#Max write length

[06-riyapatel]

The Reynolds Trimax comes with max smoothness* and an advanced fluid ink technology that makes you feel like the pen is gliding over paper. It’s max write length* and max precision* helps you write fast without smudging or stumbling, which makes it a great companion to have during lengthy exams that helps you do your best. These three features make the Reynolds Trimax your perfect writing partner.

[vapolis]

saw some posts about how IF writers need to free themselves of the shackles of long word counts and honestly, I agree. some of my most favorite published IFs are 180k words long without code. that's an average chapter for some on here which is impressive and amazing for readers but telling a story in less and having it make an impact still is also incredibly impressive to me

[ghostly-cabbage]

We need to talk about the worst thing about making AUs....

The fact that then when you inevitably think about crossovers you don't want the crossover with the canon you want it with your specific AU. Your brain worms, your circus, but THEN WHAT?

Oh, yeah, to understand this crossover you need to go read this entirely different fic/series? Girl help 😭 you can't do that

[franeridart]

The Housecat Philosophy - Ep 37

Ep 00 || < Prev || Next >

Read the next four episodes on Patreon || support me on ko-fi~✨

[sequinsandfins]

Fic… but it’s only a summary.

Overcome with a mix of sadness and anger, Max drops to his knees and gives Daniel a panic/grief blowjob after Singapore.

Daniel spends the next month panicking about what it meant while pretending it didn’t happen. Until Max asks to meet up with him in Monaco and it happens again.

[stopmyhearts]

now I've used all my studying time for editing old fanfic. unsure if I'm happy about that or not

[zorilleerrant]

9 Seconds to an Hour

@flashfictionfridayofficial

T-axis is tired. He doesn’t need to sleep; this is absolutely going to fuck with his biorhythm, but his physical needs are pinned to chronological time, so he’s. Fine. Ostensibly. He can keep this up indefinitely. Ostensibly.

His day has been 72 hours long so far unless he lost count somewhere in the middle and, face it, he probably did.

There’s a time loop, somewhere. It’s not his timeloop. It would be easier if it were his timeloop. It would be easiest if it were Tau’s timeloop, but she wasn’t on duty, and he’s afraid to stop long enough to get her, especially if all this nonsense hasn’t gotten her attention yet. The timeloop is only 9 seconds long and he doesn’t know what happens if it runs out.

Supposedly, a nuke will go off.

Most likely, it’s some kind of alien weaponry, and most likely, no one knows what it actually does, but strap enough conventional explosives to the thing and, most likely, it’s going to increase the yield. And, whatever it does, he doesn’t want to see a major center of foot traffic leveled any more than he wants to see the city turned into a hot zone, although he’d happily admit to a little more worry the planet could split in half.

Wasn’t there someone whose planet split in half? He doesn’t remember. No time to find them, anyway, and what could they do about it even if he did?

T-axis started off the day completely fine, you know. He went by the book and jumped back to the start of shift to warn people, and the start of the last shift when it took longer than that, but preparations clearly started more than a day ago, and no chain of events he’s been able to set off has done fuckall to any of it. He’s seen such a wide array of his colleagues die they won’t even notice by the time he comes out of it, because he’ll be treating everyone different. And still. The fountain continues on as it always has.

By the time he realized he needed to jump back farther, he was already too tired to remember the confirmation codes. All the colors are blurring together behind his eyes. It’s all he can do to tell them magenta tadpole by rote every time, as his muscles burn with the tension that’s the only thing following him back.

He’s not going to be able to have lunch in this square again. Shame. Good pizza.

He waits until the world starts to flicker, and he stays as long as he can. If there’s an end condition staring him in the face, he doesn’t know it. It’s not tied to the bomb itself, whatever this time loop is, or it isn’t right now. He jumps back. Grateful for the hedge. He’d jump anyway, but there’d be more to do, and he doesn’t want to think about all the things to do, so. Yay, hedge. If there’s one good thing about weeks of planning, whoever set this up isn’t anywhere around to watch him take apart the device over and over.

The timeloop isn’t linked to the inert device, or the active one. There’s no change to it that might serve as an anchor point; as far as T-axis can tell, there’s no change at all. But there’s something, because no matter when or how he disassembles it, there it is, in the timeloop, ready to go off again. It’s a failsafe. It must be. It must be here somewhere.

How far back does he have to jump to grab a nap? He probably can’t nap while his body is this wired, but he could jump back to before bed last night. Did anything important happen this morning, before work? Nothing vital, probably. Nothing earth-shattering.

He oversleeps, and the world ends. He forgets something while he’s dreaming, and the world ends. Someone finds him in that pause, and the world ends. He doesn’t even know if they’re following him yet, or they already did, or someone somewhere is playing out their little mind games and all of it is for nothing anyway.

T-axis is so goddamn tired.

He examines the device, through the yellow orange hum of a flickering timeloop, trying to keep his hands in place as the winds of chronology press against him.

The fountain burbles.

He looks at the device, matte black before it’s powered on, one little blinking white light at the bottom to signify, who knows, something. It isn’t the link to the loop, that’s for sure, but it always turns off when he rips the wires out, so it might just be that.

The fountain burbles.

He brings someone in to dismantle the device telekinetically, and they explode. He brings someone in to dismantle the device magically, and they explode. He brings someone in to dismantle the device technopathically, and they explode. Inert or active, dismantle, destroy, unmake, copy, shield, change, move – anything done to it with anything but bare human hands causes just that person and no one else to melt apart and shower the place in gore with a quiet bang, like a firework in the far, far distance.

The fountain burbles.

It doesn’t help to bring in more human hands. Besides, he’s seen enough of the experts dismantle it by now that he couldn’t forget how if he tried.

The fountain burbles.

It used to be a soothing sound, before he spent more hours than a day should have listening to it mock him while he worked. He doesn’t want to set off explosives near the device, of course, but pipes come from somewhere, and a good session with a sledgehammer is just what he needs. The department can pay the city, if it even sticks around.

The change, not the city. God, he hopes the city sticks around.

The fountain stops burbling. The light on the device flickers, slowly dying, and fades off. The timeloop doesn’t trigger. The bomb is still counting down, but the timeloop isn’t, and finally, finally, progress.

He tries it six more times to make sure it keeps working, and it’s more cathartic every time, and he’s pretty sure they can just turn the water off when it comes down to it, but that’s not his problem. That’s what the oral report is for, and he gives it.

They shut off the water. They get an actual bomb tech in to take it apart, alien bits and all. T-axis moves his fingers along in sync, but he wouldn’t have done anything different.

[fnibble]

FUCK i need immortality so I can have the time to do everything I want PLEASE

[prosebushpatch]

I rewrote my thesis and it's under 120k words bay-beeeeeeeee!!!!!!! Let's goooooo!!!!!!

[bumblebeefromhell]

Do you know how hard it is, as a native german speaker, to write dialoge for Caleb? Bc the guy technically speaks german, but since Liam only speaks very little german, it's super stilted and somewhere between a simple choice of words and wrong. Like, no shade at Liam, but if you know better it's just hard to imitate

[rowanthestrange]

There is no punctuation. No paragraphing. Tangents are inserted at random and become the new dominant thought, and you discover that the root of some plans is actually stuff like ‘he saw a pretty duck at the park’, and this spiralled into a five different war crimes. The further away from the Doctor, the more normal his thought processes are, the more he thinks about them the more his thoughts vibrate at a schizophrenic frequency high enough to shatter glass. We spend no less than sixteen pages on dance practice that ultimately gets thrown out of the window in favour of improv anyway.

The next doctor who target novel should be the power of the doctor as told from the masters perspective. I want Chris chibnall to explain to me in excruciatingly detailed prose the precise moment the masters spotify playlist shuffled to Boney M and he sat up in a cold sweat thinking "Now THIS is a fucking good plan"

[softgrungeprophet]

not that it's anything other than my main hobby (therefore mostly to entertain myself and not necessarily beholden to super high quality), but the combo of low-dose adhd meds + working on a stupid huge AU (windowverse) over the past *mumble* years has definitely at least been a boost as far as "oh, plots aren't totally impossible after all" goes

[letterbombbreakdown]

this chapter is already longer than the first chapter and its maybe halfway done kkkk

[muirneach]

for my math assignment (due tomorrow 😖) i have to record myself explaining some problems which idgaf thats fine but the site my teacher wants us to use is genuinely unusable this ui is horrific

[dannyriccsystem]

i swear im in love w your posts and your account 😭 the way you write the drivers feels rly accurate, i had an idea for an au after i saw that video w the papaya boys looking down at the camera w their helmets on so maybe something about reader telling the drivers to 'sleep' w them only wearing their helmets 🙂‍↕️hehe no pressure 🧡

THE HELMET STAYS ON.

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

Summary: Begging the drivers to nail you with their helmet on. And they do.

Warnings: Pure smut, Y/N usage, P in V, foreplay, reader has a tongue piercing in one of them, hair pulling, blowjob, the whole nine yards. Basically really filthy. Also not proofread because it was embarrassing enough just writing this.

Featuring: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, CS55, OP81

This video. Oh my days. I have nothing appropriate to say.

One more before I sleep. I’m kind of scared to post this, this is my first super out there post.

(Do feel free to request risqué stuff idm!)

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

“Let me get this straight,” Your boyfriend stood in front of you as you sat, prettily perched on the edge of the bed with an innocent smile, despite what you just asked. “You,” He pointed to you. “Want me,” and then to himself. “To fuck you. With the helmet on.” He raised both of his brows.

You looked off to the side, and then back at him, nodding. “Sounds about right, yeah.” You confirmed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but with a sigh… He reluctantly gave in. Anything for his beloved girlfriend, I guess.

“M-ahhh-x,” You groaned out his name, nails desperately clawing at his bare back for some sort of leverage. Your legs were quivering as he slowly thrusted into you, his hips moving in such a hypnotic way. Even off the track, his pace was consistent, apparently.

All of his skin was exposed, every last inch, except for his face. It was covered by his iconic helmet design, the visor pulled down to conceal the expression in his eyes. You were certain they were darkened with lust, but had no proof of it.

His hands gripped your waist, hoisting you up to get an even deeper angle. Your legs wrapped around him weakly, trying to pull him in closer. At this point, you could barely move them.

He brought his helmeted face down closer to your ear, the sound of his voice deliciously muffled by the soft casing surrounding his head, “You asked for this, lieverd.” You whined out at his typical pet name, which sounded so dirty now. You were unsure if you’d ever be able to see your boyfriend in an innocent light ever again.

Your hands grabbed both sides of his helmet, mouth drawn open in an ‘O’ as you weakly moaned for him. The sweet sounds motivated him further, allowing him to draw out his final thrusts. He pulled out, hands stroking his length as you pressed soft kisses to the surface of his helmet.

He came on your stomach. With one hand, Max lifted the visor while the other gentle traced a heart onto your cum-coated belly.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

“Danny?” You came out of his bedroom one day, finding him relaxed on the couch. He leaned his head over to look at you, motioning for you to continue. In your hands was the cause of confusion— His old racing helmet. The last one he ever wore, to be exact.

It was a black helmet with a sparkly flame that shined different colors depending on the lighting. You remembered him wearing it in Singapore, the last race he ever competed in. It probably held a lot of special memories. “Do you use your old helmets for anything? I see you have a few in our room.”

“Hmm, nah. Mostly just decoration.” He shrugs and turns to sit with one leg folded underneath him, the other hanging over the edge of the couch. His elbows were propped on the back as he stared at you. “Why?” He smirked almost like he could see the gears turning.

“Wanna have sex with one on?” The answer was always yes.

It wasn’t quite what you were expecting, in the best way possible. Nothing could have prepared you for the animal that your boyfriend would become upon exploding this new area of your sex lives.

He had one of your legs pushed in the air, resting over his shoulder, which allowed him more space to thrust experimentally. The other laid on the side of his thigh, your hips held up by his free hand to get a better angle. You propped yourself up on your elbows, head slightly angled down while you stared through damp lashes.

“Fuck, Danny…” You whined, your hips twitching with a little gasp. He groaned, his head falling forward until the helmet was carefully pressed against your forehead. His grip on your raised thigh was tight, practically digging into your skin to keep himself from going feral.

“Feel that?” He muttered, his voice enveloped in the cushy walls of his helmet. The hand that held you up at the waist circled around, palm pressing down on your stomach to emphasize the slight bulge. He cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering and his dick twitching. “Shit.”

He leg your leg fall against the mattress as he carefully slipped out. One hand massaged your sore folds, bringing you to your peak just as he reached his. You both climaxed together, your thighs painted with his arousal.

He carefully lifted the helmet, still panting as he looked down at the mess he made. “Satisfied?” He asked, voice hoarse. You grinned, eyes droopy.

“Very.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

There was something special about Lando in his signature green helmet. The helmet itself was bland, but it was his staple. When he wore it, it was unimaginably attractive to you.

You tried to ignore it, but during one of his week long breaks, you decided to address the issue upfront. It was a hard topic to approach, so you figured now was a good time to be as blunt as possible.

“I want to fuck you while you wear your helmet.” Literally. As blunt as possible.

He looked taken aback, and rightfully so. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why…” He asked next. It was hard to discern what sort of face that was supposed to be. Confusion? Disgust? Arousal? All three at once?

“Because it’s hot.”

He fell silent, and then pulled you into his room where the helmet in question sat, like it was ready for this moment.

“Not so confident now, are you?” His husky voice murmured in your ear. You were currently bent over with your hands against his bedroom door to support yourself, your ass stuck out against him. All while your legs trembled. If one of his hands wasn’t supporting you under your stomach, you’d have collapsed by now.

Strong hands gripped your hair, tugging your head backwards to get a good look at your fucked out expression, and your stretched neck that was littered with deep purple marks. All you could do was softly cry out in pleasure as a reply to his question, which earned a dark chuckle from your boyfriend.

“Regretting your choice yet?” You shook your head with teary eyes. You couldn’t see his face, cloaked beneath the secrecy of a bright green racing helmet, but you knew for a fact he was smirking. Every thrust was carried out confidently, sending a resounding smack through the room. The sounds were sticky from the buildup of arousal.

“Laan,” You drawled out his name, eyes twitching as you struggled to keep them open. You could feel another orgasm approaching— Just one of many for the night. “P-Please—”

“Please what?” Another tug of the hair, making you whimper. “Use your words, pretty.”

“Let me cum,” You whined, your voice trembling. He continued silently for another thrust or two before the hand on your stomach traveled down to massage your clit, sending you over the edge. You squealed out, lurching forward to rest against the door.

He pulled his throbbing length out, releasing onto your back. With a heavy, satisfied sigh, Lando scooped you up and gently laid you on his mattress, littering your aching body with kisses upon the removal of his helmet.

“You did so good for me.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Charles and you had been together for a while, and it was safe to say you knew your way around each other’s bodies. However, neither of you quite knew the other’s mind.

It was hard to pinpoint the specific kinks and such. If you were both paying attention you could figure out the little things you liked— For example, Charles liked kitten licks on the tip, and he loved you in red lingerie. And you liked sensual sex with romance and eye contact.

However, there was something you had never been able to admit until now. “Can you keep the helmet on for tonight?” He blinked at your question, already half naked and hovering over you, who was… Entirely naked.

“Keep the helmet on?”

“Yeah. Just to try it out.”

It didn’t take much convincing.

The entire experience changed when the helmet came on. Maybe you were expecting him to take a dominant stance, but it seemed as soon as the mask came on he was a whining and stuttering mess.

Charles was propped up on his elbows as you straddled his hips, grinding yourself further onto his impaled cock. He couldn’t even form a sentence, just desperately grip your hips and occasionally involuntarily thrust up into your tight heat. He was thankful for the helmet, actually. That way you couldn’t see his pathetic expression.

“Feels good,” You praised, your voice like honey. He squeezed the fat of your hips tighter, both of his index fingers anxiously tapping against your skin. He wasn’t normally so… Submissive like this.

You reached out, lifting the visor of his helmet to unveil his eyes. Just his eyes, that’s all you could see, but they told you exactly what you needed to know. With furrowed brows and a watery gaze, he made direct eye contact with you.

His hands traveled to find yours, squeezing them tight while you rode him. He could barely ground himself, but your steady presence certainly helped. “Y/N-” He finally managed to splutter out, his legs twitching and his hips jerking.

“Shh, you’re okay,” You whispered, moving your hips faster. “You got it, you’re doing great.” At your praise, he seemed to lose it, spilling deep inside you.

His body collapsed against the mattress, leaving you to carefully lift his helmet and brush his damp hair away from his eyes.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

You came home from a stressful day to your boyfriend standing in the dining room, examining his racing helmet under the light. “What are you doing?” You questioned softly as you set your things down on the table.

Her flinched, but relaxed as soon as he realized it was just you, and there was no need to be worried. “Just thinking.” You raised your brow as if asking ‘about?’ He showed you the helmet, and you just shrugged with a lack of understanding. “I want to fuck you with it on.”

You blinked at his forwardness, your gaze shifting from the helmet, and then to him. “If you’re comfortable with it, I don’t mind.”

Sex with Carlos was typically slow and sensual, just what you needed after a long day.

Not this time.

He had you folded in ways you didn’t even know were possible. Your knees were pressed to your chest, hands gripping the sheets as he fucked into you in your folded position. He hovered over you, one hand on the headboard and the other on the curve of your ass.

He grunted, but most of the noise was coming from you. “C-… Carlos!” You yelped, surprised by the change in tone. Your eyes twitched, threatening to roll back into your skull. You tried to swallow your moans, but it was impossible to keep silent.

He suddenly grabbed both of your hands, bringing them up to hold your own legs back. He busied his digits with your hole. Two fingers circled your needy clit, making your legs ache and shake. The other two slid right in with his cock, plunging in and out in a rhythmic manner.

“Feel good?” He questioned in that thick accent, ensuring your comfort over all. You couldn’t form a coherent response, leaving you to just nod a silent yes.

It seemed like ages he toyed with your poor hole, but finally he pulled free and let himself release onto your stomach. You let your legs fall to the mattress, twitching occasionally. Both of you panted as he removed the helmet, sweat dripping from his forehead. His hair was beautifully messy.

“That was…” He trailed off.

“Hot,” You finished for him.

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

You had been giggling to yourself all day as you stared at your phone. It was beginning to make Oscar anxious as he automatically assumed the worst. With sudden steeled courage, he decided to confront you.

“What have you been looking at? You haven’t stopped laughing at your phone.” His tone was calm, but inside he was slightly panicked. That is, until you turned the phone around to show him an edit. Of himself.

He had seen a few of them. Ever since him and Lando filmed that video showing off their helmets, the fans had been going crazy. “What about it?” He tilted his head, not unlike the way he did in said video. Your ovaries basically exploded.

“Do you have your helmet?” He nodded. “Put it on.”

Well, you didn’t have to tell him twice.

This… Wasn’t exactly what Oscar had been expecting. He knew you had something filthy in mind, but to suck him off while he was wearing nothing but his helmet was a little absurd, even for you.

Thankfully, he accepted the freak in you.

Your tongue darted out to give his tip a little lick, the cold metal of your tongue piercing making him twitch. He shuddered, a deep groan leaving his lips. Without even thinking, his hands grabbed the back of your head. However, he relaxed before making any sharp movements, and let it rest there for now.

You experimented further, plump lips encasing his whole tip, cheeks hollowing experimentally. He groaned, head tilted back momentarily. You looked at him through your lashes, giggling around his length when he peered back down, the movement unbearably attractive in your eyes.

You placed your hands on his thighs to balance yourself, and slowly took more of him in. He tried to keep quiet, but he could only bite back so many groans before they started to flood out. As your pace increased, his grip on the back of your head did, too.

Eventually, you weren’t even moving anymore. He was just full on face fucking you to get himself off, and you didn’t care. You let your mouth be used by your boyfriend, whose hips were jerking in and out in a spontaneous rhythm.

He finally came to a stop, his length twitching as he pulled it out. Half of his seed was shot onto your face, while the rest was expertly aimed for your mouth.

He was breathing heavily as he lifted the helmet, peering down at you with a heaving chest. “Holy shit.”

That was by far the most emotion anyone had ever gotten out of him.