#papa echo november

[gremlins-hotel]

Post headcanons abt Arthur and his first baby you coward, you fool. The audience arrived, we are here, yet you stay silent upon the stage.

(Just joking ofc, tho id give you a kidney if you gave us some hcs abt their early days <3)

I know it's not a headcanon, but I hope this will still be satisfactory. A moment between a new father and his first son, to whom Arthur wishes the world.

“You coddle him,” came Rhys’ voice, blunt and teasing.

Arthur waved his brother’s words away. They were meaningless like wayward flecks of spume against the broad side of a ship in the face of the treasure held tight to his chest. Sleepless nights, tears, and the terror of the unknowing life. He had watched his son like a hawk for years, and the boy now grew blessedly stronger. Each time little Alfred grabbed his finger, the babe’s grip was vicelike, and Arthur knew the little chubby squish of pain was worth all his toils.

Alfred burbled up at Arthur, seeing his father’s watchful eyes glimmer, a mostly toothless smile scrunching his small face with joy.

Heart squeezing and eyes wide, Arthur knew he would endure it all again as long as that babe was laughing. Hugging the heavy bundle tighter to his chest, Arthur bounced the boy gently as he fiddled with a pocket of his coat. Life was difficult when one-handed, but he hated putting Alfred down. The troubles a baby could get into with any degree of autonomy he did not wish to imagine, not after famine and disease and blood. Alfred seemed determined to bind the world with his gums if his father allowed him, in any case, and to grab it without hesitation. There were dangers on the floor that the boy approached fearlessly. That determination. It was a good thing to have, Arthur knew, but woeful for life still so seemingly fragile.

A faint jingle answering his seeking fingers told the man he’d found his quarry. Arthur whisked the trinket from his pocket in a closed fist, the toy’s chain hanging from between two fingers. The near-sterling silver rings tinkled prettily against one another as he shook his fist above Alfred’s head. Curiosity lit the deep skies held in his son’s face like stars and Arthur couldn’t keep the soft smile from turning the corners of his mouth, shaking the chain again. Skies and stars indeed, for he had never observed someone to watch the heavens so closely at such a young age. Silently he praised the boy’s curiosity; one day it might have its questions answered if Arthur had anything to say about it. He would give that lad the sky and the seas.

Short, squishy fingers reached up for the chain, seeking the noisemaker with excitement. Arthur raised it away from his baby’s reach and took delight in seeing him try again. So he played the cat-and-mouse, jerking the prize just inches from Alfred’s grasp when he waved his hands skyward. Alfred laughed uproariously each time the toy made its metallic clinking and at seeing the smile on his father’s face. Arthur opened his fingers to reveal the rest of the shining silver toy and raised it to his mouth. One end was a sweet little whistle, which he blew quietly in the face of the babe. A high, windy note spiraled out into the air between them and Alfred laughed again, his entire face bright and bold. It made the boy redouble his efforts.

Arthur finally acquiesced, lowering his hand enough for those ferocious fingers to grip the tiny silver rings and tug. Once more Alfred’s burgeoning strength shot a bolt of pride through the man’s chest. With reluctant fingers he allowed the toy to drop into his son’s happy hands. Little curved talons, blunt by youth, curled around the moon-bright metal like a hunting bird content with its catch. The babe brought the whistle end to his soft mouth and immediately made to teethe on the silver. Tiny puffs of breath made the whistle sing and stutter, and Alfred’s eye glimmered happily, gazing up at Arthur as though he’d hung the heavens. Quickly he slobbered on the toy, but Arthur couldn’t help but feel enraptured by his son, drool or not.

Having forgotten the watching eyes beside him, it was Rhys’ voice that broke his reverie. “You ordered the coral, after all? No measure too small.”

Arthur blinked, looking up and away, then back to the toy in his son’s burbling mouth. The opposite end of the whistle had a stub of red, red coral from lands far away, polished to a beautiful shine. It was worth it to him. Anything to keep winding spirits and the fey away from his boy who had already suffered enough. No measure too small.

“Someday he will not need it, I hope.”

#callsign gremlin checking in #papa echo november #arthur kirkland // salt wind and green garden #alfred f. jones // daring to fly #arthur & alfred // a king and his crown #hetalia #aph america #aph england #hws america #hws england #alfred f jones #arthur kirkland

[grem-archive]

Seeker

“And once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you would return.” – John Hermes Secondari, Saga of Western Man

Just a young man's passion for the sky and the stars. Fly onward, ever upward.

[view on ao3]

Liberating are the heavens.

And after all, why shouldn’t they be? For what, pray tell, is more freeing than the winds themselves. Vaulted ceilings of changing skies and constellations would live eternal as Alfred’s chapel, his choir the billowing gusts through leaves, his bell the pealing thunder of a spring storm, the very stars mere embellishments upon the walls. Untethered like a wisp of cirrus on a blue morning was where he aspired to be.

Dressed in his darkest clothes Alfred pressed against the wooden slats of the town’s houses. He ducked his head to keep his unnatural eyeshine out of sight from the night watch as one of them drew close, orange lanternlight bobbing steadily. The young boy tried to walk on his toes lest the clack of heel on stone gave him away. Alfred was determined to make it to the crest of hills outside the quiet town, far from tavern voices and revealing light. Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held; Alfred sprinted the moment the watchman disappeared around a street corner. Quicker he had always run when there was no sun, no eye of any divine to watch him. Further he ran from the warm lights of home and into the velvet embrace of night. Chilling breeze licked at the boy’s heels and appeared to propel him. He only stopped once he surmounted a grassy knoll, immediately letting himself fall back into the prickly green carpet below. Wide oceans met the dense ether above and Alfred smiled to himself. Pictures played out in the silver inkblots above better than any manuscript or chart could hope to achieve. Here he would stay until God’s judging rays turned that sacred blue into gray.

Empires rise and fall, such is the cycle of those fiercely burning suns as the Earth turns so. Humans come and go; such is the view of a creature often untouched by time. How quickly Alfred had tried to move from the shadow of those before him and form an empire of his own. Where better to start than his own open plains, he had decided among the voices of others. Young and boundless energy flowed just as waves of green prairie and amber wheat lulled like rhythmic seas. Glorious loneliness in the face of discovery. Glorious kinship in his only friend upon the ceaseless landscape. Free of eyes and voices altogether as he made rapid progress.

A horse was all Alfred needed. There was no rush here. Freely he flitted from frontier town to rolling hilltops upon wishful wings of his own feather and four sturdy legs of companionship. He would scale the cliffs and bathe in the creeks if he so pleased. Several times a day he would check the position of the sun as it manipulated his cool shadow. Only the sun had such a privilege. Cotton clouds streaked the safe blanket above his head and the boy, now barely a man, pressed onward. How Alfred had scoffed when last he’d talked with his brother. Mathieu was still under their father’s thumb. Alfred had begged – rather, demanded – that Mathieu come with him and escape since he was so seemingly bent against joining his brother in excellent independence. His brother had refused. No one ever gave Mathieu credit for being stubborn when it suited him. Well, it was Mathieu’s loss, Alfred thought as he watched the heavens morph in real-time. Dusty hills covered in scrub broke the horizon, framing a lone mesquite tree in relief upon a backdrop of soft lavender and orange sky. Pink limned long clouds, outstretched fingers over the landscape. The only hand Alfred cared to hold. The first glimmers of early evening stars were the only audience the rowdy teen cared to entertain, for the moon was gone, and would be for two days. Whooping and spurring his horse into motion down across the sparse scrub, Alfred performed for the theater above him without reservation.

Flight, oh, wondrous flight. To leave the ground and soar. Had Alfred not dreamt of flight since childhood? Hours he had spent observing birds in their twists and spirals, butterflies in graceful meandering, and the sharp snaps of the rare bat to his home. Imagining the world buoyed up by wings of his own fed him like no other. If Icarus had flown too close to the sun, well, Alfred would show him how it should be done. To float, to fly, to fall. And how reluctantly would Alfred remember the three words Arthur had impressed upon him for years: onward, ever upward. He would show them and make those words his. Onward, ever upward. That was how it had been. That was how it must be.

Alfred’s lungs stung with cold air. He would not trade this feeling for all the warmest summers his home had to offer. The muffled sound of the engine in front of him, the whirring of a propeller, the glare of bright light against his canopy. Music, sweet music. Loosing a laugh of pure joy into the tight space he only pushed his aircraft further, harder, higher. Resistance came as the plane could no longer climb, a weightless sensation stalling Alfred in the endless stratosphere. He tipped the control stick and hung there, waiting for gravity to enact her oppressive law upon his being. Like clockwork she came for them both and Alfred kicked his aircraft into a controlled spiral. White light flared off his wings as he spun back toward Earth. Slowly the duo turned their noses down. Gloved hands perilously left the joystick to pet the marvel of engineering that the young man controlled. His protective glasses swirled with ribbons of blue and white, pure as a spring and real as his own flesh. This was where he belonged. Alfred’s heart shrieked, racing as he regained control of his trajectory and watched the solid ground speed toward him. Pulling hard on the stick, he once again felt a moment of weightless bliss when the plane around him strained against momentum and pitched skyward once more. Though his energy was stretched, he brought his steadfast steed into a wide barrel roll before straightening out low. Euphoria bloomed through the young man’s body and only then did he perceive the harsh reprimand coming through his radio. Alfred didn’t care, he only wanted more.

Humanity soon sought ever higher reaches and Alfred lived for it. No longer could mere flight satisfy the curiosity of hundreds, thousands, millions. Longing for the celestial had never left any of them. How often Alfred had seen stories of the sidereal, the yearning for things beyond reach. That yearning was one of his own. Onward, ever upward, past the clouds, the atmosphere, and even the Earth herself. Curiosity drove him like incessant spirits. What more was out there? And who could stop him if he tried to jump for it? Why wouldn’t anyone want to see it?

Tears had welled in the man’s eyes the first time he saw the Earth from three hundred kilometers up. Alfred would never admit it, but he had cried at seeing their patchwork marble from so far away and looking so uncharacteristically peaceful. That NASA had selected him for the astronaut candidate program was already a miracle for him. The fact that he had passed to be allowed onboard Columbia for this mission, STS-55 or D-2, was downright mystical. Seven other crew members sat aboard the Space Shuttle, two of them German astronauts from the ESA. Alfred’s seat was mid-deck beside them. Their goal was to reach Spacelab for experiments and – what Alfred was even more excited for – the testing of the SAREX II radio system. Average civilians would be allowed to speak to them from miles away as they touched the stars. Experiments were cool and all – and the American was riding high on the thrill of anticipation and discovery, there was no mistake of that – but knowing that he could speak to someone from the edge of the vast universe might just cause him to burst. Truly weightless, what a feeling! Seeing a storm swirl above the Earth with such a view compared to nothing else. Coming back to land had saddened Alfred more than he wanted to let show. The things he would do to go back again.

 Liberating are the heavens. Alfred had experienced them firsthand. And why shouldn’t they be? Being alone in the sky was more freeing than anything he’d felt before. The space to be himself without thought, to become lost in too much thought, and the space to simply see unbidden, with no judgment or nattering voices that weren’t his own. He had run past the winds, flown higher than the thunder, and seen the stars with his own eyes. Justified was he in believing in their unchained opportunity. And dare he would fly ever higher.

#hetalia #aph america #hws america #alfred f jones #very self-indulgent in a way #one of my greatest heroes growing up was sally ride #my mom once wanted to be an astronaut and so did i #this was inspired by nothing special #just a boy and his love for the heavens #this has always been a part of alfred's character that i've loved and related to #i think it encapsulates so much of him #please be gentle #papa echo november #writing #i did not have anyone beta read this my apologies in advance #alfred f jones // daring to fly

[jackthegiantkiller]

India Foxtrot Yankee Oscar Uniform Charlie Alfa November Romeo Echo Alfa Delta Tango Hotel India Sierra Tango Hotel Echo November Hotel Echo Lima Lima Oscar Juliett Oscar November Alfa Papa Oscar Lima Oscar Golf India Echo Sierra Foxtrot Oscar Romeo Tango Hotel Echo Delta Echo Charlie Echo Papa Tango India Oscar November Bravo Uniform Tango India Whiskey Alfa November Tango Echo Delta Tango Oscar Mike Alfa Kilo Echo Sierra Uniform Romeo Echo Yankee Oscar Uniform Sierra Tango Alfa Romeo Tango Echo Delta Romeo Echo Alfa Delta India November Golf Sierra Oscar India Tango Hotel Oscar Uniform Golf Hotel Tango India Tango Bravo Echo Sierra Tango November Oscar Tango Tango Oscar Alfa November November Oscar Uniform November Charlie Echo Mike Yankee Sierra Echo Lima Foxtrot

#the magnus archives #tma #nato phonetic alphabet

[jovalencia]

okay I was on tumblr for this but remember when I was so nervous to go to dinner with my grandparents that I distracted myself by learning the phonetic alphabet

#slay ig #alpha bravo charlie delta echo foxtrot golf hotel india juliet kilo lima mike november oscar papa quebec romeo sierra tango uniform victor #whiskey x ray yankee zulu #carmen.txt

[keqism]

november

⊹ feat. wriothesley

⊹ premise. ' nothing worth fighting for was ever won without sacrifice ' — final fantasy┊for @seraphiism's 2024 writing event

⊹ cw. story quest spoilers, mentions of blood, wriothesley + reader have a daughter

When Wriothesley was ten years old, he believed he was cursed. 

Cursed to a lifetime of misery spent huddled on the cold, bare floor of the orphanage he grew up with, the soft cries of the children around him depriving him of the quiet gift of sleep. He doesn't remember any of their faces anymore, but faint memories linger in his mind. 

There was a time when Mother and Father, as they insisted on being called, let him and another boy outside the orphanage. It had been a cold day, the water of Fontaine's fountains slightly freezing over. He had dipped his fingers through the water, marveling at the icy surface before the other boy called his name, pointing to a nearby shop.

The two of them had huddled together before the window of a bakery, little legs straining to support their weight as they stood on tiptoes to peer at the displayed goods. Wriothesley remembers there was a cake, decorated with red icing that matched his flushed cheeks and the threadbare scarf tucked around his shoulders.

Happy Birthday!, the cake read. He didn't have a birthday—Mother had never given him one—and it hadn't bothered him before. But at that moment, Wriothesley wished for that cake to be his, so desperately wished that he could swallow the entire thing and understand what it feels like to be cherished for a day.

But the cursed don't deserve such luxuries, and Wriothesley could only reluctantly tear himself away from that bakery, feet dragging against the ground on his way home.

He's embarrassed to admit it now, but that ordinary cake became the reason he scrubbed his hair a little harder and straightened his collar whenever the orphanage had visitors. Because some small part of him still believed that he deserved a real Mother and Father who would allow him to have that birthday cake all to himself. 

But a few years passed and instead of a bright red cake, there was blood staining his hands, crimson trickling onto the floorboards before pooling around the limp bodies of his foster parents. Maybe this is what I deserve, he thought to himself as the Gardes cuffed and dragged him out of the orphanage. Because there was no guilt—only a sense of hollowness that echoed in his chest at the sight of his parents' lifeless eyes.

It wasn't until he was alone in his prison cell that the tears fell, dripping onto the vision clutched in his trembling hands. A cryo vision—cold, like the water of the fountains had been on that memorable day.

Even after a few decades, Fontaine's winter winds are still as unforgiving as ever, but there's a warmth that fills Wriothesley's chest now. He has a title to his name, a place to call home, and a few friends he can trust.

And a family, he reminds himself as a small hand tugs on his coat sleeve. 

"Papa!" His daughter beams at him, the wind rustling her black and gray curls against her rosy cheeks. He gently tucks them behind her ear before hoisting her up in his arms. 

"Look," her excited chattering fills the silence, forming small puffs of white in the air, "we got you a present!" Following her frantic pointing brings his attention to you, leaving the very bakery that he once stood before all those years ago. 

Eyes widening, he gasps in mock surprise, lightly bouncing her in his arms. "Did you get me a cake?" he asks, a laugh dancing on his lips at his daughter's growing enthusiasm.

"Happy birthday, Wriothesley." You're at his side now, pressing your lips to his cheek before lifting the white box in your hand up to him. "For you," you smile, and Wriothesley thinks it's the prettiest sight he's ever seen.

And as he heads home, with his daughter in his arms and you tucked into his side, Wriothesley finally lets himself forgive the little boy who spent his childhood hating the life given to him.

౨ৎ thank you for reading, reblogs & comments are always welcome !

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley fluff #genshin x reader #genshin drabbles #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact wriothesley

[lost-estradiographer]

26-person polycule where everyone is named after a letter of the NATO Phonetic Alphabet.

Sierra? Sure, I follow her. Juliet? Mike? Yeah, sure, those are everyday names.

November? India? Lima? Echo? Okay, yeah, I can see it.

X-Ray? Foxtrot? Alpha?

Papa?

#is this a post?

[sillyunknownkitkat]

Leon S Kennedy x/+ sibling!reader pt.3

Plot: You're working with him

Tw: Violence, drugs, angst, ...

ps: we really like to break him, huh? Aslo reading the first parts is recommended

Pt 1 - Pt2

If you thought the man was devastated before, you're not ready for this one.

So let's keep most of the scenario of pt2 but switch it up a little.

Leon did attempt that one night but when he saw how devastated you were, he promised he'd never try that again.

So after 1 or 2 more years, you're both out of the academy.

They gave you 10days to get your stuff together before you guys actually start to work.

In that time, you both cuddled, cried a lot, talked, ...

when the end of your "vacation" comes closer he starts to get really anxious again.

He always stays with you. It got so bad that he even waited around in the hallway while you did your stuff in the bathroom.

He'd probably sleep with you or at least in the same room.

Of course, if you guys sleep in the same bed, you put a pillow wall in between the two of you, like homies that are scared to wake up inside one another 😂😭

Anyway...

Picture this:

You're in the hallway leading to the front door, tying up your shoes (these), so it's taking you quite a while since you're making sure everything is tight and secured. Leon was already full dressed which left him time to lecture you on anything he possibly could.

"What's the code if you need backup?" He'd ask. It's the 20th question he asked you since you woke up. He's just making sure you're as safe as you can possibly be.

"huuuuh... 11-99...?" you'd say a bit hesitant. Of course you knew it but he was making you a bit nervous with all the questions.

"You shouldn't be hesitating at all ___." He'd say, a bit surprised and slightly angry.

"I know it, okay?! You're just asking too many questions."

"Shooting?" He'd asks you whole looking you straight in the eye.

"10-71." You'd answer while starting to get upset because he keeps distracting you, and you still haven't toed your laces.

He'd mutter out a little "good."Under his breath before closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

"Hey Leon. Look at me, please."

He'd do it and wait for you to keep going.

"We'll both be alright, kay? Plus, even if we're not on the same team, we're still in the same company. We'll see each other often, yeah?" You'd say while nodding to emphasise the positive affirmations in your questions.

"Right." He'd say, finally relaxing a little.

"Your turn. What do the letters mean in the phonetic alphabet?" You'd ask just to tease him.

"Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, Hotel, India, Juliett, Kilo, Lima, Mike, November, Oscar, Papa, Quebec, Romeo, Sierra, Tango, Uniform, Victor, Whiskey, X-ray, Yankee, Zulu." He'd say immediately without any hesitation.

"Damn, boy. Relax, I was just teasing. " You'd say, clearly surprised. Of course, you knew them too, but you weren't expecting him to let this out almost automatically.

So after a bit more talking, you're both going into the garage to finally go to work.

After fighting a bit to decide who would drive, he won.

The first day was pretty slow, just a few junkies making a scene in the middle of a popular avenue.

You made them leave, and everything was going great until one of them had an outburst and unexpectedly stabbed you with a used needle.

This caused a lot of commotion, and since this was a rookie mistake, everyone knew about this incident. Including Leon.

He picked you up at the hospital after you had tests and an antibiotics shot.

He was so mad. He yelled at you once you both were in the car.

He called you tons of mean words and kept telling you how stupid you were to let that happen.

Of course, he doesn't mean it, but he was so scared this would end badly.

So you guys had a really bad argument that led you to tears.

He never apologised for the thing he said that night.

It led to the both of you slowly drifting apart.

Eventually, you moved in the quarter while he stayed at home.

You'd still see each other but only at formal reunions.

His alcohol problem got pretty bad. He drinks every night after work until he falls asleep.

Hi, sorry if this is a bit rushed, I'll probably edit this later to add more stuff.

Hope you still liked it tho :)

have a good day/night and be safe everyone <33

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x sibling reader #leon kennedy headcanons #leon kennedy + sibling reader #leon kennedy angst #resident evil headcanons #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader

[lithominium]

Alpha Charlie Charlie Oscar Romeo Delta India November Golf Tango Oscar Alpha Lima Lima Kilo November Oscar Whiskey November Lima Alpha Whiskey Sierra Oscar Foxtrot Alpha Victor India Alpha Tango India Oscar November Tango Hotel Echo Romeo Echo India Sierra November Oscar Whiskey Alpha Yankee Tango Hotel Alpha Tango Alpha Bravo Echo Echo Sierra Hotel Oscar Uniform Lima Delta Bravo Echo Alpha Bravo Lima Echo Tango Oscar Foxtrot Lima Yankee India Tango Sierra Whiskey India November Golf Sierra Alpha Romeo Echo Tango Oscar Oscar Sierra Mike Alpha Lima Lima Tango Oscar Golf Echo Tango India Tango Sierra Foxtrot Alpha Tango Lima India Tango Tango Lima Echo Bravo Oscar Delta Yankee Oscar Foxtrot Foxtrot Tango Hotel Echo Golf Romeo Oscar Uniform November Delta Tango Hotel Echo Bravo Echo Echo. Oscar Foxtrot Charlie Oscar Uniform Romeo Sierra Echo Foxtrot Lima India Echo Sierra Alpha November Yankee Whiskey Alpha Yankee Bravo Echo Charlie Alpha Uniform Sierra Echo Bravo Echo Echo Sierra Delta Oscar November Tango Charlie Alpha Romeo Echo Whiskey Hotel Alpha Tango Hotel Uniform Mike Alpha November Sierra Tango Hotel India November Kilo India Sierra India Mike Papa Oscar Sierra Sierra India Bravo Lima Echo

you're going to Hell for this

#asks #i DID translate it btw.

[the-master-of-space-and-time]

Oscar Hotel November Oscar!!! India Alpha Charlie Charlie India Delta Echo November Tango Alpha Lima Lima Yankee Whisky Alpha Lima Kilo Echo Delta… Sierra Lima India Delta Tango Hotel Romeo Oscar Uniform Golf Hotel Alpha Papa Oscar Romeo Tango Alpha Lima Alpha November Delta November Oscar Whiskey India Charlie Alpha November Oscar November Lima Yankee Tango Alpha Lima Kilo India November Tango Hotel Echo November Alpha Tango Oscar Papa Hotel Oscar November Echo Tango India Charlie Alpha Lima Papa Hotel Alpha Bravo Echo Tango!!!!! Hotel Echo Lima Papa!!!!!!!!

#please someone understand this

[luciehercndale]

Three Years and Counting - Lucie and Jesse

My entry for @ghostwriterfest <3 Set a few years after canon. Lucie and Jesse go on a date to celebrate their relationship milestone and remember the first time they kissed. Mostly fluff, but with a little hurt/comfort. Rating: T Read on A03 💜

Lucie fixed her hat one last time and took her bag from the desk, before storming out of her room, the sound of her heels echoing on the limestone floor. She was excited and probably late. As she walked briskly to the stairs leading to the main entrance, she couldn’t help but smile. She knew he was already waiting by the door by now, citing the excuse that it didn’t take long for him to get ready to go out, unlike her. But she knew he was just as thrilled to be alone with her as she was.

She knew she was right when reached the staircase, and saw him from the gallery above. He had his back to her, and he was talking to her brother. Lucie wasn’t sure when James had arrived. He probably needed to talk to their father, but she wasn’t sure. However, she did not care. She began descending the stairs, and that was when Jesse finally turned, interrupting whatever he was saying to James. Their eyes met, and he grinned at her. Lucie exchanged the grin, and she didn’t stop glancing at her boyfriend until she was next to him. She loved him so much, and she knew he loved her too. “Hello, James,” she chirped. “Are you going out, Lucie?” James asked. “Jesse was just telling me about it.” “Yes,” she answered, grabbing Jesse’s hand. “We are going on a date. We’ll get home late.” “I never asked,” her brother shrugged. “I will tell papa when I see him. I needed to talk to him about next week’s dinner at Cirenworth with Cordelia’s mother.” “Okay, you go on. Say hi to Daisy from me.” James nodded and said goodbye, leaving them alone in the foyer. 

Every year, around the end of November, they had a special date night at the Shadow Market to celebrate the first time they had kissed. They had talked about it, and they both considered that moment to mark the beginning of their relationship. This year, they didn't have much luck with the weather. At least, rain and wind had quieted for that day, thus they took on the chance before the clouds would make it impossible to stroll around London without soaking their clothes. “Were you waiting for a long time?” Lucie asked Jesse. “A half an hour.” he replied with a playful grin. “You’re awfully slow at getting ready.” 

“Oh,” Lucie huffed. “I’m sorry. I got carried away when I had to decide which dress to wear. I wanted the blue one, but then I opted for the emerald green.”

“Green, huh? You’re wearing so much of that as of late.”

Lucie blushed, and gazed up at him. “You’ve noticed,” she replied. “I thought it wouldn’t suit me, but I’ve noticed that it brightens the color of my eyes.” And it’s also the color of your eyes, she wanted to add, but he wasn’t stupid. He probably knew it, she hoped. They had left the Institute behind and were directed to Southwark. It was a warm evening for November standards, and it wasn’t raining, thus they decided to reach their destination on foot. 

“It does indeed,” Jesse nodded. “But then again, I am biased when it comes to you.” She squeezed his hand, feeling even warmer than before. “You are such a doting boyfriend, and I love you for that. Among other things I like about you, of course.” “And here I thought you only wanted to be with me because I am utterly handsome and apparently, also filthy rich.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jesse Blackthorn,” she rolled her eyes at him and bumped his arm with her shoulder. “I only want to be with you because you’re the only one who puts up with my writing,” she joked.

“That’s not true,” he retorted. “Your brother and Cordelia might have stopped giving you feedback because they have been traveling a lot, but your mother and I still read your stories.”

Lucie frowned, but still smiled. “Mam stopped giving me feedback a while ago,” she confessed. “But it’s my fault. You read my most recent writing, you saw how it got more –” “Personal? Yes, I figured it out,” he offered her a smile. “And you didn’t say anything,” she sighed. “Why?” “Well, admittedly, I didn’t catch all the personal references because I know you didn’t just write about you and me,” Jesse explained. “It’s not like when you wrote about Lord Jethro turning into a ghost and I felt a tad offended – maybe too offended,” he chuckled, “because I thought you were humoring me. But that was a clear reference and I was frustrated that I couldn’t really be with you because of the state I was in. Writing is a mix of real and invented, and sometimes, people see themselves in fiction, because fiction borrows from real life.”

“You are not wrong about this,” she said. “The problem is not that, though. I don’t mind my mother or my friends reading stories that they might have inspired. What scares me is being seen. Being known for real. I wear my heart on my sleeve, but even I have things I do not want to share with the world. And I’m afraid they won’t like it.”

“It seems fair,” he conceded as they arrived at their destination. The Shadow Market under London Bridge brimmed with downworlders, and it was a spectacle to see. “That was also the first thing that shocked me when I first met you. Being seen. It was at the same time thrilling and terrifying.” “Because I was the only stranger who could see you?” Jesse squeezed her hand this time, and she caught a shy smile on his face, but he was looking straight ahead. Lucie noticed the faerie stall with magic potions. They were so colorful. “More or less, yes. You weren't a stranger properly because I used to spy on your family a lot,” he said. “I couldn't believe I could talk to you. You were the first older person I could ever talk to who wasn’t dead, and I didn't know if I could handle it.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You really don't know?” He wondered. “You were intimidating, Lucie.”

She giggled. “Bizarre to find out after years that I scared you when we first met. Perhaps I was uglier than I thought.”

“Yes, you were so ugly, you scared me to death,” he chuckled. “No, wait. I was already dead.”

“Are you dead serious?” They exchanged a glance and laughed together. This was one thing she liked about being with Jesse. She could joke with him and he would humor her back. It was comforting being silly with someone.

He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Perhaps I’m with you just because of your connections, Lucie. Have you ever thought about that?”

She rolled her eyes. “We are here,” she called, and tried to drag him to the spot they both remembered well. “Over there,” she added, hoping he had heard her over the noise. The crowd in this area of the Market was thick, and it made it impossible for them to walk side by side. Lucie tightened the hold on Jesse’s hand and led the way. She had noticed a spot with no stalls right under the bridge where the train passed overhead, and she meant to take him there, where they could stop and enjoy each other’s company in peace. Lucie saw two vampires discussing with a faerie who didn’t want to lower the price of some concoction. This probably distracted her, because when she turned towards the path out of the crowded street, someone almost crashed into her. “Apologies, sweet lady,” the man said, his voice eerie. He was dressed as a clown, and she was startled for a second. Not because of his clothes, but because she hadn’t seen him coming. She sighed, but still replied: “no problem,” but he had already left. She turned to Jesse to check on him. He tightened his grip on her hand, and she assumed he had been equally surprised by the clown barreling into them. She frowned when she saw him. He was paler than usual, and even in the dim lights of the Shadow Market, she could see that there was something wrong with him. A drop of sweat fell on the side of his face, and that alarmed her. It was too cold for him to be sweating, unless –

They were almost out of the crowded street, and she could see a way out. She pulled him into the empty space she had eyed before and he followed her without uttering a word. She heaved a sigh once they were out of the grasp of the crowd, and eased him to lean his back on the stone wall.

“Jesse,” she muttered, alarmed, cradling his face in her hands. His breath was labored, and this worried her even more. She thought someone in the crowd might have hurt him. “What –” she began, but he put his hand over hers and she squeezed it. It was icy cold, and it trembled in hers. She caressed his cheek and he glanced at her with a frightened look. “You are safe. No one is going to hurt you here. I will protect you.” It wasn’t a lie. Lucie wasn’t that tall, but she could fight, if she needed to. She didn’t think she would need to fend off any demons, aside from the ones from a past she wasn’t aware of. She asked him to breathe in and breathe out, remembering another episode in the past where he had a similar reaction, until color returned to Jesse’s cheeks and he wasn’t gasping anymore. 

He offered her a weak smile, and held on her hip for balance. It was enough for her, who could only sigh. “The one who bumped into you,” he said at last, “it was a clown.”

It was Lucie’s turn to gasp now. How could she forget? “I’m sorry, Jesse. I should’ve seen him coming.”

“He came out of nowhere, you could not,” he quickly replied. “It’s fine now, I just needed to take a breath. Thank you for taking me here.” She nodded and bit her lip, not letting go of his hand. “Are you okay?” “Yes, way better,” he assured her. “At last, we are where we intended to arrive.” “Was this the spot?” Lucie wondered, and frowned at the noise of the train passing nearby. “I wish the market wasn’t so crowded. I could have run after that clown and hit him with my hat.” “It wasn’t worth it,” he shook his head. “We can leave if you want, but I’d rather not. We have a tradition to uphold.” It had turned into a tradition to have a date at the Shadow Market, and they made it there despite the last unwanted encounter. 

“Are you sure?” she asked again, but she could see that he was better. “Then let’s make the best of it.”

She knew what came next, and put her arms around him. Jesse carried her face in his hands and she tipped her chin up so he could have easy access to her lips. This wasn’t like the first time. Their first kiss had been urgent, because they were both afraid it could’ve been their last, and they had wanted to savor it until the end. But it had also been shy, because neither of them had known how to do it properly. Later, they had confessed to each other that it had been their first kiss, and Lucie couldn’t have been happier. They were going to be each other’s firsts in so many things, and this made their relationship even more meaningful to them. This kiss held the passion and love they felt for each other but it was not rushed. They knew they had all the time in the world, and they kissed each other until their lips were swollen and sore, and their cheeks had turned red because of the heat. “Three years and counting?” she wondered, out of breath, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Here’s to many more,” he answered, and he sealed their anniversary and their promise of love with another kiss.

*

Thanks for reading <3 I wanted to write this for a long time, and I saw a post where I was reminded that in CoT Jesse says that he is scared of clowns and of stripes. I wanted this to go differently and include this bit too, but this week was too hectic and I had a hard time finding the will to write and to get inspired. This fic meant to be fluffy and soft, despite the hurt/comfort. I love when the fmc comforts the mc, and I have one more fic where Lucie takes care of Jesse. I will probably post it sooner or later. For the moment, you enjoyed this. <3

#tsc #tsc fanfiction #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #blackdale #tlh #ghostwriter #ghostwriter fest 2023 #chain of thorns #chain of iron #chain of #the shadowhunter chronicles #tweety.writes

[distantlaughter]

Nico Rosberg was already sure of his plans at the age of 15 - "My goal is F1"

By Raila Kinnunen for Apu, posted 28 November 2016, originally written in 2001 (x)

Nico Rosberg became Formula 1 World Champion on Sunday night. The Rosbergs, Keke and Nico, are only the second father and son duo in history to both win the F1 championship. Apu met 15-year-old Nico in Monaco and is now re-running the story to celebrate the historic championship.

Keke Rosberg sighs deeply and says that it happened yesterday on a farm in France: a son beat his father 6-0 in tennis.

The gust echoes with both regret, the nagging thought of his own aging, and pride in his son. But Dad quickly recovers and, under the cover of his walrus moustache, his mouth turns up in a grin. Yesterday may be the most illegal time to play on a fast surface, as long as he pays for the pitch, he chooses the surface.

It's the same turn of events that awaits every father. Keke is 52, Nico 15, the son is almost a professional tennis player, having played since he was two, and in the last couple of years he's closed the gap on his dad: 170 centimetres against 176.

But when Keke is told that if Nico loses next time, the loss will be intentional and the tax will soon be paid in the form of "Papa, how about a scooter, a party…", Dad gets nervous.

"A year ago, we almost had a fight when my son announced a couple of weeks before his 15th birthday that you must be thinking of buying me a scooter as a present, I've been thinking about it, don't buy it as I won't have time to use it anyway! And Nico didn't even know that I had already arranged it. "After digesting the story for a while, I asked if anyone had threatened to scrap or steal the scooter. Something like that must be behind this, because he can't be that sensible. And that's what got him angry, claiming I underestimated him. "For me it was once the most important thing in the world to have a moped at 15, and this one says it's not worth it! Maybe he gets to ride so many other motor toys that the normal desire of a normal teenage boy to get a ride is already satisfied," Keke muses.

The story is actually a very typical example of the relationship between the men in the Rosberg family. There is partnership and love, the difference between generations, eras and situations in life, and a father's wonder at these.

That's what it's all about: winning

Nico Rosberg was 11 years old when he won the French karting championship in his second year of driving. He started cornering on a karting track at the age of two, around the same time the kid was using a tennis racket the size of himself to pull 50 metres of well-placed serves. I can testify to this as an eyewitness.

"Tennis was the other option for a long time. I was too small for tennis at first. I was very short until I was 13 and then I suddenly stretched," says Nico, making the all-important whoosh sound. "At some point, I decided that driving was the choice after all. That's the goal, I'll try to do as well as I can and then see how far I can go. I play tennis for fun now, and football. "When I won the French championship, I had an awful lot of fun. Winning is amazing, so sweet! The feeling is great, the whole atmosphere. That's what it's all about, winning. The funny thing is that in tennis, winning doesn't bring nearly the same joy. I guess racing is about the whole package, the pace and everything else. It simply feels good," Nico describes. "Sometimes when you feel like you're driving to the limit, everything is going smoothly and all that's left is the speed and the driving, it feels great. But that doesn't happen very often," Rosberg Jr. regrets.

He is a nice-looking young man in his last moments, somewhere between childhood and manhood. His body still has a cherubic softness, his blond hair curling in the same pattern as Keke's, which has begun to grey elegantly at the temples. His behaviour is almost that of an adult: a straight look, a brisk handshake, good manners, clear speech and then, in the middle of it all, he gets excited and starts giggling like a brat. Quite disarming.

And the eyes, they're a combination of green and blue among the curled lashes.

"Yeah, and grey. At least that's what the girls have said," Nico enlightens me and beams happily.

So Nico didn't want the scooter that people use to shuttle through the narrow streets of his hometown Monaco. It will be more than two years before he gets behind the wheel of a car. Does he mind?

"No, there's plenty of excitement to be had in Papa's car!"

Keke, the 1982 Formula 1 World Champion, one of the most brilliant and accomplished riders on the track, is a legendary and terrifying rider in civilian life. So ferocious, in fact, that wife Sina and Keke have jointly decided that to save their long marriage they will no longer share the same car. Sina is scared to death of Keke's driving, and Keke is uncomfortable in the passenger seat - so they take off in two cars, or in different modes of transportation altogether.

After receiving a burst of honesty, Keke calls himself an even worse hooligan behind the wheel.

"Nico certainly won't learn anything worth repeating while riding with me!" his father confesses.

"My dad is always telling me, 'don't learn anything from me behind the wheel.' I'm not scared at all when I ride with my dad, my trust in him is complete. He drives fast, but I trust him more than anyone else," says Nico. "Obviously, I'm not going to drive on the road like my father. First of all, I would never be able to pick up my mother, and I probably wouldn't even get a car!" the boy reckons.

How do father and son differ as drivers on the track?

"That's quite different from me. I was fierce and wild, the boy is totally controlled, calculating, and never looks fast on the track, you can't see how fast he is with your eyes," Keke defines when the main characters of this story were interviewed separately.

Nico never saw his father behind the wheel of a Formula One car, Keke quit when Nico was one and a half years old. As a DTM driver, he got to know his father.

"Dad is a bit of a bzzzzzz," Nico describes with a wasp tongue, "crazy, or not crazy but aggressive and wild while I'm calmer. Dad says that Alain Prost was very similar—I don't mean to compare—but that he thought Prost was also very calm, untempered and icy."

When it is said that his father described him as a calculating driver, Nico briskly asks what calculating means, explain.

He does the same a couple of times during the interview. When an unfamiliar English word comes up, he immediately asks what's that, explain.

The father tells an anecdote about the same thing.

"I have a friend who is totally impressed with the way Nico does things. He took Nico to a board-level meeting, so a big conference table, five adults and Nico. The idea was, of course, to leave a good impression of yourself, as you usually do when you want something, right? "I was really proud of the kid, but the water is pretty deep when you throw someone that age into a situation like that. My friend was speechless, told me that Nico did fantastically well and that it was the fact that he said ‘I don't know’ when he didn’t know that impressed him the most. He doesn’t try to pretend to play a role and be knowledgeable when he doesn’t know."

There you have it, you can see how successful you have been at parenting!

"Successful where? We have not raised a son. He's probably grown up under the influence of his environment, his friends, their parents. We haven't had to raise him once yet!"

Sina Rosberg, pretty, elegant, and slim, happens to arrive at this very moment on the balcony of the Rosbergs' studio apartment home in Monaco.

"We have never had any problems with Nico. He hasn't been mean, late, cheated, caused worry - not even now, even though he is in puberty. No worries whatsoever," his mother marvels. "When Nico was two years old, everyone said, wait until he's three and you'll know what the problems are. When he was five years old, they told you to wait until he was six, or nine, and at puberty you'll know what the trouble was! Now I just wonder how long you have to wait!"

Putting on the brakes next year

Nico is in tenth grade at the International School of Nice, where he is taught English and French. Next spring, he will have his matriculation exams, and because he skipped a grade at the suggestion of his teachers, he will finish his schooling before he turns 17.

Nico is now in his first year in Formula Super A, driving for Mercedes Benz and McLaren's teammbm.com team, as one of the junior drivers of Keke Rosberg’s team, alongside Lewis Hamilton, a 15-year-old dark-skinned Englishman, the other junior driver. There are 14 races during the season, with World Championship races in Canada, France, Italy, Belgium and Japan, plus six races in the Italian championship series and a couple of other races.

On weekends, he either competes or tests. Most of the testing is done at the team's home track near Venice, but recently Nico went to Montreal for a couple of days to test Bridgestone tyres.

"I thought I'd put the brakes on my driving for next year, so I can finish school in good shape. I’ll still drive, but as little as possible. Once school is over, I'll concentrate on driving hard. I'll still be so young, 16-17 years old, that it won't make sense to go to university yet." "Even if I do well in driving—which is my great hope—I will still be doing something else all the time. I'm very interested in aerodynamics, I like physics and mathematics. I'm going to look for university courses related to these, for example six-week courses in the summer. And then another course at a business school, maybe in Monaco or Germany. There are often suitable breaks while driving," Nico plans. "In any case, I would like to go to university and get a degree. Because what will drivers do when their career is over? My father was lucky to find a career in driving."

Do you have as good a business instinct as Keke?

"Absolutely," Nico laughs. "I'm studying business at school and I'm top of my class. I'm very interested in the subject, let's just say I'm excited, but I don't know how far I'll go yet."

Keke, the first Finnish athlete who knew how to make money out of sport, how to handle money, and make it work, answers the same hereditary question like this:

"At that age, how would you know? He's a thrifty boy, that's for sure. Otherwise, I can say that he hasn't inherited much from me, judging by his school performance. There are a lot of absences because of driving and yet his school results are really good! "The certificates came last week, and Nico warned me that tomorrow it's coming, and it was scary good! Maybe he’s so ambitious at school with the absences being exceptionally high. Or maybe a little bonus of such a hobby is also the ability to focus and set goals. "Never have I had to tell him to do some homework, but ‘that's enough, it's so late you're going to bed.’ That a boy of that age should be dragged away from his books, there was no such thing in my day!" his father wonders.

In almost identical words, father and son describe on successive evenings how meaningful it is to have two plans for the young person's future, A and B. If one fails or circumstances change, the second plan is put in place.

"I don't push or advise. The boy does what he wants. I hear much more about his plans for the future from my friends than directly from the boy, with whom he discusses them in the sauna in the country. Apparently it is easier to discuss and spar with them and when they ask questions, he answers." Keke knows that when dad asks questions, his mouth goes agape.

Nico says he has only just now realised the joy, benefits and advantages of sports.

"I look at my friends whose lives are dominated by school. They go to school in the morning, come home, do their homework and go to bed. Weekends are spent preparing assignments and holidays catching up on backlogged studies. I don't think you can live like that. That’s how youth is wasted and ruined! "I think it's nice to be able to take a break from school, do something completely different and enjoy it. "I don't really know how I'm going to get through my homework in the time I have to do it. Every night I work out, take a 45-minute swim and play football or tennis. On the weekends when I'm driving, I don't think for a moment about school, and I still have no problems at school. Teachers don't give me any slack or leniency for my absences—I have to keep up with everyone else," says Nico.

Short-haired little baby

The Rosbergs speak German at home, Sina's language.

Keke grumbles that he was in a terrible situation when he fell into speaking German—a language he had gotten out of at school by telling the old maid that he would never need one— when he really wanted to speak English, an easier and more familiar language.

"I was probably so blindly in love that I chose her language, and once you've said yes, you can't change it."

At the wedding, Keke does remember saying 'I do'.

"And you [Sina], who always protested against everything rigid and formal, answered the priest's question with "why not?", Keke still marvels.

Keke also regrets that the teacher from Iisalmi died before the cosmopolitan, who had moved to Germany, could confess to them that he had made a colossal mistake.

So Nico, who has dual Finnish and German nationality, learned two languages in parallel, German for the parents and English for the nanny, and then, as the environment shifted from home to yard to school, French. The three languages are still on equal footing. A couple of years ago, Italian was added to the mix, which Nico picked up from his best friends. Just the other day he announced: "From now on, please only speak Italian to me.”

In Finnish, he only gets a few words.

"I really got an earful about it ten years ago when someone in Finland found out that Nico doesn't speak Finnish. There were a lot of scolding letters. I think the language decision was quite sensible: one more language would have taken away far too much capacity. If the boy ever wants to move to Finland to live, I'm sure he'll learn the language too. The likelihood of him settling in Finland is quite low. Unless some pretty girl tempts him, and if she does, he's sure to be able to speak the language," says the father.

It is only in the last few months that Nico has become enthusiastic about Finland. He takes his dictionary with him on his travels and is very interested. Jatta Rosberg, Keke's younger sister, who first lived in London and married an Englishman, then divorced, moved to the outskirts of Nice, married a Belgian and now works in Keke's office, has been teaching her son Nikolas, a couple of years older than Nico, to speak almost perfect Finnish. Of course, things were easier in those days, when there were only two languages, English and Finnish.

Nico was motivated to learn Finnish for many reasons: to get to know Keke's mother, Grandma Lea, better, to have his own special language with his cousin Nixu. But the main reason is very clear.

"I want to be Finnish. In the world of racing, I want to move and be known as a Finn, not a German. I can't really explain why. Part of the reason must be that there are so many Germans, being Finnish is more fun!" Nico reflects.

So maybe one day we will hear the Maamme song when Rosberg Jr. climbs the highest podium?

"Let's hope so!"

"In any case, I think it would be wise to learn Finnish. I only know a few words. Bun, potty, short-haired little baby. The latter came from when Nixu and I were joking on the bus with a guy who had shaved his head bald. When there was nothing better to do, Nixu taught me: short-haired little baby. It would be nice to surprise Grandma Lea one day by speaking at least a little Finnish! I'm not afraid of grammar or pronunciation, it's in my head somehow, because I hear my dad speak Finnish every day."

Keke is very calm about Nico's preference for citizenship.

"At some point in the future, the boy will have to think about whether, if he goes to Germany to drive, he should be an exotic Finn or a German who’s more interesting to the sponsors. I can't answer that, and I don't think it's a burning question at all at this stage. Either you are a good driver or you are not."

Nico, when you watch a hockey match between Finland and Germany, which side are you on?

"In this case, you should be on Finland’s side, because they are so much better. In football? I haven't had time to pick a side because it's so funny to watch my parents in that situation, it's hilarious! I suppose I wisely try to be neutral halfway through. No, of course I would hope Finland would win, because that would be a surprise and newsworthy!"

And when you watch teammates Finnish Kimi Räikkönen and German Nick Heidfeld on the Formula 1 track, who do you root for?

"The Finn of course!"

Your cousin Nixu said that Mika Häkkinen is like a big brother to him, that they spent a lot of time together before he got married. What kind of relationship do you have with Mika?

"Not that close at all. Nixu is Mika's friend and the difference comes from the fact that Nixu speaks Finnish and it's easy for Mika to talk to him. But Mika is by far the best, I respect him enormously as a driver. I don’t like Michael Schumacher. Of course he is damn good, but I don't like his character and his style. Schumi doesn't seem fair, but what luck he has!"

Scared, of course

Keke Rosberg's team has three divisions, two junior drivers, two lower Formula drivers and two DTM drivers. Keke also manages Mika Häkkinen and Olivier Panis in Formula One, Kalle Palander in alpine skiing and partly handles Jyrki Järvilehto's affairs.

He is now rarely seen in F1, as Nico's racing schedule swallows up a couple of weekends a month.

"Nico already does the tests on his own, but I go to all the races." It's actually a deal with Sina: if the son drives, the father goes with him.

According to Keke, it's quite easy to keep the roles of team boss and father separate, as for Nico he's always first and foremost the father.

"The separation became even easier after Nico fired me from the mechanic job, and it didn't take long to get fired. At one of the French championships, when the front wheel came off, my son announced that it might be better if you didn't touch the car. I forgot to tighten the wheel. I'm not mechanically gifted at all," says Keke.

Keke's father Lasse, a veterinary surgeon by profession, competed with his son year after year. Keke often went along on his father's nightly sick trips, not so much to meet the cows, but because he was allowed to drive his father's Peugeot on the gravel side roads, kept secret from his mother.

"Nico has had a professional mechanic for four years, I used to have a veterinary mechanic from one year to the next. The biggest difference between my time and now is the professionalism of the work. We were hobbyists, they have computers and tuners, they have a lot of material, the drivers are involved in the development of the machines. I got the number 24 engine for the World Championship, the one that no Italian or Central European wanted. "When I was 28-29 years old, I was at the same level of technical understanding and comprehension of the material as Nico is now," Keke explains.

When Keke failed at the races, father and son sulked for three days, not talking to each other when he failed like that.

"I've always told Nico about these things. Yes, we may have a quiet life, but luckily I'm not a mechanic, I'm not in the line of fire and partly to blame. Sometimes, during the weekend, I say, 'I wonder what I'm doing here when you won't even talk to me! Good morning you have said today, nothing more.' The boy is so in his own world. "Of course a father is scared, it's only natural. When two cars go around a bend side by side, the insides turn. Then there's no other role in your mind than that of a father. The top speed in karting is not huge, 125-130 km/h, but the cornering speeds are tough. Fortunately, nothing out of the ordinary has happened to Nico. A few times he's been to the hospital for a mid-race X-ray—all fine. Nothing has been told to his mother. "Many times while I was standing there on the track, it also occurred to me that my father never saw Nico drive anything, he died just before Nico started. I think he would have liked what he saw," Keke says.

You can't watch Nico drive. Not on the track and not on TV either, when he moves to the televised leagues.

"There are mothers who want to be there and see everything and then there are those like me," says Sina. "I'm scared when Nico drives, it's terrible. I was there sometimes when Nico was younger, and I was terribly unhappy if Nico was unhappy when he was unlucky. And the parents would fight amongst themselves that your son was blocking our son's way, pushing! "When Nico was little, I was like a hen, always spreading my wings to protect the chick. Now Keke plays the same role, he is the rooster, ready to defend the chick and the rooster has even bigger wings," Sina defines.

Nico says that when things go very wrong at the races, Keke leaves him to his own devices.

"Usually Keke waits for me to start ranting, and then he says it's not the end of the world, that these things happen," Nico explains.

Rosberg must be beaten!

Is the Rosberg name a joy or a burden?

"In the beginning, I was worried that the name was definitely a burden," says Keke. "The attention Nico got as a ten, eleven year old was definitely a burden. Soon it became a burden in another sense: in many races you could see that they had nothing else in mind but to beat Rosberg. Today, in the world of karting, it no longer matters, since Nico stands so firmly on his own two feet. When Nico moves to the big cars, the same thing will happen again. First you get too much attention, then it's Rosberg's turn to get beaten up, and then he stands on his own two feet," Keke continues. "And there is no way to prepare a boy for that. He will walk there himself and learn. Next time it will be easier, Nico will be older and stronger to understand and accept it."

Nico himself has a much more positive view of his surname than his father.

Obviously it has been an advantage. It's probably impossible for me to even assess what the benefits are.

Is it obligatory?

"Of course it means you have to maintain a certain level, you are being watched. And maybe someone wants to pick on you. I hope one day to have a reputation and a name as my own person, so that people don't see me as just my father's son, but as an independent athlete. All will be well the day they say he's a pretty good driver and, by the way, Keke’s son, if you didn’t happen to know! "I've had more of a problem with always being the youngest and smallest in everything I do. It's hard to fight against the bigger ones, they were always pushing and shoving me off the track in the beginning. I'm a Rosberg and the youngest of the bunch, so I have to earn double the respect of others! "At the front? First some lower formulas, I'm too young for F3 or Formula 3000. No point trying to get in too early when I can't get to the top yet—what would I do in the meantime? I'd better go step by step, I've got time. The goal is definitely Formula 1," says Nico Rosberg.

By the end of the year, I'll be trying to explain to Keke and Sina what a great son they have, a nice, smart, multilingual cosmopolitan, a future charmer and champion.

Sina has the final word.

"Nico has inherited his father's intelligence."

Pause.

"Because I still have mine."

#preemptive apology to the country of finland for probably committing at least ten different crimes of translation for this article #nico rosberg #keke rosberg #sina rosberg #nicology #my post

[gremlins-hotel]

I’ve seen a vision and need to expel it from my mind:

Alfred smooching the surface of Ivan’s space helmet because he thought it would be cute.

Ivan just watching Al squish his face against the glass and slobber all over it.

i am feeling nice today. haven't written anything in a while, nor drawn. i hope it's at least funny if not somewhat entertaining. now i go hang up my laundry,,,

“Dude, I can’t believe you still have that!” exclaimed Alfred, looking his buddy up and down. “And that they were actually willing to make a suit that fits you, Christ. Or let you keep it. How old is it now?”

Ignoring Alfred, Ivan twisted to observe the old spaceflight uniform he wore. It hugged a little too tightly in places but still, he had managed to squeeze the old suit on without it complaining too much. With a blink and a look up, he considered his response. “Trust you me, I am convinced I was only allowed to keep the suit because no one else could dream of wearing it comfortably, not even for training. It is an early Sokol, so the seventies. I, ah…do not remember the exact year.”

“Damn, a pity,” Alfred nodded, “no spacewalks for you then. Not in that at least.” Unafraid, he walked up to the giant and circled him, observing the hose-like sleeves and mission patches across the body. A red-and-blue Apollo-Soyuz patch stood out against Ivan’s stomach. It earned a laugh from Alfred; he remembered that joint mission well. He also remembered having to shake hands with Ivan. It wasn’t their first and wouldn’t be their last, and at least the two of them had always agreed on one thing: the stars were for the discovery of all mankind, though of course, neither of them was man.

The bear shook his head, following the other Nation’s stare, “No, it is like your Shuttle suits. For the spacecraft only, yes. We had others for spacewalks like the Orlan.”

“Oh yeah, I remember,” came the confident reply.

“And here I was under the insinuation that you didn’t. Not that I would be surprised, you’re like a dog in this regard.” Ivan gave a gruff snap of laughter and lifted a hand to ruffle jokingly at Alfred’s hair like a golden retriever. His hands were quickly smacked away with a roll of the smaller man’s eyes. Black gloves were taken into curious hands and turned over, the ridges of the knuckles poked and prodded. Snatching his hand away, Ivan observed the glove too, “This thing is starting to get hot. Anything else?”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed as he leaned back on his heels, crossing his arms. “Hmm…still got the helmet or no, big guy?”

“Podozhdite,” Ivan rumbled, making a quick face before shuffling to the old box he had dragged the suit from. Always the soft helmet had been his favorite part. When not in use, he could stuff the loose part against the visor and it’d be fine, as long as the visor itself wasn’t getting scratched. Squatting to rummage through the contents before him, he wondered at the helmet’s condition. The edges of blue anodized aluminum, dull with time, met his fingers and Ivan pulled with some relief, brushing the white canvas free of their stubborn fold.

Pulling the helmet over his head proved to be somewhat difficult, and Ivan remembered why he had shaved his beard when he had more regularly worn the equipment. At that the memory of Alfred trying to keep his face trained for their photographed handshake in 1975 was loud. Throughout the experiments, the other Nation hadn’t let him live down how “babyfaced” he appeared without it. Friends or enemies, it was true that they always knew how to dig deep and press each other’s buttons. Ivan had barely kept from slapping Alfred then, to tell him to be serious. But that would’ve been counterintuitive to the joint mission, as satisfying as it likely would���ve been.

Fumbling with the flange, it snapped into place with a satisfying sound. It was slightly uncomfortable without the soft under cap, but he’d be taking the suit off soon enough. Both hands were needed to shove the visor down on its aging hinges. From his crouch, Ivan turned his head and offered a half-assed salute, “Opa!”

Alfred’s form was dark through the visor and his snort muffled through the helmet’s canvas. “Don’t move.”

“What are you planning?” Ivan’s voice bounced back at him from the visor, but he hoped Alfred could still hear. The other Nation approached until only legs were in Ivan’s vision. He recoiled slightly to look up, “If you scratch this helmet I will make sure you regret it, Jones.”

“Don’t bellyache dumbass, I ain’t gonna hurt you. Not right now, at least. Now hold still,” said Alfred above him. Hands grabbed either side of Ivan’s head, pressing the PA6 nylon of the inside against his ears. Trying to jerk away from the contact, Ivan’s hands reached out to push at Alfred’s arms with a hiss. Sibilant air once more echoed back to his own senses. He could see Alfred leaning down toward his head. He frowned.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh come on, you’re like the only asshole I could do this with. It’ll be like a goddamn movie.” Alfred complained.

“No,” Ivan barked, “not unless you plan to die.”

“You’re fucking lame, Red,” Alfred sighed beyond Ivan’s visor. “Consider: I do this, and you can put me in a headlock after you get out of the Spandex.”

And Ivan did consider. “Bold words just to call me fat. It is your death warrant, not mine.”

“Yeah, yeah, so what do you say?”

“Fine.”

Through the dark visor, Ivan watched as Alfred continued to lean down. The hands holding his skull seemed to pull him up and the former cosmonaut jerked his chin higher to see better. Lips folded and approached the polycarbonate screen, pressing to it and crafting the same funny image as a hand plastered to glass. Actually, it was disgusting from inside the helmet.

Ivan could see the lines etched in the other man’s lips in too much detail, and he grimaced at realizing Alfred had purposefully made his kiss very wet. Tiny bubbles smashed against the hard material. It would leave a mark on the visor that Ivan immediately decided he would make the other astronaut clean. An awful kissy sound smacked his eardrums, muffled as it was, and the Nation thrashed his helmeted head away from his friend. Ivan made a retching sound in the back of his throat when his motion caused a slobbery smear across the visor.

Pulling away with that obnoxiously jovial laugh he had, Alfred’s face was cracked in mirth. He could see the giant’s contorted mouth, though his eyes were hidden beneath the polarized upper half of the visor. Still he firmly held his friend’s head, laughing the whole time. Ignoring the swearing behind the helm, Alfred threw his head back to snort and laugh harder when he heard a muffled ‘fucking dog’. He was dead the moment Ivan divested himself of the space suit, but half the fun would be kicking his ass.

#callsign gremlin checking in #papa echo november #rusame // stardust on our boots #hetalia #aph america #aph russia #hws america #hws russia #alfred f jones #ivan braginsky #rusame #amerus

[grem-archive]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: America & England (Hetalia) Characters: America (Hetalia), England (Hetalia) Additional Tags: Historical Hetalia, Brotherly Angst, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Father-Son Relationship, Humor, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, Brothers America & England (Hetalia), they debate philosophy, arthur is a rat bastard, Alfred is a little shit, they play a game of chess, Chess, American Revolution, Revolutionary War, no beta we die like men

Summary:

What happens when empire and colony butt heads upon a dreary London day? And what happens when nostalgia hits them centuries from then over a simple game of chess?

#i'm honestly terrified to post this #i don't ever share my writing #i'm sorry if it's bad #it's not perfect but i'm strangely proud of this thing #throws this thing into the void #please be gentle #hetalia #aph america #hws america #alfred f jones #aph england #hws england #arthur kirkland #NOT SHIP #I REPEAT #NOT USUK #it's them being shitheads to each other #and then good to each other in the second half #papa echo november

[mleemwyvern]

how good is every word of the nato phonetic alphabet for hels tango names? lets see! this is all my opinion, yours may vary

Alfa

i could see it working, but it wouldnt be an early pick for me. kinda mid.

Bravo

very good! a tried and true hels tango name, close in vibes and sound.

Charlie

a Regular Name, works pretty well. not to be confused with charlie of impulses chocolate factory from s8 (thats a helspulse).

Delta

i like this one. great for a particularly sciency hels, ive used it for my hels zed but it can fit a tango too.

Echo

quality vibes. i think this ones really underrated, i havent seen any echo hels tangos and i think there should be one.

Foxtrot

the only other dance option. 10/10 just for that.

Golf

i dont think this is a very good name but i could see it be good for crackfics.

Hotel

probably not.

India

hm... i wouldnt use this one, but i think i could see it.

Juliett

i mean if your hels tango is a girl than its a great option.

Kilo

....... maybe?

Lima

not.... completely horrible. but its not on my list. i could see it in crackfics.

Mike

great if you want a hels tango thats Just A Guy. this is a just a guy name.

November

i guess you could but. why.

Oscar

its a name! it doesnt have particularly tangoey vibes to me though. but you could definitely use it.

Papa

please no.

Quebec

dont like this one but if you're really going to call a hels tango this than you should make him speak french.

Romeo

a good one! has the Sounds and the Vibes. lends itself to a charmer type of hels, which could be interesting.

Sierra

i could see it.

Tango

the og. sometimes he can be the hels, if thats the case then you can use this list for his overworld counterpart!

Uniform

uh, no thank you.

Victor

love this one! used it for my hels tango and it fits him very well. would recommend.

Whiskey

..... why. just, why. i cant see this working.

Xray

yeah.... i dont think this is a good name.

Yankee

crackfic Only. i cannot take this one seriously.

Zulu

the vibes dont click with me but i guess i dont hate it.

in conclusion: the quality varies drastically. there are so many options. if you cant decide just make an au where there are 25 hels tangos (one for each name) it would be really funny.

#hermitcraft #tangotek #hels tango #my personal recommendations are: #bravo. echo. foxtrot. romeo. victor. #thats the mleem top five not necessarily in order #a lot of these Could work if you try them. i mean there are mcyt with weirder names im sure people will get used to it

[unfortunate-arrow]

𝓗𝓮 𝓘𝓼𝓷’𝓽 𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴

A/N: For @hp-12monthsofmagic’s November prompt (“Remember, Remember”). Set at Whitethorn Hall in April 1892. Involves discussions of death, grief, and funerals.

The day of the funeral dawned within the midst of a blustery storm. Rain blew sideways, splattering against the windows. Wind howled, as if embodying their pain. Edmund Kennedy, aged 11, had watched the storm roll in. The firelight flickered, illuminating the study. It had barely been touched in the three days since Ferdia Kennedy’s sudden death. The only thing that had been moved was the family’s ledger, which was meant to go to the family’s hastily hired estate manager. The ledger lay draped on Edmund’s chest, and that was how Alice Kennedy found her eldest child a few hours later.

“Neddy, Ned.” Alice gently shook the boy’s shoulder.  Edmund jerked away, blinking rapidly.

“Mother,” he murmured.

“Why weren’t you in bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, Neddy.”

He fought the hug that came on next. He was the man of the house now. It was time that he acted like it. His mother had six other children to look after… and was expecting an eighth. She needn’t worry about him.

“I’m fine, Mother.”

“Edmund.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, forcefully. 

“Okay.” Alice eyed her eldest warily. “Can I trouble you to check on Walter?”

“Yes. Shall I help him prepare for mourning?” 

“That would be wonderful, darling.”

Edmund nodded, stretching as he stood up from the wingback study chair. His mother kissed his head and left the room. He set the ledger down on the desk, exactly where he had found it… in the last place his father had put it. He still couldn’t shake the image of his father’s last breath. His father’s words echoed his head with the promise he’d made to look after Ma and Minerva and the rest.

Meanwhile, in the window seat of the library, Minerva Kennedy, also aged eleven, sat watching the storm rage. Firelight flickered nearby, illuminating the small notebook and quill that lay, untouched, in her lap. Her muse had fizzled out around the time the storm had rolled in. She couldn’t make herself get up, though. The storm was captivating, in such the way that the gothic novels she pretended to hate were captivating. It did seem like the weather was reflecting the storm inside the house, though. 

“Minerva?” 

She startled at the voice of her mother, turning to face the woman. Her mother looked tired, the firelight seeming to reflect dark circles underneath her eyes.

“Mama, are you alright?” she asked.

Alice sighed, crossing the room and gently lowered herself down onto the window seat. “I’m doing alright, love. As well as can be expected. How are you doing?”

“I think I’m alright. Neddy’s the one that’s not alright.”

“Your brother is doing as well as he can be. It’s not your responsibility to worry about him, darling.”

“He’s my twin.”

“I know. He was very close with your father and it hurts.”

“Papa was the best. Do you remember how he used to play pranks during holiday and birthday dinners?”

Alice let out a laugh. “He did love to make us laugh.”

Minerva sighed softly. “I miss him. I keep thinking he’s gonna be in whatever room I enter or that he’s just hiding in his study but Ned’s the only one there.”

“I know. I keep expecting him to be there too.”

“Mama, are you sad that the baby’s not gonna know Papa?”

“Yes, I am Minerva. I keep thinking that maybe I’ll name this little one after him if this baby’s a boy. Ferdia might be in Ned’s name, but it’s only a middle name.”

“I hope the baby’s a girl. Because Walter and Ned can be very annoying.”

Alice laughed, pulling her daughter into a tight hug. “Your father thought that I was going to have another girl. I think he liked just having Ned, Walter, and all you girls.

“The funeral’s in a few hours, though. I need you to go get ready. Neddy said he’d help Walter. Can I trouble you to help out Eliza and Nan?”

“Sure, Mama. Just for today.”

“Of course, darling.” 

In the hours leading up to and during the funeral, the storm had cleared up enough for a procession to be held as the Kennedy family led the mourners down to the family cemetery. Ferdia Kennedy was to be buried next to his grandfather, Nolan Kennedy. 

Edmund led the procession, followed closely by his mother, sister, and brother. It hadn’t been an easy decision to make, but letting her son lead the procession had been the right decision. Ned needed this more than any of her other children. He’d been so close to Ferdia, had been the only one there when Ferdia had drawn his last breath. It wouldn’t surprise Alice if her son could now see thestrals. Minerva had been close to being there too, but she had raced to the house to call for help. Alice herself had fainted when she’d heard the news. But here they were, burying the man who had been pretty much an equal partner in life. Burying her beloved husband and a beloved father of eight, although he’d only known seven of his children. 

#hp12mom #edmund kennedy #minerva kennedy #alice kennedy #hp victorian era #hphl #my writing #my aesthetic #the kennedy fortescue family

[altargokart]

Bloom Bloom Bloom 

Doodle for the Second Skull Series, on my  papa  alpha  tango  romeo  echo  oscar  november

#art #my art #doodle #drawing #sketch #sketchbook #design #illustration #artists on tumblr #artist