#christian penmanship

[5ugarand5pice]

Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve

(can we pretend it says silverstone instead of melbourne thank you)

Part 1: Dear Reader  | Part 2: Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve | Part 3: coming soon

pairing: driver! reader x f1 grid

inspired by: Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve by Taylor Swift (ik the song is unrelated but if anyone wants to cry over the possible Taylor and Joe split, my dms are open)

a/n: a couple months late but you asked and now you shall receive! thank you so much for all the love for Dear Reader, it means the world to me 🥹🤍 super sorry for going ghost (went thru a breakup, cried over a 🤢boy🤢 and tried to get my shit together) but i’m all good now and better than ever! definitely in my reputation era which means y/n will be too... soon. anyways, hope you like this and sending everyone hugs esp after the shitshow that was the aus gp (justice for carlos!!)

warning/s: a bit sad??? longer than i expected it would be but yes

If you would've blinked then I would've Looked away at the first glance If you tasted poison, you could've Spit me out at the first chance And if I was some paint, did it splatter On a promising grown man? And if I was a child, did it matter If you got to wash your hands?

The rest of your time in Monaco was spent coordinating with your team on possible moves forward in F1. Come Tuesday morning, you and Abi were on the way to your home country, a half-assed plan and bundle of nerves in your hands.

“It’ll be alright. You’ve got a kickass mom who’ll drag Christian’s ass to court and back if she has to and you also have me. You know I got your back— even if it means breaking a law or two.” Abi says, squeezing your hand twice as you make your way to your family home.

“For legal reasons, that was a joke.” you chuckle.

“Please, I’ll even help you bury the body.” your mom replies, giving you a small wink from the driver's seat.

You shake your head as you smile, the familiarity of the scenery as well as the playful conversations with your mom and Abi bring you a sense of comfort you had missed. It’s good to be home.

When your mom had pulled up to the driveway, your grandparents were already waiting by the door, a small banner written “welcome back home girls!” in your Nana’s penmanship.

“I missed you guys so much.” you almost cry out as you reach in for a hug.

“Our little racer isn’t so little anymore.” Nana coos.

“We watched your race in Austria, sweetheart. Almost forgot how much of a softie you actually are when I saw you drive.” Papa teases.

“Don’t tell outsiders that she’s a softie, we have a reputation to uphold over here.” Abi pipes, tone going high as she struggles with her bag.

“As if everyone doesn’t know that she’s a softie.” Nana says as she rolls her eyes affectionately.

You all chuckle as you finally make your way inside, Nana noting that she would have supper set up at 6pm.

The rest of the afternoon was spent settling in your respective rooms. Wandering around as you take in your surroundings, a picture frame on your dresser catches your attention.

The 2017 British Grand Prix.

Oh, God. If only you knew.

Oh, oh All I used to do was pray Would've, could've, should've If you'd never looked my way

You placed third at the Formula 2 British Grand Prix. Ahead of you was Charles Leclerc and your teammate, Norman Nato, respectively.

“You know, if he weren’t so cute, I would definitely be screaming at him for overtaking you like that.” Abi mutters as she hands you a towel.

“Please, we both know you’d probably use that as an excuse to make a move.” you playfully scoff as you wipe your face.

“I would,” she shrugs, “but I’m rooting for your enemies to lovers love story”.

“Oh, Abi.” you sigh, “Where did you get that idea?”

“Please, you’ve seen the way he looks when you pass by.” she giggles as she mocks what you assume were lovestruck eyes.

“Quit it. He doesn’t like me like that. He just” you pause, “has that charm.”

“Sure,” she grins, “but when you guys end up together, I’ll be mentioning this moment in my Maid of Honor speech.”

Before you can protest, Kenny Kirwan, your team manager, clears his throat behind you.

“Y/n, Abi, I’d like to introduce you to Christian Horner, the team principal of Red Bull Racing.” he tilts his head to his right.

“Christian, This is Y/n, this is our driver I’ve been telling you about. We’re lucky to have her in our team.” he continues, his smile faltering as you remain stoic.

“Hi. I’m Abi. Her social media manager and best friend.” Abi speaks up, breaking the awkward silence. She extends her hand, eyes darting between the two of you.

“Nice to meet you.” he grins, shaking her hand. “Congrats on second, by the way. I’m so proud of you.” he looks at you, engulfing you in what you suspect was one of those weird man clap hugs.

“Oh! Uh, thank you.” you smile, immediately pulling away. “I didn’t think you would watch my races.”

“I try to. You’ve been progressing well.”  he comments.

“Planning to win the championship, so, you know, gotta get those points.” you reply, shifting your weight between your legs.

“You can do it. You are your father’s daughter after all.” he smirks.

“Uhuh.” you wince.

Kenny does his best to ease the tension, raving about how he discovered your talent and how much potential you have to further in Formula 1.

“Well, it’s been lovely catching up with you but we really have to go. We promised Lorelei we’d be home before late to celebrate.” Abi interrupts.

“Oh! Of course.” he smiles awkwardly. “Um, before you go, maybe you’d want to go to the race tomorrow? I’d love to have you as my guest.”

“Sure. I’d like that. Abi’s my plus one.” you reply. “If that’s okay.” you quickly add, to which he smiles.

“Of course. Well, I’ll go ahead. Gotta get ready for FP3 and quali. You still have the same number?” Christian asks.

All you do is nod as he walks away, a dumbfounded Kenny following suit.

“Wait ‘til your mom hears about this.” Abi breaks you out of your trance, yanking your arm to lead you to your room.

I would've stayed on my knees And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil At nineteen And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts Memories feel like weapons And now that I know, I wish you'd left me wondering

As it turns out, Formula 1 had a completely different vibe from Formula 2; the screams were louder, the air was hotter and everyone seemed more tense. However, no one was as tense as you.

“I don’t know Abi.” you sigh, your hands gripping the wheel. “What if it’s worse than yesterday?” you turn to look at her.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” she asks, eyes trained on the mirror as she applies yet another layer of lip gloss.

“His wife can hate me. I get run over. I run over someone. I make a fool out of myself in the paddock. I unintentionally ruin my chances of ever becoming a Formula 1 driver which will then stop me from achieving my dream of becoming a Formula 1 World Champion.” your grip tightening as you ramble on.

Abi glances at your hands, sensing that you were about to slip into one of your spirals. She immediately grabs a hold of those and squeezes twice. Breathe In.

“She’ll love you. You won’t be on the track. You won’t be driving. You can always apologize and flash your adorable smile. I won’t let you ruin your chances. You will become a formula 1 driver. You will become world champion. It’s going to be fun, trust me” her hands squeezing yours twice again. Breathe Out.

“Fuck it. Okay. Let’s do this.” you mutter, quickly closing your windows and stepping out of your car.

The two of you pass through the gates, feeling a bit out of place and out of your element as a guest. Christian gave the two of you a tour of the Red Bull hospitality, introducing you to the crew while at it. Although they all seemed nice, your stomach churned every time surprise would flash their face when Christian introduced you as his daughter.

When time was nearing the race, he excused himself to look for his drivers. Abi left as well, muttering something about finding the ladies’ room. That left you standing alone in a corner of the garage, too shy to add on to the hustle and bustle of the race day.

“You look lonely, want some company?” you hear a voice to your right.

“Oh! Um, sure. If you want.” you reply, flustered.

“Okay.” he heartily laughs, “So, are you here for a sponsor or something?” he asks.

“A personal guest? I think.” you chuckle, “It’s complicated.”

“Well, complicated, nice to meet you. I’m Daniel.” he grins, offering you his hand to shake.

“I actually know who you are.” you smile back as you shake his hand, “Not that I stalk you or anything! I’ve watched a few of your races.”

“I’m a driver too. Well, currently in Formula 2.”  you continue, embarrassment tinging your cheeks, “Y/n y/l/n”.

“Oh no, more young drivers!” he dramatically gasps, “Another reminder that I’m aging.”

“You don’t look a day over 70!” you joke, face immediately paling when you realize what you just said. “Oh God! I’m so-”, your apology cut off by Daniel's laughter.

“Oh, I like you. You’re funny.” he breathily sighs. “We can be friends now.”

“So sense of humor is part of your friendship checklist?” you tease, mentally thanking whichever angel God sent you. “Sadly you didn’t tick that box on mine.”

“Okay,” he pouts his lips. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” you roll your eyes.

“Chickens.”

“Chickens who?”

“Enkkk.” he voices out, mimicking a buzzer. “Owls hoot, chickens cluck.”

You purse your lips. “A for effort. We should be friends so we can work on your sense of humor, grandpa.”

Daniel scoffs and places his hands on his chest, feigning hurt.

“Daniel!” someone hollers. “Mate, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Damn it.” Daniel chuckles. “I really thought I was gonna win at hide and seek this week.”

“Christian says we have to go over some notes before the race” he goes on, clueless to your presence.

“Well, it seems I have to bid you adieu.” Daniel turns to you, bowing to add to your amusement. “Till next time, mademoiselle.”

Daniel leaves, heading to what you guess is their meeting room. The stranger follows him, sending you a sheepish smile, presumably his form of apology for interrupting your conversation. You wave him off with a smile, shouting a quick “Good luck!” as they pass.

If you never touched me, I would've Gone along with the righteous If I never blushed, then they could've Never whispered about this And if you never saved me from boredom I could've gone on as I was But, Lord, you made me feel important And then you tried to erase us

Despite both of the Red Bulls not being able to set foot on the podium, the garage still celebrated points; P4 for Daniel and P5 for his teammate, Max. Daniel, being Mister Congeniality, insisted (quite ruthlessly) that you come to the afterparty. This is how you and Abi ended up back in your room, flipping out over outfit options.

“I think we need to find you the perfect ensemble that screams I’m classy but I can be a slut if I want to.” Abi shouts from inside your closet, another batch of dresses being thrown towards the growing pile on the floor.

“I can’t look like a slut, Abi. My father might be there.” You mutter, setting up your makeup at the vanity.

As much as it bothered you, you knew better than to try to clean while Abi rummaged through your clothes. She once gave you an earful, going on about how messy people are creative geniuses. Thus, the artist shall not be disturbed.

“We’re trying to attract a driver and a driver’s seat, not your father. ” she gags, head peeking out of the closet. “Have you seen the way that Max guy looked at you?”.

“No, because I’m not looking at him.” you turn away. “Besides, I thought you were rooting for a certain Monegasque.”

“I am, but it's rude to disregard other contenders.” she shrugs, passing you a little black dress. “I think this is it. Max will definitely keep his eyes on you tonight.”

Just as always, Abi was right. When you had finally arrived at the pub, Max immediately spotted you, nudging Daniel towards your direction.

“Glad you can make it, mademoiselle.” Daniel greets you, reenacting his bow from earlier that day.

“Good evening, Sire.” you curtsy in response.

“May I escort thee to thy party chambers?” he continues his act, mimicking a posh accent you’ve mostly heard in period dramas.  

“I’d be most delighted, o good Sir.” you nod, locking arms with him and Abi with the other. “I’d like to introduce my companion. Sir Daniel, meet Lady Abigail.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Abigail.” he waves with his free hand.

“You guys are crazy.” Abi snorts. “But likewise, Sir Daniel.”

He leads the two of you to a booth, excusing himself to get the two of you a drink. Max was still seated at the same spot, nursing a half empty bottle of beer.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your conversation with Daniel before the race and for not introducing myself then.” he sheepishly smiles at you. “I’m Max.”

“Y/n, and no worries about that. It was a busy time.” you smile back. “This is my friend by the way, Abi.”

“Congrats on P5.” she nods at him, eyes immediately darting back to the crowd.

Before Max could get another word in, Daniel returns with drinks in his hands.

“Three margaritas for the lovely ladies and myself.” he gives a cheeky smile while passing out the drinks. “Another beer for Max.”

The four of you spent the night getting to know each other better. Halfway through your drinks, Daniel excuses himself to mingle with other guests. Abi excuses herself as well, saying she needs to get water but you later catch her wink at you while a guy talks her up at the bar. That bitch (affectionately).

“So, you come to races often?” Max asks, shifting your attention back to him.

“Mostly busy with my own but I watch you guys from time to time.” you smile.

“You race too?” he chokes on his drink.

“Currently in Formula 2, yes.” Handing him a tissue, you chuckle. “I kinda take offense at your shock.”

“Sorry, it’s just that-” he starts off, wiping off his lips. “I think it’s best if you don’t finish that sentence.” you giggle. “So, Max, how long have you been racing?”

“Well, pretty much ever since my dad thought I was old enough to start.” he mutters.

“So, since you were in the womb?” you joke.

“Pretty much.” he laughs. “You?”

“Similar. Got into it because of my dad as well but continued for myself.” you look down and fidget with your rings.

“Anyways,” he clears his throat. “What’s your favorite team?”

“Ferrari.” you grin. “Big Vettel fan here.”

“You were hanging out in the wrong garage then.” he muses. “Any way I can switch you over to my side?”

“I can be convinced,” you tease. “if given enough incentive.”

“How about I convince you over dinner?” he asks.

“Bold ask.” you giggle. “I’d have to think about that.”

Oh, oh You're a crisis of my faith Would've, could've, should've If I'd only played it safe

At that time, it seemed like the world was working in your favor. You had three consecutive podiums in Hungaroring, Spa and Monza. To add to the excitement, all of those races coincided with that of the F1 calendar, giving you more chances to hang out in the Red Bull garages.

The highlight, though, would be Monza. After winning first place, Christian invited you to breakfast to celebrate and “make up for lost time”. Abi, being the perfect balance of tough love and unending support, decided it’d be best for you to go alone, much to your dismay. You paced back and forth in the hallway, making a mental list of things to not bring up. Your thoughts come to a halt when you hear the click of the door, revealing Geri on her way out.

“Y/n! Christian’s inside. You can just head in.” she smiles, hand holding the doorknob.

“Oh, okay.” you breathe out. “Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“It’s alright.” she chuckles. “He’s nervous too if that’s any consolation.”

“A little.” you giggle. “Um, I hope it’s not an intrusion. Me being here, I mean.”

“That’s nonsense!” she exclaims. “I just thought it’d be better for the two of you to talk things out alone. But, if you’re open to it, I’d love to get to know you better as well.”

“I’d like that.” you exhale. “Well, I think I should head in.”

“Of course.” she laughs, moving towards the lift. Turning around she says, “He’s trying, you know.”

Not knowing what to say, you offer a smile and head inside their room.

“Honey, do you think she’d want more food? Or is this enough?” you hear him shout.

Heading towards the dining area, you chuckle. “She left already. But, if you’re planning to feed the entire grid, maybe we can order more food.”

“Y/n.” he grins. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“You too.” you mutter, taking a seat opposite him.

“So,” he clears his throat. “I saw you win yesterday, congratulations!”

“Thanks.” you beam. “I heard you guys got P2 and P3 for quali. Must be looking forward to this race huh?”

“Quite.” he hands you a plate of waffles. “You still like this, right?”

“You remembered.” you gasp. “Even the strawberries and bananas.”

“I checked with your mom to make sure I got it right.” his cheeks tinges with embarrassment. “Gotta feed next year’s potential F1 driver well.”

“What?” your jaw drops. “Formula 1?”

“I introduced you to Franz Tost for a reason. He told me he’d love to have you in Toro Rosso next year.” he muses. “Maybe after that, you’d be racing for Red Bull.”

“HOLY SHIT!” you scream. “Is this for real?”

“Yes. It is.” he chuckles.

“Wait, who’s leaving?” you pause.

“Well, you’ll be taking Daniil’s seat. Carlos is moving to Renault for the last few races which leaves you, hopefully, and Pierre to complete the team next year.”

“Will they still be racing next year?” you ask.

“Carlos will be with Renault and I’m still unsure about Kvyat.” he says. “So, thoughts?”

“I’d have to discuss it with my team but personally, it’d be an honor.”

If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Years of tearing down our banners, you and I Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first

You get up from your bed, hands still clutching the picture frame. Based on the dark view outside your window, you assume you overslept, completely missing supper. You tuck the frame in a random drawer. Out of sight, out of mind.

You make your way to the kitchen, moving quietly to not wake anyone else up. You almost scream when you see your grandpa sitting on a barstool, a faint light casting a shadow.

“Why are you up so late?” you clutch your chest, trying to calm your heart.

“Just thinking, you know.” he mutters. “Worrying about you.”

“Oh Pa, I’m alright.” you hug him, taking a seat at his side. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, kiddo.” he breathes out. “I heard you crying earlier. I know you’re not fine.”

You sit there in silence. Although you were raised so open to emotions, you still had trouble expressing your own, worried about worrying others.

“When you had your first accident during your karting days, I freaked out. I almost had your mom pull you out, thinking that the sport was too much for you.” he starts. “Then, on our way to the car, you walked up to me and Nan and said, ‘look Pa! I have battle marks! I can go against the tough ones now!’. You had tears in your eyes and a bruise on your leg and arm, but you looked so happy.”

He grabs both of your hands, rubbing his thumbs across the back. “I knew then I didn’t have to protect you, not because you didn’t need it. God knows I tried my best to do that. But, you didn’t want it. You were so good on your own.”

“Not to be a sexist asshole but there were times when I wished you chose a more common hobby. Ballet, piano, anything that didn’t have a high risk of me losing you.” he breathes out. “It wasn’t just the physical aspect too. I just- I see complete strangers say just cruel things about you and how you started losing bits of yourself.”

“You’ve grown, but I used to be able to still see that little racer in her braids and a goofy smile with a missing tooth. Now, it’s like you turned into this machine. I get that it’s a tough sport but I worry you will lose your heart and spirit.”

“I- ” you sniffle, “I love racing. I know that.”

“I can see myself doing this for the rest of my life but right now I feel so lost.” you continue. “I never would’ve imagined being this close to achieving my dreams and now it’s gone.”

“And it’s silly. Like, I know I have mom. I have you and Nan. Abi too.” you breathe in. “But he should’ve been part of my life as well. He’s not just mom’s friend from college who knocked her up. He’s my father.”

Although your tears start to flow, you continue. “As much as his absence hurt, I still tried. I gave up my childhood and other dreams I had to be here.”

“The worst part of it all was me thinking I finally got what I wanted. That I finally had a dad.” you exhale. “Then he sold my femininity to the world then threw me away.”

God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind I regret you all the time I can't let this go, I fight with you in my sleep The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign I regret you all the time Oh, God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind I regret you all the time I can't let this go, I fight with you in my sleep The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign

Heading to the track felt like hell, dread filled your stomach and your hands were clammy with sweat. For your sake, Abi had ensured you wouldn’t get any press time and to your surprise, the teams agreed. Thinking about it now, you assume it was to save their dwindling reputation. Although your social battery was at an all time low, you still stopped to interact with your fans on your way to and from the paddock. As genuine as your gratitude was, your smile and thank you’s were visibly forced.

Everyone knew what this race weekend meant to you. You’ve been looking forward to racing in Silverstone, making it your goal of the season to go on the podium at your home race in your dream team. However, that seems like something only possible in an alternate reality. Despite Max’s pleas of you staying in Red Bull, you refused. You didn’t even bother telling him about your shift back to Toro Rosso or that you had moved out of his place. He’ll find out one way or another.

Thankfully, your schedule and distance from their garage minimized your interactions with certain members of the Red Bull team. Nevertheless, keeping true to your promise, you invited Daniel and a couple other drivers to meals in between practices, doing your best to front a “I’m doing better than you think” facade. You even reached out to Alex Albon, making it clear that there is no bad blood between you and that his replacement isn’t something you took personally.

Come Sunday morning, you have grown accustomed to your new (or old) team. Staring at the mirror gave you a sense of deja vu; the bold text of “Red Bull” across your suit mocked you. Wiping off a few stray tears, you can’t help but think about yourself from a year ago and what she would’ve thought about your situation. Would she laugh at the irony or would she cry with you?

You turn around when you hear a faint knock. Abi peeks in, a small smile gracing her face. “It’s almost race time. Are you ready?”

“Fuck no.”

a/n: as always, would love to hear your thoughts so feedback is more than welcome (but please be kind) !!!  to all that shared their love for Dear Reader, you have my heart and i hope this part did not disappoint 🫂 took a while to get here (seriously wrote a long ass piece then completely changed everything but ohwell) and i think i’m happy with the direction so far?? also, please let me know if you want to be part of the taglist or if it’s not working (still unsure abt how this works but i shall figure it out!)

taglist: @lighttsoutlewis @holy-macncheese-balls @for-fuck-sake-im-alive​ @idkiwantchocolatee @dan3avocado @aquamariene-me 

#red bull racing #dear reader #would've could've should've #midnights #F1 #f1 x reader #F1 drivers #Max Verstappen #max verstappen x reader

[panelshowsource]

thank you for providing so many gifs!! I am here to yell about Richard Osman’s horse girl writing because now I look forward to The Rich List and laugh every time. I wish it was played more if only to see his penmanship

you know what, in celebration of RICHARD OSMAN'S BIRTHDAY TODAY let's enjoy some of his lovely christian horse girl handwriting<3

happy birthday king! you OWN the swirly a and cutely dotted i

#the alastair [sic] darling (ᶜʰᵃⁿᶜᵉˡˡᵒʳ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉˣᶜʰᵉᵠᵘᵉʳ) one is intense...i'm obsessed #richard osman #a

[autumnmobile12]

In 1462, the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, Mehmed the Conqueror, decided to try his luck expanding his lands into Europe, invading through Wallachia.  In the past, many of Vlad III Dracula’s predecessors would have either stood aside and let the Ottoman forces pass through their land unhindered, or they might have committed Wallachian soldiers to the invasion force out of self-preservation.  Dracula instead chose to resist and, in the face of the Ottoman’s significantly larger and better trained army, he conscripted every able-bodied citizen he could.  This included men, women, and children aged twelve and older.  Making use of terrain they knew better than their enemies, the Wallachians resorted to guerrilla war tactics, scorched earth, and even early germ warfare.  When Wallachian soldiers became ill, they were often sent into enemy camps in an attempt to spread the disease and weaken the Ottoman forces.

In the brief glimpse we have of Isaac’s past, we see his tormentor wears a white tunic with a red cross, the Cross of St. George, which is famously associated with Europe’s Crusades against Islam.  As if his life wasn’t miserable enough, Isaac was likely born in a frontline Ottoman province and was captured/enslaved, and possibly orphaned, by Christian soldiers.  Yikes.

The ruler of Wallachia was known as a voivode, which we often translate as ‘prince,’ but a more accurate meaning is military governor or warlord.  Serving under him was a council of boyar lords and advisors known as the princely council, or sfatful domnesc.  These officials, the dregători, managed everything from court logistics to military endeavors to lawmaking.  Whether or not the Judge was a direct member of the council or an assistant to one of the members is up for interpretation.  As for his reference to ‘doing just well enough that he was sent back to Lindenfeld,’ the Judge maybe, on account of the voivode and other claimants to Wallachia’s throne consistently overthrowing/murdering the shit out of each other, found himself on the wrong end of a regime change and found it prudent to skip town while the going was good.  Or, you know, before somebody important found out about his ‘little pleasures.’

Straying into headcanon territory with this one, but a lot of it is backed up by historically accurate presentations of how a medieval household was generally managed.  Firstly, a medieval household was huge, and an estate of this size would have been maintained by a large staff, including but not limited to:  the steward, a stable master, one or more groundskeepers, a cook, laundresses, personal attendants of family members, page boys running messages all over the estate, and one or more nursemaids watching over the infants and younger children.  This is broad speculation, but I will point out that in England around the same time, it was common for high-ranking nobles to employ an average of 240 to 500 people.

In a Wallachian household, the education of a boyar’s son would have been handled largely by the women of the house, as well as the occasional tutor for more specified subjects.  This would have included etiquette, penmanship, arithmetic, politics, history, etc.  So Trevor’s domestic education likely would have been overseen by his mother, aunts, and possibly his grandmother.  Combat training would have been supervised by his father and uncles.

In short, I like to imagine some of the people from Dănești were survivors from his family’s estate and knew him as a child.

#castlevania #medieval wallachia #trevor belmont #castlevania netflix #historical post #medieval europe #wallachian politics and the history lesson no one asked for #isaac castlevania #alucard castlevania #sypha belnades #medieval romania #the ottoman empire #dracula's war #dracula #historical context #danesti #danesti characters #danesti village

[fictionadventurer]

Chestnut and fog?

chestnut - Name five things you're passionate about.

How about we do a literary edition?

Convincing people that love triangles are a great literary device that can be done well, and they should stop being boring and hating love triangles just because it's fashionable to hate the YA version of it.

Finding and rediscovering old books that were once popular but have fallen through the cracks of history.

Reading series out of order and pushing the merits of having series that can be read out of order.

Promoting the creation of science fiction and fantasy written from a Christian worldview

Reading friends' WIPs

fog - Name four things you'd like to know more about.

Hobbies Edition!

Playing the piano. I want to get back into playing music again

Bookbinding. I'd like to learn more techniques and make better-looking books

Drawing and watercolors and color theory and all the things one can use to make visual art

Penmanship that looks good and that people can actually read

#answered asks #brambleberrycottage

[fansoftheoccult]

how i imagine good omens season 3

Aziraphale learns of the plans to be executed by Heaven for the Second coming. And they're not good. At first he attempts reason and bargain, but soon realizes that still, even with being in such a high position of power, Metatron in the end, calls the shots.

So Aziraphale chooses his next tactic: lying. He pretends to go along with the plans, a change fooling nearly everyone but Metatron, who realizes Aziraphale is not as gullible as he thought, and suspects Aziraphale's time on earth has completely corrupted him after all.

Aziraphale gathers as much intel as he can, in hopes he could get it to the only person he can trust(the persons who's trust he's betrayed): Crowley. He tries to come up with a plan to thwart the second coming, sneaking around heaven, planting the seeds to make this happen. This starts with stopping the starting catalyst for the second coming: a falling angel.

Metatron requests(threatens) he'll choose someone to fall if Aziraphale doesn't. The plans are already in motion, on X day, Heaven will open a portal down to Earth. Hell will simultaneously open a portal directly beneath connecting Earth to a great bath in the center of Hell filled with burning sulfur. As the angel hits the ground, Hell and Heaven together will rise all from the dead, and second coming will commence (note: never read the christian bible in my life so nothing written will be accurate to this).

Crowley, still on earth, finds this all out through other means. Muriel, who now runs the bookshop, cheerfully informs Crowley of the second coming and of the devastation that will be wracked upon humanity (Crowley forgives her naivety and corrects her on the matter). Not knowing what else to do, he turns to Anathema to see if he can gather more info. He learns of Agnes' prophecy continuation, and against Anathema's wishes, miracles it back into existence. A line sticks out to him.

When heaven nears sulfur all will come to unrest

Crowley returns to the bookshop to inform Muriel of his findings. The bookshop is in disarray, as if there was a struggle. Sensing trouble he immediately exits the shop to search for Muriel.

On the day of the fall, Aziraphale dawdles deliberately. He tells Metatron that there is no way he can pick anyone for such a thing. As Metatron and Aziraphale talk, from beneath his desk, Aziraphale writes down the coordinates that the portal will open to, and miracles it down to earth, to Crowley.

Metatron informs Aziraphale that he figured Aziraphale would not be able to complete this task, and introduces the chosen scapegoat. Aziraphale widens his eyes to see its Muriel, handcuffed. His calm persona betrays him and he gets into an angered frenzy, telling Metatron he cant. But he does. What aggravates Aziraphale further, is that Metatron tells him Muriel deserves it, for deceiving heaven and working with demon Crowley.

Crowley is meanwhile driving to the coordinates that have suddenly appeared into his hands. The penmanship is messy, as if hastily done, but he recognizes Aziraphale's writing all the same. He's spent weeks feeling betrayed and angry, but all he has now is this terrible feeling of dread in his gut. Worry for his friends, for his angel.

Muriel's wings are revealed into corporality. But before their wings can be tied to then be unceremoniously tossed in the portal, Aziraphale magics the handcuffs away and pushes Muriel into the hole, yelling at her to fly. There is a struggle. Aziraphale gets knocked in the head. He's dizzy, he thinks he's bleeding, and he realizes he's falling out of the portal too. Instinctively, his wings materialize as well, but he's too stunned to use them, and their weight propels him down.

Aziraphale is falling, Muriel is chasing after him but he's falling too fast. Crowley sees the portals from his car and curses. He's too far. He wont get there in time. He opens the door and black wings sputter into existence and he takes off. He's never flown so fast in his life. He's desperate. He won't lose his angel again. Crowley nearly reaches him, just as Aziraphale falls through the second portal right down to hell. Crowley dives right in, the portal closing behind him, which prevents Muriel from following.

He barely manages to grab Aziraphale in time before they'd have hit boiling sulfur, and crashes them straight into a very startled crowd of anticipating demons. Crowley doesn't know what to do, Aziraphale is barely conscious. He miracles a cloud of dust to cover them, and a pile of cement to crash down on the other side of the room as a distraction. Their wings dematerialize. He slaps Aziraphale awake and drags him down a hall. Aziraphale clings to his side as they make it into a small crevice to briefly take respite in.

Aziraphale is still disoriented from the fall. Crowley notices the blood on his forehead and wipes it away. Before Aziraphale can say anything Crowley does first.

"Angel, I'm going to get us out of here. I promise. But we can't have you looking like this. Make yourself useful and turn into something... more fitting? Just until we get out of this place."

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, nods, and then closes his eyes. His already tattered suit turns black and gray, and his white hair, already thoroughly dusted grey from the fall, becomes darker. He rummages through Crowley's right pocket and finds an extra pair of shades, which he puts on.

"Is this alright?" Aziraphale asks.

"Beautifully demonic." Crowley replies.

They leave the crevice and venture through the hallways of hell. They slink to the side, avoiding the gazes of other demons, lest they look too long. Crowley leads and Aziraphale follows, a hand clinging to the back end of Crowley's jacket. They turn left, then right, then right again, making all these twists and turns until they eventually make it to a backdoor entrance to Earth. In great relief, they make it out. They end up a ways from the now closed portals, close to Crowley's car. Muriel isn't to be seen, so they get in the vehicle to try and find her. Crowley looks through the prophecies and finds a clue that would lead them back to Anathema. As they ride Aziraphale informs him about heaven's plans and they formulate some ideas to stop the second coming. Midway through their conversation, Crowley speaks up.

"You really hurt me, Angel."

Aziraphale pauses. His eyes lower in guilt. He apologizes, and asks Crowley for his forgiveness.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #ineffible husbands #yes this is fanfiction #and you are welcome to write it #just you know #give me a shout out #very Aziraphale centric #he devastated me so much that last episode I had to at least resolve it in my fantasies #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens 2 #fanfic #good omens fanwork #good omens fanfiction #what happens after that? #obviously the apology dance #and they find muriel #save the earth #bada bing bada boom #good omens predictions #kinda #good omens season 3 #this basically contains all i want to see #more wings #pretend demon aziraphale #crowley rescuing his husband #but also would love a vise versa at some point #and also want to see an angel fall #or almost fall #i re-got tumblr just so I could look at good omens fanart

[yougoadedme]

*drops this deeply horny fic on you and leaves*

Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows (TV) Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless, Background Laszlo Cravensworth/Nadja of Antipaxos Characters: Guillermo de la Cruz, Nandor the Relentless, Laszlo Cravensworth, Nadja of Antipaxos, Colin Robinson Rating: E Chapters: 1/1 Words: 7.5k Summary: Below the cut 👇

"Oh? What’s this?” Nadja says, pulling out a nondescript tape in a clear plastic case. “Fresh. No scratches. No c*m stains. Is it a new one, my clotted cream dream?”

"Laszlo takes the unfamiliar VHS from Nadja for closer inspection. He clicks open the case and carefully pulls it out. The label on the side of the black rectangle simply says “MOVIE” in crisp, meticulous, positively Catholic penmanship.

Nandor and Guillermo made a p*rno. Roll footage.

#wwdits #what we do in the shadows #nandermo #fic: wwdits #my fic #I have no idea what words tumblr censors #alas we forge on

[parasocial12]

Clubs, my Past, and more Whining

[transcribed from memo book as is] McD is expensive! I can't really think of what to write for today's entry. I had to speak to my professor last class. Very scary! No friends made in any course. Sad! They say to join clubs to make friends, but the Anime Club is the only club that is truly applicable to me. Unfortunately, those are not my People. They are simply too cringe? I don't mean that in the sense that I don't understand wh the jokes, but they're simply all too unfunny. Their tastes are too Reddit. I'm in the most vexing position. I'm too strange for normal people, but too normal for the weirdos. I suppose in one-on-one interactions I fare decently, but in a club setting I feel locked out. Band kids is what they feel like! The type to think Rick and Morty an is the funniest show ever. In a way, I am also too radical for them too. My years spent on 4chan as a Youth have a left permanent mark on my psyche. Not on /pol/ or /b/ or any of those places where the Election Tourists. /r9k/ was such a nice place to vent to older anons. Sure, I was underage ban, but ain't nobody knew that. I miss that comradery, as toxic as they were. The Youths of today are so lucky to have Tiktok. I admire TT as a space where the Youth can experiment and be themselves while using the algorithm to find communities to connect with. I missed out on that train. That's not to say I don't use TT or have my own spaces, but TT as a youth must be a hell of a fun place. Oh well! I had the experience of being underage on anonymous imageboards at least (wow!). Let me finish my fries now ~~~~ On the walk back to the SC, I passed by some sort of Christian group- a club? I know not, for I avoided eye contact- and as I did, they spoke to a duo of girls walking next to me. The usual invitation for a Bible study. They kept walking of course, and while doing so joked about how one of them was the target lol. Very funny duo- almost chuckled before remembering that I was merely walking alongside them, not with them! On that walk as well, I passed many cute girls. Idk what it is about college, but so many ppl are beautiful. It doesn't help that they are all serving- I didn't know uni was a fashion show! Now, I sit at the usual spot of my writing and jot down in my little memo book. Makes for such unworthy penmanship. Ahhhh! It's so frustrating seeing all the cute gals. I'm not terrible looking monster w/ a horrible personality, but I can't muster up the nerve to act upon my romantic delusions! How I wish I was less of an overthinker! Oh well. Since I am too passive to pursue, I must accept the fact that I will end up alone. Tragic! The best and easiest years to make friends and lovers and I cannot. What a failure I am! It is concerning that the majority of the ppl I have cordial relations with are women- and of them all are either taken or lesbian. I've nothing really against it. I'm proud that so many ppl can confide in me. Yet, I feel lonely. I realize I'm too emotionally immature to date, but I've fallen so far behind the curve that I feel that I will never catch up. I'm just a fool. Dreaming the best years of my Life away! I don't blame anyone, really. If I was a woman, I wouldn't date myself either. I'm a nice guy, but that's such a low bar- the bare minimum. What do I have to offer? I'm not rich. I'm mildly funny at times, but no comedian. I'm not some attractive guy. I don't like going out. I'm insecure. My Future is bleak. I have Nothing! Oh well. Always an oh well. I apologize to my future self for having wasted our Time, and I damn my younger self for the same Crime. [end of entry] Author's Note: It appears that no matter what, I will always end up writing about being lonely and cute girls I see. What a creep! I'm not an incel or nothing, but damn if my writings don't make me seem like I am

#diary #diary entry #college #college student #university #social anxiety #vent #pathetic loser #losercore #loser

[zooterchet]

Tom Riddle (Lord Voldemort)

Ismael: Samson, Variant Judas Iscariot.

Promethean: Aristotle, Variant Theseus.

Achievements:

Korean Yakuza: The removal of worker's production demands in favor of increase to wage, and the removal of spouse registration in favor of open mingling of cohabitation prior to engagement.

FBI: The lift of MI-6 Hindu Theraveda records to safe storage in Texas and Langley, for analysis by the Bush Jesuit Society, out of private stockholds in Turkey and the Diner's Association.

CIA: The nullification of the Episcopalians of New England, by an international pattern virus shape inserted per type of spectrum, to remove abuse of poverty patients threatened by draft recruit as children.

IRA: The reversal of forced spousal conjugal among females, by proving the rule through visits to prostitutes and the incarceration of a female stalker in psychiatric nursing seeking to marry with child at force, therefore proving the rule for women to defend against men.

Secret Service: The removal of Fentanyl poisonings by the Fraternal Order of Police and the State Police Union, and the return of the Fentanyl poison practice through Madrid, back into Mecca, to shut down production facilities in Riyadh. Comedy Central, is removed from the Los Angeles Sheriff's Department and the ZODIAC Commission's control, George Soros, and returned to the Los Angeles Police Department, the Foreign Office.

NSA: The return of Sharon township's corrections hub, through a forward rolling assault masterminded through Philip J. Morris (tobacco laws), SIGINT (Code Pink), HUMINT (Comedy Central film), NSA OP-INT (GTA V penmanship), ACLU (the downfall of Likud through EON), the US Army (the strip of weapons badges from Comcast Church of Latterday Saints), with a return of the Greek Orthodox community, as opposed to the Jewish Orthodoxy, removing the deliberately confused terms between Eastern Christianity, and Militant Judaism Presbyterianism.

USMC: The removal of terror targets at top spymaster positions, unpopular in their organizations, through a pattern shape from multiple forms, and the strip of the organizations into merger with funding under the Italian Mafia, the FBI, inside comic book housings under the Mossad; Amazon Comixology.

MI-6: The defense of the Crown Coronet Jessica, and the murders or executions or assassinations of opponents of her grandfather, Sirhan Sirhan, to protect the legacy of her great aunt, Lady Diana.

Boston Wights Front: Street intelligence work to remove Iran, Macy's, Boston Rabbinical Law, Ashland SWAT, Parisian Circus, Canadian Mounted, Japanese Automotive, and Israel from influence over locale public programs of NATO prevalence.

PRCC: The removal of seven Likud figures, through fraudulent villains in the Daniel Craig Bond films, five of them, to lead to the downfall of Benjamin Netanyahu, a British spy planted in Israel.

Clear Channel: The currency fraud removed from dozens of illicit agents of queer culture, in various forms, and throughout entire structures, to return America to its solemncy as an adults culture, where children can live without fear of extortion by parent to be involved in the arts or shows or drama.

Boston Police: The nullification of fifteen MI-6 BOX agents of controversial bloodlines, through private book study, neglecting video games and instead using course work, to counter each, into public suit of humiliation into scheisse play, man-on-woman brown showers.

Vatican: The counteraction of MI-6 agents working on field report, through techniques duplication SIS MI-6, however as COIN signals variables, for takedowns through world history of antiquity.

COINTELPRO: The print of DC Comics and video games, for American training purposes, to counteract the IDF, with NYFD, NYPD, FBI, CIA, NSA, and Wiccan engrams encoded, to counter the British-Israeli alliance out of David Cameron's regime.

German Owls Parliament: The refusal of CIA services, to join the Mossad, for future events; the bribe refused, and the shutdown of the "leisure suit" program.

Dar Es Al Salaam: The nullification of Argentinian Jew Fascistas out of Juan Peron's regime, and the removal of James "Whitey" Bulger's staged elements of the Mossad, from New England, allowing Pope Francis to do as he wishes, and to escape the hatred of the Jewish orders of Latin-America, as Pontiff. The reversal of retired spies, and varsity athletes, statuses in rehabilitation, and hospital incarceration.

[coghive]

[Music] WEEEAKDAYS - Reece Lache Ft. Holy Gabbana

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. ” To the ones who exist in the background. The time to pick ourselves up is now. People talk, but the chosen are the ones who do. When we feel weak, it is He who makes us strong. So strong in fact that the Word tells us that we can do all things. Not some things, but we will succeed in the good plans He has made for us.  Days have not always been memorable ones for Reece Lace’. Even so, her determination has been steadfast. Resulting in the Louisiana artist breaking barriers and reaching levels that at one point appeared improbable. With the release of her single WEEEAKDAYS, Lache’ features Holy Gabbana to help pen an anthem for listeners who find themselves on the frontlines.  WEEEAKDAYS is pure energy from start to finish. Produced by Aidas Veselka, the single marks the second release of 2023 for Reece Lache’. The signature melodic delivery and expert-level penmanship are both present as Lache’ continues to cement herself as a trendsetting force within Christian rap. There is no time for slowing down; there are no days off; too much is at stake to be stopping now. WEEEAKDAYS drops on digital streaming outlets on February 10, 2023. WEEEAKDAYS - Reece Lache Ft. Holy Gabbana https://www.youtube.com/shorts/_S-m25Swjvg Connect with Reece Lache’: Twitter | Instagram Song Details Title: WEEEAKDAYS Artist: Reece Lache’ Release Date: February 10, 2023 Features: Holy Gabbana Production: Aidas Veselka Engineering: AyeTev About Reece Lache’ Reece Lache’ takes biblical principles and implements them into her music. She started making Christian Hip Hop in 2013 after she gave her life to Christ. She has fought her way through a total transformation. Her music is based on her journey and real-life experiences.  A consistent blend of lyricism with a modern sound, Laché’s music connects with many listeners. Read the full article

#HolyGabbana #ReeceLache #WEEEAKDAYS

[cruger2984]

THE DESCRIPTION OF SAINT LORENZO RUIZ The Protomartyr and Patron of the Philippines Feast Day: September 28

Take note, this is post #127,000.

"Ego Catholicus sum et animo prompto paratoque pro Deo mortem obibo. Si mille vitas haberem, cunctas ei offerrem." ("I am a Catholic and wholeheartedly do accept death for God; had I a thousand lives, all these to Him shall I offer.")

He is the patron of Filipino altar servers, Chinese-Filipinos, the Filipino youth, immigrants, migrant workers, Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs), the Filipino people, and the Philippines.

The first Filipino-born saint, Lorenzo Ruiz, was born on November 28, 1594 in Binondo, located in the capital of Manila. The Philippines is at that time ruled by the Spanish. He is raised to a Chinese father and a Filipino mother who were both Catholic. His father taught him Chinese while his mother taught him Tagalog.

In his youth, he served as an altar boy at the Binondo Church (aka Minor Basilica and National Shrine of Saint Lorenzo Ruiz). Lorenzo earned the title of escribano (scrivener) after being educated by the Dominican friars for a few years because of his skillful penmanship. Later on, he became a member of the Confraternity of the Rosary (Cofradía del Santísimo Rosario). He married Rosario, a native, and they blessed with three children (two sons and a daughter), and they led a generally, peaceful, religious and content life.

Lorenzo's life turned forever in 1636, while serving as a clerk at the church, he was falsely accused of murdering a Spaniard. In order to escape execution, he sought asylum on board a ship with some other Dominican missionaries bound for Japan. They are: Antonio Gonzalez, who is one of the Thomasian Martyrs, Guillermo Courtet, who is the first Frenchman to have visited Japan, and three individuals who are part of the 16 Martyrs of Japan - Miguel de Aozaraza, Vicente Shiwozuka de la Cruz; and a lay leper Lázaro of Kyoto. Lorenzo and his companions sailed for Okinawa on June 10, 1636, with the aid of the Dominican fathers.

The Tokugawa Shogunate (1603-1868) was persecuting Christians, because they feared that was how the Spanish invaded the Philippines by using religion by the time Lorenzo had arrived in Japan. The missionaries were arrested and thrown into prison, and after two years, they were transferred to Nagasaki to face trial by torture. The group endured many and various cruel methods of torture. They were made to swallow pails of water that while some soldiers trampled on their belly, came out from their mouth, nose, and ears mixed with blood. Long needles were put in their fingers provoking agonizing pains.

On September 27, 1637, Lorenzo and his companions were taken to Nishizaka Hill, where they were tortured by being hung upside-down over a pit. This form of torture was known as tsurushi (釣殺し) in Japanese or horca y hoya ('gallows and pit') in Spanish. The method, alleged to have been extremely painful, had the victim bound; one hand was always left free so that the individual may signal their desire to recant, leading to their release. When the government officials asked: 'If we grant you life, will you renounce your faith?'

Lorenzo replied: "Ako ay Katoliko at buong puso kong tinatanggap ang kamatayan para sa Diyos. Kung mayroon akong isang libong buhay, iaalay ko lahat ito para sa Kanya!" (I am a Christian, and I shall die for God, and for him I will give many thousands of lives if I had them. And so, do with me as you please!)

Ruiz refused to renounce Christianity and ultimately died from eventual blood loss and suffocation on September 29, 1637 at the age of 42 in Nagasaki, Hizen Province. His body was cremated and his ashes thrown into the sea. Two renegade priests, who worked as interpreters for the Japanese, were moved to repentance by his heroic faith. They took the first ship bound in Manila to report the whole story. In a sign of gratitude, the archbishop ordered all the bells of the city to ring in honor of him.

On February 18, 1981, Lorenzo Ruiz was beatified during John Paul II's papal visit to the Philippines, making the first beatification ceremony to be held outside the Vatican in history. Six years later on the feast of St. Luke - October 18th, he was canonized in the Vatican by the same pope in the Vatican, among the 16 Martyrs of Japan, making him the first Filipino saint. His canonization was supported by a miracle in October 1983, when Cecilia Alegria Policarpio of Calinog, Iloilo, was cured of brain atrophy (hydrocephalus) at the age of two, after her family and supporters prayed to Lorenzo for his intercession.

#random stuff #catholic #catholic saints #philippines #lorenzo ruiz #lawrence ruiz #achievement unlocked

[yourloveislikeastorm]

Follow me on ig and I'll spam you with likes and follow back, if you are also christian journalling type I'll promo you on my story!

#Jesus #Calligraphy #Christian #Bible #Journal #Pretty #Notebook #Biblejournaling #Typography #Handwriting #Journaling #Adayintheword #Prettynotes #Studyblr #Notes #Painting #Penmanship #Watercolour #Sketchbook #Fineliner #Instagram #Followforfollow #I'llspamyouwithlikes #Plsfollowme #Plsmessageme

[ikezuyawa]

TIMELINE OF SAJOU RIHITO

A bespectacled honor student with black hair. Shortsighted in both eyes. Upturned, angular eyes. Best subjects are mathematics and physics. Worst subject is music. Doesn't particularly like or dislike any food. If he had to pick, he would say he likes squid.

Born on October 28 as the first-born to a father from Kyoto and a mother from Yokohama. He was named by his paternal grandfather, a Christian and former university professor who currently resides in New Zealand. Since his cousin Ritsuko already has the family nickname of "Ricchan", his family nickname is "Hii-chan".

His eyesight has deteriorated since his last year of kindergarten, so he's been wearing glasses from then on. Opts for wearing shorts in elementary school. Takes penmanship, abacus, and piano lessons. Hates piano lessons to the point of crying and quits after the second lesson.

Has his first love in his first year of elementary school. The object of his affections is a sixth grader boy at his local youth organisation. Rarely catches a cold. Is on the school library student council for all six years of elementary school. Starts going to cram school from third grade.

Is confessed to by a girl from his class during the sixth graders' graduation school trip. He rejects her, making her cry. From the next day on, all the girls in his class start giving him the cold shoulder.

Wears a gakuran in middle school. Joins the literary club, but since most of the members are girls, he quickly becomes a no-show.

Takes a fall while biking to school in seventh grade, breaking his right hand. He hasn't been good with bicycles ever since. Takes the train to the prep school a little distance away from his middle school.

His father works abroad, so he goes to stay with him for about 1-2 weeks during long term breaks. However, since he is shy and not very good at English, from summer vacation of 8th grade onwards, he chooses to remain home alone in Japan. Despite this, he cannot cook at all.

Encounters a molester on the train, making his original aversion to public transport worsen.

Is again on the school library's student council for all three years of middle school. Collapses on the train on the day of his high school entrance exams due to severe train sickness. Fails the exams for all the schools he wants.

Gets accepted into Toufu First High School with a perfect score on all subjects. No one from his middle school goes there.

In his second year of high school, he becomes classmates with Kusakabe Hikaru.

#doukyuusei #sajou rihito #translations #sotsugyou album

[medicaldoctordana]

As a special treat, here’s a sneak peek of my halloween fic:

Takes place before FTF and after TFWID, with mentions form Detour and Darkness Falls. More to come! tagging @today-in-fic

Current Rating: R for violent themes and language.

Cautiously, he grabs the outstretched legal pad she was decorating moments before. The scrawl in front of him is legible and despite her insistence that she’s a medical doctor, it’s perfectly clear that she has superior skills when it comes to penmanship. “I can’t read this,” he says anyway. He’d give up his whole quest just to listen to her describe the details of a wacky theory better suited to his own volition.

She rolls her eyes, knowing he’s full of shit, and yanks back the pad. “A Washington State Park Ranger sent me an email about an unknown creature terrorizing campers in the Olympic National Forest. There have yet to be any sightings of said creature, but there’s whispers among the locals concerning the town’s lore.” She crosses an arm across her ivory blouse to scratch at her left shoulder. She’s rarely the one to present cases, usually leaving the projector slide shows to Mulder. She never liked public speaking, dreading that the nuns dare call on her to read aloud the passages in Confraternity of Christian Doctrine. However, Scully was all too eager to talk about this case in particular. It gave her chills and shook her with the force of 300,00 thousand years of mystery and folklore. She wanted to share this with him, to see him revel in the thrill of discovery if only so that she can revel in the feeling too. 

“Most recently, an entire camping party was found mutilated with no trace of who, or what did this to them.” The printed photos from her desk are face down as she pushes them toward his outstretched arm. “The Park Ranger and Sheriff requested our assistance on this case due to the inexplicable spread of the bodies and lack of physical evidence.” She crosses one leg over the other and taps her heel against the concrete floor. In the closed off basement, the sound resonates and bounces off the walls. They both prefer it down here, never having been the type to be around other people.

“Why’d the Sheriff reach out to you, and not me?” He asks her as he studies the images with the same intensity as she held when writing. He felt washed anew with curiosity of the scenes before him. Jealous at the novelty of her find, he tenses a bit and defensively speaks, “I don’t want to pull rank here, but I’m the lead agent for our department. If the case isn’t sent down from Skinner, these cases are usually directed to my inbox. Has Skinner already approved this?” Really, he’s just trying to get her riled up. He loves to tease her and it tends to spark up their chemistry. They’re still playing the “will they-won’t they” game, where neither risks making a move, not wanting to fray the strings of their lives that are delicately weaved together. It is exhausting and riveting and so much and yet not enough. Distractions help tame their fire, not letting it spread outside the bounds of safety.

#my writing #the x files #x files fanfic #the x files fanfic #TXF #but the fall one is very self insert-y fanfic style #todayinfic

[hualianff]

Letters AU

Please Notice – Christian Leave

High school AU where XL is in his senior year and HC in his junior year. They have been neighbors since the beginning of high school. 

XL is known to be a phenomenal writer and public speaker. He is friendly and approachable, though his considerate character can sometimes be taken advantage of.

HC is on the basketball team as junior captain. He’s not the tallest or strongest but he’s arguably the fastest on his feet. HC can be quiet, his stone-faced expression intimidating to others. He doesn’t take anyone’s shit, yet never picks on others just because he holds an impressive position in the school.

It had taken XL years to get to the friendship he has with HC. He knows HC’s home life isn’t the best, and sometimes, XL’s easy-going, enthusiastic attitude can seem naive or even irritate HC.

(At least, XL’s mind convinces him so.)

At the beginning of senior year, XL has managed to pluck up the courage to slip anonymous love letters into HC’s locker and even his bookbag when it’s within reach. The envelopes are always blue with cute drawings on the face of each one. The notes XL writes are uplifting messages, simple compliments, or even give little details about who XL is.

XL has been crushing on HC for about two years now and wonders if HC would be curious enough to seek out who leaves these letters.

Halfway through the semester, XL has been leaving these notes but HC hasn’t brought anything up about them to XL—the person he talks to the most. 

XL is dying to know what HC thinks about them. He tries to casually ask HC if anything unusual or peculiar has happened, but HC just shrugs it off, saying that his classes aren’t getting more challenging and he’s considering taking more difficult courses online next semester.

One week later, XL hides behind the corner of the hallway to watch HC open his locker before heading to practice where he will surely come across a letter XL had left minutes ago.

HC, in his basketball uniform, appears in stark contrast to the uniform sea of students meandering through the hallway. XL watches with bated breath as HC arrives at his locker, putting in the combination and opening the door. 

HC reaches into the locker to grab his books, noticing a light blue envelope plopped on top.

He grabs his books, then the letter. He closes the door.

HC walks the other way, meaning XL can peek around the corner a bit more for a better view, just in time to see HC take the blue envelope and dispose of it into the trashcan by the stairs.

XL’s heart drops.

He watches, frozen, as HC disappears down the stairwell to the floor level where the gym is.

Disappointment and humiliation slams into XL like a tidal wave.

All this time, HC hadn’t been reading his letters. All the words and phrases XL carefully crafted in hopes that HC would smile once upon reading them, went straight to the bottom of the trashcan.

XL feels like he can’t breathe, lungs constricting as he struggles to keep his tears at bay.

Through the vague conversations XL has had with the younger boy about dating, HC alluded that he was not interested in dating anyone at the moment. But XL still wanted to take his chance…

XL wonders what type of person would HC want to date anyways? Certainly not XL who is just...close friend. And a boy. HC most likely didn’t even swing that way.

Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise–that HC never opened and read the letters so that he might have recognized XL’s penmanship.

XL shakes his head. How foolish he had been.

He turns around to exit the doors, fingers clenched as they itch for the familiar weight of a pen and the comforting slide of ink on paper.

#tgcf #heavenly official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #high school au #xie lian #hua cheng #cerdrabbles

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 14

A/N An accusation...

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

The music played softly through the car as we passed through Las Vegas and headed farther into the desert towards Utah. Vast sprawls of flat land spread out along all sides of us and the shades of mountains rose up in shadows in the far distance. The sky was a bright sunny blue and the few clouds that offered moments of shade were brilliant white. It looked almost picturesque and I suppose I could had admired the scenery more if it wasn’t for the task that was weighing on my chest.

Being the passenger, I was able to spread out all the clues we had collected over the previous twenty-four hours across my lap from my phone to Avalon’s and her mysterious letter she had received as well as my list of suspects I had started the night before.

I spoke my thoughts out loud to Jonah as he drove, going over everything we had been through to as close detail as I could. He listened patiently and quietly, focusing on the straight shot of road ahead of us.

“And you’re sure it wasn’t you?” Jonah tried.

“100% positive. We fought in the kitchen and she left to sleep in the studio on the pull-out. I remember watching her walk out.” I stared ahead at the road too, squinting in the desert sunlight as I took myself back to that night, speaking slowly as the pieces started to fit together even more, “I remember…the security alarm ringing from the monitor on the kitchen.”

I had just crouched down to pick up the worst of the broken glass on the kitchen floor with a steady hand when the pling of the security camera alarm peaked my attention. It rang steady from the monitor’s spot on the front counter and I headed over to it to check on the cameras, but the alarm was disarmed from the studio before I could reach it, sending the kitchen back into silence.

My phone buzzed in my pocket at that moment and I pulled it out to read the text from my older brother,

Did you get home okay?

I hesitated as I read his message, not particularly wanting to be honest with him and have to endure his confessions of his dislike of my new wife and her very personable opinions on my job. It was our private relationship and Christian seemed to like to weasel his nose into it sometimes. Ah, well. He meant well. Before I could decide if I wanted to answer him right away or not, I heard a faint scream from the backyard and my head shot up to look towards the sliding glass doors. I paused, expecting Avalon to come running in to ask me to kill a spider any moment now.

But there was nothing.

“I remember her scream.” I breathed. “Holy shit, Jo, I remember her scream.”

I pressed my hands over my ears as the sound of her faint agonizing shriek echoed through my mind. How I had managed to forget in the first place was beyond me. I must have followed her out there to have woken up on the floor beside her…if only I could remember enough to piece together who was in there with her. I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes until I saw those little dancing shapes in the blackness of my eyelids, trying to remember anything more.

“Don’t give yourself another headache, bro.” Jonan said gently.

I sighed tiredly and sat back up in my seat, “Yeah. Might need another Aspirin soon at this rate.”

Jonah chuckled lightly and turned up the music a little more as the song switched to one of his favourites. I hummed softly along to the music as I skimmed my social media, being careful not to show any activity in case my accounts were being watched. I was used to seeing my name pop up on my feed from my social status with Jonah but not like this; not with the equivalent of Wanted stamped across my forehead. New accounts had my licence plate numbers everywhere and were asking for any leads for my whereabouts in exchange for a good amount of money. Maybe if I turned myself in after I figured all this out I could turn my millions into a solid billion.

My mother texted me. The message popped down from the top of my screen.

Hey little boy. Give me a call when you can please. Love you x

I swiped the notification away and locked my phone with a sigh.

“Where are the notes you took yesterday in the car?” I asked Jonah flatly.

“Top of my bag in the back seat.” Jonah answered.

I shifted around to grab the corner of the pad of stationary that was peaking out of his bag and I dropped it on my lap. I compared it to my more detailed notes from the hotel paper and copied them over to the larger sheet that Jonah had started. I then added Corbyn to the list and his motives:

-Would do anything for a story/money

-Threatened her a few months ago

-Knows where we live

-Pushes boundaries

-Can talk his way into (or out of) anything

“Leaning towards a lead?” Jonah asked.

“I was thinking Zach but Corbyn seems pretty guilty honestly.” I answered flatly as I skimmed the list, tapping the end of the pen against my lips. “Still want to know how he just found us at that resort though.”

“If he’s with the paps he probably followed us and we didn’t know.”

“Son of a bitch.” I grumbled.

“Yeah.” Jonah exhaled deeply.

“His motives line up but it doesn’t answer the question of the missing security tapes.” I mumbled more to myself than anyone, shuffling the papers to set the letter on the top of the pile on my lap.

Jack’s writing on the jacket didn’t seem to match the penmanship on the letter. The letter was a bit messier and slanted in its print. I tapped the pen against my lips again in thought as I pulled out our original list to lay beside the letter. My tapping slowed to a stop as my eyes flicked between the two matching pieces of lined stationary and similar penmanship on both. The yellowish tinge to the papers and the brand stamp in the bottom corners were identical.

I quickly grabbed Avalon’s phone and went into her text messages, passing by her aggressive messages from Christian and the flat conversations with Jack and I scrolled through her list of threads. What I was looking for wasn’t there. I switched over to contacts and scrolled down to the J’s.

The single J was Jack as I had discovered earlier; then there was Jenna her hair stylist, Jon our finance manager, and Jonah. I clicked Jonah’s contact name to open up his information. His number was filed as ‘blocked’ in her phone. If he needed to contact her for whatever reason but was blocked…the only way would be through mail.

I felt the air drain from my lungs as I looked back down the mysterious letter and list of suspects on the matching page beside it. More questions swirled around in my mind and I mentally added to the list.

Jonah was certainly behind the letter and she obviously had some sort of falling out with him in order to block his number. He knew our address, of course, had a key and everything and knew when we were going to be home. He was in charge of putting the wedding gifts in the studio so he knew exactly where the knives were. And, to top it all off, he knew the code to the security cameras.

Holy shit.

He killed my wife.

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @the-girl-who-cried-wolf​

#🔪 #daniel seavey #why dont we #jonah marais #jack avery #zach herron #corbyn besson #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey fanfic

[pub-lius]

De-Georgianizing George Bickham’s Penmanship Made Easy (Young Clerk’s Assistant)

I got this idea a while ago after I made my post about Weird History’s video on Alexander Hamilton, and after @quillsink complemented my post on 18th century penmanship and boosted my ego (you really shouldn’t complement me or I might have self esteem). So, here’s another informal post where I basically just profit off of an old, dead man’s work :D

In the 18th century, people weren’t just given crayons and told to write their name and figure it out from there. They learned from workbooks, like the Young Clerk’s Assistant, that showed them how to from the letters, how to sit properly, and gave example sentences to copy. For purposes of improving my god-awful handwriting and to see what it was like to learn how to write in the 18th century, I purchased this book and went through it, doing only the Round-hand because it looked the easiest. 

Georgie starts by dictating every aspect of your entire life. Here’s a dumbed down version of his silly little list:

-The size of letters is determined by O and N, so make sure you know how to write those ig

-Georgie wants you to suffer so your down-strokes should be THICC and your up-strokes should be very tiny, done with the corner of your pen. Idk if it’s just my quills or if I’m stupid (probably both) but this is impossible and I gave up on this a long time ago

-NEVER TURN YOUR PEN OR THE POSITION OF YOUR HAND

-He says something weird about your up and down-strokes being proportioned and “answer one another” so I would just say uh... make it pretty

-Letters without stems (e, m, u, s, etc.) MUST be even at the top and bottom, so like the same width and height

-Your stems (d, h, etc.) should be equal in height to lowercase L, except t. This drives me crazy because I’m so used to making t the same as the other letters with stems, but its supposed to be shorter, like closer to i.

-Stems going below (y, q, etc.) should be equal in length to j. As you can tell, symmetry is key

-Capitals should be equal to lowercase L, but “a little stronger”, so I’ll leave that up to your interpretation

-The space between words should be twice the difference between letters, and the spaces between lines should be twice the distance of L, so that low hanging stems don’t intersect with the line below. I, apparently, forgot this rule lol

-Hold your pen between two fingers, almost straight (???) and the thumb bending. The nib, or point, of your pen should be flat 

-Put your paper directly in front of you and your hand should be supported by your pinkie finger (gotta do some finger gymnastics jesus).

-Rest your arm ~lightly~ between the wrist and elbow (okay then)

-Sit up straight you baby and keep your elbow close to your side

-Rest your body on your left arm, keeping the paper down with your left hand. And eat food by chewing and breathe by taking in air through your nose and mouth

-NEVER LEAN HARD ON YOUR PEN (make me)

-write slow at first :)

-this one is stupid. make the nib of your pen (”for the round and round hand text hands”) the ~breadth~ of the full stroke, and the part close to the hand? shorter and narrower. I don’t understand this so I don’t listen (omg do I follow any of these rules jesus-)

-for the Italian Hand, make the nib ~finer~ and the slit? longer (if you chose to use the italian hand you’re asking for these confusing rules i can’t help you)

-when numbers appear with letters, the numbers must slope

-numbers should also be bigger than letters

-when you’re writing numbers in columns (because you do that all the time) make them upright

For fun, I’m going to include some moral maxims because I thought some of them were pretty good and they’re good for practice and for examples of how the youth were educated. They had to copy these a bunch when they were learning so they at least subconsciously learned them

-Art polishes and improves nature

-Beauty’s a fair but fading flower

-Fortune’s a fair but fickle mistrefs [mistress]

-Knowledge is a godlike attribute

-Necefsiy [necessity] is the mother of invention

-Variety is the beauty of the world

-Zeal misapply’d is pious phrenzy

I also copied a couple exercises in this book such as copying the days of the week, the months and their amount of days, and a list of Christian names. There’s also this funny little passage that I copied, so I’ll include that as the conclusion to this post. BTW it’s sounds a bit misogynistic but I can’t exactly discern a moral? Like it’s just like “you know how water moves with wind? Yeah women are like that but instead of junk being in the water, the dirt and stuff is men.” and im like “...okay? is that... is that it?” Idk i hate poetry.

“In a dull Stream, which moving flow, You hardly See the Current flow. If a Small Breeze obstructs the Courfe [course], It whirles about for want of Force; And in its narrow Circle gathers Nothing but Chaff, & Straw, & Feathers. The Current of a Female’s Mind Stops thus, and turns with every wind. Thus whirling round, together draws Fools, Fops, & Rakes, for Chaff & Straws.” 

#18th Century #1700s #1700s literature #historical writing #18th Century Literature #literature #writing #Handwriting #calm down george #im not doing hand gymnastics for a man #women are like water #i learned that chaff means like the husk of corn #idk why that fact disturbed me