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12-seconds-to-live · 9 months

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(Un)Lost: ‘Till the end of the line

Pairing: F12022/3!Grid! x Fem!Driver!oc

Warnings: DNF’s, angst, a little bit of love, episodes of anxiety, Seb’s retirement, harsh words.

DRIVE TO SURVIVE S.5 EP. 10

END OF THE ROAD

“So, What are your plans after Abu Dhabi?”

“I have a few things in mind, I’m officially unemployed. What are you gonna do without me?”

“Not much, for now we hired Charlotte as class clown, she’s is pretty funny. The other day she talked a lot about you”

“What did she say? Hope she didn’t reveal any secrets” Daniel showed a smile

“She looked sad, you know why?”

“Yeah. She’s the type of talent you saw on the track and your mind already click on what’s coming next, like, the next big thing. I told her that the events that happened on McLaren aren’t gonna affect our friendship”

“So, you’re good with the decision?”

“This is a sport that If they’re not happy with you, you’re out, you just have to remember the good days, enjoy the butterflies. I told her that she’s so powerfull, to surround to people who cares about her and then continue with their feet on the ground and let go the idea that you have to be the best or do the most to be worth something”

“You’re a good friend and we’re gonna miss you. What’s the next thing for you?”

“I don’t know. I guess we have to wait ‘till next season”

“Hello Charlotte”

“Hello Netflix, what’s up?”

“Good, how’s the media treating you?” I moved my head as saying no

“Like always, I haven’t been near my phone the past week, so Lando has to knock everyday at 5 am to wake me up”

“That’s a hard job” I laugh

“It’s discipline, I force him to go to the gym with me. Just to start the day with energy”

“Ready for the last race? This has been a incredible season, better that Hamilton’s”

“I don’t like to compare but yeah, the expectations has been high, for everybody, I also have a lot of responsability with me, Alex too. The team has helped us in a way that we feel in another level, even If we’re not longer be together, I’m gratefull and I hope to race aginst them next year. I mean, there was always a 50/50 situation and a lot of rumours and criticism but I just focused on what I wanted rather that follow people bad advices”

“Who gave you a bad advice?

“Daniel, he just told me to tell them F.E.A.”

“What’s that?”

“Fuck them all”

“Inspiring” I laugh “And who gave you a good advice?”

I started thinking “Probably Carlos, he’s been helping me a lot, he just said don’t crash, pretty good advice”

“Hey, just wanted to wish you good luck”

“You too” I kissed Lando on the cheek

“I don’t like it there” I laugh and hug him

“Carlos is looking in our direction and his mom just took a photo”

He laughs “Family dinners are going to be fun with me in there”

“Funny, go get ready, love you”

“Love you too, my world champ”

“Let’s see” I looked around and the Sainz and my dad we’re smiling “Weirdos”

My get closer to my dad and hug “You’re mom is so proud of you, I know you’re going to be world champion, zero doubts, mind focus and have fun. Even if this is your job, remember those days when everybody just said that a girl, my little baby, can’t do it and now you’re proving them wrong, you always do that. We’re so proud”

“I love you dad. Mom’s still here” I said with tear on my eyes

“She is” I gasp “Carlos, let’s go. See you after the race”

“Good luck, my favourite sister” I formed an “O”

“Ana and Blanca are gonna get so jealous, haha. See you on the podium or at the party”

“A little party sounds good” He laugh and I walked to my garage. All of the members looked happy, I took my balaclava and helmet and walked to the circuit to get in the car.

God, if this is my moment, please make it a good one.

“Radio check”

“Copy, ugh, I’m going to miss your voice”

“I already have the file of your radio in your inbox”

“You’re definitely the best race engineer in the world”

“Doing my best for you. Six minutes to formation lap”

“Copy, I remember that you’re going to McLaren with me, ups”

“Haha, nothing like a chaotic driver ‘till you decide to retire”

“Welcome to the last race of the season, here in Abu Dhabi. The story is repeating itself. Max Verstappen is going to be fighting for this year title with Charlotte Robyn-Jone, today as a Williams race driver and tomorrow she’ll be officially part of McLaren. There’s a lot going on in both garages. Red Bull has set up everything to a back to back and Williams has done the same for the girl. She’ll be the greatest, first woman to get through all the categories and win, hope that she do the same today and mark history”

Everybody is ready in their positions after the formation lap.

Five seconds to breath

Four seconds to be gratefull

Three seconds to blink

Two seconds to feel a champion

One second to be one

“And it all comes down to the last lap and no, Verstappen has braked and Charlotte has passed the Dutchman with ease and what a girl, she is three more corners away from being the first, mark history AND SHE HAS DONE IT, SHE DID IT. We have the first woman world champion in formula one. Remember her name, Charlotte Robyn-Jones is a world champion. Oh my God, I’m so happy”

“YEAAAAAAAAH, WE DID IT”

“YOU DID IT. What a race. We are so proud, Your mom is happy for you. This has been your year, champ” Everybody can hear the screaming coming from the Williams garage

“Thank you to all the members of Williams, I’m so happy. I hope we have a party tonight ‘cause everybody is invited. Call Kimi, Adam”

“I don’t have his phone number and...”

“But I do, look for my phone. Oh my God, freacking champion. YEAAAAH”

Charlotte parked in front of the P1, Max on P2 and Lando on P3. Due her excitement, she took off her helmet and balaclava faster than ever and run to Lando

“You did it. I’m so proud”

“So proud to deserve a kiss”

“As many as my girl want” And that kissed marked one of the most shared photos of the new crowned champion.

Little thing nobody knows. Happiness never last long.

Taglist: @evans-dejong @omgsuperstarg @bibissparkles @hoely-maria @mochimommy2002 @noope306 @eugene-emt-roe @80sloverry @rens-daylight @honeydanny

part one

part two

part three

#lewis hamilton #Formula 1 #Formula One #Red Bull Formula 1 #mercedes formula one #alpine #alpha tauri #Max Verstappen #sergio perez #daniel ricciardo #George Russell #Pierre Gasly #Esteban Ocon #lando norris #Zhou Guanyu

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deeply-unserious-fellow · 1 month

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No okay bcuz actually I DO want to explain my thoughts from this post here because I love analyzing things and I think talking abt Vox's relationships thru the lens of "this is just like Buffy fr fr" could be fun :)

FIRST OFF: VoxVal as Spike & Drusilla. I do not know their ship name and tbh I'm probably never gonna talk about them again so whooooo cares. To state the obvious, in this situation Vox is Spike and Val is Dru. Now, it's been awhile since I've watched Buffy, but from what I remember, Spike & Drusilla really are THE toxic villain couple, in that they're both like. Not very good to or for eachother, all things considered, but goddamnit they love eachother SO MUCH- which really is the generous interpretation of Staticmoth. I'm not gonna go super in depth into the fucking. Is Staticmoth abusive debate rn. Because I have one million other posts that make my stance on that pretty clear I think. But the uh... nicer interpretation of their relationship is very much Spike & Drusilla I think. Like right down to the headcannon of Vox liking how Val's shit eyesight & temper tantrums makes him kind of dependent on him. Again, could be misremembering, but based off of how Spike was w/ Dru while she was weakened(and based off of how he rebounded w/ Harmony of all people 💀), I get the distinct vibe that, despite his frustrations, Spike did like having somebody relying on him the way Dru(and later Harmony) did. Vox def seems like the type of guy that would get a kick out of feeling Needed and Relied On(why else would he literally route the entire Pride rings power grid through himself-), and Valentino is. Well. Valentino. I'm not gonna go over their interaction before Stayed Gone because it makes me ~genuinely uncomfortable~ for reasons I have, once again, gone into in depth before, but suffice it to say that it's definitely in character for Vox to be into Val relying on him like that. Oh also, like somebody pointed out in the reblogs on the original post, the reason Spike & Dru broke up from s3 all the way to their reunion in s5 is that she cheated on him and that's. Yeah that sounds about right.

And second, the Staticradio twins: Spuffy and Spangel. Why the fuck did I call them the Staticradio twins? I don't know I'm tired as shit and just used most of my brain power on the VoxVal segment now get off my back- anyways, these two are actually pretty easy to explain so I'll just get right into it! Most of the similarities between Staticradio and Spuffy can really be summed up in the song Reat In Peace from Buffy's musical episode. One-sided, obsessive crush on someone who you know deep down will probably never reciprocate. You want them to just leave you the fuck alone and stay gone(hahahahahahahahah), but they just. Aren't. Like even the bits about being a dead guy without a heart beat are spot on because Vox is a motherfuckin DEMON who is a ROBOT!!!!!!! Also the Alastor Body Pillow fanon(which IS fanon. It is. I'm sorry to say but that wasn't a thing on the Instagrams y'all-) does line up with the uh. The Buffy sex bot- it does line up with the Buffy sex bot. Anyways moving on to the Spangel section-

"You were my sire man!" - Spike, to Angel, in his introduction episode. I don't remember if this was retconned in season 5(or 6?) to be Dru siring Spike? It might've been. But for the sake of this post lets pretend it wasn't. Angel was basically Spike's mentor for a lot of their time together pre-show. They ran around in their weird little vampire polycule causing problems for everyone and life was good! Then Angel got cursed. Bro got a soul and then ran away for years without a word to anyone. Then, cut to current day, and Spike is hyped to see him right up to the point he realizes Angel has Changed. And from that point onward to two are RIVALS!!!!! Narrative foils, even. And while it isn't exactly the same as Alastor and Vox's history, it's pretty damn similar right!? Al was(presumably) Vox's friend and mentor for YEARS, like to the point of being comfortable taking a picture with him. Then something happens between them, causing a rivalry to form. Throw somewhere in the mix Al's deal & him fucking off for 7 years... it's like the same pieces being put together in a new way to make a different puzzle. Is Rosie Darla in this analogy? Unclear. Val is still Dru though. Do y'all get where I'm coming from? It's far, FAR from the same thing, like there are so many fucking differences and that's just going off of the stuff we DO know(I want to know more god I can't wait for season 2-), but the dynamics ARE similar. They're narrative foils with a deep history w/ eachother where they were probably-definitely friends, something caused them to become RIVALS, and also one of them is cursed and dissappeared for several years-

Whoo boy this got kinda incoherent- Anyways, that brings me to my brand new fun and interesting point: Vox and Spike are kinda similar characters. They're both antagonists who wanna be Big Tough Scary guys so bad, and like. They are. They are big tough AND scary. Sometimes. But for the vast majority of their screen time, their emotions, capacity for love(no matter how twisted their version of love is), and the consequences of that love going wrong continually get the better of them and cause them to look to us, the audience, like silly pathetic wet cats we found on the side of the road. Then they get Weird about it(Vox's "rivalry" w/ Angel and the. Buffy sex bot.) and we remember oh yeah this guy is EVIL! They also both wear long jackets and are bisexual :)

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pleuvoire · 1 year

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ok here are my opinions on some common patterns in conway’s game of life that i am always seeing pop up in my experiments

1. blinker

i do not like these very much. they are distracting when i see them littered around a still life and if i have ash of some kind i want to fuck with i usually just put dots on either side to stabilize them into a tub so their movement will stop catching my eye

2. traffic light

this is just an arrangement of blinkers so you can imagine my feelings. often a pattern will do something very pretty with fourfold symmetry but then just stabilize into one of these which is disappointing cause it’s the most boring constellation result you can get. i think traffic lights should be a less common result in this thing :/

3. honey farm

not the most interesting but has its own aesthetic qualities, it looks like a decorative embroidery pattern, so i support it and i’m like omg hi it’s a honey farm when they show up. and the process to generate one, while modest and not as fancy as some other formations like the pi heptomino, is still really pretty and often provides a gorgeous bit of symmetry among the chaos (for an example of what it looks like go to https://playgameoflife.com/ and make a line exactly seven squares long and press start). she is like a simple homespun beauty to me

4. glider

MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS. i just made a post about it but they are like animals to me. just look at it. just look at it! i’m so pleased that they are so commonly generated by random processes because they are so cute and my friends. when they pop up inside a bunch of stuff going on i am rooting for them to escape without any fatal collisions and continue to make their way into the great unknown. they are not the only spaceship (shape that moves itself across the grid indefinitely) but they are by far the simplest, most common, and above all the most endearing

5. pi heptomino

UGH I LOVE YOU. YOUR INTRICATE SYMMETRICAL BEAUTY IS MATCHED ONLY BY HOW EASY IT IS TO RANDOMLY GENERATE YOU SO I AM OFTEN GREETED BY YOUR ICONIC FIRST FEW STAGES BEAUTIFULLY BLOSSOMING FROM WITHIN CHAOS. she’s everything she is the moment. every way she interacts with her surroundings is going to look good as well. we have no choice but to stan. there is a beautiful tragedy in the way she generates a copy of herself (you can see in the animation before it gets prematurely cut off) but that copy will eventually be destroyed by all the other stuff unless you hassle the exhaust with blocks. tragic. but lots of potential applications for spaceship building!

6. line of six spark

(i can’t find a good gif so here’s a link to the wiki with an animation of it) if you’re going to go out do it in style. nothing special, a modest little thing, but it’s fun and unique to look at. i always like to see one of these appearing in my soups

7. phi spark

(same as above) it’s a lot like the line of six spark but twice as awesome because it REMINDS ME OF MY DEAR FRIEND TAKUMI :D and the distinctive ɸ shape is just so visually pleasing to suddenly see for an instant

8. r pentomino

kinda mixed feelings. on the one hand, her absolute slay in taking over a THOUSAND generations to stabilize (this gif is only a brief snapshot) after coming from that one little shape. on the other hand, i’m too impatient to wait that long. also i resent her taking the title of most commonly occurring methuselah (pattern that originates from a small seed but lasts a long time before stabilizing) from my lovely girlfriend the pi heptomino. also she’s not symmetrical so it’s not as nice to look at :/ which also means i can’t actually recognize any of these supposed common occurrences because there aren’t distinctive patterns for me to notice. oh well. nothing personal

9. toad

not huge on my radar compared to some of these others but the name makes it so cute, the way it looks is a lot more interesting despite its simplicity than my enemy the blinker, and it’s not as common a result so i when i get it i’m like omg it’s a toad :D also i hear they’re very useful in lots of spaceships and machines and stuff

ok that concludes my post about my thoughts on some common naturally occurring patterns from conway’s game of life that i am always seeing in my random soups. next i might do a post on some patterns that don’t occur naturally so much and that you have to manually input to see happen. if you actually read this far congratulations and thank you

#flashing

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indecisivepsyche · 2 years

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Murray Mysteries Thoughts

Alright, I made a post noting that I don't really like Murray Mysteries, so I thought I should expand on that. I'll go ahead and note that if you've just learnt of the podcast, don't let this discourage you from giving it a try. There are quite a few good moments in the podcast, and it's cool seeing how they've adapted Stoker's plot to modern times. From here, there's going to be a few spoilers for the podcast.

For me, it really came down to the fact that there were many times where I had the thought that I'd rather be reading Dracula or listening to Cryptic Canticles' adaptation instead. The innovations in Murray Mysteries with the format and characters weren't enough to prevent me from yearning to hear the lines they were adapting, not the modernized and simplified versions of them. I missed Stoker's prose.

I did have some fun listening to it! The podcast was at its best for me in the first season, when the characters were intentionally working together to create a podcast rather than leaving the recorder on for events and uploading them as a record of occurrences. Mina and Lucy's interactions were great, and it was enjoyable to learn how their backstories differed from their book counterparts. Diversifying the team by introducing Jane Seward and Lucy's nonbinary partner Art made sense for a modern adaptation. Later on, the Christmas Special and the developing relationship between Art and Jane (scenes without precedents in Stoker's work) were great listens.

I also have to commend the start of Jonathan Harker's travel segment! His love for Mina is evident, and his enthusiasm really filled me with the "my good friend Jonathan Harker!" joy. Drac was also so funny. I'm not 100% on board with what they did to him. He ends up lacking menace, which is very evident in #32 - they didn't even try to adapt what Dracula said to Mina when he attacked her on October 3rd. Still, there are many delightful moments from him, like his justifications for the off-the-grid nature of Castle Dracula and the mocking message he sent to the party to make it clear he was listening to their podcast.

Ah, the podcast. There are moments where the conceit of the show works against it for me. This is most egregious for me in all of Jane's segments discussing R's case. Jane, despite the fact that you're censoring the dude's name and I'm not sure if you're violating any privacy laws, this rubs me the wrong way. And what's up with them killing him off with a phone call after he received medical care in the hospital? Seemed unnecessary.

One last thing: their writing for Quincey rubbed me the wrong way. In Dracula, Quincey demonstrates with his courting of Lucy that he's quite willing to play the fool for his friends. It's clear he has depth beyond that, however, like with his comparison of Lucy's situation to vampire bats as well as Jack and Arthur looking to him for a plan of action. In Murray Mysteries, however, it really felt like his main purpose was comedic relief. Also, what's up with Van Helsing mentioning sacred bullets in Episode 28 and that never coming into play? The stake bullets don't count.

I could speak more and go into my complicated feelings over their Van Helsing, but I honestly need to get to sleep. Here's my current ranking of Dracula adaptations:

#1. Dracula (1931)

#2. Murray Mysteries

#3. Horror of Dracula (1958) (apologies to Van Helsing's amazing fur coat)

I have around 30 minutes of Nosferatu left, and I think it might claim #1.

#murray mysteries #dracula #spoilers

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christmascocos2023 · 10 months

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Friday 11th August

Usual beautiful start to the day with a bit less of the breeze earlier but picking up now. Yesterday afternoon I went for a walk along a path just up from me which runs along the coast line and has a really nice viewing platform. I have been doing some panoramic videos in some places as I think it captures scenery better than stills. However I have just discovered that tumblr only allows 1 video for the blog so I will have to send the videos to those who are interested by Messenger when I get home.

Today is a tour to Dolly beach which is apparently a good beach but seems it is a 40 min walk each way from the car park so not one you would just pop to for a quick swim! Chris has promised to show us a beach near Dolly where all huge amounts (tons a year) of plastic waste form mainly Indonesia washes up. There is a big effort every year to clean it up with help from external parties like Sea shepherd. So sad!

ADDITS: Chris said that the British/ Singaporeans company mined phosphate here and apparently when the phosphate looked like it might run out the Singaporean govt in the mid 1950’s sold the island to Australia for a very cheap price! There was also a train that took the phosphate to the port from the original sight in the Southern tip of the island. It became too expensive and lines torn up and one of the locomotives was dumped in the jungle just off the road and is a tourist site or at least we are taken to see it and told the story! Will post photo when can.

Also on the same road as the train is the crab bridge. That’s right they built an overpass/bridge for the crabs to keep them off the road. It is made of a metal mesh (they trialled several materials and this worked). The crabs are directed to it by the placement of low metal barriers which despite the being able to climb over they seem to follow until they reach an opening and in this case the opening is where the bridge is so they climb it! They use a similar strategy to direct them to an under road pass. The under passes are like culverts dug across the roads with a cattle grid over them. The crabs go under the grid and the cars over it! There are I believe about 50 or so grids on the island.

Unfortunately millions also go over the roads and during the migration months everybody carries a few rakes and when you are blocked by crabs you get out and rake them out of you way or your passenger does! The crabs are so focused on getting to or from the sea that if you sit down they will just swarm straight over you. Not sure that appeals!

Yesterday I went to drive to a place for lunch after the tour (and which I had just been driven past on way back from tour) and I got lost again! I think I will have to pass on self drive unless there is a SatNav🤣.

Anyway today was the Dolly Beach tour. One thing that is now obvious is that to get anywhere like a beach or to see a sight it alway involves a drive on a dodgy road that really Or definitely does require a 4 wheel drive and nerves of steel AND a walk of about 20-60mins through the jungle and will end with clambering over limestone rocks😁. Really makes you appreciate final destination 😂. Dolly beach was no exception. The walk,after a very dodgy rough road was between 30-60mins. We did it in 40 out and 35back so we were not slacking🤣. Lots to see a mercifully flat with several sections covered with a raised boardwalk. The beach was worth the walk with the beach being protected by rock so lovely pools to swim in without tackling the rougher open ocean. Would be a great one to come to regularly if not for the challenges and time to reach it! We had a lovely swim and some morning tea and generally had fun. We did have to put all our bags etc on a platform raised on a hammock structure because there are 1000’s Robber crabs and they will still stuff from bags especially shiny stuff like keys.

By the time we got back and I had showered and done housekeeping and hols tasks I had a coup,e of bits of toast and an early dinner (just after 4pm🤣). I went down to the food van at Flying Fish Cove which sells takeaway mostly Asian food and importantly European cakes on Friday and Saturday 4-8pm.I had chicken satay and a mars bar slice yummy 😋.

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sofiasrebellion · 2 years

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MARCELO GAIA: THE MAN BEHIND MIRROR PALAIS, THE MOST-COVETED WOMENSWEAR BRAND

Though Mirror Palais is only two years young, some might be familiar with Gaia’s former Instagram-successful label, Rosemilk. After a trip to Italy with a friend and then soon-to-be business partner, the pair spontaneously spearheaded what was the romantic-tropicalista meets-urban-girl it-brand of 2018.

Gaia describes the experience as: “[A] year spent in New York basically hustling. We had these relationships and it was a combination of having the connection and then also having something that was valuable enough to offer.” After ten years of fashion assistant experience, Marcelo was equipped to get clothing into the right hands. Bella Hadid posted selfies wearing their infamous corset top at Coachella, and only a few weeks later Emily Ratajowski sported their pistachio-colored two-piece suit to a hotel opening.

But as fast as the brand became one-to-watch, it was suddenly gone. In summer of 2018, Rosemilk announced to it’s 44.5K followers that it was closing and the designers parted ways.

Dedicated to climbing the ladder of creative success once again the 30-year-old designer took his learnings and launched them into overdrive. “People say that they see Rosemilk in Mirror Palais. I definitely think that my love of vintage is the cornerstone of what was continued,” he says.

A year later, Mirror Palais’ Instagram grid became filled with carefully curated whimsical cityscapes and tropical backdrops while millennial memorabilia amounted to the perfect dose of nostalgic bliss strewn before it’s 168K followers.

According to Marcelo, the brand has cultivated an emotionally invested loyal customer, who don't particularly mind tapping into their inner child from time to time. “I think that a lot of our customers are either longing to remember their childhood by buying a neon pink bikini, that is something that they probably would've worn when they were eight years old—that's a very specific type of person who is a bit nostalgic and playful,” says Gaia, a millennial himself. A variety of pieces are made to be experimented with—worn several ways, to mix or match, to tie one way or the other, after all, dressing up should be fun. The brand has won over the Millennial to Gen-Z collective by mastering the ’90s vintage-inspired silhouette with subtle modernity, and sophisticated sex appeal that celebrates the effervescence of natural curvatures of all shapes and sizes, but Gaia says they have one thing in common: “[T]he fact that they love their bodies or they're trying to.” He goes on to explain, “so they're going to show their bodies and be creative about how they do it.”

As the brand’s popularity grew—3x’s faster than his former label— so do the counterfeit items. “I was honestly just taken aback by the fact that there were knock-offs being made of something I hadn't even released yet,” says Gaia. Unfortunately, for many small brands, especially in the age of social media, an endless supply of questionable “inspiration,” results in stolen art and copyright infringement. The silver lining being: it’s easier to spot and get called out.

Luckily, Marcelo has eyes everywhere. “I got a couple of DMS from my followers being like, ‘Oh my God, look at this. Did you see this!?’” he says. Unlike platforms that make it their duty to publicize instances like these, Gaia believes in settling these injustices sans cancel culture or online attacking. Without a whistle blown, he prefers to handle these matters personally, and privately. “I think that [because] the fear of being called out is heightened, they're actually responding really well and remove my stuff from their site. I never expected it to be that easy.” For him, a quick message, of cease and desist is all it takes.

As many retailers and small businesses perished at the hands of COVID, Mirror Palais ironically continued to flourish. Marcelo Gaia believes finding an escape within fashion, attributed to the success, but not without a few obstacles. “We had experienced unusual growing pains because it wasn't the kind of situation that money could just solve. Vendors were just closed and we had struggles with USPS,” he recalls about March of 2020. “It caused us to have to grow up as a business very quickly. Due to the amount of followers and customers that we've gained in such a short amount of time, the expectation for our business to operate like a legitimate, longstanding business became higher and higher.” So long are the solo days with Marcelo and his notebook, as he slowly expands.

Even though we can’t necessarily sport our Mirror Palais “Super Model Dress” at the soiree of the season, it’s absolutely encouraged to look like a dime on a trip to Whole Foods. Marcelo Gaia just created the confidence in hope and creativity we didn’t even know we needed. Keep an eye out for Mirror Palais' newest collection due out this month.

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seijorhi · 3 years

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nostos.

well it’s not exactly monster fucking but um... here there be monsters.

Kuroo Tetsurou x female reader

TW implied non-con, nsfw-ish, blood, gore, minor character death, animal death, um somebody gets munched...

Every good writer needs peace and quiet. Fresh air and a change of scenery.

You’re not running away, it’s more of a… tactical retreat. Two weeks disconnected from well meaning friends, pushy family members and your eternally irritating editor, with nothing but the beautiful, sprawling forests to keep you company.

The mountains are familiar, if isolating, you think, leaning against the porch railing with a warm mug in hand as the breeze picks up and the tall maple and birch trees rustle in response. The leaves are turning vibrant reds and gold with the falling temperatures and even in the eerie quiet of the cold morning, you can’t deny that it’s breathtaking.

It reminds you of your childhood, the countless vacations you’d spent here with your family, always in autumn, always in time to watch the leaves change before the first snows of winter set in. Fond memories of running through the trees chasing after cute little bunnies, giggling even when you tripped up and scraped your knees. There was something mystical about the forest back then, something special. But it’s been years since you’ve been here last, and the first time you’ve ever come alone.

And yet it feels different somehow, colder despite the nostalgia. You’re no longer a child, looking at the world through innocent, wondrous eyes. The forest is just a forest.

Of course, you weren’t an idiot; disappearing off the grid was one thing. Disappearing off the grid without anybody knowing where you were going was another entirely. They’d been surprisingly supportive of the plan – until you told them where it was you were planning on running off to.

‘Why go back to the mountain, honey?’ your mother had asked, her smile wavering and an odd tightness in her eyes. ‘Why not go to the coast instead? Or spend some time in the city?’

But this isn’t a fun little vacation. You don’t want to be distracted by beaches and crowds, you need space to finish your book and time to work through your mess of an emotional state without any interruptions. You want to be untraceable, at least for a week or two.

God knows the last thing you need right now is your ex tracking you down to try and apologise again.

Part of you had thought – somewhat naively, perhaps – that by coming back you’d spark… something. Your memories of the mountains are full of warmth and happiness, but as you stare out into the wilderness, all you feel is a cool chill that runs down your spine and the goosebumps that prickle at your skin.

Setting your now empty mug down, you pull tighter at the thick knit cardigan draped over your shoulders. Enough reminiscing, your manuscript awaits.

—

The mountain’s too quiet. You don’t notice it so much during the day, the sound of music softly pouring from your laptop and the gentle clacking of keys as you type enough to distract you from the eerie stillness outside the cabin. Even at night, you’re preoccupied with dinner, and then curled up on the couch with a warm throw rug watching reruns of your favourite shows on Netflix.

It’s only when you lie down, burrowed into the blankets to try and sleep that you notice just how silent the forest at your doorstep truly is. At first you think it’s simply being away from the hustle and bustle of home. There’s no cars driving past, or the sound of neighbours floating through your open windows, there’s not even the distant hooting of owls or dogs barking.

But it’s more than just quiet. There’s nothing. Even the trees seem to still once the sun falls beneath the horizon. And it shouldn't bother you, shouldn’t unsettle you, and yet…

The first few nights, you don’t sleep well. Tossing and turning in bed. When you do sleep, your dreams are plagued with unpleasant things. Not nightmares as such, but an uneasiness that bleeds into otherwise pleasant thoughts. On the fourth night you wake, gasping for air. Whatever dream you’d been in the grips of fades like smoke, and as you draw in another shuddering breath your throat itches and burns.

Water. You need water.

You don’t switch on the lights as you fumble your way down to the kitchen, trying to preserve what little remnants of sleep are still in your system. Even with the moon almost full and the night sky clear, the canopy shrouds it.

And it’s in that darkness, as your eyes flicker up from the faucet, that you see it for the first time.

A shape, huge and looming, silk shadow against black.

For a moment, as your heart hammers against your ribs, a chill creeping down your spine, you don’t dare trust your eyes. Maybe you’re asleep still, dreaming, or your mind’s playing tricks on you, because there’s nothing that should be lurking in the woods outside of your window that size.

Two golden, cat-like eyes peer back at you.

They’re still there when you race to flick on the lights, unblinking, curious as you skitter backwards, hand over your racing heart.

You’re tired, emotionally drained and this–

This is nothing more than a figment of an overactive imagination, a child creating monsters from the shadows in their bedroom. Yet even as you run back to the safety of the bedroom, yank the curtains shut and huddle under the meagre warmth your blankets afford you, squeezing your eyes shut, you feel it out there still, watching.

And in the stillness of the mountains outside, you swear you hear footsteps.

—

You wake to fresh snow, too early in the year, even at these altitudes. It dusts the ground, covering the mossy paths in glittering white, clings to the branches of the trees – the red leaves looking like droplets of blood scattered across a grey sky. The snow will undoubtedly melt as the sun rises, turn to slush and mix with the dirt, but for now it’s a thing of beauty.

For a moment, you allow yourself to forget how tired you are, how unsettled, venturing out from the cabin with wide, excitable eyes. It never used to snow when you were here as a kid, and while you get the occasional snowfall back home, it’s nothing like–

You stop dead in your tracks.

There’s two human footprints imprinted on the snow – only two – right outside your bedroom window, crisp and clean, as if they’d been left just moments before.

—

Your mother sounds worried when you call her. Of course, you don’t tell her about the lone footprints at your window, or the creepy pair of eyes you’d seen through the dark, you know how that sounds. You’re not crazy, and even if some part of you truly believed what you’d seen, your mom is the last person you’d admit it to.

Once upon a time, when you were little, she’d indulged in stories of fairies and spirits, but that was a long time ago. Now she turns up her nose and sneers at the myths and legends that your grandma still spouts, dismissing them with a scoff.

It’s not the kind of thing well-adjusted adults talk about in polite conversation.

She’s a good woman, but you can’t tell her this.

And you’re not even sure you’re entirely sold on it either. The eyes could have been from a wild animal – big cats might be rare in Japan, but they do exist here. You were half asleep (half terrified) when you had seen them, you don’t want to make a fuss over nothing. The footprints are less easy to explain away. If there’d been tracks leading away, you could convince yourself that it was a lost hiker and nothing more.

But there weren’t any tracks leading away; just the two footprints. And what kind of hiker doesn’t wear shoes in weather like this? It’s possible that this is some kind of prank, a mean spirited trick designed to unsettle you – a job well done, by the way – but you can’t quite bring yourself to believe that either.

In any case, you’re hardly going to admit over the phone that you’re freaking out over some footprints in the snow. God knows she’s already worried enough about your mental state, has been ever since the breakup, and you’re not going to give her any more ammunition.

But perhaps there is something to that maternal instinct, because despite your best efforts to reassure her that you’re doing just fine, that your novel’s going great and you’re so glad you came out here, she still sounds entirely unconvinced.

“Honey, you know you can tell me if something’s wrong,” she tells you, her voice strangely hesitant. “You don’t sound yourself, are you sure everything’s okay?”

You don’t know why you called her at all. You always have been a shitty liar, and she’s always been able to see right through you.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Honestly the fresh air’s doing me good,” you tell her. “It’s weirdly quiet here though, I’m not used to it,” you laugh, and even to your ears it sounds hollow and fake.

There’s a heavy pause on the other end of the line, and if you close your eyes you can almost picture it, your mom leaning against the kitchen counter, teeth worrying into her bottom lip–

“I just don’t like you out there all by yourself.”

Relax, what’s the worst that could happen?

The words almost, almost slip out, an instinctive reaction to a mother’s well meaning but overbearing concern. But it feels like tempting fate, and whether or not you’re fully convinced that there is something strange happening, you’re not that bold. Instead you begin to tell her (again) that everything’s fine when she suddenly speaks again.

“Bad things happen in those mountains. Just… just promise me you’ll be safe.”

Abruptly, the line goes dead.

Pulling the phone from your ear, you glance down at the illuminated screen, only to frown when you see the little ‘SOS Only’ flashing in the top corner. Huh, you’d had a few bars when you’d started the call, but…

The weather’s gotta be messing with your signal. Stranger things have happened, right?

Shaking your head you resolve to give her a call tomorrow. And yet, even as you try to put her parting words from your mind and throw yourself back into your writing, you can’t help but feel that familiar sense of cloying unease seeping through your skin once more.

What the hell had she meant, ‘bad things happen in those mountains’?

—

A good night’s sleep can do you wonders.

Well, theoretically speaking. You can’t remember the last actual decent sleep you’d had, but regardless, the point stands. All you need is an uninterrupted eight or nine hours, and this… paranoia will go away. Things’ll be clearer in the morning, so long as you sleep.

The mantra doesn’t help you any, of course.

You don’t need to peer through the window to feel those watchful eyes staring. And maybe it would be easier to ignore the prickling sensation at the nape of your neck if it weren’t for the noises.

Music isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the mournful wails, like a wounded animal crying out in pain. It’s incessant, inescapable, reverberating inside of your eardrums until it’s all you can focus on.

It’s instinctual, you think, the urge to creep from your bed and try to find the creature making that sound and help it. But even as your feet touch the cool floorboards, your gut clenches, hackles rising. Something deep inside of you warns you from leaving the safety of the cabin.

Whatever creature is making those noises, it’s not calling for help.

You don’t feel like you’ve slept at all, but you must have because at a certain point in the morning you blink your eyes awake, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

And this time it’s not snow that greets you, but the mangled remains of a doe ripped apart on your porch. Deep, jagged gouge marks run along its flank, organs spilling from the cuts and there’s little left of its neck, the whole thing torn out with teeth. Yet for the gruesome injuries, the only blood you find is congealed, pooled beneath the poor creature.

Whatever happened to it, it didn’t happen here. The knowledge doesn’t soothe you like it should – the park ranger you spoke to on the phone mentioned that while it’s rare, sometimes bears venture a little too close to buildings, though he sounds doubtful even as he says it.

He sounds even less interested when you tell him this doesn’t look like a bear attack, but promises they’ll send someone down in the next few days to check everything out. In the meantime, he suggests, it’s best to stay indoors.

Yeah, not gonna be an issue.

And so with no feasible way of moving it, you’re left with the butchered corpse of a doe just outside your front door. And the thing that bothers you isn’t so much the body, though you still can’t look at it without wanting to throw up, but the fact that it was just… left there.

Not eaten. No, aside from the missing throat, the deer’s all there. Ripped apart with its guts spilling out, but otherwise untouched. Growing up you had a cat, the sweetest little thing, but every once in a while she would get out of a night, find some poor little creature to torment and without fail, she’d bring it back home, leaving it half dead on the doorstep like a gift.

‘See what a good hunter I am?’ she seemed to say, smugly sauntering back inside.

It wasn’t about food. It wasn’t hunger that drove her, but instinct. As you stare out the window at the doe, at the milky white emptiness of dead eyes, you wonder whether that’s the same here. There’s no tracks in the dirt, no blood smeared across the ground – it wasn’t dragged here. No animal could’ve done this.

A gift?

Or perhaps something less benevolent. A threat. You’ve crossed into territory you don’t belong and the deer, cruelly ripped apart and left to bleed out on your doorstep is a line in the sand.

Either way, as tears fill your eyes, a sob tugging free from your chest, you realise that it was a mistake to come here. You don’t know whether you trust your eyes and your ears anymore, but there is something deep inside of you that tolls like a warning bell and as much as you’d like to bury your head in the sand and pretend there’s nothing wrong here, you can’t.

Bad things happen in those mountains.

You need to leave.

The next ferry to the mainland doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning, but it’ll have to do. Once you stop shaking and calm down enough to carry a conversation, you call the local cab company to arrange a pick-up first thing.

You can survive one more night, you just need to throw yourself back into your writing… if you can only just ignore that sense of foreboding prickling at the back of your neck.

—

There’s a boy running through the trees, giggling as he glances back at you. His hand’s outstretched, wrapped ‘round yours tugging you along as he laughs at you to hurry up.

It’s late, the sun dipping below the horizon, but you don’t wanna go back just yet.

You’re having fun, playing in the forest. And the light is golden, filtering in through the pretty red leaves, your sides burn a little from all the chasing and laughter but it’s a good kind of ache. You don’t want today to end.

His name is Kohsuke, you remember, and he lives down in the village by the valley. He’s only one year older than you, and you’d follow him anywhere.

You think you might be a little in love with him.

‘C’mon, hurry up! It’s only a little further!’ he calls, and you nod, scrambling over the fallen trunk of an oak tree. There’s old spirits who live in this forest, he’d told you, and today you’re finally gonna see one.

It’s dark now. Cold too. You’re tired and hungry and you kinda want to go home, but Kohsuke won’t let you. ‘Just a little longer! Don’t you wanna see them?’

You do. Of course you do. It’s just that you’re starting to get a funny feeling in your stomach… Can he hear the footsteps too? Is somebody following you?

There’s a voice in your ear, a soft, silky purr that makes a shiver roll down your spine, but you can’t make sense of the words, they’re not in any language you understand. You don’t tell Kohsuke – he can’t hear it, otherwise he would have said something. You just clutch his hand tighter, skipping closer.

‘W-we should go back, Koh,’ you murmur, wincing when it comes out in a childish whine. ‘We’re gonna get in trouble.’

You aren’t supposed to stay out playing after dark, he knows it as well as you do. ‘You trust me, don’t you? Stop being such a chicken!’ he snickers as your cheeks heat.

The voice at your ear growls, low and threatening. You need to go back, now.

You blink, and the scene changes.

You’re curled up on the forest floor, hands covering your eyes. Somebody’s screaming – Kohsuke – crying out your name through ragged sobs, pleading–

There’s a crunch, a ripping sound, a wetness sprayed across your cheek.

Kohsuke’s not screaming anymore.

Something warm and heavy touches your head, drags through the locks of your hair and you just huddle tighter, eyes squeezed shut, shaking like a leaf as more tears spill. You don’t wanna die here.

The crunching sounds continue, and you keep your eyes tightly shut. It can’t hurt you if you don’t look.

It can’t hurt you if you don’t look.

It can’t–

A loud knocking jerks you back to consciousness, your body jolting upright, almost swiping your laptop off the table as you try and gather your bearings. Right, you’d been working on your novel, sitting up at the kitchen table, you must have dozed off… A quick glance out the window tells you that you must have been out of it for a while – the late afternoon shadows are starting to creep in, the sky a golden orange.

What the hell was that dream?!

“Hello? Uh, anybody home?” a masculine voice calls, another loud knock sounding. “We got a call about a wild animal attacking deer…”

Oh, you think, trying to shake yourself out of your stupor, the wildlife people, yeah. You feel a little nauseous, feverish and trembling, though maybe that’s just the result of your erratic heartbeat.

Swallowing down the bile in your throat, you turn your attention to the door. Truly you hadn’t actually expected that they’d send anybody out to investigate, much less that they’d arrive before you left, but you can hardly turn him away now.

Especially not when there’s a freshly butchered deer corpse lying only a few feet away from your front door. Quickly, you run a hand over your hair, taking a moment to try and collect yourself before you answer.

It doesn’t work – there’s a knot in your throat and for every step you take towards the door it feels like your legs are gonna give out from under you. You move in a daze to unlock the door, only just remembering to school your features into an expression slightly less alarming as it swings open.

A ranger, tall with a shock of black, messy hair that reminds you oddly of a rooster greets you with an easy grin. “Oh good, I was starting to think nobody was home. You the one that called?”

Distantly, you nod, fingers clutching at the edge of the doorframe. The ranger glances over at the remains of the deer, still lying in a pool of half dried blood, studying it for a moment, hazel eyes sweeping over the deep gashes in its side. You can’t bear to follow his gaze, you’re not sure you can look at that thing again without throwing up.

He whistles lowly, shaking his head, “Well you don’t see that every day,” he laughs.

Your eyes snap to his, narrowing slightly. It’s not his fault, you know that, but you can’t help the flicker of irritation that sparks at the cavalier attitude. This is just his job, you get it, but you don’t exactly feel like laughing right now.

“You still think a bear did this?” you retort, the words coming out a little sharper than intended.

But the ranger takes it in stride, shrugging as his smirk widens. “A bear, huh?” Amusement glitters in his eyes, sharp and mocking. “Why don’t I come inside and you can tell me all about it?” he offers, stepping closer towards you.

And there’s no reason for your heart to skitter, your blood running cold as he looms over you in the doorway, still wearing that stupid, irritating smirk. There’s no reason for your insides to clench either, or for the tiny, jerky step backwards you take, your body moving of its own accord.

The ranger pauses, head tilting to the side as he stares at you.

Really stares, like he’s waiting for something. And as discomfited as you are (and as much of an asshole as this guy is), a weary apology is halfway to your tongue when he shifts slightly, propping an arm up against the door – the last, dying rays of light catching his face.

It’s just for a second.

A heartbeat.

But long enough for you to watch those hazel eyes shift to gold, pupils elongating into slits.

You stumble backwards, breath coming in a short, ragged gasp as your eyes widen into saucers. “What are you?”

The ranger before you chuckles and you catch a glimpse of his teeth; pearly white and glinting, sharper than they had been only moments ago. “Why don’t you let me in and find out for yourself, kitten?”

You shake your head, retreating further into the cabin, heart pounding.

“No? You don’t like this body, is that it?” he asks, a cruel edge to his smirk as he takes a half step backwards and slowly spreads his arms. “Something more familiar, then.”

And you don’t think there’s any room left in your heart for more fear, your stomach already twisting in sickening knots, but you blink and standing right there in front of you is Kohsuke.

It’s a punch in the guts, a knife slipped between your ribs, yanked ruthlessly through your still beating heart. He’s beaming up at you, those same adorable dimples, the same ridiculous bowl cut, bleeding youthful innocence. “How about now?” he asks, holding out his hand and wriggling his fingers like he expects you to take it. “You’ll let me inside now, right?”

A strangled noise escapes you as you fall to your knees. Tears fill your eyes, blurring your vision – you blink them away but more take their place.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asks, and you wail in response.

It’s too much. You shake your head, hugging yourself tightly, as if your arms are the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely.

He calls your name – not in Kohsuke’s childish lilt, but that deep, ancient purr that makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Let me in.”

“Go away,” you gasp through tears. “Please– please go away.”

The creature shifts again, the dark haired ranger back in Kohsuke’s place. He eyes you, those unnatural gold irises watching with utter enthralment as you sob pathetically on the floor, still pleading – though you know it’ll do you no good – for him to leave.

“Last chance, kitten. Let me in, or I’ll make you come out.”

He – it – doesn’t sound nearly as put out by the prospect as it should be.

And you don’t know why giving permission matters, all you know, all you care about, is that it’s keeping that thing at bay for now. It can’t come inside and so long as you don’t leave the safety of the cabin, it can’t hurt you. The words are nothing but an empty threat.

Right?

You shake your head, defiant even as your voice hitches and trembles, “No.”

“Stubborn little thing,” the creature croons, the smirk on its face widening until the visage no longer resembles anything human – mouth splitting its face in two, rows of long, sharp teeth revealed. “So be it.”

A low growl resonates in its chest, and you can only watch, petrified, as thin, vein-like black marks begin to appear over pale skin, growing thicker, cracking as shadow curls from underneath. The creature itself starts to grow too, limbs elongating as muscles ripple and swell, claws bursting forth in place of fingernails, shoulders broadening – until it’s towering over you, wreathed in thick shadow, grinning with that terrifying mouth.

This is the thing you’d glimpsed that first night. A creature ripped from nightmares and primal fears, strong enough to tear you apart with a single hand. That’s what it’d done to Kohsuke, to the doe, what it’d do to you if you gave it half a chance.

“You wanna play, kitten?” it asks, head tilting to the side.

Slowly, it backs away from the door, keeping its gaze fixed firmly on you. For a moment, you think that it’s going to disappear back into the forest, or plant itself by your window to watch for another night, waiting you out till dawn, but instead it stops by the old oak that overhangs the porch and stills entirely, simply… waiting.

“Let’s play.”

Abruptly, the oak beside it bursts into flames. It takes only a heartbeat for the entire thing to be engulfed, red and orange flames licking along the trunk, the gnarled, spindly branches, even the leaves are alight, burning away into ash and floating off in the breeze. The heat from one tree alone is searing, the crackle of burning wood and your own horrified, shuddering breath the only sounds in the night.

It snowed only a few nights before, but the fire spreads with unnatural ease, flames racing across the canopy, embers lighting up the undergrowth, and in the space of a few seconds there’s an inferno raging through the forest before you. And through the smoke and the red, burning haze, the creature watches, smirking.

The heat from the wildfire sears painfully at your skin, the air around you suddenly thick with smoke, stinging your eyes, choking your lungs, and yet you can’t seem to tear yourself away. It’s like a dream, a nightmare, some kind of… hellscape.

And for a moment you forget that there was a purpose to this, too lost staring in mute horror as the forest you’d played in as a child burns–

At least until a single leaf from the oak tree, edges curling as it’s consumed by flames, falls, carried by the breeze and lands on the wooden railing of the porch. With a soft whoosh, the old wooden beam catches fire, and with your chest heaving, panicked breaths falling from parted lips, you rise to your feet as flames spread, the fire eating everything in its path until the entire porch is alight, burning.

Run.

You don’t know if the voice in your head is yours or not, you don’t have time to care. You scramble for the back door, throwing it open, and you run.

Run until your lungs burn, til’ your bare feet are scratched and bleeding, run, pushed forward by the sweltering heat at your back, the chilling crackle of laughter that follows. You run through tears, through pain and air so thick with smoke that it hurts to breathe.

And you know the creature’s giving chase, you know that you won’t – can’t – outrun it, nor the inferno that blazes around you. You know that it’s futile, that you’re probably running to your death, but that’s human, isn’t it?

To run when you’re scared?

The sky’s awash with a hazy red glow when it catches you, throwing you to the ground, and still you try to crawl. Desperate, choking on broken pleas and sobs, nails raking through the dirt as you try to pull yourself forward.

And when your pants are ripped from your legs, a puff of warm air ghosting over the nape of your neck as you’re shoved back down, those long, black arms settling either side of you, caging you in – you know that you’ve lost.

“Mine,” the creature growls, and you barely have time to scream before its cock shoves into you with one brutal, merciless thrust. “Mine.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere kuroo tetsurou #yandere kuroo tetsurou x reader #monster fic #horror fic #tw noncon #tw: noncon #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: minor character death #tw: animal death #i am sorry #except not really tho

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footyleclerc · 3 years

Text

hello, since a few of my followers (and the lovely @whoopsallgone!) asked me to do a lestappen fic rec, here I am delivering to the masses! you may have seen a few of these fics in other recs but they’re just so good that they deserve as much appreciation as is humanly possible! so please do show them all some love if you haven’t already :)

lost in your current like a priceless wine • 10,211 w • by shybear_styles

"I might have accidentally told my mom that I have a boyfriend and now she's demanding that I bring you home with me for the New Year. Actually, she said Christmas and New Year, but I told her that you were spending Christmas with your own family..."

The ultimate fake dating fic, and it's set during Christmas! From roommates to lovers, the entire fic is adorable fluff. They've written a few bangers and this one is great too!

we're fallin' like the stars, we're fallin' in love • 6,330 w • by maxverstappens (@pierlex)

Lando sets Max up on disastrous blind dates that end up with Max falling for the bartender who was the real set up all along.

One of my fave fics ever! The subtle flirting. Norstappen friendship. *BEAUTIFUL* Just really well written, would 100 percent recommend. Special shout out to 'pick apart the pieces of your heart', it's amazing!!

When Not If • multi-chapter • 5/5 • 11,448 w • by ayuxena

Max and Charles find themselves in quarantine together in the middle of the Swiss mountains. It was all destined to happened. It was just a matter of when and not if.

Such a cute read! The way they spend their time together and the little things they learn along the way, it's as Max would say "simply lovely".

The Grid: A Comprehensive Guide for Handling your Gay Racer Friends • 6,333 w • by inchidentsdeancas (@dumbass-ultimate)

A view into Charles and Max, in the style of The Office. Featuring a large number of baked goods.

Can't believe this is the author's first time writing. So much talent, it's such a fun read! This embodies the tag 'idiots in love'. Beautifully written. It's a comedic masterpiece!

take my hand, take my whole life too • 8,414 w • by footysel (@footyleclerc)

Max is Lando's best man. Charles is Carlos' best man. They now have to plan a wedding together without killing each other.

A small self bump! Honestly, I think it's my best work and the amount of fluff it contains has become my source of comfort.

at the end of the line (it's always been you) • 6,034 w • by maxricciardo (@maxricciardo)

A glimpse into Charles and Max's relationship after they retire from formula one.

If you follow Gi, you know how wonderful her edits are. This fic rivals her editing skills. Post-retirement lestappen as they figure out their feelings. Brilliantly written!

i love the way your green eyes mix with that malibu indigo • 11,128 w • by altissimozucca (@altisssimozucca)

Max deals with a break up by spending some time at his Malibu summer home when he finds another distraction in Charles. Getting drunk by the beach, the two begin to catch feelings.

Literally all of Lana's fics are works of art but this one tops the list for me. (seriously, I could make a list just for her. read her lestappen fics, you won't regret it!) Immaculate vibes and great aesthetics. The build up and the angst, just wonderful.

Charles Leclerc vs Red Bull caps • 6,368 w • by Ledger_m (@the-last-jedis)

Charles does God's work and tries his best to get Max to stop wearing those stupid Red Bull caps.

Literally what every Max fan would want to do; get rid of those caps and #unleashthehair. It's hilarious with Charles' crazy antics. Very well written and is a great cheer up!

On the outside, always looking in • 1,803 w • by bonotje (@sleepyverstappens)

The progression of Max and Charles' relationship through someone else's eyes.

The beautiful development is just wonderfully written. The small observations of the narrator are quirky, and it's overall very cute!

set my midnight sorrow free • 13,439 w • by PrincessElectra (@princess-electra19)

A view of Charles and Max's relationship through the eyes of one Pierre Gasly, the man who's seen them from the very beginning.

This fic has probably popped up in everyone's fic recs but that's literally because it's such a masterpiece. The development you see. The heartache you feel. Just wonderful in every way! Part 2 is great as well.

thank you for indulging my choices and getting this far! if you have any more suggestions, let me know. if you know the blogs of the 2 untagged writers, please let me know!

hope you liked it :)

just a massive shout out to all the writers in this fandom, you're all extremely talented and brilliant! keep creating💙

#lestappen #charles leclerc #max verstappen #lestappen fic rec #fic rec #is it good? is it bad?#its my first time doing smth like this and im nervous #f1 fic #my edit #f1

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prisonhannibal · 2 years

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hi, im so sorry if im stepping the line here but i need i little guidance, sorry if its to personal and of course you dont have to answer but what does bipolar feels like? i know is a personal and different experience for everyone but could you give an example, im really trying to understand the different ways it could present

again im sorry if im being an asshole asking this

it’s okay, I’m comfortable talking about it. I think it’s important to talk about how it can actually feel for someone who deals with it, and not just the diagnostic criteria, since bipolar disorder is a very misunderstood disorder, so I don’t mind.

A lot of people think it means you’re either really happy or really sad, but I think Carrie Fisher described it better when she explained it to a kid as a brain condition that makes you go very fast or very sad.

It’s hard to compare the feeling to anything, but the closest thing I can think of is when I didn’t gradually increase the dose after taking a tolerance break for my adhd medication and got pretty high. I get this feeling of having a motor inside of my chest, it feels like anxiety but in a good way, it’s a very weird feeling. it really is like going fast, and I have an intense energy inside of me that feels like I’m gonna explode unless I pace around or do something. It just makes everything feel so urgent, so all decisions happen fast, I can’t shut up because I need to get every single thought out. I often feel like I’m normal and the rest of the world is too slow, so I get impatient and frustrated. I get very creative, so I’ll sit down and work on something for 12+ hours, go to bed, and then the second I go to bed have another idea, get out of bed, draw, go back to bed, have another idea, etc etc etc all night. and I HAVE to get out of bed, not doing it would make me explode.

Everything feels so urgent and time sensitive. I’ll think of wanting a book at 2am, and decide to stay awake until the bookstore opens and go there immediately instead of just sleep and do it tomorrow. Most impulsive decisions are like…goal focused. So I rarely buy a sweater, but I’ll buy several sweaters because i’m “changing my style” or five textbooks because i’ve decided to learn a new language. or every single supply I can think of for a hobby i’ve never tried before. Or a 150$ electric toothbrush because tooth health is an investment!! I NEED all this yarn because I’m gonna knit three sweaters. It’s either that, or it’s literally just for fun right NOW. so that’s stuff like buying several rounds of shots for all my coworkers etc. I did that recently.

last year I was studying for a very important exam so I pulled an all-nighter and ended up not studying because I was pacing back and forth in my room switching between two different languages (it wasn’t a language exam) on duolingo, reading a self help book while still pacing around, drawing, and ordering five self help books. I never read any of them. I then intentionally failed the exam because if I did I could redo it, so I showed up there on no sleep, and sat there counting to a thousand in my head and restarting while staring straight ahead and imagining songs until I could leave. I then did my second exam without studying because “I’m a genius” and thought I did amazingly and then got the results back as a 2 out of 6.

It kinda fucks with my senses, like everything is turned up to 300% and I can’t stop feeling how my eyes are moving and noticing how everything is made up of angles and seeing how i’d draw the 2 point perspective grid if I was gonna draw the room I’m in. It makes me feel like I’m actually going insane because everything is just slightly twisted and I’m too aware of it and how I and the world aren’t at the same speed.

Like you said, depends on the person, but it can also vary a lot between each episode. Euphoria is a big part of my hypomania, but I wouldn’t describe hypomania or mania as happy, I think “fast” is a better word for it. It doesn’t always feel good either. Sometimes it feels really fucking horrible. one of my episodes was straight up the worst experience i’ve had in my life and had me hospitalized with an “acute anxious breakdown” and diagnosed with a mixed anxiety disorder (generalized anxiety+ocd+panic disorder) and delusions even though I had never had a panic attack before and I haven’t since. it was basically a 2 month long panic attack with psychosis.

TL:DR: It feels like being high on stimulants, myself turned up to 300%, the volume and intensity of the entire world got turned up too high, having a mental breakdown but in a good way, everything is wrong but I’m having fun. It feels like everything is really urgent and it has to be now now now now you have to GO you can’t stop yourself you can never stop moving

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lemliv · 3 years

Text

You know what I’ve got time so uhhh here’s some basic art tips I’ve learned while at Art School™

This is gonna be long and I namely specialize in digital figure drawing but this can apply to traditional as well. These are also just 5 guidelines off of 2 years of knowledge so forgive me if they seem scattered these are just the ones that most impacted me.

quick definitions

Contour lines: These are the lines that define the outline of a shape. Think most cartoon line art - it gives you enough information on the features.

Cross contour lines: define the shape. Think of drawing a bottle with tape on it in a gridded pattern. The tape isn’t straight across - its curved. These help your drawings look more 3D

- Never reference other people’s art for poses

In fact if possible, work from life. That’s not an option for everyone especially now a days so just make sure you’re working from photos of real people. Whether you mean to or not your brain will pull from their style and whatever mistakes or decisions they made you will make. Drawing inspiration from others art is fine !! There’s just lines of befitting you in the short term versus the long term. That being said...

- Trace what you like. Do it. (Just don’t post it as if it’s your own)

This is like the one thing artists tell you not to do. It’s A LIE!!!! Kinda... Tracing over photos or art helps understand proportions and what makes them work. The kicker is you don’t want to do just do the contour lines - do everything and then some. Figure out how the limbs are connecting, the direction of the hair, if it’s a landscape figure out the vanishing point. Get some real information off of it to see how they solved problems. And then Do Not Post It. If you happen to post it directly credit the artist you drew and if they’re from the renaissance say it’s a (the artist) masterwork study.

- Fail fast and hard

This one is probably the most important, at least to me. Last year I did probably over 50 large scale figure drawings in a quarter long class and I think only like ONE. But they all helped me improve my speed, realize what was off with my proportions, and allowed me to be critical without destroying myself. Some of them I was only allowed 3 minutes to do and so it’s easier to accept what’s wrong and then work to not make that mistake when it takes you 3 minutes. Not everyone can work with charcoal from a model so the at home alternative that I still do today is going on to timed poses sites and trying to draw those in the time limit given. I recommend traditional just because it’s typically faster for this type of thing. You might not be able to keep up - that’s okay, allow it to be unfinished and continue. The sites at the end usually display the photos back to you so you can fix them later if wanted.The point is just for practice so no one has to see - and please don’t compare yourself to others. Instead compare it to the work you did yesterday and you’ll see the improvements.

- Art Styles are a solution to a problem

Technically I learned this online, but I was in art school so it probably counts. I think a lot of people online are obsessed with having a pretty art style or looking like their favorite artists. When what art styles are is basically you as an artist deciding what you want to draw and what you don’t. Think animation - typically it’s more cartoony / simplified because no one wants to draw all that detail for thousands of frames. So maybe you don’t want to draw every hair strand - simplify it into groups. You don’t want to draw a complex torso so you translate it into a square like shape. It’s all making decisions that help you ! Because sure, you could draw like Da Vinci did but why the fuck would you ??? (Unless you want to - and if so good for you I do not have the patience /gen) so when looking at other artists work see how they solved the problem of that complex forms we see every day rather than just seeing parts of a whole you want to take.

And this one is just a personal rule that I have myself

- Know when to be critical, and when to just have fun

I’ve seen so many of my friends stop doing personal art because they’ve forgotten how to not be critical of it. Not every moment is a race to make your best piece and for it to be perfect or even “correct.” Have art that helps you grow and learn more, the stuff that shows your technical skills. And then have art that makes you happy. That you do for yourself or for fun. Art schools often ask for both because they recognize that that detailed study of a bowl of fruit isn’t who you are as a person, but it does show you know your way around some value. Art is ultimately self expression! There’s the starting points and rules but they are there so you can learn them and then break them!

There’s so so much more I could say and I know this is so much !! But for now this is my knowledge for today !!! Also due to the nature of art, not everyone is gonna pledge by these rules and that’s okay. This is just what worked for me and kept me sane :]

I didn’t proof read this! Because my class starts soon!! I hope it’s comprehensive!!!

#art #art tips #lemliv speaks #drawing tips #drawing #art school knowledge #idk what else to tag

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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Text

Off the Record

Hello!! I am super excited to finally post my entry for @levihan-drabbles competition :D The prompt was super interesting and I had a tonne of fun writing this one!

The prompt I received was: Hange posts a picture of Levi somewhere and it becomes a meme.

(For those curious, this is the meme I used for inspiration)

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

Hange met Moblit in a small cafe a little way down the road from the newsroom. She was in good spirits—her morning had been productive; she'd made steady headway with research for her next interview, finished the final edits for a few smaller tabloid pieces she'd been meaning to brush up, attended three short, perfunctory meetings on tedious company policy, and laid the groundwork for another exciting interview opportunity.

She felt good. And now she had the pleasurable prospect of a hearty lunch, a passable cup of coffee, and perhaps best of all, Moblit's company. His company, and his camera.

Hange threw herself into the seat opposite Moblit the moment she spotted him, hunched over his laptop in a corner of the cafe. He lifted his coffee cup just in time for Hange to clatter against the table, the thin metal frame rattling precariously. She offered him a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," she said, and then, "got anything exciting?"

"I don't know about exciting. Interesting, maybe, but no breaking news."

Hange flagged down a passing waitress with one hand, and waved Moblit off with the other. "Doesn't matter, doesn't matter," she said, then paused to order a drink and her favourite sandwich. "Tell me anyway."

"I got a tip-off from a waiter at Sina's."

Hange's eyes sparkled behind her glasses. She sat forward in her chair, folding her arms on the table top as she leaned closer. "Who?"

"Take a guess."

Hange grinned at him. Moblit was not one to play coy; he did his job and did it well, and reported his findings efficiently. To leave her to question it meant one of two things; he had photographed someone very high profile indeed, or it was somebody Hange was, for better or for worse, well acquainted with.

Or perhaps, if she were lucky, it was both.

"Let me see him, then."

Hange had taken far too much time in the cafe with Moblit. He had given her a rundown of all the details he'd gathered during his field work that morning, and shown her through his extensive photo gallery. It was impressive, the kind of archive Moblit could cultivate with only a 45 minute breakfast window.

Hange had been delighted. Moblit was right; it wasn't breaking news, nothing particularly thrilling, but there was a corner of the Internet, Hange knew, that would delight in a trashy little article just like this. Something quick and simple to bulk up the social media feed for the afternoon.

Plus, there was a series of pictures Moblit had snapped, a cluster he'd thought to be of no real merit, that Hange simply could not pass up.

She could lay down no facts with a story like this one. There was no hard-hitting investigative journalism to be had, but she could at least offer some speculation based on her knowledge of the subjects involved, and spin a tale juicy enough to get people talking.

It took little time at all to put the article together. Hange scribbled up an outline for the contents—the location; Sina's in downtown Hizuru, a luxurious restaurant serving five star meals at every hour of the day. High in quality, sickeningly steep in price. The time of day; 9am. To the best of Hange's knowledge, this was rather out of character for the subject. He was an early riser, but according to their interview last March pending the premiere of his newest movie, he wasn't the type to eat much at all before lunch time.

And then, the company. Eren Yeager was a relatively well-known actor, barely an adult at nineteen. He starred in his first role a decade earlier, and had seen commercial success in multiple movies and TV shows ever since. He had been something of a prodigy in his younger years, bold and precocious, possessing a natural talent many actors years his senior couldn't even hope for. As Hange understood it, he had recently hit a rather troublesome phase. An interesting line of inquiry, but despite his talent and his fame, Eren's presence was simply a cameo, compared to the subject of the article Hange was drawing up.

Levi Ackerman.

Levi is a fan favourite and a media delight. He's attractive no doubt, and his performance in any and every role is almost always met with critical acclaim. Outside of his career, however, he's an elusive thing, silent in any matters pertaining to his private life. He avoids any public event like the plague, and rarely shows his face at premieres or award ceremonies if he can possibly avoid it. He gives interviews only when required by some contractual obligation or other, or else when the journalist in question is so painfully persistent that it is simply easier to give in than to keep fighting.

Little of his personal life is known, but it is impossible for someone in Levi's position to avoid interacting with anybody at all, and even the great Levi Ackerman is not above scrutiny.

There are rumours. Several of them, accounts from fellow cast members, from staff, from directors, and even Erwin, his manager, has alluded more than once to Levi's sour disposition. He is prone, Hange has heard, to fits of anger, and is easily disgruntled by minor inconveniences. His dislike of anything unclean or untidy is the stuff of legends—Hange has seen this first hand, at their very first interview. He had entered the room, scowled at the chair before sitting in it, and given Hange a thorough once over before announcing, with no hint of humour, "your glasses are filthy."

Hange had found him both fascinating and quite delightful, in his own strange way. When he acts, Levi sounds eloquent; he is a master of emotive performance, wringing the last drops of anger, despair, or grief out of each and every word, or else injecting the perfect giddy jitter, or a tremor of humour when the scene called for it. As soon as the cameras stop rolling, though, Levi's tone becomes flat, and without a script, his words are clumsy and crass. He communicates poorly, quick to throw insults and crude remarks. Hange has interviewed him a number of times—she counts herself very lucky that Levi will consent to her requests without too much fuss, these days—and each time she finds herself spending half of their time together translating his answers into something a) family friendly, and b) understandable to the everyday reader.

There is nothing for Hange to translate this time. Moblit managed to speak to the waiter after Levi and Eren had vacated in hopes of gleaning any small tidbit of knowledge regarding their conversation, but the venture had been hopeless. The pair had grown silent upon the approach of any staff member, and spoke in tones too hushed for anyone nearby to hear. They learned nothing they couldn't extrapolate for themselves from Moblit's pictures; Eren looked sheepish, avoiding Levi's gaze in favour of staring into his drink, while Levi—

Levi looked furious.

Every picture featured his signature frown, which, in and of itself wasn't enough to assume Levi to be in any mood besides neutral, but some of the photos show a hint of bared teeth or pursed lips, with his brows pulled lower than normal, the space between them deeply creased. Hange found herself curious as both a journalist and as an acquaintance. They may not be friends, but Hange liked to think she knew Levi a little better than most people, at least. She could find nothing in their past interactions to suggest any relationship with Eren beyond the strictly professional. They had over a decade between them, and though they had worked together on more than one set, neither party had ever said anything to insinuate so much as a friendly attitude between them.

There was no resolution to her queries to be easily found. And luckily for Hange, this particular piece didn't require any. It was a gossip article, something spicy, jam-packed with buzzwords, what-if's and more questions than answers, designed to make people wonder. Levi's name in the title would be enough to draw people in; Eren's name was an added bonus. But the star of the show was Moblit's photography. Hange arranged the images she had chosen in a grid. In context, the pictures were intriguing, depicting a particularly ferocious part of Levi and Eren's exchange. Out of context, they looked a little ridiculous. Both would bring readers onto their home page.

Satisfied with her work, Hange queued the finished article for review, and turned her attention back to her schedule.

The article launched mid-afternoon. Hange watched, somewhat satisfied, as it was received much as she had expected it to be. The activity on their Twitter account skyrocketed, the tweet in question garnering more likes, retweets and replies in the hour after it's post than any other they’d dropped in the last month.

Hange had allowed it to slip from her mind after the first hour or so. She received praise from her bosses, and a text from Moblit, jokingly demanding she pay him even more handsomely for his work than she already had, and her cousin had called her in the evening on a quest for insider gossip she could share with her friends, but that had been the end of it. Hange thought of it no more until early the following morning, when she had stopped by the quiet little cafe beneath her flat for breakfast and her favourite coffee.

She had been polishing off her pancakes when the bell above the door chimed. She had paid little attention to the newcomer, until a shadow passed over her table, and a familiar voice said, "Oi, shitty glasses."

Hange looked up to see Levi Ackerman himself standing over her, his face twisted in a scowl.

There are perks of being reasonably acquainted with Levi. Hange always gets to conduct his interviews, and Levi only ever turns her down if her request is unreasonable. Like that time she demanded he meet her at this very coffee shop for "just a quick piece, about the cameo you did for the new season of Titans", only to show him she'd bought a new pair of glasses—"look, all clean!"—and, when pressed, admitted there was no interview at all. He had been far more hesitant to indulge her in smaller affairs after that, but Hange was still lucky enough to be his only regular interviewer after big releases.

More interviews means more commission for Hange, and more high profile work with other celebrities. Yes, being acquainted with Levi has its bonuses.

But it also has its downsides. Namely, that Levi will not hesitate to turn up at her regular coffee shop to berate her after she has posted some complete and utter wank at his expense.

Hange pushed her plate across the table and grinned at him. "Levi! Fancy seeing you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Levi's lip curled.

"You know what," he said. Hange braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin atop her knotted fingers.

"Enlighten me."

Colour rose in Levi's cheeks. For a moment, Hange felt a little guilty. For all Levi's grumbling and grunting, Hange had never seen him angry before.

"That bullshit article."

"Ah. Was there a problem?"

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?"

Hange sat back in her chair and sipped at her coffee. Levi's face was full colour now, a pale pink flush from his neck right up to his hairline. Hange gave him a measured look, then kicked out the chair opposite her.

"Sit," she said. "If you have issues, I'd be happy to discuss."

Levi looked for a moment like he'd like nothing more than to strangle her. Then he pulled out the chair the rest of the way, and dropped himself into it.

"I don't give a fuck about the article," he said. "It's shitty gossip anyway."

Hange raised a brow at him. She opened her mouth to continue when, without prompt, a young waitress approached their table, practically bouncing on the spot as she stopped and gave Levi a dazzling smile. Her cheeks were flushed prettily, and Hange would have thought she were simply starstruck, if it weren't for the light of mirth in her eyes.

"Good morning, sir. Can I get you anything?" She gave Levi no chance to respond, before plowing on. "Water? Or tea, perhaps? Forgive me, but you seem a little upset. Might a nice tea calm you down?"

Levi grit his teeth. "No, thank you."

Hange almost apologised to the poor waitress on his behalf, but she didn't look bothered at all by his rudeness. In fact, she had barely turned from the table before she snorted in laughter, and caught her giggles in her hands as she scurried back behind the counter. A second passed, before all three waitresses snickered.

"That," Levi hissed, "is your fault."

Now Hange truly was confused. She furrowed her brow at him. "How does that have anything to do with me?"

"You and your stupid article," he said. Hange looked back to the waitress, who looked to their table again before falling into a fresh fit of giggles. Hange turned back to Levi, a little sympathetic.

"I think she just fancies you."

"You're trying to tell me you really don't know the mess you've caused?"

Hange shook her head slowly. Levi watched her closely, searching for proof of the lie, but Hange's earnestness must have shown through, for Levi's anger abated a little, and he slumped back on his chair.

In lieu of a verbal explanation, Levi pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times, typed something out, and scrolled a little way, before placing the phone on the table and sliding it towards her. Hange pulled it closer with a frown.

The screen displayed Twitter, and showed the feed beneath the search for Levi's name. Hange scrolled a few posts, eyes widening little by little as she went.

Levi was right. The contents of the article were of little significance at all. The photo grid, however, had gone viral overnight.

It showed four pictures of Levi and Eren, taken in succession. Each one showed only a portion of the back of Eren's head, but Levi's expression in every frame was more animated than Hange had ever seen him outside of his movie scenes, and each was more distraught than the last. Face tight, jaw clenched, teeth bared, with his finger pointed condescendingly in Eren's face. The second last picture shows his brows arched and his lips pressed into a thin line, and the final one—

Hange had laughed at it in isolation when Moblit had shown her. She had fully expected it to garner a few laughs, but she hadn't expected a photograph of Levi furiously slurping his tea to become a meme in less than 24 hours.

"I see," Hange said, as she calmly slid the phone back to him. "In my defense, you don't help yourself. It wouldn't be half as funny if you didn't hold your tea cup so weird."

"In my defense," Levi snapped, "If you didn't post it online nobody would have anything to laugh at."

Hange crossed her arms on the table and leaned towards him, smiling pleasantly. "In your defense, you wouldn't have been so angry in public if it weren't for whatever Eren had to say. What was that about, by the way? I'm terribly curious."

Hange expected a very Levi response to her prying; a scowl, perhaps a quick kick under the table, an 'It's none of your damn business, four-eyes', if she were lucky.

What she got instead was a haughty sniff, and a gruff, "He's fucking my cousin."

For a moment, they were silent. Either Levi's anger at his new meme status had temporarily disabled the part of his brain that blocked any mention of his private life from slipping past his lips in the wrong company, or something about Eren's indiscretion had rattled him so much, he couldn't keep silent about it. Either way, he looked increasingly surprised—and horrified—at himself for saying it out loud. Hange's eyes were wide, and Levi's were growing wider by the second. Of all the people to slip up to, he had slipped up to her. An entertainment journalist, the one person in his life who thrived on this kind of insider knowledge.

Hange swallowed. Levi was still staring at her like a deer in headlights, no doubt painfully aware that there was no taking back what he had said now.

Hange doesn't take a great deal of pride in what she does. She feels satisfied when her stories receive the reception she'd predicted, validated in her ability to analyse their consumer base and make accurate assumptions about what will hit and what won't, but the work itself feels dirty, at times. An opportunistic scavenger feeding on whatever carrion they can find, no matter how rotten it may be.

This is a perfect opportunity. Salacious details of Levi's interpersonal relationships, right from the horse's mouth. If it were anyone else, Hange would be scribbling every word verbatim in her notebook.

But this is Levi. Levi, who seems jarred by her last article (though Hange will maintain this, at least, is no real fault of her journalism, and also, absolutely hilarious) and was clearly, for whatever reason, incensed by Eren's actions.

Hange brushed her palms over her thighs, and picked a speck of lint from her trousers.

"This is nice, isn't it?" She said, "having breakfast together. We should do it more often. It feels good to just talk, sometimes. Off the record."

Levi blinked rapidly at her. He opened his mouth, but, still too shocked by his own loose tongue to speak, he said nothing. Hange pulled her phone from her bag and fiddled around with it some, tapping here and there, until she found what she was looking for. She turned it to Levi, and said, "I think this is my favourite edit so far."

Levi finally pulled his gaze from her, and looked down at the screen. It was truly something, the way the picture snapped him out of his stunned silence. Hange had never seen someone's face pinch up so rapidly.

"Come on, it's kinda funny. And look! That's Tony Stark, right? People are so creative. And maybe, if we're really lucky, Buzzfeed will do a compilation article of all the best ways people have used your new meme."

Levi rolled his eyes at her. It looked strange, with his face so tightly twisted. Hange chuckled at him.

She nudged his ankle beneath the table with the toe of her shoe. "Lighten up, you look constipated."

"Oi, out of the two of us I'm not the one who's full of—"

"—Full of shit, I know, I know. That honour is all mine."

They lapsed into another silence, this one marginally more comfortable than the last. Hange finished the last of her coffee and checked her emails, while Levi tortured himself some more by scrolling through his Twitter feed. After a short while, he spoke again.

"That...doesn't sound bad," he said.

"Hm?"

"What you said about talking more. Off the record. It doesn't sound bad."

It was Hange's turn to flush. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she occupied herself by rifling through her bag in search of nothing.

"Yeah?" Her voice, an octave higher than usual, cracked around the vowels. She cleared her throat, "will you have more gossip for me? It's almost painful that I can't share it, you know."

"Good. I'll share as many secrets as I've got, if it'll bother you that much."

"Sounds terrible," Hange said. She tore a clean corner off her napkin and scribbled her personal number onto it. She slid it over the table to him. "Text me."

Levi pulled a face at the piece of napkin. "Is that used? Gross, shitty four-eyes." He pocketed it anyway.

Hange didn't know what else to say. Levi didn't seem to either, and so he stood, and tucked his chair back in. Hange turned her eyes down to her empty plate. Her stomach and chest felt strange, almost sickly, but in an oddly pleasant way.

Levi rapped his knuckles on the table. Hange jumped, startled, and looked up at the sound.

"This part is on the record," he said. The corner of Levi's mouth quirked into a small, barely there grin. "I heard from a reliable source that Eren was so scared on the set of Last War that he pissed his pants. Twice."

#Levihan #snk #my writing #THIS ONE WAS SO FUN I would like to revisit this one day #I enjoyed their dynamic hehe

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highdramas · 3 years

Text

bandit like me | criminal!bucky

warnings: language, violence, references to criminal behavior, allusions to sexy shit, bucky being a cocky asshole

word count: 2197

summary: if you and bucky are doomed, you want to see the glorious fallout.

note: this is the start of a bucky au series which will eventually be based on the heist from oceans 8! this is just an intro to bucky’s history with the reader, and their dynamic, but i’m so excited to continue!

enjoy! <3

god, you love vegas.

there’s a certain sort of dirty glamour that you can’t find anywhere else, you think-- and while you spend the majority of your time in new york these days, you find that your heart always has a certain tug to las vegas. after all, it is where you got your start as one of the finest pickpockets and swindlers on either side of the mississippi.

among other things.

it’s where you met james buchanan barnes for the first time.

you’d heard his name like a whisper in the wind for years before you met him in person. james “bucky” barnes, criminal extraordinaire. of course, you were young, and you had stars in your eyes and you had not yet been hardened by the world. you had not yet had to kill your way out of a shady job, had not yet conned a man of everything he was worth.

that was your favorite part, you think.

taking from men what they had earned unfairly.

if justice wasn’t coming for them, you would bring it upon them yourself. you would take it all and you would feel no remorse. their wealth, their assets, their connections.

sometimes, even their wives.

but those were petty games that you had played when you were young. you like to believe that you are more mature now; both in your swindling and in your personality.

sometimes, you miss those days. you miss running with natasha and chewing up men and spitting them back out. you miss the high of pulling off a real good job. you miss watching a man crumble beneath you, begging for mercy. of course, you would never give it. but you would make a show of thinking about it, and natasha would laugh, and she would say, “stop playing with your food, honey.”

that’s another thing.

you rarely reveal your real name.

not even to your closest confidants. not even to natasha.

no, you find that there are two ways that you introduce yourself. you either stare straight with a narrow gaze, murmuring something along the lines of, “your worst nightmare.” or, you smile sweetly with an outstretched hand and your head gracefully tilted. “call me honey.”

there’s only one person that you’ve worked with who knows your real name.

and he’s sitting at the hotel bar.

already, you can feel your annoyance begin to bubble. you can do one of two things-- you can saunter over there and properly ignore him, knowing that he will notice you instantly. or, you can go up to your room.

you decide you need a drink more than you need your sanity.

somehow, you’re sure that he already knows you’re here. you approach the bar and tap on it, smiling at the bartender. “cosmopolitan.” you turn your head to the right and he’s already looking at you.

“i thought you’d never show, doll.”

a smirk begins to play on your lips, and you thank the bartender as you slide your drink to yourself. “i should get a restraining order,” you muse as you lift your glass to your lips, taking a lengthy sip. “you creep.”

bucky laughs and he takes a sip of his own drink, and you don’t even have to look to know what it is-- whiskey coke. god, you always gave him shit for it. told him he should at least drink his whiskey neat. he would always give you that same stupid smirk and he would say, “what, i can’t have a little sweet, honey?”

“that’d be no fun,” he says and god you know that he’s right, but you hate to admit it. “who you here for?”

all the attempts of not looking at him are futile, and you throw a glance in his direction. he looks as glorious and handsome as ever. the man drips with luxury. from his suit to his hair to his beard which has grown out slightly since the last time that you saw him-- everything about him tells you that he is expensive. “you think i’d tell you?”

“i’m here for pleasure, darling. i’m not going to infiltrate on your job.”

you scoff. “i have a hard time believing that. when are you ever not thinking about work?”

bucky’s desire to work is the cause of all of his success, as well as all of his problems, you think.

part of you feels sorry for him, knowing how much stress he places upon himself. another part of you can’t help but resent it, knowing it is the reason that you two would never, ever, ever possibly work as something more than easy flirtation and a good night between the sheets.

“i’m a changed man, honey.” bucky gestures to the barstool beside him. “you gonna stand and drink that all night?”

a pointed look is thrown in his direction and you finally take a seat. “you knew i would be here, didn’t you?”

“heard from nat,” bucky takes a sip from his drink. “i’ve got some intel on your hit.”

your hit isn’t your normal vegas regular. no, your hit is alexander pierce, one of the highest ranking government officials you could sink your claws into. you’d met him networking at an event in dc and he had been quite interested in you, which you always liked to use to your advantage. luring him out to las vegas took little effort and much amusement, buying you time to do your research.

you’d clear his room of all his belongings and sell off the paperwork to your government contacts who would purchase them for a steep price, and you would be on your way.

without a trace.

you were good at that part. going off the grid. no social media footprint, nothing to track you by-- you were living in the world partially invisible. you like to keep it that way.

though, sometimes it gets lonely.

no one knows that better than the man who sits beside you now.

“spit it out, then.”

bucky smiles and for a moment, you think he might say something else, but he begins to divulge quickly. information about his security detail, shift rotations. information you could’ve found out easily, but don’t mind having handed to you. but you’re less interested in that. your brows furrow as you look at him. “how far out of your way did you go to get this intel?”

he gives a nonchalant shrug. “far enough.” he smiles. “gotta help out my girl.”

“i’m not your girl,” you say with a smirk. “if anything, you’re my bitch. getting me intel, following me around to tell me.”

this gets a laugh out of him and you look forward again, finishing off your drink. “now that’s my girl.” he throws a hundred dollar bill onto the bartop and follows suit, tipping his head back to empty his cup of its contents. “walk with me?”

you stare and watch as he outstretches his hand to you. despite your better judgement, you take it. the pair of you walk side by side until you’re stepping out into the still warm air, but the breeze offers enough of a chill that the hairs on your arms stand up. bucky looks over at you and begins to shuck off his jacket, making you immediately protest. “bucky, no--”

but he’s already draping it over your shoulders, and you are tugging it just a bit closer to you, and you note that it smells like him. like that stupid ysl cologne you bought him all those years ago.

well, you didn’t buy it. you’d stolen it.

no words are exchanged as you move along on the sidewalk, watching on at people busking and performing on the street, ignoring the elsa’s and spiderman’s who try to pull you in for photo ops. one of them gets particularly aggressive and bucky pulls you into him, as if you’re not a woman who has driven a dagger into the gut of a man for far less, saying, “move along, pal.”

“so touchy tonight,” you purr, leaning into him slightly when he doesn’t remove his arm from your waist. “like the good ‘ole days.”

“oh, you remember?” bucky jokes, and it already has you laughing. “you were acting so coy back there in the bar, i thought that you might’ve forgotten me altogether.”

you shake your head and you stop in the street. you wear his jacket and he straightens his tie and he smiles down at you. “of course i didn’t.” you jut your chin up. “doesn’t change anything, though.”

what doesn’t it change, exactly?

it doesn’t change that the last time you saw james buchanan barnes, you had told him that you loved him. and he had told you that he loved you in return. and you had both agreed that it needed to end now before either of you caused irreversible damage to the other.

criminals being with criminals never ends well.

“not a thing,” he agrees with you. he pushes a piece of hair back and it’s getting harder to remember why you were so stubborn when it came to him. why, exactly, you felt the need to push your feelings away so desperately. “wish it would, though.”

“yeah.” a small, almost shy, smile works its way onto your lips. “me too.”

bucky’s jaw slacks and his fingers trail your cheek, and you can feel the cool metal of his rings against your flesh. “it’s not like this with other people, is it, honey?”

“of course not,” you nearly hiss. “is it like this with other people for you?”

bucky has a knowing sort of smirk. “no.” he wets his lips, his eyes settling on your lips for just a beat too long. “it never will be.”

the tension surrounds the both of you, and you’re the one to break it. you press your hand to bucky’s chest and push on it slightly, pushing him away, pushing away all of the feelings and confusion that comes with him. “we’re not doing this tonight. i’ve got a job to do in the morning.”

you begin to walk, and bucky is on your heels. “so our pillowtalk can be about work,” he says, and you can practically hear the cocky and sly charm in his words. “i made sure to get a king bed. and a bottle of moet.”

again, you stop, and you turn to him. you’ve nearly walked a circle around the block, and you can see the hotel not far off. “you really got info from nat about my job, got me intel to butter me up, and then want to take me to bed?” you huff and even you can’t help but laugh. “nothing’s changed, barnes.”

you set off again and he groans, following after you. “you know it’s not like that.” he catches your wrist and he spins you, getting you to face him. “it’s never that that… simple with you.”

you rip your wrist from his hand and make your way into the hotel lobby, making sure your hips swing just a bit more than usual. you remember bucky laughing and gripping those hips on a late winter night in new york city, nearly three years ago now-- “such a tease,” he had said into your ear.

“bucky,” you say as you both approach the elevators. “it’s not happening.”

he sighs and he hangs his head. “yeah.” he looks up at you. “i do miss you, doll.”

“yeah, i know.” the elevator doors open and you step into them. bucky tries to follow after you, but you hold your hand up. “i’ll be seeing you, james.”

“see you, honey.”

the doors click shut and you practically collapse. the effort of pretending to not love bucky is exhausting.

in a blur, you go to your room and unpack your things. you take off your makeup and your expensive jewelry that you plucked off the wrists and necks and fingers of random passing civilians during all of your worldly travels. when you pick your phone up, you notice that you have a text from an unknown number.

floor 45, room 7.

you roll your eyes and toss your phone back onto the bed. you’re a strong woman-- certainly strong enough to resist the temptation of knowing exactly where to find the one person that you want.

one hour passes. you scroll through instagram.

another. you finally crawl into bed.

three hours. it’s nearly three in the morning and you cannot sleep.

by four, your feet are in slippers and you wrap a silky robe around your body.

you don’t move. 4:30am blinks at you on the clock.

at five, bucky is opening the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and staring at you.

“don’t say a word,” you hiss before you’re grabbing for him, pulling him to you, and pressing your lips to his.

but bucky is a smug asshole. as you move through his suite, his hands are everywhere, and he pushes you back onto the bed. once he’s hovering over you, his lips just a ghost above the shell of your ear, he can’t help but whisper…

“looks like nothing’s changed.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #bandit like me

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mcmactictac · 3 years

Note

is wolfstar canon

Hello and welcome back to another episode of I analyze your favourite ships and let you know if they’d be canon if a coward wasn’t writing them.

I have read all the Harry Potter books and watched all the movies, I have not read All the Young Dudes but I have consumed lots of mauraders content so I’m really hoping all of these points I’m making are canon.

Let’s start with Remus Lupin. That’s a queercoded bitch if I’ve ever seen one. Now I’m always a sucker for queer coding within magical worlds, as there’s a lot of really subtle things to do with it. Now with Remus being a werewolf, there’s a lot to examine there. When examining queer coding we will ignore the shitty implication that it’s a disease that can be given to you by others because that’s dumb and Rowling sucks. We do not stand for homophobia in this household so I want to make extra clear I don’t want to imply any of that.

That being said, being a werewolf is a thing Remus is ashamed of and feels the need to hide. He hides it from everyone around him because he doesn’t want them to look at him differently. You also have to keep in mind the time period this would be set, being gay can be incredibly unsafe and life altering in a negative way. So he hides it to protect himself, despite the fact he is a child struggling with all this internal self loathing. The constant narrative of being a monster that just pushes you further and further into hiding because you have no idea what would happen if they found out. And eventually he finds close friends who figure it out and they support him, they want to help so he feels less alone. And yes he has this outlet now but it’s still a tightly guarded secret. Something he’s only open with to the people he trusts. His lycanthropy is a clear parallel to being gay and although I hate the implication that it’s a “disease” like. Metaphorically most of the things you look for in queer coding are right there.

You also have to keep in mind that Remus was literally never in a relationship and showed no interest in anyone until like the end with Tonks. And it’s pretty clear to me that Rowling threw that in so people would stop saying he was gay. I like Remus and Tonks and the dynamic they have but like. They seem more like friends, the age gap is weird, there’s no build up, it doesn’t make sense for Remus’s character and it’s just like. Not great? Tonks and Remus are great friends but I don’t really see them together romantically.

I’m going with the fact that Remus is just straight up gay. Tonks seems like a cover, and if I was a person who wasn’t a coward writing this, Remus and Tonks are both aware neither of them are straight and are covering for each other. It’s giving me very “let’s get married so you don’t get drafted to the front lines even though we arent in love” like people did during like the Vietnam war. They get along really well but Remus has no romantic chemistry with any woman ever. That is not a straight man.

Sirius Black. This is another fun one. Since the start of his time at Hogwarts he is marked as “different” from the rest of his family because he isn’t a slytherin. We need to keep in mind the Black family is very wealthy, has a high value on their reputation, and are basically just racist, homophobic and classist people. Difference is not accepted, and Sirius already starts out by breaking that mould. Now l honestly don’t remember how much of his interactions with Marlene are canon so I don’t know if I can argue that but like. Yes I am thinking about it, much like JJ, Sirius overcompensates with being a huge flirt with everyone despite having no real feelings attached to any of them. Throughout growing up he continues to break away from his family, and break away from their problematic views. Being raised in an environment like that instills a sense of fear around you. So even if Sirius knew when he was younger, it’s likely he denied it or never said anything because of fear. By the time he leaves he’s pretty much kicked out of the family. Through his school we can also see how supportive of Remus he is, trying to help him and make him feel as comfortable as possible. Giving him support and love he was never given.

If a coward was not writing this Sirius black should not be straight. I’m not certain if he would be bi or gay, but he for sure likes men. It would fit well and be interesting for his character and story.

So how do they work together? Objectively, really well. I’m going to look at this through a canonical lense, so trying to keep what I can of the story but adding these sexuality headcanons in mind.

Remus and Sirius were ABSOLUTELY together in school. I don’t think they were public about it in the slightest. But this is another gay person you’re close with, you care for who fiercely cares for you despite your family or your “disease”. Remus was totally out first, but just to the Mauraders. Sirius never really comes out. He probably tells James first, mentions it quietly one night after thinking about his family. He knows James will be ok with it because he was always ok with Remus. And James is supportive and never says anything, never treats Sirius any different. That’s still the man who is basically his brother. But he sees how Sirius looks at Remus the same way he looks at Lily. He knows, even if they never tell him. But if anyone were to know, it would be him.

They have the chemistry, the stories line up, they’re good friends and it would make sense. Because of the time period it’s quiet and guarded, a relationship kept from prying eyes. They might love each other but they don’t want anyone to know about their relationship because neither of them are really comfortable or ready being out.

Now after school there’s probably a bit of a splitting apart, knowing they can’t maintain what they had forever. The future isn’t made for them and they know that. And then James is dead, and Peter is killed and Sirius is in prison and Remus is forced to pull himself together and do the best he can to move on without them. Now if we were in a timeline where Sirius didn’t go after Peter, and him and Remus could potentially take Harry? I don’t know. They sure as hell wouldn’t let the Dursley’s take him, but dumbledore also isn’t going to just let them live in peace. They would have to go totally off grid, making sure Dumbledore never took him. The priority here would be keeping Harry safe, not on their own relationship.

Now after POA is where things get messy. Because you essentially have two years here before Sirius dies. Even though Remus knows he’s innocent he went 13 years thinking he wasn’t. That trust isn’t going to magically return overnight, he’s going to have to unlearn all of the wrong things he figured out over the past decade. And this Sirius is different. This Sirius doesn’t need a relationship, he needs support, love and someone to help him. And Remus is there for that. They both still care for each other but they aren’t at a point where they work anymore. They just appreciate the comfort that the other provides. Remus takes care of Sirius the way Sirius took care of him so many years ago. It isn’t about a relationship, it’s about love. That love for each other is still strong, and it’s still there. Nothing is going to change that, they’ll always be a part of each other.

So no I don’t think they got “back together” before Sirius died. Or even if Sirius survived, before Remus died. If by some miracle they both survived the war down the road? Maybe. They’d still have that tight bond with each other and over time and as they heal it might develop again. But no I think they only really “dated” in high school. But that love for each other never really went away. It’s still a huge part of each of them, and even if they aren’t in a relationship that doesn’t mean they aren’t in love.

So in summary:

-Remus is gay. His story is queercoded but in a homophobic way.

-Sirius likes men. It further distances him from his family and is something he has a lot of internal problems with

-they’re secretly together in high school. James probably knows but he never pushes

-post POA they don’t get “back together” but they are still fiercely attached and care about the other deeply. The lack of a relationship is not an indication of no love. They don’t really care about labelling it as much they’re just Remus and Sirius and they just. Need each other

-if allowed to survive till the end they may get back together

So I would say yes, Wolfstar is canon. We have nothing to prove none of this didn’t happen. They could have been together in high school and Harry would never know. And even if the relationship fizzles out, that love is always still there and that never goes away.

If you’re still here this is part of a series I’m doing, and I’m going to be doing this with a bunch of other stuff! It’s all going to be under #deathoftheauthorbirthofthemcmac so if you like this one I’ve got a jjpope one up and more to come!

#deathoftheauthorbirthofthemcmac #harry potter #wolfstar #Remus lupin #Sirius black #James potter #wolfstar canon #remus and sirius #hp #mauraders #the mauraders #mlm ships #queer coded characters #prisoner of askaban

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misterghostfrog · 4 years

Text

So I was reading someones post about what if Jon went back in time to save everyone, and he managed it. He kept Martin away from Prentiss, he Kept Sasha alive, Tim never even know the unknowing existed and he never had Jons paranioa to ruin him. But They never knew, there was never those moments of bonding between the terror. Martin never had that moment when he realized Jon wasn’t just his shitty boss. And sure the assistants were close, but there was no room for Jon. And it gave me thoughts.

Under the cut bc I started to Ramble and it got Long, warning; its Big Sad Hours down there. No happy endings here.

Jon solves all these problems before they start, he fixes it without anyone ever knowing. The assistants are blissfully unaware, maybe he stops sending them on ‘real’ statement followup. The archives are a normal, safe job for all of them. Sometimes it gets too much, pretending he doesn’t know them. So he’ll record, mostly for himself. Sometimes for them, though he’ll never share. He sticks them all in Gertrude's old storage locker, where he knows they’ll never be found.

And then something goes wrong. He knows the unknowing can’t work, of course it can’t. But Nikola doesn’t, none of the avatars know. And Nikola still wants her skin. She still wants his skin, actually. And she’s not afraid to play dirty to get it, she’s hands-on like that. Because why stop at the archivist when he’s got so many lovely ignorant assistants?

So he fixes the problem before she can make good on her threats, she can’t be killed that easily. He knows. But she died during the unknowing, and there are some pretty simple steps to follow to replicate that result. He knows the easiest way to make sure it works is also a death sentence for him. But that’s a simple choice to make. Alright no, it’s not. He’s terrified of death, of dying. He doesn’t want to die, but he can lie to himself. He can delude and say maybe he’ll get another chance. And just in case, he makes sure the assistants know they can quit now.

Tim, Sasha, and Martin don’t know what to make of the news that their boss died mysteriously in an explosion. They know even less what to make of the notes he left them.

Clearly the ramblings of a very unstable man. They all knew Jon was a bit off but this... Well, they all know there’s something weird about the job. But the apocalypse? Really?

Sasha believes some of it, she’s worked in artifact storage. She’s seen what this stuff can do. But, well. Jon’s never come off as the most stable person, and with no proper proof to back up any of this there’s no reason for them to follow suit. After all she’s known lots of people to quit the institute, she even knows for a fact that Eric Delano did it when she was rooting through employee records for perfectly rational legal reasons.

Then Martin gets called up to Elias’s office, and gets the news he’s the new head archivist.

He tries to turn it down, but he’s offered a pay-raise and a promise that he can step down anytime if he doesn’t feel suited to the position. Elias just sees so much potential in him.

Martin tries to feel flattered and not thoroughly terrified by the way Elias says potential. He takes the promotion, after all, he can always step down if it’s too much.

He offers as much when he finds out Sasha probably should have been given the position, but she turns him down. It’s not his fault their boss is a sexist old bastard, and at this rate he’d probably just turn around and give it to Tim.

Things are normal for a few months. Until slowly a strange noise starts to be heard around the archives, a weird sort-of squishing sound with no source. Along with a metallic scent of meat.

An infestation, of course. They’re getting the problem worked on, or so Elias says. But aside from the occasional exterminator coming in to ‘take a look’ nothing ever seems to change. Weird statements start showing up on Martins desk, surrounding meat and twisted up things, eaten alive and wrong. Suddenly he understands how Jon went off his rocker so easily.

It’s hard to believe all this supernatural stuff as it’s suddenly getting crammed down his throat, after so long of the archives being normal in almost every sense of the word it’s like missing a step on the staircase. The more awful statements he finds- that Tim and Sasha confirm -the more he realizes how much his boss was hiding from them.

He wants to quit, he thinks about it, he tries to think about it. But he just, can’t.

It’s another or two month before it happens. Meat and bone and gristle erupt from the floor, taking on horrible mangled shapes of almost-humans reaching out with hands full of teeth and hungry.

They all survive, though Tim gets eaten up a bit more than the rest of them. And they’ll all have nightmares for the rest of their lives. They’re alive.

And they find Gertrude’s body, though none of them know how to feel about it. They’ve realized by now there’s something to Jon’s nonsensical ramblings. And they’re long past regretting not quitting before this all happened.

There’s a section of document storage that got uncovered during the cleaning,an old cot that was shoved behind some of the shelves, and a box that had a few sets of clothes, an old teacup, and a key. The cleaners say they burned the clothes, but the cup and the Key are given to Martin for him to keep to return to whoever left their things in the archive.

Neither of those items belong to Tim or Sasha, so they all assume they belonged to Jon.

They start following Jons footsteps, they find out he was a suspect in an arson case surrounding Carlos Vittery’s old apartment. Nobody was there except one unidentified body. He was arrested for trespassing on a dock, though no charges were filed. There was an incident that ended in the near arrest of one Jude Perry, though no charges were filed and she soon fell off the grid. And then he exploded using C4 he had no way of getting, Nothing concrete, no proper genuine evidence except a series of weird encounters their dead boss had.

Martin Decides to try and hunt down Jude Perry, it takes some time. He has a very nice cup of tea with one Micheal Crew. Who points him in a general direction and is just a bit weird about tall buildings.

Martin finds Jude, and asks her about Jon. She laughs at him, of course. But she tells him anyway. Jon was trying to have her arrested- no, not arrested. Killed. Officer Tonner would have seen to that, he knew one of the Hunt could do her in, well. At least of Officer Tonner’s sort anyway. Jude resisted, naturally. He escaped her clutches only barely, by running. Like a coward. And she escaped the policewoman by playing innocent. She’s still on her tail though, damn dog. It’ll be a long time before she’d rid of her, but she knows better than to run. Oh, he doesn’t know what any of that means, does he? Oh he really doesn’t, how sweet. Just a little baby archivist- she was going to kill him after this. But watching him stumble into his own ruin will be so much more fun.

She sends him on his way with a burn.

Martin is terrified, he genuinely tries to quit. Almost manages it before his computer shuts off. The others try too, and then they all have a lovely freak-out together.

They decide to try and talk to Detective Tonner, which proves easy. She’s the partner of the one who’s been interviewing them. She comes to the institute, and they ask her about Jon. She tells them they believed he was responsible for killing Gertrude, seeing as he was next in line. Martin accidentally Compels her into a statement, and then into admitting she's mostly just saying he killed her because dead men don’t put up fights.

She threatens him right then and there, though Basira comes in and intervenes before anything happens. He files a dispute with the station, and avoids the police after that.

Basira brings him some of the tapes, she says it’s an apology. He’s pretty sure she’s just trying to get him to drop the dispute in the weirdest way possible. He does learn some about Gertrude though, and through her what he’s dealing with. And something about an ‘unknowing’

A man named peter Lukas visits the institute, one of the doners. Elias says he wants to see how the archive runs, Lukas says a few choice words about it. And Martin tells him in the most polite of terms to shove off. Lukas threatens him, and very briefly makes him forget everyone he’s ever loved. And then tells him he got off lucky, and that Elias should have picked a better archivist. You can hardly trust someone so childish to run something as important as this now can you.

Daisy visits him in his home, and threatens him in much more physical terms now. She tells him if he tries to do what he did to her again he’ll get more than a scar.

After that it’s a bit unclear how he gets marked by the next two (Curruption, Stranger.) but he does.

There’s a delivery, a few weeks after the stranger mark. It’s not supernatural in any sense, just a young woman dropping off a small box in the archivists office. She says her name is Georgie, and no, she doesn’t know what’s in the box. She just had an old friend tell her to deliver it if he didn’t check in after a bit. Then she found out he died on the news, and then she hadn’t wanted to deliver them- clearly whatever was in the box was going to get someone killed. And she wasn’t scared of it, she wasn’t one for fear, but the thought of putting anyone in danger made her skin crawl. But she didn’t want it in her house, and she refused to be haunted be this box forever. And there was no reason to defy the poor guys apparent final wishes- wait, why was she saying all this again?

In the box was tapes, a dozen or so of them. All addressed to ‘the next head archivist’

It’s Jon’s voice, on the tapes. Talking to who he apparently assumes to be an entire stranger, explaining the fears. And how Smirkes 14 wasn’t wrong, but wasn’t right either. It tells the next archivist to avoid eyes, paintings, doodles, abstract representations, and to keep playing dumb. There’s a lot out there, and the more you know the worse it gets. There’s no fighting, don’t struggle the nets already around you. There’s a way out, but you’re not going to like it.

It gives an odd image of Jon, the man who awkwardly tried to make small-talk int he break room, only to shuffle away after it fell flat. Carrying this world-ending secret on his shoulders. Stiff, awkward Jon. Grim, sad Jon. not so far apart but still so far outside of what Martin had known about him.

What had Martin known about him?

Tim decides to quit, Sasha stays. Elias hires Melanie. Who turns out to be another connection to Jon.

Melanie says he was kind of a prick, he belived her about her Sarah incident, but refused to give her library access. Probably because he was sexist, or maybe just a dickhead. She’d been trying to learn more about her encounter for ages. And this was finally her chance. They try to explain the way out but she won’t listen.

Martin starts following Gertrudes tapes, things about the unknowing have been popping up on his desk lately, and it sounds like Jon was right about an apocalypse. He goes to america, gets a bit kidnapped, and meets Gerry. He offers to help, and then asks about the unknowing. Gerry points him towards the storage locker. And when he gets back He and Sasha and Melanie check it out.

It’s mostly empty, apparently somewhat recently cleared out. Though in the corner there’s a large box of Tapes. There has to be dozens of them, and when they pres play it’s Jon. Talking to them. Except it’s not them, it’s another version of them, and something this version.

And there’s another Jon to add to the mystery of a man he was. The jon on these tapes isn’t stiffly awkward or forcedly professional. He’s open, sad. He cries, he laughs at memories they don’t have. He apologizes, a lot. Too much really. He talks about time travel, about forgetting faces and losing friends.

“Sometimes I-I think- I can’t help but be a bit... upset. At how unfair it all is. You’re all happy and laughing and together and i’m-

i’m alone.

I suppose it must be some sort of- cosmic Karma, I doomed the world so in this new one bright an new I pay my penance in isolation.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. I doom the world- suffer its horrors, and get a little bit of time to taste what humanity would be like.

Or maybe i’m just not that likable without an apocalypse.

Probably says a lot about me either way.

Is it bad that I- I sometimes consider letting things play their course? W-without any of you dying of course I just... I suppose it is bad, to want to end the world because you’re lonely. Just because i’m a bit sad doesn’t mean the planet should suffer, no... maybe i’ll try and reconnect with Georgie, it’s been... well. No. Perhaps best not.”

Sasha says that if she knew she would have at least brought him out for drinks or something.

But they did sort-of know didn’t they? Not about the apocalypse, but about the loneliness. After all, nobody chats so awkwardly in the break room because they have a thriving social life.

“I’m going to kill Nikola tonight- i’m not going to die. I’m not. I didn’t die last time, a-and there’s no reason for that to change. T-there isn’t. I’m going to try and be a safe distance from the blast this time, too. But... Well, it’s not like I have anyone to miss me if I do go.

I suppose... Martin, if you’re listening to this- I... I miss you. You always did say I should be more open with my feelings, and it’s weird. To miss someone who’s right there. T-to look at a face and see a friend and a stranger. To love someone you’ve known for years who doesn’t even really know who you are.

It’s all very stranger, ironic really. Considering what i’m about to do.

I love you, and I miss you. I know you’re not listening, even if I did die you’ve probably long since quit. I hope you’re happy, whatever you’re doing. Happy and safe. All of you.

And maybe you are listening, maybe... maybe we do become friends, maybe you actually choose to talk to me someday. Maybe I tell you about all of this and... And you don’t think i’m mad. Maybe you let me take you out to dinner and we’d be together again. We’d never be like before- not that that’s a bad thing what with the eldritch horrors. There’d be bits missing, memories we don’t share- but, it would still be you... It’s always been you, I think. And maybe I've decided to give this to you as some sort of silly romantic gesture.

A-and in that case. I love you, Martin Blackwood. More than you’ll ever know.

[HE SIGHS]

When I come back, i’m recording over this.”

[CLICK]

But he didn’t come back. He died that night. He died loving Martin, who never even really knew him beyond passing awkward conversation. Martin doesn’t know how to feel about it, besides guilty that is.

The tapes point them towards Georgie Barker, the woman who delivered the other set to the archives.

Georgie doesn’t really want anything to do with them, she knows whatever they’re stewing in got Jon killed. But she tells them about her encounter with The End, though she’s tetchy afterwards. Martins finally starting to understand this whole compelling business and is feeling pretty sorry about it. He redirects, he starts to ask about Jon. Who he was, really. What she knew he was like.

They talk, Martins curiosity is part Eye and part knowing that someone loved him, really, really loved him. And feeling like he missed out, like he skipped a train he hadn’t known was there. And wanting to know what kind of person would- could love him the way Jon did. And why that kind of person could end the world.

They talk, Georgie explains why they broke up (clashing ideals, he didn’t believe in the supernatural and her trauma was so inherently tied to it. He was a sleep-clinger and she kicked when she dreamed) And why it took so long for them to break up (Jon was funny once you learned to get his jokes, the Admiral loved him, he had a weird way of caring that was really sweet) they talk about things, Georgie lets him hang out with her as long as he promises to keep the supernatural out of their conversations. And how is Melanie doing by the way?

Sasha has a hard time splitting her time in the archive and helping Tim. He can manage himself of course but it’s hard knowing he’s sitting in her flat alone, he’s getting back into publishing though. Sleeping easier now he knows that not only is he free of the eye, but Jon very much killed the thing that killed Danny. He only wishes he could have been the one to pull the trigger. Sasha is getting more involved though, the eye has it’s own grip on her.

They finally confront Elias. They know it won’t do any good, Jons tapes explained what he was, who he was. But they’re frustrated. Low on options. Jon never really explained what the apocalypse was- if Martins learned anything from the other tapes it’s probably because he forgot, thought he did somewhere and didn’t.

Elias isn’t entirely surprised that they’ve figured it out, he knew something was going on. Though he wasn’t quite sure what. He claims he knows what oncoming apocalypse Jon was talking about, and that he was likely underestimating the amount.

He sends them to Ny-Ålesund. And Martin views the black sun. Gets briefly taken hostage by Manuela. And gets “saved” by a man who pops out of a door to stab her.

He says his name is Micheal, and he’s not there to help. He does his whole distortion bit, confuses them. Stabs Martin when he tries to take his statement. Says he was going to kill him, but what happens next might be much better than death. And leaves after stating that he’s very excited to watch how the rest of this plays out.

They go back to the institute, and Elias says he must have been wrong. Oopsie. Anyway the web is planning a ritual you should go check out the spooky house from all these statements.

They meet Annabelle in person, Martin gets marked by the web.

This continues on for the end the slaughter and the buried. They finally confront Elias again about these wild goose chases, he claims innocence but he’s done it enough times they don’t believe him. They stop trusting Elias. Not that they ever really did, but they stop listening to him.

Melanie isn’t as angry as she was. Though she is still angry. She didn’t go to india so no ghost bullet, but she’s still trapped. Though she knows how to quit, it’s been a scary idea. But the longer she stays the more she realizes how low she is on options. So she quits.

Martin is angry, he’s exhausted, he’s confused. Nothing makes sense. And another one of Elias’s goddamn doners is visiting. A weird old man who, when he shakes his hand, makes him feel like he just dropped off a rollercoaster at a million miles into empty nothingness. He laughs when Martins regained himself, and says that that tricks better than a buzzer every time.

He visits Georgie again, he’s thinking about quitting. But he can’t figure out what the apocalypse he’s supposed to stop is, because according to Jon it’s pretty bad. And he’s the one who can stop, or maybe start, it. But he doesn’t know what it is.

He talks to Georgie about Jon some more, it’s funny, to grieve a man you already knew. Except four years too late. There’s a sort-of helpless frustration to it, every time he talks about Jon he wishes he could be learning this first-hand. Not from someone who hadn’t spoken to him in years before this.

He also finds himself glued to the tapes, he can relate, in a way. To Jons loneliness. To have a person so, so close but so far away. He wishes he could meet the Jon on the tapes now. Then neither of them would have to be lonely. But Jon is dead. And Martin... Martin might love Jon. Jon, who died years ago. A dead man who apparently loved him enough to consider ending the world for the chance to have a real conversation with him.

He goes back to work, frustrated and so, so lost. A million questions that genuinely can’t be answered. There’s a fresh statement on his desk. It’s a statement of Jonah Magnus, regarding stopping the apocalypse.

Certainly a goddamn roundabout way of giving Martin information, but he’ll take it.

He reads the statement.

The world ends.

Sasha, Tim, Melanie, and Georgie all get their own domains. And wander free in the hills of suffering. Martin is alone, well and truly alone. He ended the world, because he was too stupid and sad to read a few extra paragraphs before starting the tape.

But Jon went back, didn’t he? He went back in time and stopped this once. Maybe Martin can too. Maybe he can stop the flesh from attacking, maybe he can stop Melanie from joining the institute. Maybe he can meet the real Jon.

He goes back, he does it. Nobody remembers but him.

Nobody remembers but him.

And things keep happening he can’t have predicted.

Worms, Sasha is gone, Gertrude. It’s all wrong. And Jon isn’t the Jon he knew, he doesn’t know Martin, he doesn’t even like Martin. Nobody is the person he knew before.

He is alone. And things keep happening he can’t have predicted, worms tables and paranoia. He starts recording. Trying to follow in Jon’s footsteps and leave information behind, easier to access this time of course. In his flat, and he’ll have the key sent to the archives if something goes wrong. He’ll record until Jon trusts him enough to believe him, Maybe he’ll even stop him before it’s too late and he’ll never need to find out what happened at all. Maybe he can't get close as he was to everyone, but he can keep them safe.

He doesn’t get to finish his recordings, he wasn’t careful enough. Jonah catches wind and half the tapes are destroyed when he dies in a mysterious housefire. But what’s left does get delivered to the archives.

And the cycle continues.

#jonmartin #the magnus archives #tma #angst #writing #ghostly scribbles #Tma is a tragedy and so is this #not a proper fic more like a really weird outline

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