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thaoworra · 1 year ago

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The Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association recently released the poems that made it to the finalist stage for consideration for the 2024 Rhysling Awards for Short and Long Speculative Poems of the year. Congratulations to all of the nominees! This will be the 46th year these awards have been conferred!

Short Poems (50 finalists)

Attn: Prime Real Estate Opportunity!, Emily Ruth Verona, Under Her Eye: A Women in Horror Poetry Collection Volume II

The Beauty of Monsters, Angela Liu, Small Wonders 1

The Blight of Kezia, Patricia Gomes, HWA Poetry Showcase X

The Day We All Died, A Little, Lisa Timpf, Radon 5

Deadweight, Jack Cooper, Propel 7

Dear Mars, Susan L. Lin, The Sprawl Mag 1.2

Dispatches from the Dragon's Den, Mary Soon Lee, Star*Line 46.2

Dr. Jekyll, West Ambrose, Thin Veil Press December

First Eclipse: Chang-O and the Jade Hare, Emily Jiang, Uncanny 53

Five of Cups Considers Forgiveness, Ali Trotta, The Deadlands 31

Gods of the Garden, Steven Withrow, Spectral Realms 19

The Goth Girls' Gun Gang, Marisca Pichette, The Dread Machine 3.2

Guiding Star, Tim Jones, Remains to be Told: Dark Tales of Aotearoa, ed. Lee Murray (Clan Destine Press)

Hallucinations Gifted to Me by Heatstroke, Morgan L. Ventura, Banshee 15

hemiplegic migraine as willing human sacrifice, Ennis Rook Bashe, Eternal Haunted Summer Winter Solstice

Hi! I am your Cortical Update!, Mahaila Smith, Star*Line 46.3

How to Make the Animal Perfect?, Linda D. Addison, Weird Tales 100

I Dreamt They Cast a Trans Girl to Give Birth to the Demon, Jennessa Hester, HAD October

Invasive, Marcie Lynn Tentchoff, Polar Starlight 9

kan-da-ka, Nadaa Hussein, Apparition Lit 23

Language as a Form of Breath, Angel Leal, Apparition Lit October

The Lantern of September, Scott Couturier, Spectral Realms 19

Let Us Dream, Myna Chang, Small Wonders 3

The Magician's Foundling, Angel Leal, Heartlines Spec 2

The Man with the Stone Flute, Joshua St. Claire, Abyss & Apex 87

Mass-Market Affair, Casey Aimer, Star*Line 46.4

Mom's Surprise, Francis W. Alexander, Tales from the Moonlit Path June

A Murder of Crows, Alicia Hilton, Ice Queen 11

No One Now Remembers, Geoffrey Landis, Fantasy and Science Fiction Nov./Dec.

orion conquers the sky, Maria Zoccula, On Spec 33.2

Pines in the Wind, Karen Greenbaum-Maya, The Beautiful Leaves (Bamboo Dart Press)

The Poet Responds to an Invitation from the AI on the Moon, T.D. Walker, Radon Journal 5

A Prayer for the Surviving, Marisca Pichette, Haven Speculative 9

Pre-Nuptial, F. J. Bergmann, The Vampiricon (Mind's Eye Publications)

The Problem of Pain, Anna Cates, Eye on the Telescope 49

The Return of the Sauceress, F. J. Bergmann, The Flying Saucer Poetry Review February

Sea Change, David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Ann K. Schwader, Scifaikuest May

Seed of Power, Linda D. Addison, The Book of Witches ed. Jonathan Strahan (Harper Collins)

Sleeping Beauties, Carina Bissett, HWA Poetry Showcase X

Solar Punks, J. D. Harlock, The Dread Machine 3.1

Song of the Last Hour, Samuel A. Betiku, The Deadlands 22

Sphinx, Mary Soon Lee, Asimov's September/October

Storm Watchers (a drabbun), Terrie Leigh Relf, Space & Time

Sunflower Astronaut, Charlie Espinosa, Strange Horizons July

Three Hearts as One, G. O. Clark, Asimov's May/June

Troy, Carolyn Clink, Polar Starlight 12

Twenty-Fifth Wedding Anniversary, John Grey, Medusa's Kitchen September

Under World, Jacqueline West, Carmina Magazine September

Walking in the Starry World, John Philip Johnson, Orion's Belt May

Whispers in Ink, Angela Yuriko Smith, Whispers from Beyond (Crystal Lake Publishing)

Long Poems (25 finalists)

Archivist of a Lost World, Gerri Leen, Eccentric Orbits 4

As the witch burns, Marisca Pichette, Fantasy 87

Brigid the Poet, Adele Gardner, Eternal Haunted Summer Summer Solstice

Coding a Demi-griot (An Olivian Measure), Armoni “Monihymn” Boone, Fiyah 26

Cradling Fish, Laura Ma, Strange Horizons May

Dream Visions, Melissa Ridley Elmes, Eccentric Orbits 4

Eight Dwarfs on Planet X, Avra Margariti, Radon Journal 3

The Giants of Kandahar, Anna Cates, Abyss & Apex 88

How to Haunt a Northern Lake, Lora Gray, Uncanny 55

Impostor Syndrome, Robert Borski, Dreams and Nightmares 124

The Incessant Rain, Rhiannon Owens, Evermore 3

Interrogation About A Monster During Sleep Paralysis, Angela Liu, Strange Horizons November

Little Brown Changeling, Lauren Scharhag, Aphelion 283

A Mere Million Miles from Earth, John C. Mannone, Altered Reality April

Pilot, Akua Lezli Hope, Black Joy Unbound eds. Stephanie Andrea Allen & Lauren Cherelle (BLF Press)

Protocol, Jamie Simpher, Small Wonders 5

Sleep Dragon, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

Slow Dreaming, Herb Kauderer, The Book of Sleep (Written Image Press)

St. Sebastian Goes To Confession, West Ambrose, Mouthfeel 1

Value Measure, Joseph Halden and Rhonda Parrish, Dreams and Nightmares 125

A Weather of My Own Making, Nnadi Samuel, Silver Blade 56

Welcoming the New Girl, Beth Cato, Penumbric October

What You Find at the Center, Elizabeth R McClellan, Haven Spec Magazine 12

The Witch Makes Her To-Do List, Theodora Goss, Uncanny 50

The Year It Changed, David C. Kopaska-Merkel, Star*Line 46.4

Voting for the Rhysling Award begins July 1; a link to the ballot will be sent with the Rhysling Anthology, as well as with the July issue of Star*Line. More information on the Rhysling Award can be found here.

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aethon-recs · 3 months ago

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This Week (x2) in Tomarrymort (16 – 31 March 2025)

We are so close to 16,000 fics in the ship tag, up from 15,000 in just December 2024!

Also, I’ve been loving this recent spate of same-age F/F Tomarry fics popping up, particularly all the AUs of other beloved media, with a lesbian twist! They’ve all been so fun to read! I started making a list for myself to keep track of all the different AUs, and figured I should share them here too:

⭐ Want some Mean Girls-inspired Tomarry? I urge you to read apex predator by @houndsofheaven (E, 7k, WIP) ⭐ What about Heathers-inspired Tomarry? Please check out an asteroid that's overdue by @cealesti (M, 4k, WIP) ⭐ Timeline mashup AU? Yes please! The Good Knight by @mosiva (E, 49k, WIP) ⭐ As for a college AU, what could be more terrifying than Tom as a Delta Ep in the devil wears sorority letters by @aitafrog (T, 8k, WIP) ⭐ Medieval lesbian Tomarry based off an 18th century poem? A beautiful offering in a star hath set by @curioushabitforarivergod (E, 3k, complete)

Tomarrymort Completed Fics

Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic (E, 60k, complete)

"I—I like you. For some reason. I dunno. It sounds… I know how it sounds. But—I do. I like you, Tom. And I was hoping you'd let me come see you over the summer, or—y'know, write to you." Tom expects to feel victorious at his greatest enemy's confession. Instead, he develops a crush on him.

you try so loud to love me, I cannot seem to hear by @boyneptunee (M, 7k, complete)

Tom thinks his husband is only in it for the money. Harry, on the other hand, tries to build a Home. Or: Modern!Au where they get married out of convenience. It backfires, obviously. OR: They collide like two burning stars and destroy everything in their path. Then they try to build a life on the dust that settles.

penance by @cindle-writes (E, 11k, complete)

Tom Riddle suffers from constant intrusive thoughts about killing people. His priest, Father Harry, wonders when is the day he’ll snap and go too far.

Tomarrymort One-Shot Must Reads

One Shot | a star hath set by @curioushabitforarivergod

One Shot | To Live is to Change by @mosiva

One Shot | Pom-Poms & Perverts by @known-concepts

One Shot | disturbing the peace by @duplicitywrites

One Shot | soft edges, burning wild by @cindle-writes

Tomarrymort Ongoing Must Reads

Chapter 39 of With a resolute heart by Act_Naturally

Chapter 21 of Ills of Murder by @shadow-of-the-eclipse

Chapters 23 through 28 of the whole wideness of the night is for you by The_Side

Chapters 17 through 19 of thimble of the banshee by @houndsofheaven

Chapters 23 and 24 of the stars, my destination by @milkandmoon-ao3

Chapter 3 of for i am with you by @solelyseeking

Chapter 27 of What In Me Is Dark, Illumine by @telelli-writes

Chapter 1 of Indecent Harvest by @duplicitywrites @moontearpensfic

Chapters 7 through 9 of Follow where she goes by @mosiva

Chapters 6 and 7 of exitium by @leafsandstarlight

Chapter 1 of i put a spell on you by @ohyondermemphis

Chapters 23 through 25 of you speak of the devil (like he's not your friend) by @amuria

Chapters 5 through 8 of Hold me as I drown by @smolangryslytherin

Chapter 3 of Under the Dreaming Dark by @aglassroseneverfades

Chapter 2 of the devil wears sorority letters by @aitafrog

Chapters 1 and 2 of angel on a satellite by @houndsofheaven

Chapter 11 of the night is cold in the kingdom by @girl-with-goats

Chapter 12 of Fool me once by @holaolla1

Chapter 148 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis

Chapter 1 of Augurey's Glass by anonymous

Chapter 1 of let the world come at you love by @boyneptunee

Chapter 26 of Date Ideas for the Linguistically Inclined by Antique_Mango

Chapters 15 and 16 of Part Two - To Grow a Heart by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapter 2 of Ouroboros by @allthesmilesxo

Chapter 76 of I Can't Carry This Anymore by lemonchase

Chapters 16 of Venom or Valor by @lightningant

Chapter 1 of an asteroid that's overdue by @cealesti

Chapter 12 of Dreams Beyond Blood by @hikarimeroperiddle

Chapter 1 of Take Any Form by @rowena-rain

#tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #tomarrymort recs #aethon recs #tomarry recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #hp fic recs #harrymort recs #tomarry weekly #this week in tomarrymort

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noisydelusionlove · 10 months ago

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Masterlist

Pairings: Poly141xOriginal Character, GhostxOriginal Character, GhostXSoap, GhostXGaz, SoapxOriginal Character, GazxOrginal Character, PricexOriginal Character, PricexGaz, PricexSoap, SoapxGaz

Warnings: Medical inaccuracies, military inaccuracies, smut, violence, A/B/O Dynamics

This post is where the idea stemmed from, my little brain worm if you will.

Also on AO3 now.

🔥= Contains Smut

Chapter 1: We Need a Medic

Chapter 2: Meeting the Pack🔥

Chapter 3: Settling In🔥

Chapter 4: Another Day

Chapter 5: Exams pt1

Chapter 6: Exams pt2

Chapter 7: Exams pt3

Chapter 8: The Mission

Chapter 9: Night Out

Chapter 10: Aftermath (Ghoap)🔥

Chapter 11: Incoming Heat and an Apex

Chapter 12: Getting Closer

Chapter 13: Kneeling

Chapter 14: A Date With Gaz

Chapter 15: 2 Betas and 1 Omega🔥

Chapter 16: Sparring

Chapter 17: A Date With Soap🔥

Chapter 18: A Date With Ghost pt1

Chapter 19: A Date With Ghost pt2 🔥

Chapter 20:Incoming Heat Problems

Chapter 21: Heat pt 1 🔥

Chapter 22: Heat pt 2 🔥

Chapter 23: Heat pt 3 🔥

Chapter 24: The Orgy Chapter 🔥

Chapter 25: Back to Business

Chapter 26: Mission Gone Wrong

Chapter 27: Breaking Down, Not Backing Down

Chapter 28: Moving On 🔥

Chapter 29: Showdown

Chapter 30: A Decision

Chapter 31: Another Hunt 🔥

Chapter 32: Maybe We Do Get Happily Ever Afters (END)

Silver heart knot divider by @tsunami-of-tears

MDNI divider by @arlerts-angel

Header by me

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cryingtoteenwolf · 5 days ago

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Chapter 5: Apex Authority

Carlos Sainz x Engineer!Verstappen!Best Friend OC, Max Verstappen x Engineer!Best Friend OC

Synopsis: Frida Montoya was never meant to stay behind the pit wall forever. From her karting days with Max Verstappen to her rise as Red Bull’s lead race strategist, she’s played the game flawlessly, until Carlos Sainz begins seeing her as more than just Max’s engineer.

Frida is caught between legacy and loyalty, victory and vulnerability, Frida has to decide whether she will always belong to someone else's race, or is she finally ready to lead her own?

A/N: So, I know Christian Horner is basically a war criminal (jk) and I'm happy he's finally gone. Unfortunately, I'll be including him in the whole story to try and stay accurate even though some of it's probably not all that accurate 😅

Australian Grand Prix, Race Day, Albert Park Circuit Melbourne, March

Lap 27: The sound inside the Red Bull garage was a layered thrum—fans humming against the heat, engineers flipping switches and muttering to themselves, the telemetry beeping in scattered rhythm. Frida Montoya sat at the pit wall, one boot tapping against the floor, though her face gave away none of it. Calm. Always calm. That was the illusion.

On track, Max was leading the race, but the margin to Carlos Sainz in P2 was narrowing. Both were on aging medium compounds. Sector deltas showed degradation creeping in. The grip curve was starting to slide.

Frida’s eyes tracked the timing overlays as clouds thickened overhead. No rain—none had been forecast—but a dip in track temperature was registering in Sector 2. The shift was subtle, maybe five or six degrees Celsius, but it was enough. Tire temps were falling. Rear traction was fading. And Carlos was rotating better through Turns 9 and 10.

Christian Horner’s voice crackled over comms. “Let’s wait five laps. Let Ferrari move first.”

Frida didn’t answer right away. She was watching Max’s onboard feed, the slight twitch of the rear at corner exit. He was having to fight it now. His throttle inputs were sharper, correcting. The balance was slipping away.

If Ferrari boxed Sainz now, they’d undercut. Hard. If they didn’t act, they'd get stuck behind slower traffic once the tire cliff hit.

Frida keyed the comm. Her voice was steady.

“Box Max now. Hard tires.”

There was a pause.

“Frida—” Christian started.

“If we wait, we lose the race,” she cut in. “Tire wear is accelerating. Max is losing half a second a lap through Sector 2. If Ferrari undercuts, we don’t recover.”

Silence.

Then: “Box, box.”

Max dove into the pit lane. The stop was fast—2.2 seconds. The hard tires went on. He rejoined in clean air, just ahead of the traffic window.

Christian’s voice returned, tighter this time. “That wasn’t the plan.”

Frida kept her gaze on the screen.

“No,” she said, “but it just guaranteed us race.”

Frida didn’t so much as turn her head. “Carlos was gaining six-tenths in Sector 2. Rear tire temps were falling. If we waited five laps, we’d lose track position. Max will overcut on fresher hards when Ferrari reacts. You’ll thank me in fifteen minutes.”

Silence, not approval, not yet. But silence was better than override.

She heard Christian curse under his breath and flip off his mic.

Now it was her decision. Her responsibility.

She felt the weight of it in the quiet that followed. Not crushing, not unfamiliar, but real. This was the part no one saw, the milliseconds between risk and reward, the space where data meets instinct and leadership means choosing the harder answer.

Her eyes remained glued to the screen.

Frida watched the delta open as Max’s new tires bit into the asphalt. The gamble was already beginning to pay off. She didn’t let herself smile, not yet.

There were still 31 laps to go.

And no amount of numbers could predict what came next.

Carlos stayed out. One lap, then another.

Frida’s fingers hovered above the control panel, her other hand gripping the edge of the pit wall console with a stillness that belied the storm beneath her skin. Around her, the Red Bull garage moved in a blur of tire temperatures and timing screens, engineers focused on their stations, mechanics adjusting to the strategy shift in real time, but she barely registered it.

The clock was ticking.

Carlos was pushing, trying to extend the stint just long enough to salvage track position. But Frida already knew. The numbers told a story before the lap times did—falling grip levels, rising tire wear, surface temperatures dipping by degrees under the soft curtain of cloud cover.

By the time the Ferrari was called in, it was too late. Carlos rejoined the race behind both Red Bulls. Max was clear in P1, already stretching the new hard compound for an aggressive final stint. Sergio Pérez, steady and unshaken, slotted into P3 just behind him. Carlos, stuck in dirty air, was left trying to claw back a window that had already closed.

The strategy had worked. Frida had seen it coming before it appeared in any model. Before the engineers agreed. Before the pit wall aligned behind her. She had pulled the trigger, early, and alone.

It had worked, but she didn’t celebrate. She didn’t pump a fist or turn to the others for validation. She just stared at the telemetry, jaw locked, her expression unreadable. It was the same look she had worn as a racer, back when victory wasn’t joy but relief, when survival came with a checkered flag and the pressure never really lifted.

On Trackside Radio, Max’s voice came through her headset, steady with the ease of someone who didn’t question the decision. “Good call, Frida. Car feels great.”

For a moment, her grip on the console loosened, but she still didn’t smile.

Not this time.

Because she wasn’t thinking about Max’s lead, or Carlos’s drop to fourth. She wasn’t thinking about applause or praise or anything that might come later in the debrief. She was thinking about the line she had crossed, not between risk and reward, but between her past and everything she was still running from.

It had worked. She had done her job, but control always came at a cost. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she still felt the echo of the kart that didn’t stop spinning, the trackside scream of gravel and metal, and the moment when everything that had once been hers slipped through her fingers like rain.

Post-Race – Parc Fermé Melbourne, Australia – March

Max had won again. Dominant in his RB20 that crossed the finish line with a comfortable margin, the kind that made a race look simple on paper, even when every lap was anything but. Checo brought home P3 after a strong, consistent stint. And Carlos, despite everything he threw at the final laps, had finished fourth, wrestling with tire degradation and the punishing drag of dirty air while fending off Alonso’s relentless pressure.

Frida Montoya stood just behind the Red Bull pit wall, headset slung around her neck, arms crossed, the cheers around her ringing hollow. Mechanics cheered and slapped hands. Engineers crowded monitors replaying the final moments. Christian was already on his way to the podium, flanked by cameras and press. Frida didn’t move.

Her eyes stayed fixed beyond the barriers of parc fermé, watching as drivers emerged from their cockpits and pulled off helmets. That was when she saw him: Carlos.

Helmet in one hand. Fireproofs peeled halfway down. His hair was slicked with sweat, his expression unreadable. He walked toward her with a kind of quiet certainty, measured and deliberate, not angry, but not casual either. Something else simmered beneath his silence. Something unresolved. She didn’t need to guess why.

When he reached her, he stopped just short of arm’s length. His voice was low.

“You made the call.”

Frida didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“You undercut me.”

“I protected my driver. I did my job,” she replied, steady.

Carlos let out a short breath, dry and devoid of humor. “I remember when you used to call me your driver.”

That line hit harder than it should have.

Once, back when she was just starting, still proving she belonged, Frida had stood trackside in a McLaren polo, clutching data sheets and running tire models next to Carlos’s race engineer. It was her first real job in Formula 1. Her first year on the wall. He had been the reason she got to practice her instincts in the real world, to turn theory into timing, strategy into action.

He had been her beginning.

She met his eyes. “That was a long time ago.”

Carlos stepped in closer. The celebration behind her dimmed to static.

“Did you even hesitate?”

She swallowed the truth before it could rise.

“I can’t afford to hesitate.”

His gaze lingered. Not sharp. Not cruel. Just disbelieving in a way that made her want to look away.

“You’re not just playing the game anymore,” he said. “You’ve become part of the machine.”

And then he walked away. There were no dramatics or final words. Just the space left behind and the low thunder of a thousand tiny things unsaid.

Frida didn’t follow.

She stared after him until he disappeared beyond the Ferrari hospitality, then slowly turned back toward the garage, her breath tight and shallow in her chest.

Red Bull had won. The strategy had been flawless, but as she stood alone in the glow of a job done right, it didn’t feel like victory.

Not all wins were clean and not all calls came without cost.

Later in the Red Bull Hospitality Unit Post-Race

The evening light over Albert Park had started to soften, casting long shadows across the paddock. Inside the Red Bull hospitality unit, the hum of celebration lingered like static, engineers in polos half-zipped, champagne flutes abandoned on counters, laughter bubbling from the back terrace where sponsors and senior staff gathered around flat-screen replays of Max’s dominant finish.

Frida Montoya stood by the espresso machine, posture stiff, headset finally stowed in her gear bag, though the imprint still marked her temples. Her hands were steady around the glass of water someone had handed her, condensation rolling over her fingers.

Christian Horner approached with a drink in one hand and something unreadable in his eyes. Not anger, exactly. But not warmth either. He passed her the glass without ceremony, whiskey for him, still water for her, and nodded once.

“You got lucky,” he said.

Frida didn’t blink. She took a slow sip, her voice level. “No. I got it right.”

Christian studied her over the rim of his glass. The buzz of the room moved on without them, a blur of celebration and post-race media chatter. His gaze, sharp as ever, didn’t drift.

“You keep making calls like that without clearing them with the wall, and sooner or later, it’ll catch up to you,” he said. “We’ve got a system in place for a reason.”

Frida met his eyes, unflinching. "If I’d followed that system, we’d have to be standing here explaining why we handed Ferrari a win.”

Christian didn’t argue. He simply let the silence stretch, considering her like a strategist evaluates risk, quantifying her precision, her instincts, her willingness to bend protocol when the race demanded it. But she could feel the weight of the unspoken, the part he didn’t say aloud. You’re not just smart. You’re becoming indispensable, and that terrifies them.

Finally, he offered a thin smile, something between concession and warning. “You keep making calls like that,” he said, “and you’ll be seen as a threat.”

Frida’s voice was soft, but steady. “I’m already a threat.”

She held his gaze as she said it.

“You just haven’t figured out how to sell it to the sponsors yet.”

A beat of silence. Then Christian’s smirk returned, this time laced with something like reluctant admiration. He tipped his glass toward her in a mock-toast before turning away, disappearing into the blur of navy polos and clinking glassware.

Frida didn’t move. She stood there, steady and alone, watching the sky shift through the high windows. The win was Max’s. The strategy had been hers. The pressure was still building.

And somewhere in the corner of her mind, she knew this wouldn’t be the last time she’d have to prove that her instincts were sharper than tradition.

This was only the beginning.

Even Later, Quiet Garage, Lights Dimmed

The paddock had quieted, emptied of most of the crew and the din of celebration. The air still held the faint metallic scent of brake dust and burnt rubber, but it was the silence that struck Frida the most, an eerie kind of calm that only ever arrived after the storm of a Grand Prix.

She stood alone near the tire blankets, the rows of slicks now cool and stacked in labeled pairs. The garage lights had been dimmed, casting everything in a soft industrial gray. Her tablet glowed in her hands as she scrolled through post-race telemetry and temperature data, even though the outcome had long been decided. Max had won. Her strategy had worked. But the questions in her head hadn’t stopped racing.

“You pissed him off,” came Max’s voice from behind her.

She didn’t look up. “Which one? There's always a long list.”

He walked over slowly, peeling off the last layer of his fireproofs, a damp towel slung around his neck. “Carlos.”

That made her glance up. Her eyes met his briefly, steady, unreadable.

“I made the call that gave you the win,” she said. “It wasn’t personal.”

Max leaned casually against the wall beside her, but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t quite dissolved with the champagne. “It was to him.”

She tilted her head. “You sound concerned.”

He gave a humorless chuckle. “I’m not. I just know how he thinks. He’s not used to being on the outside of your choices.”

Her jaw set as she turned back to the tablet. “I didn’t choose anyone. I did my job. He's also been on the outside of my choices for the past two years.”

Max was quiet for a moment. Then, with a softer voice, he said, “Yeah. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re too good at what you do.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before. Only the distant clicks of packing crates and the faint hum of power units cooling down broke through the quiet.

Max studied her profile for a beat, then added, “You didn’t tell him what really bothered you.”

Frida’s fingers paused above the screen. “What do you mean?”

“You did hesitate,” Max said gently. “Just for a second. Before you called me in. I could hear it in your voice.”

Her breath hitched. Just slightly. Enough that he noticed.

“I’m not judging,” he said, his tone even. “But if you don’t figure out what side of the line you want to stand on, it’s going to tear you apart.”

Frida closed the tablet slowly, the soft click of the magnetic case echoing louder than it should have.

“You sound like you’ve already decided which side I’m on.”

Max didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her, really looked at her, with that rare mix of protectiveness and resignation. The kind that only came from knowing someone long enough to see every version of them, even the ones they tried to bury.

“I decided a long time ago,” he said finally. “Doesn’t mean I’ll like it if you pick someone else.”

He pushed away from the wall, towel still draped over his shoulders, and walked off without waiting for her response. His footsteps were quiet, but they left a weight behind.

Frida stood there in the glow of the screen, her reflection faint in the dark surface of the garage floor, the cool air brushing against her skin. The warmth of Max’s words lingered, not because they were romantic, but because they were honest.

This wasn’t about strategy anymore. It wasn’t just about track position, or sector times, or managing tire degradation across fifty-eight laps. This was about control, about loyalty, about the fear of what came undone when emotions slipped into places they didn’t belong and if she wasn’t careful, if she kept pretending she could separate herself from it all, someone was going to lose more than just a race.

It might be Carlos.

It might be Max.

But tonight, for the first time, Frida wondered if it might also be her.

Tag List: @mhh-1 , @rickybobbydan , @san4117 , @starset21 , @mirakole01 , @jayda12 , @vmariie

#f1 imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #max vertsappen fic #formula 1 #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz jr #cs55 #formula one #max verstappen #mv1

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fatehbaz · 2 years ago

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Nepali researchers have yet again photographed a snow leopard (Panthera uncia) and common leopard (P. pardus) in the same location in the lap of Mount Gaurishankar in the eastern Himalayas. The recently analyzed images captured in Lapchi Valley at an altitude of 4,260 meters (13,976 feet) above sea level show a snow leopard strolling a human trail [...] on Jan. 4, 2023. A common leopard was photographed by the same camera trap seven days later. “This is the first time that a snow leopard and a common leopard have been photographed in the same location in the Gaurishankar area,” says Madhu Chetri from the National Trust for Nature Conservation, [...] overseeing the Gaurishankar Conservation Area. Conservationists traditionally considered endangered tigers (P. tigris) as the apex predators of Nepal’s southern plains, vulnerable common leopards as roaming the country’s hills, and vulnerable snow leopards as keeping farther north in the mountains. [...] In July 2016, researchers studying [...] [the] Tibetan Plateau for the first time obtained video footage of a snow leopard and a common leopard living in the same area. Similarly, in 2013, a team of Italian researchers analyzing scat samples from Sagarmatha (Mount Everest) National Park also found that snow leopards and common leopards coexist in the same area. [...] Researcher Bikram Shrestha, who has worked on snow leopards, says his team also captured images of both cats in the same area in a survey carried out between 2011 and 2013 in Nepal’s Mustang region at an altitude of 4,500 m (14,764 ft).

---

Images and text excerpt from: Abhaya Raj Joshi. "Nepali researchers again photograph snow leopard, leopard in same place". Mongabay. 31 August 2023. [Images provided to Mongabay by Madhu Chetri, National Trust for Nature Conservation, Gaurishankar Conservation Area.]

#ecology #landscape #multispecies #paleo

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lumiolivier · 9 months ago

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Light's Biggest Mistake

Day 17 of 31 of Kinktober

Prompt: Spectrophilia

Word Count: 435

Light might not be losing it after all...

For a couple months after L’s death, Light could’ve sworn he was going crazy. It wasn’t the same without seeing L next to him at his desk, sitting on his feet. It was just…Strange. Empty. Sure, Light got what he wanted…Or more accurately, Kira got what he wanted. Number one enemy was out of the way, but there was still a sadness in Light’s heart. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but there was certainly something. Something missing. He couldn’t have possibly missed L, could he? No. Of course not. L was getting in the way of what he wanted. L was his only real obstacle. And now…It was gone. He was gone.

Light had gone to bed, his eyes fixated on the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t sure why. Sleep rarely ever eluded him before. But he couldn’t sleep. And he couldn’t help but have L on the brain. It infuriated him to constantly be thinking about L. He didn’t think about Near the same way. Just L. Near could never be L. Not his L anyway. In Light’s eyes, he would always be a watered down version of the greatest opponent Kira could’ve ever asked for.

Why am I letting this get to me? It was just L. He’s gone. He’s not coming back. And that’s a good thing. That’s a GREAT thing! It’s not like Near’s going to be able to catch me. But why can’t I stop thinking about him? It’s not like he had that big of an impact on my life. He was just the dick in my way. And now that he’s not there anymore, I can move forward with the plan. To become the God of this new world. That I’m making with my own two hands.

And yet, Light felt a strange chill run through his body. A chill that felt so strange, but so…familiar. A welcomed chill. All through his neck…Down his chest…Down to his stomach…And right down to the apex of his legs. On the very tip of his dick…More…And more…And more…Until it was almost too intense for him to deal with. He didn’t know what was happening, but he gripped the sheets as tight as he could. He wanted it to stop. No…More. He wanted more. He wanted all of it! He wanted more and more and more! Until he couldn’t see straight anymore. Until he came all over himself. And he didn’t even have to have a hand on his cock. That chill started to fade. And Light felt an odd tug in his chest.

…Come back, L.

#dnkinktober #spectrophilia #lawlight #implied lawlight #if you squint #light yagami

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soylent-crocodile · 1 year ago

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More Myr

Here are just a few more statlines for Myr, a generic battlemyr and a large superion. I don't have much lore here; this is more of a rules supplement to my core Myr piece!

(Myr Superion by Jana Schirmer & Johannes Voss)

Myr, Superion

This towering machine has arms like pillars and a head like a deep-billed bird’s beak.

Misc- CR7 LN Large Construct (Myr) HD9 Init:+1 Senses: Perception:+8 Aura: Myr Shepherding 15ft Stats- Str:30(+10) Dex:13(+1) Con:- Int:4(-3) Wis:19(+4) Cha:15(+3) BAB:+9/+4 Space:10ft Reach:10ft Defense- HP:79(9d10+30) AC:21(+1 Dexterity, -1 Size, +11 Natural) Fort:- Ref:+6 Will:+7 CMD:31 Resist: Immunity: Weakness: Special Defenses: Construct Traits Offense- 2 Slam +16(2d6+10 plus Grab), Beam +10(14d4 force, 60ft ranged touch) CMB:+20 (+24 to Grapple) Speed:40ft Special Attacks: Constrict (2d6+15) Feats- Lightning Reflexes, Power Attack (-3/+6), Multiattack, Awesome Blow, Tactician’s Emblem Skills- Perception +8, Sense Motive +7 Spell-like Abilities- Share Memory /at-will Greater Make Whole 1/day Special Qualities- Scrying Focus Ecology- Environment- Any Languages- Common (Can’t speak) Organization- Shepherd (1 Myr Superion, 4-5 Battle Myr) Treasure- None Special Abilities- Myr Shepherding (Su)- Other myr within a superion’s aura of myr shepherding may reroll 1s rolled on damage rolls. This ability does not let them reroll the same roll more than once. Scrying Focus (Ex)- Myr are perfect vessels for scrying on. They get a -5 penalty to saves against spells with the Scrying descriptor, and magical sensors made to scry on a myr and its surroundings get a +5 bonus against rolls to perceive it. Additionally, myr- and any object or creature they are in contact with- are not protected by spells such as Nondetection and Screen.

Superion are the apex of myrkind, hulking behemoths which serve to shepherd myr and perform heavy labor that the average myr’s small frame wouldn’t allow.

(Alpha Myr by Dany Orizio)

Myr, Battle

This small humanoid machine has a head that resembles a heavy bird’s beak and a set of long, razor-thin claws on each hand.

Misc- CR2 LN Small Construct (Myr) HD3 Init:+3 Senses: Perception:+3 Aura: Stats- Str:14(+2) Dex:16(+3) Con:- Int:5(-3) Wis:14(+2) Cha:12(+1) BAB:+3 Space:2.5ft Reach:0ft Defense- HP:26(3d10+10) AC:14(+3 Dexterity, +1 Size) Fort:- Ref:+3 Will:+2 CMD:17 Resist: Immunity: Weakness: Special Defenses: Construct Traits Offense- 2 Claw +3(1d4+2), Beam +5(4d4 Force, 30ft Touch) CMB:+4 Speed:30ft Special Attacks: Feats- Multiattack, Weapon Focus (Claw) Skills- Acrobatics +4, Perception +3 Spell-like Abilities- Share Memory /at-will Make Whole 1/day Special Qualities- Scrying Focus Ecology- Environment- Any Languages- Common (Can’t speak) Organization- Guard (2), Squadron (6) Treasure- Special Abilities- Scrying Focus (Su)- Myr are perfect vessels for scrying on. They get a -5 penalty to saves against spells with the Scrying descriptor, and magical sensors made to scry on a myr and its surroundings get a +5 bonus against rolls to perceive it. Additionally, myr- and any object or creature they are in contact with- are not protected by spells such as Nondetection and Screen.

Battle myr are among the simplest of their kin, basic creatures programmed to detect intruders and protect their designated charges. They are scarily organized in combat and vast in number; scholars of the Plane of Metal worry what may happen if they are brought to the Material Plane.

There are two primary variations on battle myr; the one shown above, which have large claws, and a variation with dextrous hands that has proficiency with all martial weapons. Beyond those variations, there are a number of other similar small myr, such as those with wings, psychic powers, or electric energy.

#soylent original #monsters and races #homebrew #pathfinder #myr #mirrodin #mtg

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boxboxblog · 9 months ago

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Driver Profiles: Esteban Ocon

Updated December 2024

Name: Esteban José Jean-Pierre Ocon-Khelfane

Age: 28

Nationality: French

Years in F1: 8 (Manor 2016, Force India 2017-2018, Renault/Alpine 2020-2024, Haas 2025)

Number: 31

WDCs: N/A

Driving Style: Known as one of the most aggressive drivers on the grid (up there with Magnussen) Ocon is particularly feisty when fighting for positions and overtaking. He balances this aggression with a rather smooth way of driving, and he is the least jerky driver when coming into the apex. He is also well known for strong performances in the wet, pulling out some stellar qualifyings and race results in these difficult conditions. One downside of his style is that this aggression often leads to on-track clashes. He is rather well known for being somewhat reckless, especially in midfield fights.

History:

(Young Ocon, middle, after wining a karting race)

Born into a standard middle class family, Ocon's family actually had to sell their house to afford his professional carting career. He started when he was 6 years old, and lived out of a travelling caravan for most of that time. In 2006 he finished 8th in the Minime class of the French Championship. He won the championship in 2007 and continued his success by winning the Cadet class in 2008. He then spent three years racing in the KF3 category and competed in the Spanish Championship and Italian Open Masters. He won the French KF3 title in 2010 and finished as 2nd in the WSK Euro Series in 2011 behind, behind future F1 WDC Max Verstappen. During this time he attracted F1 attention, being signed to a sister management company to Renault.

(Ocon in the lead during his karting days)

In 2012, Ocon made his debut in single-seaters, taking part in the Eurocup Formula Renault 2.0. He finished 14th, having won a few points scoring positions and one podium. He also participated in a partial campaign in the Formula Renault 2.0 Alps, finishing 7th and achieving two podiums. He remained in the series for 2013, and recorded one pole position and two race wins. He finished the season in 3rd behind future F1 teammate, and rival, Pierre Gasly.

(Ocon during Eurocup Formula Renault days)

Ocon made his debut in F3 during the 2013 season, racing for F3 powerhouse team, PREMA. He continued with them into the 2014 FIA F3 European Championship. He topped the standings at the first round at Silverstone Circuit and remained in the lead of the championship for the rest of the season. With three races left, Ocon clinched the F3 2014 title. He had won nine races and recorded fifteen pole positions. This was one of the most standout seasons of his career, and one that helped ensure a F1 seat later.

(Ocon his F3 championship winning year)

Ocon moved to the GP3 Series for 2015. It was a fantastic year for Ocon, mostly due to his consistantly high results. While he only won one race that season, his regular podium finishes allowed him to win the title that year. The next year he took part in the 2016 DTM season, as well as being a reserve driver for Renault. He was only able to take part in the early season races, as halfway through the year he was pulled up to F1 backmarker team Manor Racing to replace Rio Haryanto.

(Ocon with Manor)

His first season (half season) with Manor was not a standout performance wise, as he never hit points, but it paved the way for Ocon to join Force India for their 2017 season after Manor left F1. His first year with Force India he teamed Sergio Perez and had a relatively solid year. He regularly scored points, even with some high-points finishes, and his highest finish was 5th. That year he experienced significant friction with his teammate (a running theme) and they made contact several times, sometimes resulting in retirements or massive position drops. However, he still had a good year and finished 8th in the championship.

(Ocon and teammate in the 2017 Force Indias)

2018 was a more negative year, as Ocon had a string of bad luck and run-ins with both his teammate and other drivers (memorably a physical altercation with Max Verstappen). He did not finish as high in the points that year, and it was further complicated after Force India went into administration. The team's assets were bought by Lawrence Stroll and it became clear that Ocon would not be returning to Force India for the 2019 season. He did have an informal agreement with Renault for that season, but he was dropped after they signed Daniel Riccardo instead. For the 2019 season, he served as the 2019 season he served as the Mercedes reserve driver.

(Ocon on podium with Lance Stroll)

2020 Ocon finally signed with Renault to partner Riccardo, and had a mixed bag year. He achieved his best result ever and his first podium at the Sakhir GP, but also experienced a lot of mechanical failures during races throughout the year. He ended the season 12th in the championship behind his teammate. 2021 Renault rebranded to Alpine and retained Ocon, now partnering Fernando Alonso. This would be the year Ocon achieved his maiden GP victory at the Hungarian GP. he showed his extreme skill in wet-weather conditions during this race, and solidified himself as a skilled driver in complex weather. The rest of the year was rather normal, as he scored several points finishes. He did match his WDC teammate rather closely, which is a feat.

(Ocon after maiden win)

2022 was a better year with some higher points finishes. He achieved his best championship finish since 2017, ending the season in 8th. 2023 Alonso left Alpine, and he was partnered by childhood rival and fellow Frenchman Pierre Gasly. The two would match each other pretty well, and have similarly middling seasons for both 2023, and 2024 so far. The standout for Ocon's year was a 2nd place finish in Brazil after a stellar drive in teh wet. Toward the end of the season, Ocon was replaced by Jack Doohan for Abu Dhabi. He will be moving to Haas for the 2025 season.

Major Races:

2017 Canadian GP - Ocon's first points finish, he showed he could handle the pressure as a rookie (bar his time with Manor) and showed the first glimpse of the consistent points he would score later.

2017 Mexican GP - A very strong midfield performance from Ocon. He used strong defense against much faster cars and finished the race in 5th place, his highest at the time.

2018 Belgian GP - His most impressive qualifying to date, he was able to achieve a P3 start in extremely wet conditions. One of the earlier indicators of his skill in the wet.

2020 Sakhir GP - Ocon's first podium, he climbed his way up the field from 11th. It was a rather chaotic race, and he kept calm in the face of multiple crashes, safety cars, and pit stop drama.

2021 Hungarian GP - His first victory came in the most chaotic race of 2021. After several frontrunners were taken out by a crash, Ocon battled midfield drivers for the top step, including 4X WDC Sebastian Vettel. His mistake-free race earned him his 1st place finish.

2024 Brazilian GP - An incredible drive from Ocon saw him leading the race for many laps, and by the end secure 2nd right ahead of his teammate. It showed off his great wet weather skills, and was a race to remember.

Cheers,

-B

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 driver profiles #esteban ocon

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symply-sym · 2 years ago

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I'm currently throwing some of my twitter art onto BlueSky and I think some of that I haven't shared here yet either. So have this thing I originally made this for the 31 Days of Apex challenge. Never tagged it as that cause the devs checked in on that so much that i got anxious. Yet the support was so beautiful and a few devs found it anyway and also left some nice words, it really healed my soul oh also, any new art will be glazed. that's just the future we live in now i guess

#apex legends #revenant #pathfinder #revfinder #my art #robot #robots

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linposter · 2 months ago

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Characterization Cheat Sheet | Nameless Rook 🩸

Thank you to @seizethemage-main for the idea!

Rook

Nameless Rook / Stranger / That One

Age: 31 (approx.)

Gender: Non-binary (they/them)

Race: Elf (City)

Faction: Shadow Dragons (formerly)

Skills:

All forms of magic except wild / healing. Limited hand-to-hand combat. Adept at playing piano, knows mostly classical Tevene and some lounge songs, i.e. as performed by Cida Ciconia at the Cobbled Swan. Relatively flexible and well-balanced. Can sleep in small spaces.

Languages:

Trade, Tevene, some Old Tevene, and very little Dalish.

BODY LANGUAGE / PHYSICALITY

General Behaviour:

In most instances, they keep good posture with shoulders pushed back, yet their head is always slightly tilted down. Nameless is generally quite a fidgety person, though they don't like attention being drawn to it so it usually manifests in finger picking / biting, or bouncing their heel and twisting their ankle. They greatly dislike being touched by others, and so usually keep their arms close to their body or in their pockets, and maintain generous personal space. They typically flinch at accidental contact, though won't deliberately push touchy-feely people away.

Flirting:

They don't entertain any blatant flirty behaviour from others, will just be exasperated by it and attempt to leave. To successfully flirt with Nameless, a lot of time would need to be spent letting them warm up (like a cat - lol) before initiating.

Coming from Nameless, the biggest signal would be them initiating casual contact with someone, or being unusually close to them.

With Established Partner:

The casual contact would be constant with an established partner. Arms brushing, a hand on a lower back, even their head resting on their partners shoulders! For all to see! Gasp!

With Friends:

Nameless is likely still not super comfortable being touched by people they'd consider friends, but they would appear visibly more relaxed. Maybe those shoulders would come down from their ears for a few seconds. The one type of contact they would be a bit more relaxed about would be any 'play fighting' -- gentle punches, hair messing, or playful kicking; they may act annoyed by but they're having fun.

In Combat:

Nameless LOVES fade step. They are constantly darting around the battlefield inflicting different AOE effects in every corner. Their main form of damage is necrotic, but only by a hair, as they use elemental magic almost just as much.

Though they do use blood magic as part of their arsenal it's used only rarely to enhance the power of their typical spell rotation, Nameless is not as reckless with it as some assume. In fact, on days after they've used blood magic in battle they have frequent dizzy spells (if the venatori don't get them, the iron deficiency will 😔).

DIALOGUE / SPEAKING

Voice:

In game, Rook uses pitched down Female voice 2 (Erika Iishi my beloved). I could also hear them as Wraith from Apex Legends (Shantel VanSanten), or Sheriff Grayson from Arcane (Shohreh Aghdashloo). Though I do think they have the "sh" lisp that Helen Parr (Holly Hunter) has in The Incredibles.

Humor:

Very dry as most would expect. They respond well to scathing wit, and a well-timed jab. Unless your close with them, its rare to hear Nameless joke. So, it's a bit jarring when they respond to bad news with sarcasm to attempt to lighten the mood.

General:

Nameless doesn't make eye contact much at all. When conversing with people, Yearning and Vengeance are, more often than not, prattling on in their head and it's hard for them to focus on what's being said, so they typically stare off, or at the floor to try and focus. Their voice is generally unemotive, and they don't make a point to invite themself into conversation unless required.

With Authority figures:

Rook doesn't have an issue with Authority figures, but they do believe respect is earned not owed. They responded negatively to the First Warden and Shathann, but with Viper, Isabela, Caterina, and the Inquisitor, they are more likely to trust an order from them with little question.

With Friends:

Nameless is a lot less filtered around people they trust. Where normally they're quite tight-lipped, trying to keep impulses from (usually) Venegeance at bay, around friends they don't need to put in as much effort to quell them as Yearning is more present while around friends.

A curious heart, Nameless isn't ashamed to ask strange questions about things they couldn't find out in books. "Taash, can you smell when people are pregnant?" (The rumors were WILD that day.)

With Partner:

At the level in which Nameless would trust their partner, Yearning would have a lot of influence over them, resulting in them being much more soft-spoken. Their voice would move from their chest to their throat, and though they're unlikely to use pet names, they will more willingly accept any directed at them.

Anger:

It takes a LOT to get Nameless to snap. Letting themself get angry would give in to Vengeance and hand over control, so they keep a very tight lid on it. Which has been difficult as they are prone to anger with a lot of sore spots to press. They may toss out a snarky comment from time to time, but seeing them visibly angry is a rarity.

Cursing:

Nameless doesn't curse very much, but they do toss them out on occassion. They're not a tool of aggression for them, they don't cuss in anger or pain, typically just using them to emphasise a point.

"You smell like shit." / "I don't want to know how many ways we are fucked right now, I want solutions."

#dragon age #oc #nameless rook #datv #dragon age veilguard #writing #character cheat sheet

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catkyunie · 2 years ago

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The Flicker of A Flame ♡

Happy Mingi Month Day 2 of 31 ✧˖°.

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: After passing away in a fatal accident, your ghost lingers. Watching as Mingi falls apart at the seams, you do everything you can to try and reconnect and help your beloved remember what it means to live.

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: song mingi x fem!reader

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: a whole bunch of angst

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): car accident, ghost reader, reader death, established relationship, anxiety, depression, grief, alcohol consumption (if I missed any please let me know!)

𝚠𝚌: 4.1k

What surprised you the most about dying was how weightless you felt. That's the thing with death; no one can ever really know what to expect when that moment happens because no one ever truly returns. This wasn’t a case of seeing any light at the end of a tunnel or having a reel of your entire life play out for you in a moment that seemed to last an eternity. This was instantaneous. One moment you were alive, breathing, anchored down by the weight of Mingi’s hand on your thigh. The next, you were gone, snuffed out as quickly as a candle flame. In a blink, you went from basking in the warm afterglow of an evening with your beloved to the incredible expanse of space that left you levitating in what felt like the deepest pool of water with no beginning or end. There was no pain or clear memory of what had happened. Flashes of light quickly played behind your vision, and you could hear the scrape of metal on metal. And then, with another blink, you were standing in the middle of an intersection.

An accident had left both cars mangled and fusing into an amalgamation of twisted and gnarled steel. Pedestrians had begun to gather on either side of the street, some vehicles stopping to assess the damage, far-off voices calling out to anyone who may have survived. In the distance, you could hear the wail of sirens as they closed in on the scene. Try as you might to peel your eyes away from the tragedy, despite the confusion and terror that seeped into your bones and rooted itself at the base of your spine, a detail kept you transfixed. The car that had received the brunt of the impact was the same make, model, and color as…

That’s when you heard it. What played the most clearly for you, like the chime of a bell down an empty hall, was Mingi’s scream. It rang and reverberated in your bones, penetrating your very spirit. You had never heard that sound come from him. And the only thing he repeatedly howled into the apex of the fused vehicles was your name. Over and over and over, he called for you, each iteration of your name becoming more desperate and helpless than the last. Finally, you peeled your eyes from the accident scene and looked down into the palms of your hands. The appendages felt alien to you as you watched the way they trembled like leaves in the wind, here yet not entirely. You knew with certainty that they were your hands as you turned them over, your eyes landing on and fixing themselves to the ring that adorned your left hand. That’s right. You and Mingi had been on your way home after a team dinner, which he had orchestrated under the guise of business to assemble your closest friends and members to ask you to be his bride.

No. No, no, this couldn’t be right. This had to be a dream. There was no way. You felt your body begin to move before you were even sure of where it was going, your voice passing through your lips like a whisper. You were stumbling your way to Mingi, his wails of panic still just as gut-wrenching and blood-curdling. He was being pulled from the wreckage as you approached, the firemen trying their best to calm your partner’s panic while also attempting to restrain him, informing him that the more he fought them, the more he could exacerbate his injuries or even spring new ones. But Mingi was in blind hysteria, his eyes never leaving the passenger seat, a mixture of blood and fresh, hot tears contorting and twisting his face into the very definition of pain.

“Mingki, jagi, please, I’m right here! Look, I’m fine!” you babbled, in desperate spurts, your hands reaching for him.

You needed him to see, to understand. It was a dream. He had to wake up. Stepping to his side, then, you made the mistake of following the line of his vision and was greeted with the source of the mania he had become so lost in. In a mess of flesh and steel, your head lulled over on one shoulder, eyes sparkling with tears and happiness only an hour before, now lifeless and cold. While the scene itself wasn’t necessarily gruesome, it was the hollow expression that colored your features, the pale stretch of skin over your cheeks that were usually so vibrant and brightly colored, that genuinely sealed your fate. This wasn’t a dream. This was very much real. There, in that intersection, somewhere on the streets of Seoul, you had died. And so did Mingi.

____________________________________________________________

The first two weeks were the hardest. Having Mingi within arms reach, extending a hand and running your knuckles over his, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his muscled back, and feeling his heartbeat, yet knowing he could feel none of it. The methods in which your physical touch had comforted him prior were now doing nothing. It left you feeling hopeless. There had been a few instances where he would respond to your touch, a subtle turn of the head, or a questioning gaze that lingered too long on your general direction to be a coincidence. But, each time you felt your chest blossom with the silent wish that you had made that connection, he’d simply turn away from you and fall back into his stupor.

That was the hardest. Death, in comparison, had been like the dream you had so desperately wished it to be. The death of drive, motivation, and will of your partner made it real. Seeing how he sunk in on himself and became a shell of the man you envisioned spending your life with hurt the most. Immediately following your death and with the guidance of his manager, Hongjoong, Mingi went on an indefinite leave of absence from their company. The only time he ever left the house was when he was left with scraps of food, and even then, that was only after his team members and best friends had stopped frequenting your home with delivery and takeout. At least once a week, someone from the team would come by to check on him, usually either Yunho or San, and sit with him. Words were rarely ever exchanged. It was mostly extended periods of silence with the occasional break in the form of your friends commenting on their current business proposals or the change in weather. Only once had they made the unforeseen mistake of mentioning you.

It was a few weeks following the accident. San and Wooyoung had both visited, bringing over beer and soju. It was the first time that Mingi had done more than sit idly on the sofa, tea going cold in his hands as he stared at his reflection in the strained liquid. He was engaging, albeit quietly, and had said more than hello and goodbye. As the night continued, with more booze being introduced into everyone’s system, Wooyoung had chosen to break the silence with a thought.

“You guys remember that one night we had taken y/n out for her promotion within the company?” he mused, eyes transfixed on the last sip of alcohol that he swished lazily at the bottom of his glass. San’s eyes immediately shifted to Wooyoung, observing him and listening closely as the younger of the two continued. “She had maybe two drinks and was already flushed and giggling at every stupid joke we told. Even the bad ones.”

“Woo…” San spoke cautiously, his gaze now jumping between the two men seated on either side of him.

“Even you don’t get drunk that quickly, Sannie.” Wooyoung laughed, throwing his drink back and finishing it with a quick gulp. “I’m convinced she played all of us for a fool at the team dinners and took water shots instead of soju.”

San reached around Wooyoung then, feeling the tension as it began building in the room, his hand finding and pulling the bottle of booze away from Woo’s reach.

“Alright, buddy, I think you might have had enough–”

“You remember, don’t you, hyung?” Wooyoung said quietly.

A beat of silence permeated the room before he continued, eyes glassed over and lost in a memory. “She clung to every word we said. You could’ve told her you hung the moon, and she’d have believed you.” He turned his attention to Mingi, who had gone quiet, head lulled forward and lost at the bottom of his glass. “Then again, y/n didn’t need to be tipsy to believe that. She loved us fiercely, even when I felt we didn’t deserve it.” You had watched from Mingi’s side, your hands clinging desperately to his own, tears stinging your eyes and threatening to spill forward. What Woo said next, though, caused the thread to snap.

“But that was nothing compared to how much she loved you, Mingki.”

Slowly, Mingi set his drink down on the table and rose from his seated position on the floor. With a stiff bow, he thanked San and Wooyoung for the company and drinks and exited the main room. Sidestepping into your bedroom, he slammed the door behind him with enough force to shake the picture frames hanging along the walls. Without a word, San gathered up Wooyoung, whose cheeks were now stained with tears, and they saw their way out. You followed closely behind them, choking on your sob, wanting so desperately for them to understand how much their friendship had meant to you, how much it still meant to you. The exchange between them as they put on their shoes and shuffled out of the door stopped you dead in your tracks.

“I’m sorry, Sannie. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know, jagiya.”

“I miss him. I miss her. It feels like we’re mourning both of them.”

As San helped Wooyoung with his shoe ties, he thought carefully about his following words before speaking them out into the space between them. “That’s because we are, Woo.”

Mingi stopped accepting visitors shortly after that.

____________________________________________________________

The weeks had bled into months, the seasons changing and soon sweeping out the hot weather and introducing the cold. And with the warmer days went your confidence that you’d ever be able to bridge that invisible limbo between you and Mingi. Every night you had curled up beside him, holding him as best as your phantom limbs would allow, clinging to him and the life eddying out of him increasingly with each passing day. Admittedly, some days were better than others, especially when he resumed working with Hongjoong and the team. Any mention of you or your time with them was left strictly to quiet conversations amongst the men, clear of earshot from Mingi, which seemed to serve him just fine. He was falling back into his routine, pouring most of his time into his continued work and finding ways to keep himself busy when he didn’t have a project he was overseeing. He had started to spend more and more of his free time with the guys, once again opting into team dinners and evenings spent at someone’s home with drinks and games. But, despite the leaps and strides he made to appear as ‘normal’ and put together as he could, there were still times that the mask would falter, and he’d find himself breaking down and coming apart at the seams. It could be something as small as the smell of a woman’s perfume that he passed on the sidewalk, the brand reminiscent of the scent you favored, or the sound of a voice across the restaurant close enough to your timbre to have him snapping his neck with expectancy. While everyone noted and played into the charade that Mingi had painted for himself, every one of you knew that, eventually, the facade wouldn’t be enough to keep him together. He still refused to talk about the accident, let alone mention your name. And every night, once the quiet had settled over him and he was left alone with an empty apartment and his thoughts, he would still cry himself to sleep, clinging to the pillow that had long lost your scent. But, unbeknownst to you, and even Mingi, the falling of the year’s first snow would bring the pivotal turning point in his story.

It was late October, a week before Halloween, and the members had decided to celebrate the end of another work week with drinks and budae jjigae at Hongjoong’s apartment. Mingi had been tasked with collecting the ingredients needed for the hotpot, as he would be the first one leaving the office for the evening. Begrudgingly, he had agreed and bundled up accordingly before grabbing his suitcase, and the scribbled list Wooyoung had put together. The walk from the office to the supermarket was relatively short, but the time he would spend collecting the food needed for the evening would give the others time to reconvene at Joong’s place.

It was as typical an afternoon as any. Your new normal had consisted of following closely behind Mingi, amiably existing in his space as he went about his day-to-day tasks. You had long given up on the idea of him ever being able to see or feel you and, in doing so, had allowed yourself to be content with the opportunity to simply be an apparition that tagged along and watched over him. Stepping into the market with a quick bow to the attendant at the door, you walked beside him, arm crossed delicately around his, as he began pursuing the shelves and filling the small basket he had acquired. It wasn’t long before Mingi wandered into the produce aisle, bent at the waist and closely inspecting the quality and prices of the enoki and king oyster mushrooms they would need for the hotpot. As he did so, you looked around at the sea of people as they shopped. While most wore masks and weren’t necessarily decipherable from one face to the next, one woman, in particular, had caught your eye. Her stature was similar to yours, and she wore her hair long and down, bangs curtaining her face in a way that you found lovely. Absently, you reached up to your bangs and quickly fixed them, though you knew it would matter to no one but you. It wasn’t until she turned towards you and Mingi that you felt your heart drop to your feet, your fingers midstroke across your forehead. Mingi had corrected his spine then and had turned to face out into the store, and his eyes still focused on the pack of mushrooms he had selected when a quiet voice called out timidly, “Song Mingi?”

Instantly, his head whipped up in response to his name, and it was at that moment that you knew he had recognized the young woman that stood before you. A shy smile played at the corners of her mouth as she bent forward in respect, her hands gripping the basket she held between her fingers tightly. As she corrected herself, a quick flick of her chin caused her hair to fall away from her face as she said affably, “It’s been a long time.”

You could only watch in awe as Mingi bent at the waist and returned the bow, the tremor in his hand not passing your detection. Nodding as he stood straight, he quickly threw the pack of Enoki into his basket before responding with a clear throat, “Yes, it has. How, uh…how have you been? Are Omma and Appa doing well?”

“I’ve been well, thank you. And yes, they’re in good health. They’ve already started preparing for Christmas if you can believe that.”

With a chuckle, Mingi replied,” That doesn’t surprise me.”

There was a pause of awkward silence that filled the space before the young woman dared to take a step forward, her dark eyes cautious as she continued. “Have you been well?”

With a quick shrug of the shoulders, Mingi pulled his attention away from the woman and began scouring the shoppers. You could sense from his body language and the way his eyes darted that he was looking for an out, for any excuse to escape and avoid this conversation.

“As well as I can be,” he said simply.

“I see. And the members?”

“They’re in good health.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

You could feel the tension as it teetered on the edge, knowing and anticipating where the conversation led. He couldn’t run from it. Not this time.

“We’ve been trying to get in touch with you. With the holidays approaching, we wanted to extend an invitation for when we visit y/n’s gravesite.”

And there it was, the shoe you had been waiting to drop. You watched as Mingi swallowed down the anxiety you knew had been bubbling and building in his chest. It was one thing to avoid and sidestep conversations with the members and their shared friends. It was another to evade your older sister.

Bringing a trembling hand to the back of his neck, Mingi averted his eyes and chose instead to take a particular interest in his shoes, doing whatever he could to avoid the kind gaze of your sister. “My apologies, Noona. It’s not long since I’ve returned to the office, and Hongjoong hasn’t given me any real room to breathe with the projects we have coming up.”

A nod in understanding, followed by,” I understand. It must be challenging to balance everything now with what you’ve been through.”

“Yes…it has been.”

Another beat of silence passed between them before your sister’s shuffling drew your attention away from Mingi. You watched the bag over her shoulder as your sister retrieved a small tea candle pack and extended it to your partner.

“Omma poured these for us to burn for y/n over the holidays. She had poured you a set, as well. Take these, in case you aren’t able to make it.”

Pulling his eyes from the ground and finally meeting the sympathetic gaze of your sibling, Mingi’s brown eyes flitted to the pack of hand-poured candles she held outstretched to him. You stood with bated breath, your hands tangling in and fisting the cardigan that hung loosely at your sides. You knew the weight those small tea candles held for you and Mingi. Accepting this kindness would mean accepting what had happened. It would squarely place him face to face with the reality that he had spent these months so desperately trying to escape, even though it followed him in every aspect of his life. The reality that you weren’t coming home. That this would be his first Christmas without you. You weren’t there to comfort him after a hard day at work or on the nights when his anxiety had reached a particularly cataclysmic point. You weren’t there to join him and his brothers for nights of drinking and reminiscing, to laugh at their poorly times jokes. He could no longer outrun a past that included you. He had to face the present and accept that he had had a life with you. And that that chapter had ended.

Reaching forward, Mingi took hold of those small candles and finally allowed the tears to break the well that had been collecting. He didn’t try to swipe them away or hide his vulnerability or pain at that moment. In the middle of that grocery store, face to face with the young woman that so closely resembled you, he accepted her kindness and allowed himself to feel the heaviness of it. Clutching the candles tightly to his chest, Mingi bent at the waist in a deep bow.

“Thank you, Noona…”

___________________________________________________________

Mingi didn’t utter a word of his meeting with your sister to the boys as they progressed with their evening. As usual, he went about their time together, enjoying drinks and laughs with everyone as they gathered around the table to enjoy their dinner. There was a palpable difference in how his body moved, his limbs looser and his laugh more vibrant than they had remembered hearing it in recent weeks. None of them commented on the change, though, and reveled in the refreshed version of their brother that they had been blessed with. As the evening drug on, Yeosang and San stared out over the glittering lights of Seoul while the others took their respective turns on whatever game they had loaded up. It was then that the oldest of the two stepped forward and pulled open the sliding door of the balcony, Yeosang’s voice light as he exclaimed,” Looks like we get snow early this year.”

At the mention of snowfall, heads flicked over to the pair, Jongho and Yunho abandoning their places on the floor to join San and Yeosong out on the balcony. Eventually, all but Hongjoong and Mingi had assembled on the deck and sipped from their drinks, taking in the sight and simply choosing to exist in the moment. Your head rested easily against Mingi’s shoulder as you watched on, a content smile playing at the corners of your mouth when you heard Hongjoong speak from your partner’s other side.

“Maybe this is a sign of good fortune to come.”

Mingi was quiet as he looked on and simply nodded in agreement as he watched his brothers sling arms over one another, Wooyoung sticking his tongue out to attempt to catch a snowflake or two. You felt him shift beneath you shortly after that, adjusting your body into a seated position as you watched him reach around the table for his bag. Digging into the depths of it, your breath caught as he pulled forward your mother’s tea candles. Joong watched him now, not daring to speak as Mingi turned the packed candles over in his hands a few times, contemplating them. Standing then and stepping into the kitchen, Hongjoong returned with a small pack of matches and an extra glass and set them softly on the coffee table. It was an offering he would not push his brother to take but one he felt the need to extend.

After another beat, Mingi carefully peeled the plastic away from the first candle and set it on the table. Reaching for the box of matches, he quickly struck the wooden stick against the side of the box and watched as the fire licked to life and cast shadows over the planes of his face. By this point, everyone had turned their attention to the young man, the excitement of the snow paling compared to what they were witnessing. Carefully, Mingi navigated the tiny flame to the wick of the candle and waited for it to catch fire before pulling it away and flicking his wrist to extinguish it. He reached for the open bottle of soju to his right, pouring a shot into the empty glass and waiting. A moment of reflection, you realized, as all eight men watched that tiny flame dance along the candle's surface, the booze in the glass catching and refracting light back as it glittered over the table.

To your surprise, Mingi was the first to break his silence as he lifted his glass in a toast, the lining of his eyes burning with a molten shimmer as he breathed the words you had silently wished for.

“To y/n.”

“To y/n,” they all parroted in quiet unison, tipping their glasses back and finishing their drinks.

The remainder of the evening felt like it had been pulled directly from your memories. Direct references to times you drank together, each of them taking their time to laugh, cry, and remember the bonds you had forged with each of them individually. You realized then, as you found yourself lost in the sounds of their friendship, your eyes only leaving that tiny flicker of a flame to gaze at the face of your beloved contentedly, that it wasn’t up to you to reconnect with your betrothed or even the brothers that sat around him. The connection had never been severed. It had simply been tangled along the way. Their patience and guidance and a single act of genuine kindness are what it took for him to find his way again. Finding himself at a crossroads and choosing to walk the path you had forged together, even if it now meant having to traverse it alone. As you leaned into Mingi’s side again, the flicker from the candle dancing behind the deep color of your eyes, you silently agreed with the sentiment Hongjoong had stated before. This was a sign of good fortune and much more fortune to come.

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: Hello everyone! Day 2 has defintely taken a deatour from the fluff I introduced in Day 1 but I am very pleased with the structure and how this one-shot came together. I hope you enjoy and I’ll see you tomorrow with more fluff and happy Mingki! this particular fic has not been proofread✧˖°.

#song mingi x reader #song mingi x y/n #song mingi #song mingi one shot #mingi x reader #mingi x y/n #song mingi angst #mingi angst #paige writes #ateez #ateez fic #ateez one shot #mingi one shot #mingi #happy mingi month #catkyunie fic

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kevandberniceincanada · 10 months ago

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After that we went to The Northern Lights Wildlife Wolf Centre. There are 7 wolves at the centre of various ages, and all have been rescued from zoos or orphaned, so would not have survived in the wild. There was a 25 min presentation on all things wolfish which was interesting. There was an interesting bit on how wolves keep the balance of eco systems in check being an apex predator. They predominantly eat anything that has horns, bison, elk moose, deer etc. They usually prey on the weak, elderly and injured and by doing so they actually increase the strength and genes of those remaining. Yellowstone National Park had a problem in the 1950's where hunting had been allowed and the wolves had all been killed off. This in turn meant that the significant increase in the animals they preyed on affected the whole ecosystem. They ate all the vegetation, became genetically weaker and affected things like wetlands, beavers, plant species etc and the whole area was in decline. This was identified by a guy around 1950 who reported his findings to the Government. They duly ignored it until 1995 when things had got even worse. They obtained 31 wolves from the Canadian Government, reintroduced them to Yellowstone and within 6 years the whole ecosystem had turned around, and the wolf population has now increased to around 350.

Great a success story there.

Now move onto Canada and the present day. The Rockies are located in Alberta and British Columbia and guess what, the Wolf population is in serious decline due to their hunting being allowed uncontrolled. Why, because the caribou, moose and elk populations are also in decline and the powers that be blame the wolves. Also the ecosystem is starting to go the way of Yellowstone.

Now the biggest industry in western Canada is logging and the biggest and oldest trees make best lumber. The problem is that lichen, which takes 10's or 100's of years to grow on trees in any quantity, grows on trees and caribou moose and elk eat lichen. By cutting down all the older larger trees their food supply has been signicantly reduced, hence their decline in numbers. The government blame the wolves so allows hunting of them. Has the moose et population started to increase? No, numbers are still in decline but the Goverment fails to accept evidence that the uncontrolled hunting of wolves, and their decrease in numbers is not the problem. Also to ban or limit logging in the affected area is unthinkable due to the financial cost and lobbying of the industry.

Yellowstone all over again, but 100 years later!!!

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mariacallous · 2 years ago

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From Tumblr to Gawker, the sites and voices that defined the 2010s are gone or changed. There is no happy ending to this story.

The millennial internet first died in 2015.

I remember the day exactly because I was one of seven staffers, in addition to many more permalancers, at Gawker Media who were laid off as part of a company-wide restructuring. I received a message on Slack, was asked to join a meeting in a nearby conference room, told that today, November 17, was my last day working for Gawker, and by the time I returned to my desk all of my accounts were disabled. For the company to “optimize and sharpen all the sites going forward,” executive editor John Cook explained in a memo—sites that also included Jezebel, Deadspin, Lifehacker, and Gizmodo—“shifting personnel” was necessary.

In truth, I’d lasted much longer than I ever expected to. In my 18 months as a senior editor, I commissioned more than 150 stories and published young writers like Vann Newkirk II, P. E. Moskowitz, Donovan X. Ramsey, and Josie Duffy. When people ask me what it was like to work at Gawker, notorious for its sometimes unrealistic traffic demands on staffers, my answer is always the same: “I had no road map. I threw things at the wall to see what stuck.”

My directive was to help expand the voice of the site, so I intentionally cast a wide net. I tasked writers—people like me who never once considered that their work could be published on Gawker—to report on topics ranging from the rise of suburban poverty and the shady business of secondary policing to workplace racism, gentrification, interracial dating, and the joys of eating ass.

Gawker, like every other media company trying to survive this next internet evolution, was chasing virality. Good stories mattered, but numbers mattered just as much. The popularity of the stories I commissioned was never an exact science. Some did exceedingly well for obvious reasons—“Tinder Is Full of Robot Prostitutes” (198,000 visitors); “What Serial Gets Wrong” (296,000); “Why I Pee Sitting Down” (110,000)—while other stories bombed for reasons I still can’t make sense of.

But there was no sense to be made of the moment we found ourselves in. The internet was undergoing a rare metamorphosis. Facebook, Twitter, and the introduction of social media had completely reengineered business models. Everything, as Nicholas Carr has suggested about the pinballing effect of social media, was being uprooted. “Radically biased toward space and against time, social media is inherently destabilizing,” he wrote in 2018. “What it teaches us, through its whirlwind of fleeting messages, is that nothing lasts. Everything is disposable. Novelty rules.”

BuzzFeed knew a thing or two about novelty. It was also trying to understand how to seize the attention of a mass audience. Unlike Gawker or HuffPost, BuzzFeed took a much more wholesale approach to gaming traffic. Steered by CEO Jonah Peretti, it implemented a medley of quizzes, Twitter recaps, listicles, news stories, and long-form investigations as its bread and butter. For a time, BuzzFeed was the apex of internet production. Remember the dress? Elsewhere, sites like The Awl and The Hairpin platformed newbie writers—Lauren Michele Jackson, Vinson Cunningham, Bryan Washington—with a renegade interest in pop culture. Before I had the great fortune of working with him at Gawker, I obsessively read Tom Scocca’s weather reviews with a mix of anticipation and private glee.

The second time the millennial internet died, when The Awl shut its doors for good on January 31, 2018, I remember thinking how Scocca had captured the sentiment of the millennial web and the era it birthed perfectly: “Every fugitive bit of light might be the last one.” Because that’s how it felt to create, work, and waste time on the internet of the 2010s. It was one big secret that all of us were in on, having fun as we remade digital media in a way that felt true to us, never knowing if tomorrow the light we illuminated with the stories we blogged would be the last.

I was able to make a home and a career on the internet because sites like Grantland, Okayplayer, and Jezebel gave me license as a writer and thinker. They validated my weirdness as much as they challenged my ways of thinking around gender politics, movies, sports, and identity. Stumbling on responses by Greg Tate in the Okayplayer message boards was its own masterclass in music and political theory. Before that, blogs like Crunk & Disorderly, The Cynical Ones, and FreeDarko showed me how sweeping this territory we called the internet was. They were proof that a single voice could take up space in a unique and original tone.

My internet, the millennial internet, was a province of play and possibility. Of course, it’s mostly all gone now. The trend toward consolidation is near complete. There is no happy ending to this story. Journalists, editors, and media makers of all sorts are losing jobs. This year seemed especially cruel to those of us who make a living in this fickle industry. Independent media is a dwindling business model, a fate ominously true for niche publications with an outsider’s eye.

The millennial internet died, perhaps for the final time, in April, when BuzzFeed News closed shop. A week later, Traffic—a book by former editor-in-chief Ben Smith, about the mad dash to reinvent digital media during this specific period—was published to enthusiastic reviews, its release bookmarking the end to a decade colored by omnivorous virality. By late fall, Vice downsized, Okayplayer fired its entire editorial staff, pivoting to god knows what, and Jezebel, the pioneering feminist site, was forced to shut down. (It was acquired by Paste in late November, saving it from an early death.) According to a recent employment analysis, the news media sector lost more jobs this year than it did across 2022 and 2021 combined.

The 2010s serendipitously coincided with the mainstreaming of social media. Tumblr, Twitter, and Vine broadened the reach of communication, amplifying a generation of voices that otherwise would have gone unheard. These platforms were the engine of creativity before everything was pimped out and recast as sponsored content. That’s all changed. This year, Tumblr announced plans to significantly curb its operations. Under the ownership of Elon Musk, Twitter, rebranded as X, has decayed into a petri dish of misinformation and harassment, inciting an exodus from the platform. As for Vine, which discontinued in 2017, TikTok has taken its place though it hasn’t quite replicated its hypnotic charm.

You’re probably wondering how we got here. How all of this happened. Don’t. It’s a fool’s errand in a time of spectacular fools, crooks, and private equity monsters. My internet is dying. It’s been dying for some time. Everything I knew about it will soon vanish, its histories regurgitated via 30-second TikTok videos shared in group chats, eulogized annually in the cocoon of darkened movie theaters, where tickets run $30.

The contours of the digital era are receding. So much of what I loved is gone or changed, its parts sold for scraps. Why and how it had to be like this, I will never know. Greed and mismanagement seem too cheap an answer even though I know it is one of them.

What is also true is how new technologies jockey to replace old ones. It’s how the game works. Radio killed newspapers. TV killed radio. The internet killed them all. That’s how the narrative goes, anyway. Today, as text-based tech fades into the hipster denim of the 2010s, video and audio reign dominant. That is, until it’s time to pivot to the next shiny thing. We like what we like until we’re told to like something new.

Gawker shut down, for the second time, in February. When it happened, I was reminded of what John Cook wrote in his memo the day I got let go. Gawker was pivoting to politics with a mandate to “hump the campaign” (LOL). The plan failed, but not because of the writers and editors who stayed, or management’s course correction (though that was also a doomed enterprise). Hilary Clinton lost the election. Donald Trump won. Reality blurred into vulgar theater. Theater so vulgar and unbelievable we’re still reeling from it.

Before it was shot dead, in 2016, Gawker failed the way most digital media properties of the millennial internet failed: by trying to fathom, and build a business model around, something that is unfathomable—the way the internet works. Nick Denton, Gawker’s muckraking founder, couldn’t hack it. Neither could Jonah Peretti. In truth, no one can. Today I find solace in that atom of unpredictability. It’s the one lesson I’ve carried with me since that day.

None of us have it figured out. We never will. Onward.

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peridotglimmer · 2 years ago

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Kinktober 2023 Masterpost

31 ficlets with 31 different ships

The full series can be found here!

Day 1: Collars - False/Cleo (Hermitcraft) | Decoration

Day 2: Clothed Sex - Diana/47 (Hitman) | Close Quarters

Day 3: Choking - Wyatt/Emma (Timeless) | Insufferable

Day 4: Desk Sex - Cameron/House (House M.D.) | By Reason of Insanity

Day 5: Bathing - Chloe/Nadine (Uncharted) | Reën in die Klein Karoo

Day 6: Pegging - Evil X/Cleo (Hermitcraft) | Repent

Day 7: Praise Kink - Evie/Élise (AC: Syndicate & AC: Unity) | Rules

Day 8: Lingerie - Bridget/Vera (Wentworth) | Coming Home to You

Day 9: Wall Sex - Beckett/Castle (Castle) | Blame It on the Hormones

Day 10: Coming Untouched - Pia Douwes/Uwe Kröger (Musical Theatre RPF) | Transition #1 [Note: written in German!]

Day 11: Breeding Kink - False/Pearl/Cleo (Hermitcraft) | When You Came In (The Air Went Out)

Day 12: Blow Jobs - Peyton/Blaine (iZombie) | Silence Is Golden

Day 13: Sixty-Nine - Loba/Valkyrie (Apex Legends) | Attention Management

Day 14: Ropes - Mirage/Wraith (Apex Legends) | Scout's Honour

Day 15: Voyeurism - Etho/Cleo (Limited Life SMP) | Respite

Day 16: Mirror Sex - Diana/Lucas (Hitman) | Change of Scenery

Day 17: Forced Orgasms - Xisuma/Keralis (Hermitcraft) | Entertainment

Day 18: Multiple Orgasms - False/Everyone (Hermitcraft) | for the sake of good times

Day 19: Stripping - Addison/Callie (Grey's Anatomy) | Sharing Is Caring

Day 20: Frottage - Becky/Felicity (Hidden Agenda) | Alive

Day 21: Somnophilia - House/Cuddy (House M.D.) | Good Morning Sunshine

#kinktober 2023 #kinktober #belle writes #31 ficlets with 31 different ships

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deathsdormantdaughter · 2 years ago

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Projects We Love on Kickstarter (meaning they've been backed with our editor's own money, and we would hate to see them go goal unmet or unfunded...)

Posted 12/31/23

Literature Projects:

The Apex Cycle Audiobook Kickstarter completes in 9 days (01/9/24) and is less than half-way to its 5000-dollar goal; but if even just 250 people donated ten dollars or more it could meet its goal, no problemo, so even if you can't donate the cash--spreading it around Tumblr would be sure to catch the eye of a few somebodies who love sci-fi, audiobooks, and young adult trilogies...

Film Projects:

This is a short film project about the struggles of young love and fast paced romance in urban Shanghai--the clips I saw are already sooo beautiful and powerful and I love it so very much--it only has 201$ as of typing this--but I think it deserves all the love--it is such a potentially impactful piece, especially on the young adult/new adult audience it is aiming for--it only has 6 days (01/7/24) but it would only take 250 people pledging 10 dollars each to reach its funding goal.

So, this film speaks closely to the heart of many young people's experiences in education in urban centers and the differences of the often, very conservative, rural areas where they grew up. I think it is an evocative and sharp narrative that deserves to be explored--the film is only about 100 dollars from being fully funded (the campaign ends 01/16/24)--so just ten people with ten dollars can make this a reality. As always spreading the message around Tumblr can help so very very much..

This film touches on mental health, aging, motherhood, mother/daughter relationships and the stress, grief, and emotion of caretaking for a loved one who isn't who you remember them as. It also tackles the questions of care for mental health and depression in a uniquely Southern Asian way--the filmmaker makes it clear that she wants to explore this part of her and her mother's culture with respect and clarity. This is an incredibly personal and profound look into the filmmaker's life, and I know something this special only comes along ever once in a good while--it needs quite a bit of cash to get funded--but 4000 with ten dollars could do it--we just gotta find those 4000 people who are interested in seeing it happen; this could be a beautiful thing--truly. (This Kickstarter ends on 02/02/24)

Sister Anna is a film for all those romantics out there who also love period dramas and tense family dynamics--probably appealing to those who love Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and Romeo and Juliet. This is a broody short film meant to capture the tension of being beholden to one person or another. With a seemingly impossible situation to make it through--this film sings with intensity. Again, it needs a bit of money, about 1000 dollars, but that's just, you guessed it 100 people with ten dollars; surely those somebodies are floating in the ether of Tumblr and beyond somehow. This campaign ends (01/16/23)

A highly philosophical film looking at Ernest Becker's idea of why humans do what they do and how it ties into his Pulitzer Prize winning book THE DENIAL OF DEATH--this film ponders what human deception could lead or is the source of in the modern virtual age--what does it mean to be human now, when deception and denial are so easily accessible to us? Personally, I am fascinated by this question. I love philosphy--I think a lot of other people on this sight do too--hopefully we can find them out there because this project needs 2000 with ten dollars to achieves its goal. The window for backing closes in ten days on 01/10/24.

A unique look at the division within former Yugoslavia and it's struggles with both fascist and communist ideals--and it means specifically for a complicated and controversial monument; the documentary is not about blame but more about the struggle to save this important historical icon. It needs about 2600 people with ten dollars to get fully funded, but I think there is enough interest in history and soviet/fascist ideological fall-out/consequences to reach those people on Tumblr and beyond to where ever you all see fit to share it; please talk to your friends about all the projects on this list--they are so so so important for the arts and the expansion humanity's understanding of itself and where it came from. The end date for this film's campaign is 02/04/24.

Farewell is a story about what it means to be heartbroken, bereaved, and what it is to dig up the past in order to work through the present. The directors, writers, and crew are all very interested in presenting a relationship of tenderness between male friends in a distinct defiance of the ideals of modern masculinity which shies away from these moments in media and literature. I for one think allowing tenderness as a possibility is frankly a beautiful cause. This needs 500 backers with ten dollars--surely somewhere out on the internet they exist. Please donate if you can, please share if you can't. It can make a huge difference in some young creatives' careers. Campaign ends 01/8/24.

A tense and thrilling psychological horror which present the tense and ever vigilante question in a young person's mind in the modern age--are we ever safe with the people we decided to trust our lives to? Is dating ever a safe bet? Can ever really know what another person is capable of? These are age old questions which have tantalized the mind of philosophers, horror directors, writers, and actors alike. This film needs 400 backers with ten dollars each to make--it presents such a fascinating and exciting take on an ancient question--when should we trust our intuition and our fear and when should we rationalize our way out of it? --it would break my heart if this wasn't funded; it really would. Campaign closes 01/16/23.

A story about what it means to define oneself and one's relationship when the boundaries are secret even from one's own internal and external senses of self--this story takes a look at two queer young men's relationship with one another and what it means to be in a relationship and outside of it at the same time. It is definitely gonna hit a nerve with many queer people and what it means to be undefinable.

{A little aside here: I am so excited for this project and hope to be credited as a producer--which would just be so fucking cool as a kid from bumfucknowhere TX (who went through queer conversion therapy and the works as a teen and beyond) to be a producer on a queer film would just make my little tomboi's heart sing; I might even cry--never mind it's not about me; the point is this seems so poignant and powerful and I just want a story like this told and I just want to be a small piece of that story to be possible because of me and because of people like me out there in the interwebs. }

It only needs 150 backers with ten dollars to be fully funded and good God what a gift that would be. Campaign closes 01/23/34.

I am so sorry that it is so long, it took me all day to work on it and to gather up the goodies and the links and write these descriptions and I did it because I care so much about these projects so please please share it as many times in as many places as you possibly can.

Lots of love--

B.A. O'Connell (they/them)

Editor of Death's Dormant Daughter

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