At the end of a day there's his natural chemistry that mixes with clean laundry and cigarette smoke, something sweet and spicy from his preferred night cap. Sometimes there's blood. Sometimes the distinct smell of wood or metal from something he's working on for himself, the kind of tinkering that seems to bring him peace like nothing else can. There isn't an exact name for it but she can recognise it at a thousand paces. It makes her want to burrow furtively into his chest cavity and find some way to live inside of that newly hollowed out space. Maybe just thinking about it was all she needed. Maybe it's some new kind of magick trick. Regardless, she'd managed to doze off just long enough to be startled when the door of her hotel room clicks shut and he's there. Pulled out of her day dreams and turned into flesh. With exactly the kind of apologetic grin she's become as familiar with as she is the smell of him. "Guess, I jus' couldn't sleep." And she knows there's more going on behind the sheepish look, and the way he stands at a polite distance away, maybe waiting for permission. She doesn't say a word. Only turns down the previously pristine other side of the bed before slipping from hers. The white silk blouse hits the floor seconds before she disappears into the bathroom.

~Meme~ She eyes Anakin. Looks at her phone. Back and forth for five solid minutes before she just starts giggling. Which turns into a laugh.

~Sound~ It's those little sub-vocalisations that get her. Every near guttural groan, every single one of those breathless whimpers that cling to the edges of her senses soft as cobwebs or hard as thunder. There are so many layers between them, so much context to be drawn from even a half of a sigh. They are a siren song even if she doesn't know what rocks he wants her to dash herself on.

~Setting~

She cringes. "I don' wanna tell ya." He's helping her work on a psychological profiling assessment that's required of her continuing education class, which is all part of her professional development. But she's worried because it's going to sound incredibly racist, coming as it is not from a white-passing woman of colour but one of incredible privilege who absolutely knows what it's going to sound like. But she cannot resist the look of self-accusation and anxiety that creeps into his micro-expressions and doing anything else would feel incredibly dishonest. Something she doesn't want to foster in him. "Somewhere 'round sunset. Da bayou waddah look like it on fire. Dere's some soft Zydeco music goin' on in da backdrop. Air's hot an' heavy like steam 'tween lovers an' if ya real quiet, can hear da bayou jus' come alive wi' oddah souls. Dere's pirogues bobbin' along, an' you can smell some ono grindz cookin' somewhere. Spanish moss all hangin' down from cypress an' willow trees. A mixture of old spirituals an' dat beautiful, melodic pidgin dat get spoke down dere...I know is nevah really li'dat.... also make me t'ink of witch blood an' Mokole dat pass as gators... all dem ghosts an' da kine ya nevah can put ya finger on but dat give ya chicken skin jus' t'inkin' 'bout..." ~Fashion Style~

Clothes litter her floor. Flung without a care to their resting places. Some on the edge of her bed or the arm of a chair. Suits and jeans and tee-shirts. Undergarments and socks. Like some small hurricane exploded out of the closet, just with less water. There's sarongs too. Luau shirts that just aren't him. Shoes too. Finally, she steps back and examines her handiwork. A frame work of satin boxers that will caress the most delicate parts of him without bunching or pinching. An accent of which are picked up in the suit lapels and bow tie. White shirt, black buttons. Silver cuff-links. Socks that are thin as a Friday night prayer, and absolutely voluptuous Paolo Scafora oxfords in a blue so dark they look black at first glance, polished to a mirror gloss. Dior and Stefano Ricci. Famous labels from famous houses of style.

If the gala wasn't required...Anakin wouldn't be seeing the light of day and there'd be very different reasons the clothes would be laying scattered about.

But she kind of also misses that scruffy plain, slightly tattered tee-shirt and skinny jeans even she would have a hard time getting up past her own hips, and questionably aged converse. Aesthetically speakin, Anakin is ever clothing designer's wet dream and she has never wanted to be a circular scarf more in her life. "Wow. Jus'....wow." ~Feeling~

"Belonging."

It's all she says before she kisses him. Softly and sweetly, a little wet from a stray tear that slips down between their lips. Admitting this is admitting that maybe, just maybe, she loves him, too. Which puts a countdown on everything. Which means that he's going to find the wherewithal to leave her and to take with him every that makes her feel even the littlest bit real. She doesn't know if she'll survive the loss, so it's best that she make the most of it before he goes. ~Animal~ "If you were one dem changing breeds? You'd be a were-fossa. Dey are dese medium sized ....well. Dey kinda look like cats, but also...dey don't. Related to da civet but also like...mongooses. Mongeese? Wha'evah. Dey from Madagascar. Da Malagasy got kapu of a kind an' actually are sorta afraid of dem, an' wi' good reason...dey carnivorous ay-eff." She glances over. "Don' laugh! Dey beautiful an' rare an' I really like dem a lot. An' I'm not gonna tell ya any more about dem. Gonna make a new animal, an' call it a' Anakin." There is every possibility that she will do this. Some day.

~Holiday~ Christmas. It will always be Christmas. Not the lights and snow and carollers, though there's plenty of that to go around. Not the chill and dank air, not the interminably long night, not even because of gifts. It's not a childhood of Santa surfing or canoeing, and it isn't sandcastles and malasadas left by the lanai doors from Hawai'i, either. Maybe it's a touch of the peace and goodwill often associated with the season, and how he came to find her when he needed her the most. But if she had to give just one reason, it's that he brought her back a sense of wonder that she'd thought was lost when her world had shattered. He took something terrible and turned it into something beautiful. That isn't an ordinary, every day kind of magick and she doesn't know how she will ever be able to express her love and gratitude for him.

"Wha'ya t'ink about mebbe da Bahamas dis year? Get out of da city for a lil while, I promise I won' make ya go for da beach."

~Season~

When Beth thinks of seasons, she thinks of it being a mainland phenomenon. Her own islands only really have two: Kau from May to October, where everything is beautiful and averages about 85 degrees give or take, and Ho'oilo from November to April when the best tides bring in the biggest waves. It's only cooler by about ten degrees. Which is maybe why she always feels so cold so far away from home. And why she likes it here so much. She knows other places have as many as six seasons, broken up into more agricultural and solar tied patterns of weather and climate and sometimes even just spiritual nature. But taking all of Anakin into account, she would have to say... "Monsoon. It's da time of life-giving rains. But also it can be dangerous for the same reason. Cool but lingers along your skin. An' it's somet'ing I keep wi' me always, waitin' for it."

[halloweenismyfav]

《 Decided to make this based on this post right here! This was also a lot harder than I thought for some of my OCs. You also get to see OCs I haven't even posted yet...》

Pros and Cons Of Dating My OCs

✔ Pros ✔

❥ She'll make sure people who are mean to you never hurt you again.

❥ Gamer girl.

❥ She'll be like that best-friend-girlfriend.

❌ Cons ❌

❥ She's hard to get close to, so it'll take a while for her to even hold your hand or say "I love you".

❥ She'll curse you out in arguments and will hit you where it hurts just so she'll win.

❥ She'll get snippy with you easily.

Thorn Valley

✔ Pros ✔

❥ He'll pick out your outfits for you or paint your nails if you ask him.

❥ If anyone hurts you, he probably has some kind of dirt on them, so you have nothing to worry about~

❥ Can and will call you sweet petnames.

❌ Cons ❌

❥ He probably has dirt on you too, so he'll use said dirt on you in arguments.

❥ He's really touchy and doesn't really know what boundries are.

❥ He'll somehow make something you had no correlation with your fault.

Ashe Aspen

✔ Pros ✔

❥ Hugs all the time~

❥ He'll protect you from anything, just say the word.

❥ He'll always attempt to make even your worse days better.

❌ Cons ❌

❥ Similar to Thorn, he's really touchy.

❥ He'll unintentionally insult you at times.

❥ He'll cry if you say something mean to him and then he'll give you the silent treatment for days, even if you apologize.

Marius Seymour

✔ Pros ✔

❥ He'll take you swimming, which also means showing you his mer-form.

❥ He'll make you little handmade gifts.

❥ He'll sit with you and talk when he has breaks on his shifts at Monstro Lounge.

❌ Cons ❌

❥ He may accidently slap you during an argument if he's really heated, but he feels horrible later on.

❥ If you're doing something the slightest bit "wrong", he'll point it out.

✔ Pros ✔

❥ He'll make small comments that don't really sink in until later when you're alone.

❥ She'll cook for you without question.

❥ Loves to dote on you.

❥ She'll sing to you if you're having trouble sleeping at night.

❌ Cons ❌

❥ She won't tell you if something is wrong, so she'll constantly leave you in the dark.

❥ You may get jealous at how close she is with Stefano since she dotes on him a bit too.

❥ If you get into an argument and she has a blank expression on her face, you two might as well take a break for a bit.

Celeste ???

✔ Pros ✔

❥ She constantly will give you small treats her parents have made.

❥ She'll play the piano for you, ask for a specfic song and she'll learn it just for you.

❥ Her Pokemon will probably trust you, which is a big deal.

❌ Cons ❌

❥ She constantly apologizes for the smallest things due to how she was raised.

❥ Her Pokemon hating you will be the death of you and/or the end of the relationship.

❥ She's terrible at listening, so she may drift off, even if the conversation is important.

Giselle Maeweather

✔ Pros ✔

❥ You'll never be left in the dark.

❥ You get to meet all the creatures from her class.

❥ She's really sweet and will always love you.

❌ Cons ❌

❥ She's more like a princess than a villain, which means she believes in the whole "prince and true love's kiss" thing, so she has high expectations for you.

❥ She hates being alone, so she's pretty much attached to your hip.

❥ If you seem to be cheating on her, she'll threaten to leave you with no mercy.

[ofromans]

『 finn cole. twenty-two. cismale. he/him. 』 oh heavens, is that ROMAN COSTA from SYCAMORE WAY i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them -CONNIVING & -UNBRIDLED. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool UNEMPLOYED and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been +STAUNCH & +ASTUTE. i hope i see them around again! 『 jean. 22. est. she/her. 』

hi squad , hope you’re all having a solid day <3 , i’m jean & this is my brand spankin’ new baby boy roman . i’m throwing a few random tidbits and things below but will be writing up a full blown bio once i have some more time to rly dive in . come thru & let’s party ? PLOT ?

tw : addiction !

he’s the son of STEFANO ( his intro here ) , rock star & basically best bud . he has two half-siblings now ( both just babies ) that his almost new mom left @ their doorstep for his dad to raise ( and he likes to think he helps out a bit too ). 

his biological mother left him and his old man when he was born , not knowing her at all ( and yes , resentful for it ). his dad’s recent fiance ( ex - fiance ) also left the family behind for whatever reason without a trace so yes - you guessed it , roman has mommy issues / abandonment issues galore :-)

growing up as the son to a famous musician had its perks ( the money of COURSE & heading on tour with the coolest dude ever , the social media fame , people treating you differently ) , but it also had some downsides ( the money , the fame ( paps are the Worst !!! ) , and people treating you differently ). funny how those are so similar . although stefano did / does his best as a dad to keep things as normal as possible - it’s somewhat out of his control . roman felt some pressure to act a certain way ( especially if the paparazzi was around - picture a lil kid with cameras flashing in his eyes ok ) , on social media as that came with a built-in following , and he never truly knew who to trust as they got close to him ( a) because of the mommy issues probably, afraid of close relationships & b) are they in it for him or for the money / fame / etc ? )

growing up in the world’s greatest city ( new york ), meant that he had access to everything at his fingertips . and he loved it . a bit of an adrenaline junkie , he loved the excitement , craved the flashing lights when he left & never once had a dull moment . ( except for when he slept in until ... noon , sometimes ). new york perhaps did make him grow up a bit quicker than most though , and roman found himself mixing with some of the wrong crowds / some of the older crowds while he was just shy of a teen . at this point , the alcohol & drugs didn’t seem major as he was still able to keep his average grades up & be the great son / brother he was expected to be  - but during college ( he stayed in nyc and went to nyu ) began his downfall of reliance and commitment to drugs . he became more than just the life of the party , and instead , unhealthy + dangerous  - to himself and those around him . you see , his father and family moved down to his soon to be absent mother’s hometown - mapleview , and roman obviously chose to stay in school , to stay in his home - new york . who would want to move to a place in the middle of nowhere that has the name maple in it ? and with his dad’s fiance who he was never all too found of ? anyway . hitting rock bottom felt repetitive & with his father away ,  it was all too easy to hide the regretful mornings & flunking grades . UNTIL a wild night turned into one with roman thrown into jail with one phone call . after his court ordered rehab & probation ( still on probation tbh ) , roman and his father decided that it’d be best if he moved down to mapleview for a bit after all . ( i wouldn’t say he’s the happiest & it’s p clear that he’s on outsider .... but he’s making the best of it ! plus it seems he came back at the perfect time - now his father being the sole caretaker of the babies . ) he’s been here now for about 6-7 months .

personality wise , i’d say he’s a bit harsh , definitely aware of who he is & a bit cocky . he’s extremely sarcastic / snarky ( i like to think a bit like tony stark tbh ) & doesn’t take all too much seriously . on the bright side , he is loyal to a fault and would do absolutely anything for his half-siblings & especially his father . probably the first to throw a punch in a fight that he knows he’ll lose . he’s intelligent ( though he didn’t get the musical skills that his father has ) , and is able to read people pretty well . he’s blunt , but hardly means to be rude ( even tho it may come off as such ) . roman’s curious by nature & will ask questions that may come off as judgmental ... basically know what he says ≠ what he means , but will still just laugh it off without apology if they’re offended . he’s also ... fun , courageous ! and willing to do anything to get the adrenaline his body craves . 

some headcanons ! loves : thunderstorms , rolled cigarettes , morning sun , good cell service , new sneakers , 90s grunge & euro-dance music , new york sports , going live on instagram , sunglasses , fast cars . // hates : his bad eyesight , shy people , littering , the smell of gasoline , long lines , flip-flops , skiing , cracking knuckles , singing shows , man-buns .  

wanted :

the next-door neighbor ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

the drug dealer ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

good influence ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

the previous boss ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

when roman first got to mapleview , this person hired him graciously . unfortunately , due to whatever circumstances , also had to fire him just a few short months later .

the friends with benefits ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

can have multiple of these tbh , with mommy issues , i assume he’s a bit all over the place in this department .

the enabler ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

this person would be somewhat of a bad influence on roman , especially since he’s still on probation . maybe wanting to take him out to bars / clubs / for a drink . or just doing things that aren’t on the ~legal side of the world .

the enemy ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

can have multiple , of course !

the childhood friend  ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

if anyone is from nyc :~)

the challenger ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

someone else with a sharp mouth, who refuses to accept any of his shit. catch them arguing or fighting every time they’re in a room together. it’s always been that way.

the match ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

tinder plot !

the baby-sitter  ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

the person that helps watch the twins when dad / roman are unable to .

the user  ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

someone that’s using him for something , whether that be to get closer to his father / his studio , for the money / fame , literally anything .

the heartache  ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

a relationship where the fell hard & fast and of course it went south fast .

the adventure sidekick  ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

gimmie those 3am adventures !

the secret  ( TAKEN BY OPEN )

for whatever reason , the two have to keep their relationship / them hanging out a secret .

ALL & EVERYTHING !

[consecratedhearts]

From the writings of Thomas à Kempis:

I pray Thee now, O most loving Jesus, my Master and my Lord, that Thou wouldst grant to me who am the chiefest of sinners, and Thy unworthy servant, to meditate with recollected mind upon Thy words so heavenly, and upon Thy doings so vividly set forth. Grant to me especially, I beseech Thee, to bow my most stubborn of necks to the doing of all work, no matter how humble, and to the fulfillment of all duties, no matter how servile; utterly to overcome my pride and false shame, that so I may learn to spend myself in the loving service, not only of my fellow-religious, and of my friends, but also of those who are repulsive to me from defects of mind or body.

May I never think it a great matter to have to ask pardon for my shortcomings, when Thou, my God, wast not ashamed to bend Thy most sacred knees in the presence of Thy disciples, and to wash their feet. Taught, as I am, by Thy example, help me to carry into act what I hear and read of Thee.

But because I am at all points full of faults, and stained with all kinds of evil propensities, I need to be cleansed from my sins by a washing of exceeding thoroughness. To Thee, therefore, do I stretch forth my hands; and with the knees of my heart humbly bent before Thee, I pray Thee that Thou wouldst vouchsafe to wash carefully and thoroughly, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head; for in many ways have I sinned against Thee, by thought and by speech, both in what I have done and in what I have left undone. Wash me, therefore, O my Jesus, from all the filth of my sins, cleanse me from every defilement, whether of body or of soul; that so, being made clean from head to foot, I may be found meet (appropriate) to have part with Thee, in that everlasting joy, which Thou hast promised to all Thy loved ones, who in times of temptation have held fast to Thee.

Give me also, I pray Thee, an understanding heart, that I may be able fully to comprehend that most sweet discourse, which Thou didst speak at the Supper: for its words are indeed words breathing love most fervent, comfort the sweetest, and wisdom the most exalted. So write Thy new commandment upon the tables of my heart, that my soul may be on fire with the twofold love which it enjoins: strengthen me in every trouble that may come upon me, and in place of this world's joys, fill me with the most sweet comfort of Thy Holy Spirit. Give me that true peace of heart, which the world cannot give; give me the Spirit, the Paraclete, Whom the world seeth not, neither knoweth. Come, O Lord Jesus, and deign to make Thy abode with me, that Thou in me, and I in Thee, we may dwell together in one.

(painting: "Christ Washing the Disciples' Feet" by Giovanni Stefano Danedi)

[artboitrash]

His Bloody Rose (Stefano Valentini fanfiction) Chapter 3 - Working Day

Days passed since I had met Stefano on my Wednesday shift; the weekend came and let me move through the motions of daily life. I never ended up looking up his name. While I was curious, I didn't need to go snooping around for information on a stranger.

I sat quietly in the gallery the following Monday, scrolling through my Facebook page, absentmindedly wondering about some more distant friends that I didn't interact with online. Everything, as far as I was aware, was going smoothly in my classes, and I didn't have anything too pressing for the next few weeks. Pet pictures and photos of family members went through my feed interspersed with articles about politics and science breakthroughs.

A new article posted a few hours ago came across my dash, linked to a statement from the Krimson City's police department about an urgent matter. The headline read "Mutilated Woman's Body Found Over the Weekend - Search for Identity Matches Missing Woman from Krimson City" and continued with an introduction to the article.

I clicked on the link and began to scroll through the story, reading about how the body was missing its arms and head, rendering it as barely more than a torso. A crime scene photo, blurred for those who didn't want to see it, showed her crumpled frame laying in a small pool of blood in an alleyway once the filter was removed. There was barely any blood left, showing that the majority of the wounds and bloodletting occurred elsewhere.

"Due to some defensive wounds, police are saying this person was alive while they were being dismembered. Identity of body suspected to be Genevieve Wavers, a young woman pursuing an acting and modeling career. She was last seen in a bar downtown before disappearing six days ago. The police chief will be making a statement today about the series of murders that have been occurring within our beloved town."

I frown slightly as I continue scrolling, discussing how the family of the woman is reacting to the news, how it hasn't been completely confirmed until the DNA testing comes back conclusive, and discussion of how similar murders have been ongoing within the city.

A serial murderer is an interesting idea to study in terms of true crime interests, but it doesn't actually feel fun when there's a real threat living in your city and walking around as though they are a real person.

I shut out of the tab on my phone. That's enough internet for right now, I don't need to become wildly paranoid. So far I think I'm safe from the supposed serial killer, or whoever is killing and dismembering young women in Krimson. Sure I'm a young woman too, but I doubt I'm the ideal victim for them.

I guess I wouldn't really know that, though.

A student walked into the gallery, meandering in slowly. I sat down my phone, sitting attentive to make sure they knew I was there to answer any questions they might have. The waved slightly at me, acknowledging me, then started to walk around the exhibit.

I turned to my sketchbook, staring at the sketch I had been working on before becoming frustrated and turning to my phone for entertainment. I frowned, then picked up my block eraser and began to erase the entire thing. I didn't like how it was turning out, and I knew I would never come back to it, so might as well get rid of it now before it becomes a mental burden to the book and an embarrassment to me.

The student walked towards the desk, causing me to look up at him. He was a student I was familiar with, as he had been in several of my art classes.

"Hey, it's nice to see you again!" He said with a smile, polite as he usually was.

I nodded towards him. "Always good to see you." I made a mental note that I didn't know or remember his name.

"Do you know what this piece is called?" he held up his phone, showing a photograph of a piece from the last gallery installment. "I meant to get it before it came down, but I wasn't able to remember it, and I've asked around my class that needs the paper, but no one knows what it's called."

Someone else walked in, but I didn't pay attention to them while I was preoccupied with the student in front of me. I knew a few teachers in the art department had set a short paper to talk free form about a piece of their selection. A few other students from other classes have come in with the same question, but I'm normally not helpful. Especially now since this installment has been up for nearly a month. I stared at the photo for a moment, recognizing the image but not remembering the name, then shrugged.

"Sorry, I didn't catch most of the names from the last rotation." I said, leaning back in my seat. "I would recommend talking to your teacher and asking if you could do a paper on one of the pieces from this one."

"Oh, alright..." His voice trailed off, turning his phone to himself to look at the photograph again and scratching his neck.

I smiled halfheartedly, turning my attention the other patron. The student was a woman with long brown hair lingering close to the desk I was sitting at, obviously waiting for my attention. The man I was talking to turned and began to wander around the room to look at the pieces again.

The girl walked to my desk. "Uhm, sorry, but do you have any of the last paintings from the last gallery?"

I shook my head. "Only one or two in the backroom since they were sold, but all the name plates are in a pile in a tray mixed with other rotations."

"Okay. . ." her voice hesitated, then she pulled out her phone from her bag and scrolled through it. "Do you know the name of this one?"

She held out her phone with a photograph from the last installment. It was a different piece from what the other student had asked me to remember, but I was still at a loss for the names. I kept my polite smile but sighed internally. Props to her for not eavesdropping on my last conversation. Working in the gallery is fun, but when someone puts off their paper until a month after their reference is pulled off the walls, I tend to feel like it's not worth it.

"Sorry, no." I said. "I don't know the name. If you need it for a paper, I'd recommend asking your teacher if you can change the subject of the paper."

She nods, then puts her phone away, frowning as though she was embarrassed. "Well, thank you anyway."

She walked out of the gallery, hung head a little. I could tell the poor girl was severely anxious. I slid my mouth to the side. I mentally apologized again, though knowing it wasn't my fault, I felt bad that so many people didn't realize that the gallery attendants weren't completely infallible. If I knew the names of each piece from the last artist, I would certainly help the people that came in and asked. However, for now each of the students were on their own until I can get photographic memory like the phones that didn't capture the names of the pieces the students are trying to reference.

I continue trying to work with a sketch on the now blank page laying open in my sketchbook. I play with the lines, trying to turn light scribbles into a full piece, starting over and trying to use the page as a character sheet or as a thumbnail experiment page for paintings. However, I don't seem to be able to make anything work, and I eventually give up on the now messy and greyed page. Perhaps today just isn't my day to continue my drawings.

I sigh and pick up my phone again. I open Facebook again, scrolling through my feed. I come across some more articles discussing the current climate of fear in Krimson, more talks about who might be the serial killer running amongst the citizens. Comments sections full of "Anyone could have done this, we aren't being told anything by the police" and "These officials don't know how to do their jobs, no wonder multiple serial killers have lived here in the past decade."

I frown and try not to think about the current state of the city. Too many police went missing in one of the last incidents in Krimson, so I'm not surprised if they're understaffed or waiting for new personnel. When there aren't as many people to keep the criminals in check, it seems the criminals will run rampant like an invasive species.

Someone walked into the gallery, causing me to look up. It was my coworker, Angela, come to take my place since my shift was now over. I smiled at her and began to pick up my things. We began to make conversation and talked quietly as I stood to leave the gallery. We made jokes about shared experiences from working the gallery, discussing family life and bonding over mutual things.

Finally, I turned and began to leave for my class. I was sure I had wasted enough time chatting, but when I made connections with people I couldn't help investing whatever time was available to be with them. It was exhausting sometimes, but worth it when I can make a strong connection with someone.

Walking out the door from the gallery, I waved and said "see you" to Angela. I walked a few paces, then walked into something. I backed up, stumbling, trying to regain my balance.

I fell as I failed to regain my composure, stumbling backwards over my own feet. The concrete flooring was cold and unflinching, rather painful as my leg bent roughly underneath me. I heard someone's voice cry out with a loud slamming into the ground that wasn't me. It dawned on me that I had run into a person and knocked them over.

I looked over to the person saying "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

A man with a single eye obscured by his bangs lay in front of me on the floor, now sitting up and staring at me. It was Stefano, and I could see his portfolio from last time laying across the floor where he had dropped it. His face was twisted in rage, a taught frown on his face and visible eyebrow turned down, casting a dark shadow over his eye. Then his face softened, and he began to get up.

"Well, Miss Rose, I didn't expect to see you again today." He spoke through a tense voice, masking almost pure rage coming through as he spoke. He reached for his portfolio as he stood, then brushed his off, patting down some of the dirt his black suit picked up while on the floor. The top button was undone on his pristine shirt collar, the black coat protecting the pure white fabric from a smudge of dirt across his side.

I hurriedly got up, grabbing my book bag, forgetting that I was in a rush to get to my next class. "I'm so, so sorry, I didn't see you while I was walking."

"Nor did I see you." He said, no longer speaking with an enraged tone. "Though, I would recommend you watch where you are going next time. I doubt few would be as forgiving as me."

I blinked, taken aback from his comment.

His face shifted, then a smile spread across his lips. He lifted his portfolio, then gestured me to follow him. I walked with him as he sat down on a bench across the hall from where I had been standing.

"You are responsible for one of my newest creations, bella." he chuckled quietly as I sat down next to him. "After you had shown me those photos from Miss Sally Mann, I was struck with such inspiration that I had to create something new."

I didn't notice how low he was speaking at first. He opened his leather portfolio, the echo of the zipper bouncing through the hall.

"You developed a new photograph, or. . ."

"I created several, though I am only carrying the best with me in this."

He flipped gently through the transparent folders holding his pictures, as though checking to make sure none were damaged from falling. Once he got closer to the ending, he turned the portfolio to me and set it on my lap. Two pictures looked back at me, one of an eye buried under dozens of hands, staring out at the viewer. I stared at it for a moment, seeing the crispness of the shadows meeting and contrasting with the skin tones of the hands and what was visible of the face. The eye shone in terror it seemed, bloodshot, and almost begging to be saved from the inevitable fate of being touched.

A low rumble of laughter came from the man sitting next to me. "I admire your appreciation, but I was speaking about this one." His gloved hand guided me to the opposite page and tapped it slightly.

It was a woman with missing limbs and head dislocated from her body, face obscured by roses and tree leaves. She was wearing a red dress that turned into a river at her feet, simulating a river of blood flowing through a forest. Large trees overlapped and faded into the background, implying that the focus of the woman was that she was part of a waterfall, leaning back in a near bliss at bringing life to the land around her despite her obvious death.

I felt my heart pound, something about the way the girl stood reminded me of the police report and crime photo I had seen earlier. I blinked and shook my head.

"What are your thoughts?" Stefano shattered my train of thought, a smile crossing his face as I looked up at him. "You are the first. To see this newest work of mine."

I turned back to it, taking in the composition of this photograph, ignoring the gnawing thoughts in the back of my head. I stared, taking in the sharp contrast colors, scarlet dress and crimson flowing liquid clashing like a kiss with the warm brown of the trees and cool leaves. I realized there was a ripple of wind, pushing the dress and leaves in movement swaying to the left of the picture.

"It's. . ." my voice trailed off, not sure how to describe the strange feeling it was evoking in me. "Wonderful."

Silence ensued next to me. I saw his face change in my peripheral vision. I could have sworn his smile had fallen to a frown or a neutral expression. I didn't look at him, but kept staring to absorb each detail.

"It's a little busy with all the details in the bark," I traced the weathered trees with all the heavy lines pointing up and down in near parallel lines. "But the shading, and the lighting, and the contrast... It fits the image perfectly. The leaves by her face are so well contrasted to her dress, and her skin stands out perfectly with the trees."

"Perfectly. . ." he whispered.

I looked up at Stefano, seeing he was staring at me. His gaze was intense and almost distant. He wasn't lost in his thoughts, but his eyes were shifting around me as though seeing something. I turned around to see what he was looking at.

Instantly a hand grabbed my chin, pulling my face back around. Stefano's hand had pulled me back around to stare at him, grip firm and unrelenting. He had leaned forward to grab me, and his concentration was partially lost. Soon the intense gaze resumed and looked around my face and passed me. The cool leather shaping my chin didn't leave, holding me in place as he continued to gaze at me. A slight smirk appeared on his lips, causing me to notice, then turn my own gaze away in embarrassment. I could see his green eye widening, in mania or excitement I wasn't sure.

We sat there like that as people passed us, some I noticed were staring since we were both sitting like statues on the bench. I realized a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. Most people caused an uncomfortable feeling when they touched me, like cactus needles rubbing underneath my skin. However, this wasn't being triggered while Stefano held my head in place. I could smell his cologne again more faintly this time and the scent of a photography lab, causing a memory to surface from when I took a traditional photography class for my degree.

Finally he let go of me and I backed up. My back protested as I sat up, realizing he had been pulling me slowly towards him. It popped loudly as I sat straight, pulling away from his figure to grab my bag again.

"Excuse me for that, a new image came to my mind and I had to form it properly." He laughed it off slightly.

I looked down at my watch out of habit, then realized I was several minutes late to my first morning class. I grasped the portfolio, still laying in my lap, and handed it to Stefano who had begun to stand up.

"I'm so sorry, I need to leave. I'm late for my class, and I--"

A hand grabbed mine, pulling me up. The strength of the pull made me land awkwardly into the chest of the man who had grabbed me. I looked up into Stefano's eye, a neutral look on his face, but a strange glint in his eye. He frowned, and his eyes narrowed.

"Well, I too am late, bella Rosa," he said while frowning. "I was on my way to a meeting when you ran into me."

His tone implied he hadn't stopped me again and chose to show me his pictures a few minutes ago.

"But, I shall forgive you," he said quietly as he leaned down. "If only you live up to your charm from the first time we met."

He pressed his lips against my forehead, a hand pressing flat against the back of my head. They were warm and soft against my skin. My eyes fluttered closed, making my other senses more noticeable. I was aware of a warmth in my stomach, something odd and new, like a fire or a sick nauseous feeling spreading through me. I swallowed as a lump formed in my throat. His lips against my forehead were gentle, and they lingered probably a little longer than was socially acceptable. His fingertips twitched against my skull, then pulled away. His lips slid up my forehead as he pulled away, lifting his head. My eyes fluttered back open, still not sure this had really happened.

"Hopefully you are still my good luck charm, bella Rosa." Stefano chuckled, smile stretching to one side of his face. He backed away a little, tucking his portfolio under his left arm. "Perhaps we will meet again, and if we have enough time you may model for me to complete the new image flourishing in my mind."

He walked past me slowly, and I turned with him as he walked away. He turned back and glanced at me with a smile still on his face.

I stood, frozen, as I watched him walk away and disappear around the corner. It took me several moments to recollect myself. I came back to the present as I blinked several times. I ignored the odd ache and burn in my stomach, recollecting my thoughts. I shook my head as I made sure I had all my things and began walking to my class. I couldn't care about being late now, my thoughts more scrambling about a near stranger kissing me on the head.

I tried to push down the thoughts and emotions that continued to surface as I walked into my class. I ignored the people that turned and looked at me as I opened the door and made my way through the back of the room.

My mind wouldn't process whatever was the topic of class that day. I pulled out my sketchbook and eventually started drawing on a new page, just trying to push my mind away from the look in his eyes as he had stared at me.

[rcris123]

This mess keeps on spinning them, keeps on going and going and going. And he’s growin’ afraid. So terribly afraid of what’s there yet to come; for Isaac, for them all. And this whole thing where Dutch keeps pushing when they just barely escaped the end of a rope feels foolish and impatient.

They’re dying...

And what better metaphor for that than picking up a dying Sebastian off the side of the road after they stole the Mayor’s letters and were planning to rob a bank and some high stakes poker game.

They got the man upstairs, back at Shady Belle. And what a debacle that was. He had to let Isaac handle it, while the rest of them got to bringing Jack back. Yeah, Charles was with him, and there was only 4 squatters left, but Christ... They moved ‘cause the Pinkertons came through again, knowin’ their location. Him and John was robbing cemeteries for Stefano Valentini and Dutch talked off Agent Milton who was ready to bring no less than 50 men to mow the lot of ‘em down.

Then in 2 days Tilly got stolen away and Isaac insisted he ride along. Tilly ain’t much older than him... They played dominoes together; Isaac tried and made her a dolly once... And to see the boy unhinged like that.

He apologized.

Arthur put his hands on the boy’s shoulders: “I just want you to be better than I was, Isaac.”

Boy looked down, away. A lil’ shake.

“You get me, boy? Not this. You ain’t this.”

But there ain’t nothing left beside this, not for them. They’re pushed back into a corner and Dutch’s going feral...

 And now he’s here...

Sebastian was barely half conscious when they brought him into the building; he fought the alcohol, and if Arthur ain’t been there to pin him to the bed he’d of fought the stitches Grimshaw made on him as well. She asked if he wanted her to sit by him. He said yes. Boy slept in Susan’s arms that night, Arthur on the table.

Dutch came talk to him in the morning, about how he’s been smelling home, somewhere. They almost got all the money they needed. Arthur ain’t quite sure ‘bout that part, but what he’s sure of is the concern the man had for him then. Sat with him, brought him something to eat; Arthur’s been forgetting all too often. His wrists were growin’ thin.

“Want one?” Dutch stretched the packet of cigarettes his way, having one already between his lips.

“I ain’t in the mood for it right now, thanks.” One more glance at Sebastian; he’s still sleeping.

Dutch lit his cigarette as a means to say ‘suit ye’rself’, then kept talking, after a deep inhale and a puff out: “You really do like him.”

Arthur just hummed as response.

“I’m... sorry, Arthur.” Dutch continued. “If I ever came off as stuck up to you or him. Was just worried.” A sigh. “Worried all these people’ll be pulling us, the family of us, apart. Can’t you see how they’re trying to?”

Arthur remained silent; and it ain’t ‘cause he ain’t believin’ him. He just got a lot of thoughts and half of them were fighting the other half; a lil’ Civil War inside his head.

“We’re so close to the end now, Arthur.” A pat on the back. “We’re gonna see it through-”

“It’s been 20 years, Dutch...”

Man took offense at that and the tone ain’t been as comforting as before: “Have a bit of faith, son. We’re gonna see it through.” Another pat on the back, firmer this time. “I’m gonna go see about that trolley station Signor Valentini told us about.”

“It’s- What if it’s a set-up?”

“That’s what I’m gonna find out.”

And Arthur’s left alone with his thoughts yet again. A sigh as head’s flung into his palms, face rubbed thoroughly. What a goddamn mess; and he’s sitting ‘round, doing nothing. He should find the kid and get on those bounty hunts he promised.

But part o’ him just ain’t got the strength.

“Ughhh-ACH!” Sebastian grits his teeth trying to stand up.

“Seba-” up he goes, to his side.

“Arthur.”

“What the hell you do-”

“I killed Valentini.” He spits the name out like it was poison.

It takes a moment to register: “What?...”

“I fucking killed him.” Sebastian coughs from the effort. Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, still looking at him. “Bastard had it coming...”

So all those wounds were from that Stefano.

“Well you back at camp now.”

“This ain’t Clemens Point...”

“Had to move. Pinkertons...”

“Ah...”

It’s Arthur that takes the man’s hand, gingerly caressing the back of it, thumb rubbing over protruding veins. Sebastian hums at the touch.

“You a’right?” he asks. “And Isaac? Jack?”

“Jack’s fine. Isaac... Kid’s had it hard... But he’s gonna make a fine bounty hunter...”

Sebastian squeezed his hand:

“And you?...”

Silence for a moment, then a sigh: “Worried.” Arthur lets his head fall forward.

It’s on his heart, it’s on his tongue, but for some reason he ain’t got the courage to tell the man he missed him. He’s always been good on the kid, good on him... and he might just have saved them from whatever the hell Valentini had in store for them. Or maybe he made it worse. No matter... What’s done is done...

And he knew he did all that for them. Sebastian could have just... not gotten involved. But he did, and look where it’s brought ‘im.

Arthur ain’t no goddamn savior, but he’s gonna try. A hand waves up, a scratch of the beard, a touch of the necklace. A sigh.

“You’re still wearing it.” Sebastian’s voice is almost sweet.

“ ‘Course I am.” He replies without thinking. Another touch upon the engravings. Saint Sebastian. Pray for us. “I care ‘bout you.”

It’s a wheezed sigh from Sebastian as he tries to stand more upright; hands try to stead him:

“I thought of you-” And in that moment he sounded like Mary, as if the words came from what he hoped or dreamed was love.

And Arthur has to remind himself that he’s been through all these thoughts before, through all these motions, of holding him and getting held. And it ain’t out of shame that he ain’t all that affectionate... It’s ‘cause he’s doubting himself, and it ain’t about the queer part – he fucked him already; Arthur just ain’t all that worthy of love. And all these... That Sebastian went through all that just cause this fool happened to be himself seemed like such a cruel fate and one he ain’t quite knowin’ what to do about...

“I thought of you...” Arthur said at last; holds him closer. “I goddamn thought of you, thought you’d come back here.” It pours out, then he stops, lips pursing together as if he said too much already. “But you never did... And then I saw you back there and I-”

“I know.” Sebastian cuts him but voice is grim and hands squeeze together again. “I know.”

“Bastard; I missed you.” There he said that.

Sebastian draws nearer and Arthur leans in, forehead to forehead.

“Arthur.”

“Don’t you say it like that-”

“Why?” breath rolls from Sebastian’s thin lips out onto his cheek.

Christ-

“ ‘cause I end up wanting to-”

“Besame~” Sebastian bumps his nose into his own.

He ain’t knowin’ what that means but he ain’t even given the time to ask an answer. Lips onto lips the next moment. It’s somewhat sweet and somewhat rough, ‘cause he ain’t knowin’ what to do with his own goddamn mouth, and it’s salty as dried blood becomes wet again. And whatever force drew him in before, draws him in now: to push up against Sebastian, tongue unwillingly slipping between lips and to that the man moans. A guttural noise rumbles out from deep within his chest as response; hands go up to cup Sebastian’s face.

Then he pulls away, just a moment.

Thumbs run through thick, long beard, up his sideburns towards the cheeks. Eyes are closed, all he knows is touch.

Another stolen kiss, leaning ever further in, Sebastian underneath him. But that was a sound of pain.

Again, they part.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

He stays there, to stare at him. There’s fire in those dark brown eyes, ‘cause he’s stubborn, like a buck in a wolf’s teeth. Skin’s shaped by age and grimaces of pain and rage: eyebrows drawn together even when soft, the creases on his nose from all the snarling he’s been doing. Tanned skin’s black and blue now. Man fought... And he’s still in pain-

“Does it hurt?...”

Sebastian doesn’t reply, shifts away. And so does Arthur; lets him lay onto the bed. But man pins his hands in place when he wanna take them away:

“Don’t you let go-” He doesn’t, lets Sebastian’s face rest into the cup of his palm and head turns, nose bumping against his thumb. “Arthur... You happen to be all I got left.”

Lips get pushed together: “I ain’t worth that much-”

Sebastian grabs his collar: “To me.”

Such a visceral feelin’ grips him just like all of what Sebastian was; makes him clutch that face between his palms, caress it, inhale deeply. He ain’t worth much, let alone be the sole reason someone’s still alive. They found each other barely breathing, and what a goddamn mess that seems to of made of both o’them. They ain’t meant to be here, and still they were and here’s Sebastian, fists cuffed in is shirt pulling him in and under. And Arthur’s ready to sink in, dip down and kiss him again. He ain’t meant to desire but he can’t make heads or tails of all this and all this physicality between them makes him feel good... So he does lean in, to run a finger down the browned scab on the man’s chest. What pains he must of endured all those days he ain’t seen him; it feels like it’s his fault. Guilt pang inside his guts – along with something else, ‘cause Sebastian shivers under touch.

It’s softer this time when he asks: “Does it hurt?...”

A pause then: “Not when you touch it like that...”

“Can I-” His hands want to roam that body, touch it tenderly so it ain’t hurting. Fingers slip underneath, opening up the buttons; but Arthur’s watching the man’s face as he does so. Sebastian’s eyes flutter shut and lips part, the faintest gasp. Thumbs press over firm skin, run down the man’s chest, then to the sides. And Arthur’s entire being spurts with a cold, electric shiver, that then blooms warm from deep within his chest; repeat. Goosebumps on his skin. It feels good touching him like this...

He leans further in, until breath fawns over Sebastian’s neck, and despite smelling like blood, that musky scent that’s made him hard before’s still there. And hands keep running lower, feeling the scabs, the hardened bruises, the muscles-

Mouth dries up, lips almost threaten to go down, but he don’t, not yet.

“I’m gonna get you out.” A whisper and it sounded like a promise. “You and the kid, I’m gonna get you out-”

Door swings open, then immediately a shriek:

“Jesus Christ! Ain’t thought it was for real.” John. He pulls back. “Jesus! Arthur!”

Arthur stands straight up, squares his shoulder, voice harsh: “Keep it down, Marston!”

John becomes meek, pushes the plate he had in his hands forward: “Pearson sent me with food, said you weren’t eating enough and urhm, for Sebastian.”

A deep sigh; he takes the plates, offers one to a dishelmed Sebastian and keeps one for himself. A first bite; the rich stew flavor fills all corners of his mouth. If it weren’t for the scare he might have not forgotten ‘bout the discussion. And how this all tied up to John as well...

“John.” He puts the plate down. “Listen here.”

“What-”

“Listen. You get your kid, your woman, and you go. When the chance comes up you gotta go.”

“Arthur... What-... What ‘bout loyalty?... I- What’s gotten into you?” A gaze spared for Sebastian. “Him?”

An exaggerated sigh: “Your kid’s got taken and you’re thinkin’ o’ loyalty? We been loyal, look where it’s gotten us. You got a family, John. And it’s about time it comes first.”  

John steps backwards, rubs the back of his neck:

“Shit, Arthur- I mean I ain’t thought about it like that...” He sits down; Sebastian’s quietly eating in the corner, on the bed. “I know I said that Jack ain’t chose this life. And Dutch. He keeps talking about something beyond this, but I don’t know. Feels like there’s no end to this.”

Arthur purses his lips, gets a seat for himself as well, next to Sebastian.

“You really think there’s an end?” John’s gotten serious.

“Dunno.” Arthur’s gotta be honest; he’s been doubting it himself: “But I’m gonna try.”

“You think Dutch’s been lying to us all these years.”

Arthur gets back up again; it don’t sit right with him: “Don’t know what to think no more; Dutch, all o’ us.” A scratch of the beard. “But I ain’t letting Isaac become an outlaw.”

And Sebastian.

So there’s gotta be some way outta this.

There’s a glimmer of new-found resolution in John’s eyes: “Yeah.” He gets up, slapping his knees, and then finds himself speechless looking at Arthur and Sebastian. And as if the discussion from before never happened: “Jesus! I still can’t quite get it what you find in a man, Arthur-”

It’s a chuckle but tone’s as serious as himself: “If you ever say that again I’m gonna kill you.”

“A’right!” John shrieks in defeat, wants to get out, then stop: “Still... uhm, rest well you two. I guess...”

He gets out. Arthur turns to Sebastian:

“Can you believe I grew up with that moron-”

“I heard that!”

“Calm down, Marston!” Arthur beacons in return, then sighs, a wheezed chuckle. “He’s like a brother to me.”

“Good thing I never had siblings.” Sebastian smirks.

Laughter bursts out of him: “Ah... Sebastian I wanna take you huntin’ again.”

“Let’s go-”

“Not like that.”

“Where have I heard that before?” No don’t bring that back up; Arthur scoffs.

Conversation’s cut short by commotion outside. Long steps taken to the balcony and Sebastian tries to follow, staggering onto his feet. He’d stop him if worry wouldn’t keep him moving forward.

Hosea and Abigail were back, and he ain’t ever seen such a frown on that old man’s face.

“Where’s Dutch?” Hosea says.

“He went scouting for that trolley station.” Micah replies promptly.

“Bring him back, now.”

“On it, boss.”

“Oi, what’s the matter?” Sean came as if woken from the dead.

“Valentini’s been found murdered.”

“But that ain’t been us?”

“No. But we’re their best bet and the Pinkertons already know we’re in the area and now I fear they’ll sniff us out again.”

“Gotta get downstairs-” Arthur tells Sebastian, passing by him and the man tries to stagger behind. Oh, he can’t see him like that- “C’mon.” An arm around the waist and the other hoisted over the shoulder Arthur walks, or more like drags, the other with him out, before letting go.

Isaac runs to him and a firm hand’s placed on the boy’s shoulder.

“Arthur.” Hosea strides to him. “What you think of all this-”

“Shouldn’t we let Dutch decide on it?” Arthur ain’t made for this kind of responsibility.

“Yes, but what are you thinking about who or for what wanted Valentini-”

“I did it.” Sebastian speaks up. Hosea frowns again, but the man doesn’t back down: “He tortured me to get himself off for days. He knew about you. And Isaac-”

And Hosea harshens, even if only for a brief moment, but his fury scares him, and Sean and everyone around.

“I can’t criticize your action as I would have ‘cause you’re not part of this gang. At least not quite. Not yet. But you might have just put all of us in danger with that. And I want you to think on it, Sebastian.” It’s a threat, but not nearly as overt as half the gang might have put it. “Guess we’ll either have to keep quiet, real quiet, for a while, or find someplace else. And fast.”

“I could go looking-” Arthur tried.

“No, I wouldn’t send you out again; we might need the fire power... But let’s see what Dutch says.”

 “I say we do nothing.” Dutch wasn’t pleased with any of it, and it seemed like what hurt most was the fact that he just got wind of money ready to be stolen and now he ain’t allowed to get near ‘em. “We lie low. We send people scouting ahead for a new place, to look for any sign of the Pinkertons and we lie low.” Dutch leans over the table, looking intently at the map; Hosea was quiet. “Micah, Bill, Sean. You go up Roanoke Ridge, looking for a place. Arthur, you, Isaac and Charles look through the Bayou see if you can find anything.” The look Dutch gave him then, as if he knew he’d protest; Arthur didn’t. Not yet. “I’ll keep a lookout on here. See what I can do...”

Sebastian will come with them, ‘cause he ain’t leaving the man behind, not again. And he trusts Charles.

They left just some hours later, and rode until sunset; and it was almost uncharacteristically quiet, of all of ‘em. For Sebastian he knew man was in pain and he ain’t really the chatty type; Isaac’s in a tough spot, poor kid. He ain’t been able to get much outta him these past days, but he wished he could. And Charles; man was usually quiet ‘round everyone else, but not really ‘round him and that tipped him off to something.

They rode up until they found a small abandoned village by the looks of it. Lakay was written on a sign nearby.

No one said a word.

“Guess we should stop here for tonight.” Arthur sighed. “Charles? Help me set up the camp.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll get out the fishing rods.” Isaac dismounted.

And Sebastian tried as well; the groan was audible and the shake in his arms and body was goddamn visible and it made a pit inside his guts. He can’t rid of the guilt: he’s got the man here ‘cause he was a big goddamn fool and got himself shot, almost killed and left the kid almost fatherless. Lips purse:

“Take care there...” Arthur says, to Sebastian, who made steps to join Isaac on the edge of the water.

That lil’ smile... “Yeah.”

When head whips back to arranging the wood for the fire he catches Charles looking at him with... an expression. Then man lowers his gaze. Mouth’s dry again and he’s reminded of John and how he took that, ‘cause he ain’t been together with Sebastian in camp.

They held hands that one time...

And the pen. It’s still in his pocket.

“Hold it firm, Isaac.” Sebastian talked loud over the sound of his boy struggling to reel in a fish.

“What’s he caught!?” Arthur beacons.

“Heard there was big sturgeons here!” Sebastian answers.

“We’re gonna be feastin’ like kings tonight.” A chuckle.

Sebastian’s attention is back to Isaac: “Pull!”

And Arthur returns to his job, Charles’ look almost incessant by now:

“What’s it with you?” It ain’t harsh or scolding.

“Nothing...” Charles averts his gaze. “What you think of this place? Think this could serve as a camp?”

“Well place looks deserted, it’s pretty darn deep in the swamps; ain’t thinking they’ll come lookin’ for us here.”

“We’re running out of places to hide.”

“You tellin’ me...”

“I heard what you told John today.”

Shit-

“You should leave too, Arthur.” Charles continues, yet soundin’ so hopeless.

“You better do so too.”

“That’s of no importance-”

“You’re a good man, Charles.” Arthur cuts him. “You can get ye’rsefl a future that’s more than robbin’ and killin’.”

“Hm...” Charles takes out the flint to light the fire. “You changed, Arthur.”

“Dunno ‘bout that.” His head bends down as he gets up.

“Some time ago I wouldn’t have thought you cared this much for other people. I see things differently now.” First sparks fly. “And I think you do too.”

Brows are strung together: “Watchu meanin’?”

Charles doesn’t say something just points his chin towards Sebastian and Isaac, struggling to string up the fish outta the water.

“That ain’t no concern o’ yours.” And he almost sounded harsh- maybe the first time he ever talked so to Charles. A deep inhale. “Don’t take it the wrong way.”

“No, I understand.” Cheers of victory from behind them. Charles bends his head and points a hand at him chest. “I’m the same- And I thought like that of you.”

Heart shrinks in his chest.

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t apologize. Be happy, Arthur.”

He don’t know what words to say so lips drawn together and he turns to assist Sebastian and Isaac with that monster of a fish. Kid’s beaming for the first time in days.

“Caught him all by himself.” Sebastian sounds like a proud father. Now that’s a thought...

“What’re we waitin’ for then; let’s cut the beast open!” Knife’s out, ready to fillet the fish.

Scales off, then edge of then knife then gracefully guts the animal, before slicing it in 2 fingers worth sections and placing it on the grill with salt, pepper and a sprinkle of dried mint.

And they all ate like there was nothing else better:

“Thank you, Isaac.”

Boy perked up with a big smile on his face, then leaned into Sebastian: “He helped-”

“No, I didn’t-” Sebastian deflected, but Isaac wasn’t having it:

“Hush, you earned ye’r keep.”

“Careful, Arthur, Isaac’ll turn into quite the camp leader.” Charles seems to chuckle.

“I’m not Dutch.” Kid was offended.

“That you ain’t.” Arthur laughs, taking one more hefty bite outta the fatty fish, then a chunk of bread.

Sebastian straightened his back and stopped eating.

“What?”

“Sh. Be quiet.”

All of them perked up, listened for anything that might be moving. Silence, except the crackling of the fire.

Bushes rustle. An arrow.

“Look out!” Arthur’s first instinct is getting the kid down.

Charles’ on his feet, Sebastian struggled. Another arrow. A shot and someone stumbled out of the vegetation into the mud. There’s at least three more. He eyes one, but Sebastian’s quicker to shoot him in the neck. The one behind is Arthur’s.

A gunshot from below and behind. Another body tumbles to the ground.

Isaac shot the last one; there was no more fear in that boy’s eyes.

“We gotta burn the bodies.” Sebastian says promptly. “They ain’t gonna stay dead.” A green substance oozes from the corpses alongside the blood.

“Who were they?” Charles isn’t about to keep quiet. “Or what.”

“Fucking undead...” Sebastian spits.

[clonefright99datapad]

Through the lens of an artist.

Sebastian’s arms were badly aching, he was exhausted, exhausted  from carrying Iris’ weight, exhausted from running away carrying such weight. Iris wasn’t the lightest, he was heavier than what a person his size should normally weight but Sebastian carried on. Seeing the safehouse in the distance, Sebastian accelerated his pace, breathing heavily as his lungs were on fire, he just wanted to rest. After struggling to open the door to the safehouse, he quickly stepped inside, scanning the room for a place to set Iris down before putting Iris down on a nearby bench. Sebastian then painfully walked back at the door to lock it before collapsing onto a chair, he relaxed and took a moment to breathe, looking over at Iris who was still unconscious. He painfully stood up and went to the coffee maker, pouring himself a mug of hot coffee and then taking a well deserved long sip of his coffee. He let out a satisfied sigh, feeling his few injuries patching themselves up. He put the mug down before walking over to Iris. His eye, if you could call it that, wasn’t glowing like it usually did and Sebastian assumed that it only happened when he’d sleep, either that or it was broken but Iris hadn’t complained about his sight so he went with his first assumption.

He sat down on the bench,lifting Iris a bit and setting up the individual as if to pillow his head with his lap, he waited for him to wake up, keeping an eye out like he used to do with Lily when she had been sick. He lightly caressed Iris’ head and as he relaxed, he fell asleep for a moment. He was pulled out from his sleep as he heard Iris’ small complaints.

--------

Iris had barely woken up that his entire body was already flooding him with a dreadful sensation that he knew all too well. His skin felt like boiling wax had been poured over it and was now being peeled off, the remains of his muscles and tendons were twitching uncontrollably, feeding this fire that his clay like ooze was desperately struggling to keep under control while it painfully healed his wounds. It felt like he was being cremated alive, at least that’s how he imagined being cremated felt like. Somehow this excruciating pain reminded him of the day he became what he is now, a sculpture, a carefully crafted sculpture made by his maker. A living piece of art. It echoed throughout his mind,like a memory that he couldn’t suppress no matter how hard he tried. Those sweet words that were murmured to him in his ear as he was torn apart, as if to reassure him that this painful procedure was worth it. The noises… the noises… the noises his body produced as it was being cut down and then put back together was the only thing that resonated in his ears. He couldn’t see what was happening, what Stefano was doing exactly, and he never needed this information before in his entire life span, perhaps it was best being blind at this time but the fear of what his poor body had endured, what his body must look like to be in such excruciating pain made him wish he could see...

At this point, he wished he’d just died instead. Maybe he was already dead, who knows, perhaps this was purgatory. He felt light headed. The smell in the room made his stomach twist and his nostrils burned, it smelled like death, putrefaction and vomit. He could still hear his screams, his cries, piercing his eardrums, echoing, like he had screamed into a well for hours, days… But Iris wasn’t screaming, he was barely making any sounds as a matter of fact, his voice was broken, he was broken. All for a promise to be able to see art, hidden behind this sinister will to mold him into this cruel art piece. Iris was innocent, he never thought someone would go this far for a passion. He never thought he would go this far for sight either.

In the end, the artist held his promise, he could see, even though it was extremely finicky and required Stefano to explain him over and over again how to use it. Those painful memories reminded him of how much he wished to go back, back before he had met Stefano’s path, before he foolishly trusted this man. Even then, some part of him still wanted to trust him, still wanted his approval and to make him proud. He had given him sight, took him under his wings before showing the beauties of his art, letting him help with creating his art as well, he had been so gentle and caring with him in the beginning and now, now that he ruined so much of his work... He wanted those memories to be buried and never come back but he couldn’t stop them, he couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t do anything right, he couldn’t stop his clumsiness from damaging Stefano’s hard work on his sculpting.

------

A croaked cry came out from his throat, the sounds were so muted, barely hearable even to his own ears but the sniffling noises mixed with the short gasping sounds he did every few seconds sounded like he had the hiccups but gave the indication he was crying,or at least trying to cry. His cries were like someone who had cried so much that no sounds would come up, his lips moved as if he was saying something but the words kept breaking down.

“..H...hu.r..st…h-huu..” He felt a hand laying on his head, the hand was so warm and gentle and somewhat familiar.

“It’s alright, I’m here… Take it easy.” Sebastian’s voice was low and comforting.

“Seb-as-tng?...Seben...tan…” Iris hoarsely mumbled. His vision was unfocused, he could barely see anything other than blurred features of the man looking down at him. It was enough to make him slightly panic though. “...m...eye....Ffff-fu...Fucc...is..” His voice was brittle and kept skipping parts. He was trying to move his left arm to his face without much success. Iris paused, not sure why his body didn’t want to respond more than wild twitching spasms. That was enough to make every inch of his body winced as the pain refused to settle down, more vivid and intense now that Iris was fully awake, suppressing all the thoughts he had about his possibly damaged sight. He groaned as loudly as his voice allowed him to. He desperately begged for something.

Sebastian wasn’t sure what he was saying at first, it was so quiet , he had to lean in closer to hear him better

“...p...plea-se....plea-se...Sebstin....stop…” His voice broke down. “stop…..plea-se...hur...hurt...make...stop...Seb-as-tan…” his raspy cries were pleading Sebastian to do something about the pain. The ooze on his face had turned into a slight hue of purple and his body became more and more agitated, shaking ever so slightly.

Sebastian felt his heart tighten up at his cries, he couldn’t heal him and he knew that but he also knew he could do one thing to ease up his pain at least as he pulled his last syringe and without hesitation carefully sunk the needle into Iris’s shoulder which slightly twitched. He could craft more once Iris was back on his feet, besides, he was fine on his end oddly enough.

“Shhh, you can relax now. I’ve got you,” he whispered, lightly patting his head. Iris wiggled a bit and lifted himself up with his less injured arm not in a sitting position but enough to lay his head against Sebastian’s chest. Sebastian smiled and held him closer, rocking back and forth in a soothing motion as he went to place a subtle kiss on top of his head, he could smell something like embalming products, death and god knows what else, it wasn’t extreme but it did made him wonder what Stefano could possibly have done to Iris. Perhaps if he gave Iris enough time he would open up about it.

“You....wa-stng...sup...supplies for...me..not..wo-rth it..” he mumbled quietly, his voice was less raspy, he sounded almost sleepy.

Sebastian held him tighter, shaking his head softly, it was his fault if Iris was in such a bad shape to begin with, if he hadn’t shot that explosive bolt right into that lost that was charging him. Iris had pulled him backwards with incredible strength, putting himself in the way and taking the blow instead. He had tried for several minutes to pick Iris up, each attempt failing as he refused to let Sebastian pick him up, making small agonizing sounds and smacking him aggressively with his right arm with each attempt.

“..Leave...go...no no no...go..’’ with each sharp gasp he took he repeated those words over and over, trying to get Sebastian to leave him there. Sebastian, out of frustration and pure stubbornness had jabbed Iris with one of his two syringes he had, which may not have been his best idea but that’s all he had with him and since he still had a spare one he figured it was better than trying nothing. Iris hissed, nothing was happening or that’s what Sebastian thought at first glance but Iris had gone still and silent. He wasn’t complaining about the pain nor about Sebastian picking him up.

“I’m not leaving you here… not after almost killing yourself to save my ass, you hear me?” His voice was rougher than he wanted it to sound but Iris didn’t reply, he simply looked away, ashamed, tired. As soon as Sebastian had picked up Iris, he almost instantly fell asleep in his arms. Sebastian headed to the safehouse and he wondered if Iris ever slept until now, if he needed to or if it was only his body trying to concentrate on healing his injuries, Perhaps the syringe had some sort of anesthetic effect on Iris. The only thing holding Iris’s limbs from falling off completely was the tentacles tightly wrapped around the dangling limbs and the excessive amount of crimson ooze that coated almost the entirety of his body including Sebastian’s upper body.

-----

Sebastian held him tightly, he was irritated that he could think such things even after almost dying for him, he thought it perhaps had to do with something much more deeper, a wound that even comfort and time couldn’t possibly heal, he couldn’t blame Iris for that of course, he was only a victim of this twisted man’s ideology centered around his morbid art projects.

“You asked me to stop the pain and I did, so, it’s not wasting my supplies…” He tried to suppress this urge to lecture him about this before adding,’’That’s the least I can do to thank you for saving my ass back there, no?”

There was a silence, Iris looked down, hiding his face from Sebastian. Iris was drifting off from consciousness again but as he slowly fell asleep he mumbled something, it was quiet and a bit sloppy but sebastian heard all of it and he froze.

“..You sh-ould...hhhave...jist..…sh-oot...me…”

His hands started to shake as his grip on Iris tightened, he took a deep breath before putting his lips against Iris head and without realising it started rocking back and forth ever so gently. Those words stabbed him so deeply, they sliced right through him as they were so familiar and he cursed under his breath.