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sirfrogsworth · 10 months

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I posted the below on my Facebook. I am secretly trying to head things off at the pass. Every time people see pictures of me out and about, they think I have been magically cured or my health status has improved. And I know going to Florida is going to give people that impression.

But also, I just wish a few of my relatives could understand my situation better. And why I didn't come to Christmas. And why I might try to come to Christmas now.

I guess I'll see how this goes.

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One of the biggest struggles I've had my entire adult life is explaining why I appear fine whenever people see me. I say I am very sick and bed-bound and then they see me and I am out of bed and talking and joking and... a normal healthy person.

What many don't realize is I am making a choice.

A choice to get sick.

I can use up all my energy in a short time frame to accomplish a difficult chore or entertain a friend or go to a doctor, but that is going to have a consequence.

The more I do, the more severe the consequence.

In the ME/CFS world this is called "post-exertional malaise." (for those interested, you can read more about it here: https://rthm.com/art.../what-is-post-exertional-malaise-pem/ )

Imagine every time you wanted to do something, you were *choosing* to get the flu.

Take a walk, get the flu.

Exercise, get the flu.

Spend a night out with friends, get the flu.

And you might be thinking, "Okay, it can't be as bad as the flu. I've had the flu and the flu sucks. No one would choose that."

I may not get the nasty respiratory symptoms, but everything else is pretty much the same. Crippling fatigue, horrible aches, and the loss of the will to do much of anything. Sometimes it is much worse than the flu. Some people don't know how much being this exhausted can hurt. They have never used up enough energy that their body is unable to power itself properly. I usually say it is like every cell in my body is starving and screaming for energy. I feel it in every inch of my body—and not just on the surface... through and through. So, like... cubic inches.

Sometimes I don't even have the energy to power my legs. Trying to stand feels exactly the same as trying to lift a barbell with way more weight than you can lift. I can't get upstairs or even walk to the kitchen. It's a concentrated misery that defies description, despite my constant attempts to try.

Sometimes I get lucky and this flu lasts for a day or two. But the more active I am, the longer it can last. And the severity increases as well. There is also a cumulative version of this—where if I do a bunch of little things over a longer period of time, eventually it will catch up to me and I may be stuck in bed for a few weeks.

And when I say "stuck in bed" I mean stuck in bed.

Short trips to the bathroom and a few minutes in the kitchen to make food. If I spend too much time upright, my legs will literally give out and I will be stuck on the floor until I recharge enough energy to get up again. It would be like every time you needed to get up, you had to hold your breath. Not to mention, the more I do, the longer the recovery will take.

For a long time I chose to never get the flu. I stayed in bed and did just enough to avoid the worst of PEM. I skipped family get-togethers. I didn't see my friends. And I lived my life inside the computer. Some may find that sad, but I actually found a way to make this work. I ran a successful blog that was seen by millions of people and I met my two best friends who I now consider my new family.

One thing that allowed me to choose not to get the flu was my parents. I fear some thought they were spoiling me. They did my laundry. They helped clean my room. They got my groceries. They cooked my food. They took on any chore they could so I could avoid the flu and live some semblance of a life on my computer. There is a lot of guilt wrapped up in that. I didn't ask them to do that. They just sort of... did. And I am so grateful to them.

To be fair, they would have to do these chores for themselves anyway, and tacking on my stuff wasn't a huge deal. But I know it caused them a little extra pain and a few post exertional consequences of their own. So I appreciated that sacrifice more than I can put into words.

But then they both got very sick. And not only could they not help me with my stuff, I had to help them with their stuff. And this was a difficult transition. I had to choose to get the flu to take care of my parents, but then if I got the flu, and I couldn't take care of my parents. I believe this is called a catch-22.

My initial solution was to just not take care of myself. At all. My health and mental well-being was set aside and I just gave all of my energy to them. I didn't shower. I forgot to take important medicines. I didn't do a single thing that brought me joy. And I'm reminded of that analogy of the airplane emergency where the oxygen masks drop. You put on your mask first before you put one on your child. Your instinct is to save them first at all costs. But if you pass out, they are screwed.

So I kept getting that cumulative version of the flu. I'd help them as much as I could for a week or a month and then I'd be useless to them for just as long. Living in the basement did not help. Stairs were very hard for me and constantly going up and down was a huge waste of energy.

And I'm sad to say, the level of care I gave to my mom was not great. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't understand how to balance my needs with hers. And it led to costly mistakes. She had several preventable falls that caused injuries. At one point she spent hours on the floor because I fell asleep and did not check on her. When you know someone needs regular supervision, you need to synchronize sleepy time.

Thankfully I learned from all of these lessons. Maybe not as quickly as I would have liked, but I did figure it out. I just wish I had learned them before my mom passed. I just wasn't able to give her the help she needed.

And you can tell me "you did your best" all you like, but this isn't a guilt I am choosing. It's just there and I feel it no matter what anyone says. In time I am hoping it will get lighter, but I'm afraid it cannot be wiped away with a well-intentioned platitude.

But with my dad, I decided to move upstairs. That was something I should have done much sooner. But I liked having my personal space and that was hard to give up. When he slept, I slept. When he spent 4 hours at dialysis 3x per week, I would make sure to take care of any personal needs. I would do chores a tiny bit at a time. 5 minutes here, 5 minutes there. And then I would lay on the couch in between and regain my strength. I did everything possible to not get the flu. And I got my flu shots so I wouldn't get the actual flu. (Get your flu shot! 50K die from it every year!) The only hitch in my plan was when I got a kidney stone at the same time my dad was in rehab. I have no idea how I got us through that.

I was very proud of the care I was able to give my dad. And I'm so grateful I was able to pay back just a tiny bit of what my parents did to help me. And the care I gave my father is the only thing that helps me feel better about my failures with my mom.

But now I am entering a new chapter of my life. And I find myself choosing to get the flu more often. I have decided sometimes it is worth the consequences. Part of that is because I am more used to it after dealing with it for 20 years. I have coping mechanisms and procedures and techniques to manage the symptoms. It doesn't make them suck any less, but it definitely makes it more manageable. It's akin to people with chronic pain who still feel the pain just as profoundly as when it was new, but they get so used to it that they forget that isn't how they are supposed to feel.

I approached this scientifically. I did tests. I went to the movies. I tried once a week and that was too much. Then I scaled it back and that was more manageable. Then I realized I had movies at home and decided to end that experiment.

I started to put my energy into something I enjoyed more. My photography. So I have been finding new ways to take pictures again. More experiments. I'm designing a simpler studio that requires much less energy. I'm creating a little product photography workstation where I don't have to set up everything each time I want to take a cool picture of an object. It will just be "turn on the lights" and "take the pictures."

Figuring all of this out made me realize how much I missed photography. And since I have been shooting test pictures here and there, my mental health has been noticeably better. And once I get this all figured out and set up, I am hoping some of you will let me take your photo. Or a photo of your kid. Or a pet. Whatever you have that needs photographing, I'm game.

I'm not going to charge. It's not going to be a business. I do not have the energy to "hustle." And asking people for money just sucked all of the fun out of my beloved art form. It corrupted it. I just love taking pictures and if you need a photo, I'd like to do that for you. I also restore old photos for fun. I'll talk about all of this more in another post when I am ready to start.

And then my grand experiment is coming next week.

I am going to travel.

I am going to see my best friend in Florida for two days. Two days of travel and two days of visiting. This is a scary choice. I know the aftermath is going to be difficult. But I need to get out of this house. I need to see my chosen family in person. And I have never been on a plane and I love the perspective from high places. I know people hate air travel, but for me, looking out that viewport is stunning television that cannot be matched.

Purposely making myself sick sounds like a bad idea. But it isn't life threatening. I have the free time to recover as long as I need to. And I can always choose not to get sick for a while if it gets too hard.

I just ask that people not see this as going from a worse life to a better one. I was really proud of the life I was able to create for myself while staying in bed. That took a long time to figure out. I met some of my favorite people. And I accomplished things I couldn't imagine in my wildest dreams. Please do not shit on that life and think it was sad or meaningless. I was given that life as a gift from my parents and it kept me alive. It has always been a huge insult when people pitied that precious gift they gave me.

This is not a better life that I am trying to figure out. It is just better for me right now. My needs have changed. I have changed. So I am trying to adapt. I just ask that people understand when I go out and do something, please remember the choice I am making.

You may be tempted to say, "You are doing so much better!" I am not any better than I was 10 years ago. Actually, my health has degraded. It's just that before I didn't think getting the flu every time I did something was worth it. And I would hope everyone would understand that was a valid choice.

And now I am inviting those consequences.

On purpose.

Give me the flu, I guess.

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calcium-chan · 3 months

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DRAWMEGLE DUMP FROM LIKEFORVER AGO

drawmegle was this weird little website that was like omegle, except for drawing and nominally fewer nazis?? tho at launch that was a bit of an issue lol (idk the creator went on vacation right after advertising or something? oops). i got sucked into it for like a day or two and ended up drawing a bunch of stuff. ive lost some of it because there was this weird glitch that just deleted my drawings before i could save them or anything. OH WELL. thats also the reason some of these are slightly unfinished. im also going to be cropping most of these to just my side, exceptions where its funny, or the other persons art was nice or whatever. just know that these almost all had people on the other side who were also drawing their own thing. also of note, i wont be posting these in order of creation, its mostly arbitrary tbh

this first one is of haru from dorohedodo. i had just finished reading the manga about a month or so prior, and i really loved this character a lot. disregard the amogus or whatever. dorohedoro is really cool and its really special to me now. not a fan of the anime adaption but what the fuck else is new (im sorry if you like the anime, i just didnt like the style very much). Q hayashida is brilliant, and she clearly just really loves women like a lot, thank you miss Q!

next is this silly drawing of knives chau. scott pilgrim takes off had just aired, and i was slightly enamored with knives for a bit, i kin the scott pilgrim girl fucking sue me. i also drew kim, but the drawing deleted and this was the last save i had WAHOOOOOO its so fucking over. scott pilgrim takes off was obviously really really good in my opinion, and its like the perfect way to adapt an original work in my mind. uh shout outs knives or whatever.

oops shitty cowboy bebop drawing. i like this one well enough for how goofy it is. jets fucking face still kinda gets me. i love bebop a ton, but i dont think ive ever drawn the characters despite that. theyre actually a ton of fun to draw, like their shapes are all super varied and they have distinct style about them. very good cast of characters. i didnt even realize or mean to, but i kinda gave spike a fucking granny face, oops

uuuuhthese pissing dogs are really funny, they were fun to draw, and seeing peoples reactions to this one in particular was cool. having even a little bit of ability to draw on sites like this where randos are looking at your work as youre drawing it is always kind of an ego boost. like none of these drawings are really that great, but for the medium im happy with them, and having people show up and go "woah" was always really flattering and it was fun watching the other people draw and interacting with them in some limited capacity.

ggggundam bullshit. i left the other persons side this time because i thought it was kinda funny. i had been rewatching the early part of turn A gundam, and it really reminded me how fucking cool that series is? loran is like top 10 gender non conforming mech pilots (there are a surprising amount honestly). and it always kinda takes me off guard when i watch any gundam because they were just so forward thinking in a nominally "boy" coded genre. shoutouts the fucking gundam staff frfr.

@oretal joined me for these next two!

a lot of the shit in the second drawing is probably totally incomprehensible to like anyone outside of a select group. were both have that like, 3ds era nintendo brain parasite, so a lot of these are just weird obscure game characters or memes, or just straight up OCs. most of these are actually oretals little characters which have kind of entered that inside joke canon of being so ubiquitous between the two of us (and honestly i assume oretals friend group at large) that i kinda forget "glasses girl" isnt a well known character. many such cases. thank you oretal for drawing silly shit with me! i really like your drawing of james and your madotsuki yapping about blunt rotations to uboa. very cool

uuuh quick fire round of stuff i dont like how i drew but want to post anyways. the first one is my irl husband, aki from chainsaw man. i love him a lot, kinda hate this drawing tho, i think it was the first one i did? the second one is basil from omori, im a big fan of little blorbos who peep the horror, and basil is no exception. my friend got me the little vinyl figure of him for my birthday so i end up thinking about him a lot and i doodle him every now and then. very good design. the last one is kiruko from heavenly delusion. i did not have much hype going into the show after my middling feelings on summertime rendering (they were both in the news for being on disney+ for absolutely no reason). i dont remember what got me to watch it, but by the time episode 2 ended i was stuck in big time. i ended up binging the whole series in like one night and it was such a good time. the prototypical calcium show is probably somewhere between heavenly delusion and made in abyss. its a rough watch at times, but if you have this specific brainrot, its probably one of the best in its league tbh.

second to last is this drawing of vriska homestuck. i kept the other side because it was really pretty. im genuinely quite pleased witht his drawing, its not perfect but for what it is i find it visually appealing enough to like it. vriskas design is probably the best in homestuck, at least to me. its been a long time since ive read through homestuck proper, but something about these little shits sticks with you pretty much forever. actual fucking deadly brain parasites you get from dunking your head underwater in an infested pool, dead within days.

OOPS ALL KUMI CHAN! it had to be alien nine, it could only be alien nine. i love alien nine more than i love any of my blood relatives. kumi is literally me, i love this stupid fucking series so much you have no idea.

#dorohedoro #scott pilgram takes off #cowboy bebop #gundam #yume nikki #heavenly delusion #homestuck #alien nine

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heliads · 1 year

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Hey! I love your writing sm

could you pls do an f1 soulmate au with charles x carlos?

maybe whatever a person writes on themselves shows up on their soulmate so they write each other cute 'good luck' notes or jokes before races and maybe they realize they're soulmates when one of them gets a podium and the other person sees their drawings :)

i understand that you wanted this to be cute. however have you considered that they could be insane instead. have you considered that there could be mind games, bestie. think about the mental warfare (i am)

masterlist

Carlos Sainz believes that his secrets come out the fastest when he’s drinking. Doesn’t even have to be alcohol, his favorite ruiner of silence– he’s let out contract details and personal opinions just as freely with isotonic water after a race as with a shot someone hands him two hours into a post-race celebration. It’s easy to let your guard down when you think you’re with a friend, when the stakes don’t seem high, when he knows better but doesn’t want to admit it.

That’s why he feels a rippling wave of panic when he sees Charles walking across the Ferrari hospitality, two cups of coffee in his hands. Charles sits down at an empty table for two, places one cup in front of himself and one at the empty chair, and looks pointedly at Carlos. Carlos thinks to himself, this can’t be good, and mentally reminds himself to book an appointment with PR sooner rather than later.

He takes the seat. Some things, you can’t fight. Charles still smiles anyway, pleased, and says, “I got you coffee.”

Carlos had noticed this, surprisingly. It was difficult to ignore. “You’re being nice,” he remarks, blowing into the hole on the lid to cool down the liquid inside.

“I am nice,” Charles protests. His accent comes out more when he’s unhappy, it makes the syllables bunch up together like pleats of fabric.

Carlos arches a brow, and takes a sip of his coffee instead of answering. Scuderia Ferrari loves to claim that they adore the art of coffee just as much as their mother country, but every time Carlos gets coffee from hospitality it’s either flavorless or burnt, depending on who serves it. Charles’ attempt isn’t terrible, but he doubts Charles did anything more to prepare it than just put in an order. It’s a nice gesture, though. Just like Charles said.

When he looks up and the steam properly clears from his vision, Charles is still pouting at him. Carlos shakes his head, smiling to himself. He makes it so easy sometimes, to mess with his head. It’s kind of fun. Poker, but with a far prettier deck of cards.

“Alright, fine,” he relents, grinning so Charles knows he’s in on the joke, “I’m just teasing. No need to get mad, cabrón.”

“I’m not mad,” Charles says, a hint of a smile on his face although he stubbornly tries to shake it, “just interested in defending my honor.”

“Your honor?” Carlos asks, laughing in earnest. “So lord-esque, that is what I have been telling you. Of course Lord Perceval would defend his honor.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “You can deal with my honor, mate. I got you coffee.”

“And I am grateful for it every time you bring it up,” Carlos says, and takes a sip to prove it.

Charles does the same, but his eyes remain on Carlos the whole time. “So? Is it true what they’re saying?”

Carlos wants more than coffee for a conversation that starts out like this. “Who’s saying what?”

Charles gestures vaguely towards his phone. “Everybody. They say you’re going to leave Ferrari when your contract expires.”

Ah. That. “People love rumors,” he says absentmindedly, “I never thought you’d pay attention to them.”

“I don’t usually, but I was interested in this one,” Charles admits. “You’d tell me if you were leaving, right?”

“I’m not leaving,” Carlos says.

Charles sets down his cup. “But you’d tell me, right?”

“I would,” Carlos says. Pauses. Starts again. “What’s gotten into you, man? I never took you for someone to fall for theories like this.”

Charles shakes his head a little too quickly. “I’m not. They just seemed to believe it.”

Carlos shrugs. “They believe a lot. My contract doesn’t expire until next year. They won’t worry about me for a while.”

“Should I?” Charles asks. “Worry about you, I mean.”

Carlos looks at him, really looks at him. The tense grip of his teammate’s hands around his coffee, even despite the heat still emanating through the cup. The furtive glances he keeps sneaking towards Carlos, then abruptly looking at the cup again when he gets caught.

“I’m not going,” Carlos says gently. More gently than he’d answer any interviewer, anyway.

Charles nods quickly, his head bobbing like a doll on a string. “Of course. Besides, I have too much interest for you to leave yet. Not until we figure out your, ah–” A pause. Delicate, but not at all from a polite inclination, no matter how it might seem to any outsider.

Carlos groans, exasperated. “My soulmate? My God, Charles, you have to give this up at some point.”

If it were not enough to have an overly inquisitive teammate, one that’s rather good at using his eyes and smile to get what he wanted, Carlos has been cursed with a racing partner that’s unnaturally interested in his missing other half. Carlos himself wants to figure out who his soulmate is, obviously, but at this point he thinks Charles is even more invested.

They all have soulmates. Supposedly. There’s probably at least a couple people out there who skipped that universal drawing of lots, but Carlos knows for certain that he is not one of them because his soulmate contacts him almost every day. Some people go weeks or even months without finding so much as a scribble appearing out of thin air on their skin, but Carlos blinks and there’s a new sentence on his forearm, bruising his knuckles, curling around his ankle. Whoever his soulmate is, they don’t care much for being ignored.

Neither does his teammate. Charles huffs out an exasperated breath. “If you will not be curious, I will be curious for you. You’re always so cagey about it, anyway. I know they write to you. Don’t you want to know?”

“Of course I want to know who they are,” Carlos scoffs. “What I don’t get is why you want to know. Why don’t you focus on your own other half for a change?”

Charles just leans back in his chair, grinning coolly. Ah, yes. Carlos has suspected for some time that Charles already has an idea as to who his soulmate is, but for some reason Carlos has never seen her around the paddock. It could be that Charles is just keeping their relationship private, but he doubts it. Charles likes his trophies visible and his games extensive. More likely than not, Charles has his soulmate engaged in some kind of cat-and-mouse game so they figure it out without too much help on his end. It’s hellishly manipulative, but he’s charming enough that they all let it slide.

Even Carlos, although he at least tries to put up a fight. Sometimes, he thinks Charles is amusingly aware of that, and doubles down on his efforts to get Carlos to cave until both of them are locked in some sort of affectionate stalemate.

“You shouldn’t worry so much,” Charles hums, pleased that he’s got the other hand. “I mean,” he says, leaning forward abruptly to seize Carlos’ hand in his own, “Don’t you want to know about yours? Aren’t you curious?”

Whoever sat at their table before them left a Sharpie behind by accident; Charles picks it up now, uncapping it with the same hand without letting go of Carlos. “You could just ask them right now, who they are,” Charles muses. The tip of the Sharpie hovers millimeters above the curve of Carlos’ palm, waiting.

Carlos stares at the black ink. It’s easier to focus on the skin when he mumbles, “They wouldn’t answer.”

You’re not supposed to. Unspoken rules. He’s never liked that sort of thing, and neither has Charles, who knows this and smiles unkindly anyway. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” Carlos asks, mostly to himself. Charles doesn’t appear to hear him. The Sharpie dips lower until it touches Carlos’ skin. Immediately, the black ink flowers into his palm. Carlos waits for Charles to keep writing, to scrawl a question like who are you or can I fly you to a Grand Prix paddock, asap but instead Charles flinches, slams the palm of his own hand down towards the table, and covers up the pen again.

“Maybe you should do it yourself,” Charles mutters by way of explanation.

“Maybe,” Carlos says. He’s not sure if he’s agreeing or not. It would be easier, he thinks, to have Charles take the wheel again. It would also hurt more. Carlos caps the pen when it becomes obvious that Charles will not. “Drink your coffee,” he says. “It’ll get cold.”

Charles does as told, which is sort of surprising. Usually, he likes pushing the envelope until someone tells him to quit it. It appears to Carlos, though, that they have reached an unspoken limit, a line drawn out in black Sharpie on tanned skin that will not be crossed again.

A few minutes pass. They’re both quiet. Charles whispers into the condensation of his cup, “You’re not leaving, though, right?”

Carlos smiles. “I’m not.” Contracts change, obviously, but he’ll try to fight it. They all try.

They leave not long afterwards, race week means that they don’t have a lot of time to sit around. There’s always something to be filmed for media duties, an interview to conduct, checks to run through with engineers. Still, Carlos is somehow calmer than he was before, even despite the additional caffeine.

Charles, by contrast, seems jumpier than usual as they head towards the exit.

“Did you enjoy your coffee?” Carlos asks pointedly.

Charles glances quickly over both shoulders, then groans when he’s sure that no one can overhear him. “No, God. It’s terrible.”

Carlos chuckles. “But you went to so much trouble to get it. Surely you can pretend it’s more than just terrible. You drank, like, all of it.”

Charles gives him an appraising look. “It’s better with someone else.”

It occurs to Carlos, as he walks back to his driver’s room, that they may not just have been talking about coffee after all. He’s stopped by one of his PR advisors on the way back– apparently there’s a new TikTok trend that would be just great for him to do– and although he doesn’t feel that shaken, he must look it, because they only get halfway through a discussion of trending sounds before the agent asks if everything is alright.

Carlos scoffs. “Of course I’m alright.”

The agent arches a brow. “Are you sure? You look a little unsettled. Don’t tell me you were talking to George about track times again, he has that effect on everyone before qualis.”

Carlos shakes his head. “No, I didn’t see him. I was speaking with Charles, though, about nothing in particular. Just coffee and soulmates and stuff.” Unable to stop himself, he leans a little closer, drops his voice until it’s more of a whisper. “He’s found his soulmate, hasn’t he? She’s got to be around here somewhere.”

His PR agent, surprisingly, shakes their head. “No, he’s said nothing about it to us, and we’ve asked loads of times. Are you certain that they’re a she, though? That wasn’t the impression I got.”

Carlos stands utterly still. He thinks his blood may have cooled in his veins, congealing into a solid. He is not sure he could move if he tried. “Charles told you that?”

“Once,” the agent says offhandedly. “He got sick of us asking about his mystery woman. I don’t think he meant to let it slip, but you know how he is with secrets.”

They’re laughing at that. Carlos tries to chuckle along with him, but he can’t really do more than nod, because now he’s thinking about Charles’ soulmate being a man. It’s the driver in him, he supposes, the dreamer, that if he can imagine any scenario he would also imagine himself in it, and so it follows that now Carlos cannot stop thinking about the man on the other side of Charles’ heart being him, being Carlos. The picture fits a little too well.

Carlos had never pictured his soulmate and thought of a man, but sometimes he’ll be up on the podium with Charles, champagne high and bright in the air, and he thinks maybe– maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing, not having a girl like that. He already knows what it’s like, anyway, to be at the top of the world and have another man standing there with him. If God did not intend for us to be with someone of the same sex, then why would He make it feel so natural?

Carlos somehow manages to end the conversation, to slip back into the relative safety of his driver’s room and lean his entire body weight against the door. He stares up at the ceiling, hands fisting the red fabric of his Ferrari jacket at his sides, and he lets himself, for the first time, wonder if his soulmate might not be a man as well. Anything Charles can do, Carlos can too, or so the commentators have started to say. Anyone Charles could love, Carlos could too. Anything his would be theirs.

It is a risky thought. Pessimists will tell you that soulmates are good for nothing but getting your hopes up. Carlos does not know who his soulmate is nor, odds are, will he ever. It does no good to think about what he wants until he already has it.

Later that day, Carlos tells his soulmate in non-descript block letters, All things must end. He caps the pen and covers his hand for the rest of the day. He sees Charles some hours later, looking pale and frightened. Carlos cannot, will not, imagine why.

He tries to push it from his mind. They are not hiding in Ferrari hospitality for the thrill of it, after all, but to prepare for the race ahead. Qualifying comes and goes, nothing to write home about but at least they should be decently in the points. One of them might be able to make it to a podium if they can give Lando Norris the slip. The best case scenario is that Checo will bin it so they could get a 1-2, but who knows if they’ll have any semblance of luck today.

Carlos qualified one position ahead of Charles. Fred Vasseur is already starting to eye him like a lamb to the slaughter, and Carlos makes a mental reminder to continually ask his engineer for Charles’ times during the race. He has a feeling that team orders might be given.

Strangely enough, it doesn’t make Carlos angry towards Charles as much as he thinks it should. He is irritated by Ferrari, of course, for picking one driver over another, but that’s expected in any given scenario in which the cars are swapped. Usually, though, that sort of thing happens enough times that you start directing your ire towards the other driver, but Carlos cannot manage that. In fact, he never has. Hating Charles is unthinkable. It would be easier to hate himself. Right?

Getting ready in his driver’s room before the race that Sunday, Carlos is struck by a sudden, unthinkable idea. He rummages around in his belongings for a while before coming up with a pen. Dark, thick, the kind you use for autographs when the hapless fan forgets to bring a writing implement of their own. Carlos uncaps it, stares at his skin, then starts to scribble. Words, underlined, circled. Do well. Good luck. Please.

He doesn’t know if– but he could, maybe, if he saw. Carlos loses himself in a frenzy, then snaps out of it just as quickly when his palms get covered in writing. The sound of footsteps outside his door makes him flinch, and he tugs on his gloves as fast as he can, smearing the ink even more than before. It doesn’t matter. Odds are nothing will come of this anyway.

The race goes as expected. Checo does not crash, much to the chagrin of all other teams, and Carlos gets stuck behind him long enough that they start talking about switching him with Charles, which happens around lap forty. When the checkered flag waves, Charles is third, Carlos fourth. He parks quickly and hurries over to the front. By the time he gets there, Charles has already withdrawn inside the cooldown room but Carlos can shoulder in with the other Ferrari crew and shout and slap each other on the back and that’s good, too, it really is.

He will tell himself that it is. Carlos, by now, has gone to a lot of teams and learned about a lot of strategy choices. He knows how to convince himself that something is fine, that the decisions of the team are ones he agrees with. He can idle with the crew and stare up at the podium with a fixed smile on his face, because Carlos is a Good Teammate and Good Teammates show up for each other. They accept team orders when they come their way. They do not stand in the shade of someone else’s idol and think, this isn’t fair.

Of course it isn’t fair, it’s motorsport. Charles is the one they love the most, even when he’s erratic and crashes every other race. Charles is the pretty boy, the golden one, Il Predestinato. Carlos is merely his father’ son.

Charles, who figured out the whole game of soulmates months before. He guessed, at least. Told that to Carlos one night, grinning, drunk, spiraling after another lost podium. Charles had waited with wide eyes and a frozen smile as if waiting for Carlos to put something together, but the other shoe never dropped and eventually the moment ended, both of them pulled apart by other friends, downing other drinks, pretending they never existed.

Carlos thinks of it now. He watches Charles emerge from the shadows of the space behind the podium to stand in the blinding sunlight, waving down at all of them. One of the mechanics is elbowing him in the side, speaking in that low voice they all get when they do the boy’s club talk, you know, someone’s soulmate likes him well enough, obviously, and Carlos has no idea what he’s talking about until he looks up and sees. Sees Charles, his palms dark with ink. From up here, it’s too small to see what is written. The Catholic boy in him thinks stigmata which is wrong, obviously, because there is no great divine mystery here, not when Carlos knows what happened.

Not when Carlos was the one to write all of it earlier that day. He’d almost forgotten during the course of the race, but it all comes flooding back now. That’s his ink on Charles’ hands, and that means– That means Charles is his soulmate. Always has been. Always will be.

Carlos stares up at him. Charles looks down, and although he’s been grinning with victory this whole time, the smile that slides onto his face upon seeing his teammate is different than before, it’s knowing. Charles knows that Carlos has figured it out at last. He’s been waiting for him to do it all this time.

It’s almost obscene, how close Charles must have come to telling him about a thousand times. Who would risk it like that? No one. Charles would. Carlos pictures him with the Sharpie earlier that week, black tip poised above his skin. How he’d caught himself before giving himself up. Perfect timing, a driver’s reflexes. Like managing to right yourself right before sending your car into the wall. Or, better, like doing it anyway. Like accelerating before you go. Like leaving your hands on the wheel so your wrists can break, too, not just your heart.

Yes, Charles would. Charles Leclerc would. Charles, so impatient for his first championship that he’d give up his current chance by overshooting every corner, by doing too much until he ends up in the wall time and time again. This is the man who would expose his soulmate like a throat to a knife, and Carlos has known this about him for years.

The Ferrari section of the paddock is insane after getting a podium, so no one notices when Carlos fights his way through the crowds to let himself into Charles’ driver’s room. It’s empty when he arrives, Charles must have many more people to get through, so he paces relentlessly back and forth until Charles shows up.

Charles bursts through the door, still talking to someone down the hall. His exuberance crashes to a halt the second he sees Carlos waiting, and he hurriedly tells whoever is there not to wait up. Charles carefully closes the door behind him, locks it too, and then it’s just the two of them and this great and all encompassing secret for company.

Charles swallows. “You know.”

Of course he does. Friends show up at each other’s driver’s rooms all the time, but this isn’t just on the order of congratulations for a good race result. They would not be hovering on the edge of this great precipice if it was just that.

“You knew earlier,” Carlos challenges.

Charles ducks his head in a nod. “I did.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Carlos asks.

Charles’ gaze is shifty, it flicks from ceiling to floor to walls, anywhere but Carlos himself. Charles has always been a daredevil for the risks, but he’s never had the stomach for what becomes of them. The consequences are always a thousand times worse than the actions.

“I didn’t think you would want it. Want me,” he corrects, almost whispering.

This is so absurd that Carlos almost wants to laugh. Almost, because the look on Charles’ face is so pitiful that he can’t even smile. “Why wouldn’t I?” Carlos asks.

Charles blinks in surprise. “Because you were never even that interested in finding out who your soulmate was, mate. Always said it would just be some girl you didn’t know. I didn’t want to see your face when you realized you didn’t even get some girl but me.”

“I didn’t want to look too much into my soulmate because I was afraid it wouldn’t be you,” Carlos says in a rush, and as he admits it he knows it’s true.

How could it be anything but that? Carlos could have picked any team, but he went here. A hardheaded (formerly red) bull chasing not just the scarlet flag but the matador himself. Charles, all along.

Charles’ eyes are wide, lashes darker even than the ink still staining his palms. “So you’re not mad, then?” He asks cautiously.

“Not mad and not leaving,” Carlos reiterates.

A ghost of a smile flickers over Charles’ lips. “You cannot blame me for wanting to be sure, I didn’t want you to go until I managed to tell you.”

“You certainly took your time about it,” Carlos comments.

Charles rolls his eyes. “Just because we are racers does not mean we have to do everything fast, Carlos. Be patient.”

Carlos arches a brow. “You are telling me that?”

Charles has the grace to look at least a little ashamed. “Yes. Well. I can be patient now.”

Of course he can. They both can. Most people spend their entire lives searching for the answer to a question that is no longer a mystery to either of them. Time is all they have, time and sweet-sticky champagne and the sensation of being at the top of the world. Nothing will change them. Everything will. For once, though, the change does not scare him. It’s not bad, all of the time.

Sometimes, it brings him Charles. Sometimes, it brings him this. No, not bad in the slightest.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

also: @quill-of-a-sparrow

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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messenger-of-stupidity · 1 month

Text

So I went hiking yesterday and climbed on some old lime factory ruins and saw some graffiti. (Lots of it actually.)

So here's what I think the redacted characters would graffiti (if anything):

David: No. He wouldn't graffiti. Man prolly believes in the sanctity of nature and leaving things either as or better than he found it

Angel: Cock and balls.

Asher: Jigglypuff. He wants everyone to behold the splendor.

Baabe: honestly, despite the fact I hc them as an art nerd, I don't think they would graffiti. Maybe with chalk so that way it's temporary. But idk what they would say.

Milo: either "Milo was here" or "Shut up Asher"

Sweetheart: doesn't matter. It's a mess. Because "Art is abstract, Milo. Besides, it kind of looks like that time Aggro spooked you and you shifted and made a mess in our old apartment"

Sam: he wouldn't. He's on the same wavelength as David.

Darlin: some kind of inside joke so that way everyone in the pack (and clan) knows they were there.

Vincent: a purposefully cheesy inspirational quote in the shittiest lettering you've ever seen.

Lovely: a smiley face because they just want their life to calm down so they can enjoy immortality with their stupid boyfriend.

Porter: he wouldn't, but not because he cares about sanctity or whatever. He just doesn't see the point.

Treasure: nah. They don't see the point either. They also don't have a marker or spray paint or anything with them. Porter just kinda zipped them into the middle of fucking nowhere all of the sudden. Somehow they lost a shoe on the way.

Elliot: yes. Boy is making a whole landscape because it's in his DNA and his inner Bob Ross is screaming at him that there's no mistakes, only happy little accidents

Sunshine: they put a sun and a little river for Brachium since he can't deface property with them :(

Blake: he's bringing a powerwasher to destroy all the graffiti

Bestie: they weren't aware it was an option because Blake is sheltering them from the existence of graffiti to keep them pure.

Aaron: no. He doesn't have the time

Smartass: they're busy too.

Ollie: no. He'd rather be inside playing board games

Baby: no, they're inside watching Ollie explain a board game for three hours

Ivan: yeah. Idk what, but he is

(I'm not doing Ivan's listeners)

Guy: it's just memes. There pepe the frog. There's rainbows and telling people that "they're putting chemicals in the water to turn all the frogs gay"

Honey: they put Guy's phone number so he gets spammed because his graffiti tastes are as good as his humor. Make of that what you will.

Geordi: no. He's too anxious about getting in trouble to even think about it.

Cutie: yes. They're putting passing people's thoughts on the wall.

Camelopardalis: no.

(He has too many listeners and I isn't remember them and they dint have enough personality for me to be able to tell)

Vega: no. It's too human.

Warden: once. They felt bad and tried to get rid of it afterwards. It was just a stick figure with horns.

Hush: yes. He saw it once and wanted to try it. Now he's wanted in twelve states for defacing government property. He just copies what he's seen.

Doc: nope. They never understood the draw.

Damien: nope. He's a rule follower

Lasko: no. He's too anxious

Dear: yes. But it's just dad jokes.

Huxley: once. He felt bad about it but it was certainly an experience. It was a tree and a stick dude.

Gavin: absolutely. It's hilarious. It ranges from just crude jokes to just random circles. No one knows the meeting, but it's becoming like a mini legend in Dahlia. If you find the holy circle (because it's a perfect circle. He has good wrist control) you have to leave an offering. He's making a cult by accident but he still finds it funny

Freelancer: yes, but only because Caelum saw Gavin doing it and thought it looked like fun and he wanted Freelancer's help.

Caelum: he drew a bunch of shaky smiley faces to "brighten peoples day. Because when they see all these smiles, they'll want to smile too, and that will make them feel good. Which makes me feel good. Which helps me make others feel good. Which makes me feel goo-"

Morgan: no.

Seer obscura: no. But they were tempted to give vague warnings to people to try to help them

#messy rambles #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted audio #redacted vega #redacted david #redacted angel #redacted warden #redacted shaw pack #redacted asher #redacted baabe #redacted cutie #redacted geordi #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart #redacted vincent #redacted lovely #redacted the balance #im too lazy to put the rest of the tags

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sparklypinkflightsuit · 5 months

Text

Stars Align: Part 3

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol Misuse, Drinking, Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff and a lot of it, Mentions of Abuse, Sexual References, Violence, Anger, Pining, I think that's it?

-- Part 2 Here --

_____________________________

18+ Only

_____________________________

Present:

You went back inside to let Gabby know you were going to grab a drink with Bradley, and to ask if she wanted you to walk her to a cab.

Bradley followed you to the dance floor.

“Rooster!” A voice rang out from the crowd, and a tall blond man emerged.

“Hangman.” Bradley responded, “I’m gonna shoot off, can you let Mickey know?”

The blond man raised his eyebrow, “Find yourself a little lady?” He looked over Bradley’s shoulder at you as you waited patiently.

“She’s my old best friend, haven’t seen her in years so we’re going somewhere quiet to catch up.” Bradley explained.

“Right, sure.” The blond winked. “Don’t be late tomorrow, Mickey will kill you.” And he turned around to leave.

Bradley faced you with a grimace, “Sorry about him, Jake’s a piece of work.”

“I’m more interested in the part where he called you Rooster. You kept the nickname?” You chuckled.

“Call sign.” Bradley corrected you with a grin.

“Wait… do you mean-“ you were cut off by Gabby barging into you.

“Whoops! Sorry. Are we leaving? I think I’ve had enough for one night.” She breathed, bunching her hair up off of her sweaty neck.

“Actually, yeah Bradley and I are gonna grab a drink and catch up. Can we walk you to a cab?” You asked, wrapping your arm around her waist to steer her towards the exit.

“Much obliged.” She saluted you and you chuckled.

Once Gabby was safely in a cab and on her way home, you turned to smile at Bradley.

“Where to?” You asked.

“I know a place.” He held out his hand and you took it, walking next to him as he gently steered you through the crowds. His hand felt remarkably strong yet so gentle at the same time, like he was gently cupping something he was terrified to break.

“So… call sign huh? That mean you got into the Navy?”

“Yes ma’am. I couldn’t wait to tell you about it… but you changed your number.” He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked at you cautiously.

“Oh… I didn’t.” You looked to the ground awkwardly.

Bradley glanced at you, confused, your number had been disconnected when he’d tried to call you years ago and had been ever since.

You bit your lip, “But that’s a long story, not sure we’ll have time for it tonight. I am sorry I wasn’t there for you when you got to experience that, though.” You felt horrible for missing such a milestone in his life.

Bradley smiled down at you, “I get to share it with you now, don’t I?” He nudged you until you grinned, and then let go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulder instead.

“Can’t believe I bumped into you, here of all places.” He mumbled absentmindedly as he walked.

“Yeah that’s fate I guess, Rooster.” You joked, referencing something from your past you always used to tease him about. He’s shot you a playful glare and you chuckled.

He suddenly stopped, “Here we are. I passed this place earlier and weirdly enough, it made me think of you.”

You looked up at the sign and scrunched up your nose, “A Cat Cafe?”

“No.” Bradley laughed, and moved you over to the left slightly, pointing at the sign next to it.

“Oh! An art bar, that’s better Bradshaw, for a moment there I thought you forgot that I’m a dog person.” You chuckled as you walked inside.

Bradley sat you down at a cozy corner booth, and squeezed in next to you as you scanned the menu for their cocktail list and some nibbles.

Your heart began to race as you felt his strong arm rest behind you on the seat as he read the menu over your shoulder. His breath was minty as it wafted over you.

“You think they’ll be serving any food still? It is 2am.” You said looking over at the other tables to distract yourself from your sudden emotional overtake, some of which had food on them, and your stomach growled.

“I’ll go ask, what drink do you want?” Bradley asked as he stood up, his hands propping himself up over you on the table, and you had to fight with all your might not to ogle at the size of his arms and the veins that protruded from his thick neck.

You gulped, “Sex on the beach, please.”

Bradley winked at you, “Whatever you want, Birdy.” And with a cheeky grin, he left to the bar to order.

He left you flushed and breathless, your rapid heartbeat doing little to distract from the sudden growing tension in between your thighs. You gasped to yourself as you realised your feelings were somehow still there.

Sure it didn’t help that Bradley was now a man, like really a man, or that his confidence was bordering on cockiness, but the real Bradley, or the old Bradley you should say, was still there underneath, and glimpses of him kept trickling through, reminding you of why you fell for him in the first place.

You were lost in thought when Bradley got back, jumping as he placed a plate of fries and your drinks on the table. He pulled a small canvas and a mini easel out from under his arm and positioned it on the table, with small tubs of primary colour paints. He pulled out two tiny paintbrushes from his pocket and handed you one as he eyed you up.

“Sorry.” He chuckled, “Care to tell me where you just travelled to… up there.” He gestured to your head and you rolled your eyes.

“Trust me you don’t want to know what goes on up there.”

“Probably for the best, bet it’s all lady stuff.” he said sitting down next to you.

“Ew, only you could make those two words sound gross, Brad.” You flinched.

Bradley chuckled, and you spent the rest of the evening catching up on all the things missed while you were apart, while picking at the fries and painting random squiggles on your canvas every now and then. You purposely left out the section of your life involving Jacob, as that was a story for another time, far too dark for a catch up date.

You learnt that Carole had passed away, and you were suddenly on the verge of tears. You felt so guilty that you never got to say goodbye, and that you weren’t there for Bradley when he needed you most.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been there for you.” You whispered, biting your cheek to stop the tears from falling.

“Hey, it’s okay. How were you supposed to know? She knew you loved her, I told her so many times towards the end.” He reassured you, but even as he did, his voice broke and you could see him swallowing down the lump in his own throat.

You were both sufficiently drunk at this point, Bradley more so, and your conversation had turned deep and emotional. You sat with your legs draped over Bradley’s thighs, while he played absentmindedly with your knees, a habit he’d picked up years ago, a coping mechanism of sorts to distract him from any issues at hand.

The first time he’d done this, you’d been at home watching a scary movie in the living room, and about halfway through Bradley had picked up your legs and put them on his lap. “You have really wobbly knee caps.” He’d commented, distracting himself from the gory scene ahead.

You’d looked at him, confused at the time, but it had come to be a comforting position for the both of you.

“What did you mean, earlier, when you said you didn’t change your number?” Bradley asked suddenly, clearing his throat of the lump.

You drew in a sharp breath, looking down at your hands. “It’s a long story Brad, another time?” You asked.

Bradley nodded, squeezing your calf.

“Should we make a move? Think the suns about to come up and you’ve got a wedding to attend.” You grinned.

“Yup, probably a good idea.” Bradley slurred, and you swung your legs off of him. He stood and immediately swayed, shooting a hand out to steady himself on the table.

“Woah, one too many whiskey sours, me thinks.” He chuckled. You got up and slotted yourself under his arm to steady him.

“Guess so. Let’s get you back to your hotel. Where are you staying?”

Bradley thought for a moment, and then looked down at you confused, “I can’t remember.” He snatched up the canvas and wedged it underneath his other arm.

You groaned. “Can you text that guy you were with earlier? Or do you have a keycard?”

Bradley pouted and shook his head, “Hangman and I are sharing a room, he has the keycard and he’ll be asleep right now. Can I crash at yours? Like old times?” He grinned his boyish grin and fluttered his pretty eyelashes, until you sighed and steered him towards the street.

“Yeah, okay, but a fair warning, I’m living out of boxes right now.”

“I thought you said you lived in an apartment, not in a box?” He slurred again, swaying on the spot as you stood and waited for a cab.

You laughed at his poor attempt at a joke, and patted him on the back. “You’re gonna feel awful tomorrow.”

“I know.” He grinned down at you, but his eyes were so sincere and gentle it made you want to kiss him.

A cab pulled up and you shuffled inside after Bradley. You told the driver your address and sat back.

Bradley was asleep on your shoulder within 2 minutes, and not long after you pulled up outside your building. You paid and thanked the cab driver and shook Bradley awake.

“Hmm?” He mumbled as he came to.

“We’re here.” You said gently, stroking his face to rouse him.

Bradley moaned at the touch and you found yourself having to clench your thighs, the sound vibrated through your entire body.

You managed to get Bradley to follow you, although wobbly, up the 5 flights of stairs, but you cursed the elevator being broken as it was like trying to coax a stubborn child.

Eventually you stumbled through the door and kicked your heels off.

“Home sweet home!” You sighed, eyeing up the mountain of boxes.

“It’s nice, bit crowded but it’ll get there.” Bradley slurred, walking into the kitchen and looking through your fridge. He pulled out a bottle of beer and was about to open it when you charged at him.

“What are you- ouch, what the fuck, Birdy?“

You collided with Bradley and wrangled the beer from his hand.

“Absolutely not!” You held the beer out of reach.

Bradley grinned and tried to swipe for it.

“No! It’s… 5:23am!” You groaned, checking the time on your phone. “You need to sleep or you’ll never make the wedding.”

“I’ll be fine! I don’t wanna sleep yet, we’ve got way too much catching up to do still.” He reached for the beer but you turned your back to him and held it as far out in front of you as you could.

Suddenly two strong arms were wrapping around your midriff and lifting you into the air. You squealed and tried to struggle, but a fit of laughter overtook you, zapping away any strength you held. Bradley smiled at you over your shoulder as he watched you lose yourself like you had when you were teenagers, and a wave of emotion and nostalgia overtook him. He put you down suddenly and turned you around.

Your laughing slowed and you looked up at Bradley, who’s eyes were brimming now.

''Brad are you okay?'' You were suddenly concerned at the sudden change in atmosphere.

Bradley pulled you in for a bear hug, and this time he just held you for a long time.

You rubbed his back soothingly, his fingers now thread in your hair as he held your head in place against his broad chest, his heart racing.

“I’ve really missed you, kid.” He said through a shaky voice.

“I’ve missed you too, Rooster.”

———————————————

Past:

You walked home with your heels in one hand and the other shielding your eyes as the rain poured down onto you. You were sure it rained so heavily that night because of how heartbroken you felt, and that Mother Nature just wanted to mask your tears with her own.

You burst through your front door and went straight upstairs, dumping your soggy shoes and purse by the door. Your parents turned from the movie they were watching in the living room in surprise.

“Jeez, when I said be home by 11, I meant more like 11:30, not 8:40.” You dad commented.

You slammed your bedroom door.

He looked at your mom who just shrugged. Your dad followed you upstairs, your mom hot on his tail.

“Honey, what happened?” He asked, pushing your door open gently.

“Nothing. I just want to go to bed.” You sniffed, undoing your braid to allow your wet hair to dry.

“Where’s Bradley?” Your mom asked.

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

You tried to hard sleep that night, but sleep didn’t find you easily. You kept going over the night in your head, trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

Eventually you stopped crying and your sadness turned to anger. You hadn’t even wanted to go in the first place, Bradley had begged you to go, and now you were furious he had.

It was close to midnight when your door creaked open and a sliver of light filtered in.

“Birdy.” Bradley whispered.

Your head shot up off of your tear stained pillow, and you glared at him for a second. “Who let you in?” You demanded.

“Your dad. But not before he gave me a talking to.” He admitted sheepishly. You slammed your head back down on the pillow.

“Birdy I’m so sorry.” He walked in and gently closed the door. “I shouldn’t have doubted you, I’m not really sure what came over me.”

You said nothing, smushing your face further into your pillow to avoid even seeing your best friends face. You were so mad.

You felt the bed dip behind you as Bradley lay down.

“Lil bird, please look at me.”

“I can’t right now.” You huffed.

“Okay, I get that. But at least let me apologise.”

“Don’t bother. You left me there Bradley, after you begged me to go with you, I don’t think apologising is gonna fix this one.” You said as you propped yourself up on your elbows and glared at him.

Bradley suddenly felt the immense guilt of what he had done when he saw how puffy your eyes were from crying.

“I know, I shouldn’t have. I came right back, once I’d calmed down and realised I was being a total idiot, but you were gone already. Sophie’s friend Kate said she overheard Michelle talking to her friends. I know you didn’t do or say anything, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“You’ve known me for years, Bradley. The fact that it took someone else telling you I wasn’t lying to believe me is a real gut punch.”

“I know, I’m a dick. It’ll never happen again. From now on if you say something, I’ll take your word. I swear.” He stuck out his pinky.

You stared at it and then at him for a moment. He seemed genuinely sorry, and you had missed him in the few hours since you’d last seen him, so you nodded and hooked your pinky in his.

“Fine. But I’m still mad at you.”

Bradley grinned, ruffling your already frizzy hair. You groaned and lay back down.

“Can I sleep over?” He asked, propping his head in his hand as he turned on his side to look at you.

“Only if you stop calling it a sleep over. We’re not kids anymore.” You huffed.

“Okay… can I stay the night?” He asked in a deep voice and wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“That’s better. You can wear my princess pyjamas.” You joked, finally cracking a smile.

Bradley rolled his eyes, sitting up and peeling off his dress-shirt. “If we’re not kids anymore, I don’t need pyjamas.” He lay back down in just his pants, and you blushed.

You wondered at times like these if he knew how you felt about him, and just enjoyed teasing you.

———————————

Present:

The sun filtered in through your curtain-less windows and you groaned. Your hangover hit you as soon as you peeled your eyes open, and you pulled your duvet over your head.

You breathed through the rolling nausea, and squeezed your eyes shut to stop the feeling of the world spinning a little too fast. Suddenly you heard a loud thump outside the room followed by a deep voice mumbling “shit”.

You’d forgotten all about Bradley. You shot up suddenly as the night before came into memory.

You could hear Bradley groan in the living room, as he shuffled around trying to get dressed.

You walked to the living room and watched as Bradley searched frantically for his shirt.

His toned body looked unfairly delicious in the morning light. You bit your lip as you watched.

Bradley noticed you finally, and relief washed over his face. “Oh Birdy, thank god. I can’t find my shirt and I’m so late for the wedding.” He walked over to you and grabbed your hands, pulling you into the living room. “I can’t remember the end of last night.”

“Well, that’ll be the last beer you had.” You raised your eyebrow at him. “Okay let me think.” You pressed your fingers into your temples as you walked around the apartment.

“Okay… so we had a little moment in the kitchen-“ you pointed to where you stood hugging Bradley for what felt like forever.

“Oh did we?” Bradley jiggled his eyebrows.

“Shut up, not like that Bradshaw.” You shot back and rolled your eyes.

You kept walking, your eyes scanning the boxes and floor space.

“And theeeen… you gave me a piggy back ride to… the bedroom?” You couldn’t recall why. You walked back to the bedroom with Bradley hot on your tail.

Bradley’s shirt lay on the floor next to your bed, and you picked it up and handed it to him.

“Thanks, Birdy.” Bradley said sincerely. He took a moment to put his shirt back on and then gave you a sad smile. “I guess I better get going. Will I see you again?”

You suddenly felt a lump in the back of your throat, and swallowed it down as best you could before you nodded.

“I hope so, Brad. I really did miss you.”

You showed Bradley out and waved him goodbye as he walked down the stairwell. As soon as he was out of sight you bit back tears and went back into the apartment. You sniffled as you unpacked your kitchen essentials, and laughed wetly as you remembered some of the events of the night before. You suddenly recalled why Bradley was in your room, he’d insisted on waiting until you fell asleep before he went to bed himself, and he sat singing 80’s and 90’s hits softly to you as he drank his beer, and as it had worked so well in the past, it still worked perfectly now.

As Bradley sang Aerosmith, your eyes fluttered shut;

“… Don't wanna close my eyes,

I don't wanna to fall asleep,

'Cause I'd miss you baby…

And I don't wanna miss a thing.”

The last thought that sank through your mind as you drifted off into a comforting slumber, was that you finally felt safe, like really safe, and you hadn’t felt that way in a very long time.

Not since you moved away.

——————————————

-- Part 4 Here --

Taglist now open 💛 Please let me know if you'd like to be added!

@dizzybee03

#miles teller x reader #miles teller #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun rooster #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun fandom #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #romance

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crazylittlejester · 2 months

Note

Do you have tattoo ideas/headcanons for the chain?

-catreginae

I do!!

Time: I can see him as someone who’d either have a decent number of tattoos or none at all, there’s no in between, but I can can really see him piecing together a sleeve full of memories from journeys only he knows. Its a visible reminder for him that it actually happened and he’s not just going crazy. He strikes me as the kind of person who’d only have tattoos on either one arm or just one side of his body

Wars: If he DOES have a lot, the majority of them are in places you cannot see because they’re for him and they’re personal. He doesn’t really care if people CAN see them, but he’s not going out of his way to make them visible. They go where HE wants, he gets to be in control of that. I think he would probably have some sort of tattoo on the inside of his wrist maybe, as a reminder of all the friends he’s lost in the war tho I’m not entirely sure what that might be, but it’s meaningful to him

Twi: You cannot tell me he doesn’t have tattoos. I CANNOT be convinced he doesn’t have tattoos, that’s his therapy. In a modern au I could see him as a tattoo artist. I think he’d view himself as a canvas for beautiful art with deep meaning to himself, he definitely has tattoos to remind him of Ordon, Rusl and Uli, Midna, Colin, Ilia, everyone he loves. But also? He’s got a dorky ass lookin goat on his leg somewhere and it looks ridiculous but it was his first one and he loves it. He did that one himself for sure

Sky: Definitely has a feather or just a straight up loft wing on his forearm. The color looks crazy good too, it’s incredibly detailed, it’s the only one he has

Wild: FOR SURE has tattoos. None of them are super connected, not all of them are super meaningful, he definitely is the kind of person who’d let his friends pick out a tattoo for him to get he definitely has a silent princess tattoo

Legend: Doesn’t have any. He’s scared of needles. But he will not admit that and he simply says he’s not interested in tattoos but that is the world’s biggest lie. Those 2 week temporary tattoos would be life changing for him

Hyrule: He’d be down, but I don’t think he has any yet. Wild could convince him to go get a matching one with him for the price of a single cornchip

Four: He’d probably either have something for the colors or nothing at all. But like, it’s definitely some little inside joke between him and the colors that NO ONE else gets

Wind: Once this kid gets over his fear of getting his ears pierced it’s the end for him, he’d have a bunch of tattoos and piercings. I think he’d put together a sleeve that just looks absolutely cool as fuck and subtly integrates parts of his journeys. It’s pattern heavy and symbolic and he loves it

#jes talks #jes ask #linked universe #lu headcanons

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nanowrimo · 1 year

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10 Tips for Fast-Drafting

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. Freewrite, a 2023 NaNo sponsor, is a dedicated distraction-free drafting device designed just for writers. Today, author Ashley Poston and the Freewrite team share some tips for completing a first draft of your novel quickly:

Hello from the Freewrite team! 👋 Here at Freewrite, we love a NaNoWriMo challenge, because we’re all about getting words on the page. We asked Author & Freewrite Ambassador Ashley Poston to share her best tips for fast-drafting and getting that first draft DONE!

No surprise, one of her secrets is her Freewrite. But what else does Ashley do to get those drafts done fast?

Here’s Ashley:

I have a confession to make: I hate drafting. It’s the bane of my existence. If I could reach into my brain and take out my story, fully-formed, and just work on the editing bit? I’d do it.

But, alas, that’s not how writing works. (Which is a real pity because I really do love editing. The way you go in with a fine-tooth comb and just torch the entire novel, then rewrite it for the third time. It’s truly majestic.)

Though after ten years, I’ve yet to figure out a way to pull a novel, fully-formed, out of my ears. So, instead, I like making the part of drafting as painless as possible… by doing the most painful, maddening, infuriating thing imaginable.

In other words: fast-drafting.

I’ve perfected the art. I can write a book in a week if I have enough caffeine and a death wish, and with these ten tips, so can you.

1. Find your characters.

Truly, the most important part of fast-drafting is knowing your characters from the outset. In a first draft, you usually find your characters in the middle of the second-to-last chapter. (Or is that just me?) So it often helps to know your characters inside and out from the start. Not only that, but know how they’d react in certain situations, know what would be on their Spotify playlist, know whether they’d have a repertoire of Your Mom jokes up their sleeve. How do they take their coffee? If faced with ten seconds to live, who would they call? Most of these questions you’ll never answer in the manuscript itself, but it’s important to know these people in your head on an intimate level.

2. Use your time(r) wisely.

Setting a timer can be a great way to increase your writing speed. Start with a short amount of time—maybe 15 minutes—and write like the wind, Bullseye! Then shake yourself out, set that timer to 15 again, and repeat. (This is SO easy on my Freewrite Traveler, because it has a feature that keeps time for you, making 15-minute sprints easy-peasy.)

3. Outline.

In addition to your characters, you really should get to know your plot, too, and a great way to do that is making an outline! There are a bunch of different tips and tricks to outlining—I personally use Susan Dennard’s 1-page Synopsis whenever I need to hash out a plot, and Rachel Aaron’s 2k to 10k Blogpost from Ye Olde 2011.

4. No distractions!

Writing is already hard enough, but it becomes almost impossible when you have a cat pronking on you every chance they get. Sometimes, life can just be that—distracting—and you can’t do anything about it. But minimize distractions wherever you can, especially if you’re sprinting. Turn off your phone! Disconnect the internet! And here is where I tell you my Freewrite has saved my butt countless times. I’m horrid at the whole “cut distractions!” bit, but with Freewrite, it’s easy as pie. It’s a lot like a typewriter, so internet? Never heard of her. iMessages? iThinkNot. It’s just you, your words, and the mounting existential dread of existence.

5. Compression gloves. (No, seriously, especially if you write every day.)

This is gonna sound like one of those weird ones—and that’s because it is. But if you’re planning on writing every day for at least an hour, please do yourself (and your budding carpel tunnel) a favor and get some compression gloves. Learn some hand exercises. We don’t call writing fast “sprinting” for nothing.

6. Don’t look back.

It’s so easy to get caught up in trying to perfect the prologue, but this can absolutely hinder you. Take it from someone who loves to make the first chapter perfect—you never will. I promise. Instead, focus on getting your ideas down on paper and worry about editing later. I promise that sentence you didn’t like will be there when you come back to it. It’s not going anywhere. This is another area where my Freewrite helps me focus.

7. Use prompts!

Sometimes, your brain gets stuck. If you feel stuck, or in a corner, use a writing prompt to get the creative juices flowing again! Maybe you’ll never use the scene, but that’s OK. If it means you get going again? That’s what matters.

8. Stuck? Hit the bricks! Real winners quit. But like… not forever.

Writing can be mentally draining, so it’s important to not push yourself too hard, and to take breaks when you need it. Take a walk, stretch, dance it out to ABBA—whatever helps you recharge. And then when you come back to the scene, you’re refreshed and rearing to go.

9. Chunk it up.

Breaking up your writing into smaller, manageable chunks can make drafting so much less daunting. Instead of making the goal finishing the novel, just finish the chapter. Finish this scene. Sometimes, it helps if people set a goal for a certain amount of words a day, but I find that this often just leads to burnout a lot faster. Instead of a word count, set a goal for a scene instead. Turn off the word counter. A first draft doesn’t have to hit a certain number of words—it’s called a first draft for a reason.

10. Practice makes more practice.

Like anything else you do, writing takes practice. I know I can easily hit 5k a day, but that’s because I’ve been writing professionally for a decade now. If you’re just starting out, don’t compare yourself to anyone else. (In fact, this is a great rule of thumb regardless.) Everyone writes differently, and everyone writes in their own time. No one ever asked Van Gogh how long it took him to paint sunflowers, did they? No one told Monet he was taking too long on his water lilies. Writing is an art, so let yourself enjoy it.

I hope this helps you, at least a little, write your next sexy dragon-shifter book! (Or whatever you’re working on.) Godspeed, and just remember: only you can write the idea in your head. Different writers can be given the same exact prompt, and every single story will turn out differently. Keep your eyes on your own paper, your heart full of joy, and chase that story only you can tell.

It’ll be worth it, I promise.

—Ashley

Reminder: Camp NaNoWriMo 2023 participants are eligible for a special Freewrite offer. Find all the details here.

Ashley Poston is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of The Dead Romantics. After graduating from the University of South Carolina with a bachelor’s in English, she spent the last decade working in the publishing industry before deciding to pursue writing full-time. When not writing, she likes trying various arts and crafts (she’s currently addicted to building miniature rooms) and taking long walks as an excuse to listen to Dungeons & Dragons podcasts. She bides her time between South Carolina and New York, and all the bookstores between.

Top photo by Djim Loic on Unsplash

#nanowrimo #writing #fast drafting #first draft #ashley poston #by nano sponsor #freewrite

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leviafin · 1 month

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Hey! Over here!

Hello, and welcome. You're free to call me Fin, or Sebastian if that suits you more. Or make something up, I don't care, do whatever. I'm a fictive within the Interstellar System--a DID system of over 400 members, with a vast majority of us being alterhuman or something along those lines. I use he/him pronouns exclusively, though I might test the waters, so to speak, with something else later.

This'll be my personal blog, which will probably have a bunch of alterhumanity and a lot of queer stuff on it. Adult content (which will just be words and such if anything) will be tagged with "tw: adult content". Jokes that might be slightly adult content will just be tagged with "adult jokes".

Identity:

I'm a multifictive, aka I have multiple sources. I'm a noncanon avatar of The Vast + The Hunt (The Magnus Archives), and a Sebastian Solace (Roblox: Pressure) fictive. I may call Sebastian a kintype occasionally due to the nature of how I learned I was him--to me that identity is both fictionkin and fictive.

Disabled, neurodivergent, and mad--deal with it.

Queer as fuck, deal with that too.

Terrorpunk--aka, if I scare you or ick you with my identity? Good. Not my problem.

Anyway, onto the boundaries and whatnot.

Overall, I am inclusive of everyone (including endogenics, factkin, mspecs, etc), as long as you act in good faith and nonharmfully. I don't care about microlabel discourse or anything of the sort.

I will be blocking queerphobes, racists, ableists and anyone else of those sorts. Hell, I might block you just because I don't want you interacting, so don't take it too personally. The button is there for a reason.

That being said, while I'm listing my stances here, I don't have a DNI, and probably won't read yours before I like or reblog from you. Large bodies of text can be incredibly inaccessible, especially buried 10 pages deep in a carrd, and I'd rather someone just hit the block button on me. As was its intended function, really--one click and I'm gone, no stress about it!

I might sound snappy depending on the day--I deal with chronic pain, have the kind of autism where I don't know what socialising is, and use sarcasm heavily. Those do not mix well. Genuinely, ask me to clarify if you don't understand something I've said, or if you think I'm snappy for no reason. Unless you're someone like an anti-endo or transphobe, I probably don't know how my tone sounds.

Tags I use:

Aside from the trigger warning tags I included up above, this list is mostly for personal organisation.

Organisational Tags:

#op - Original posts by yours truly.

#rb - Reblogs.

#srb - Self-reblogs from any of our blogs.

#ask - Asks that have been answered.

#ask game - Self explanatory.

Alterhuman Tags:

#alterhuman - Self explanatory.

#otherkin, #plural, #fictionkin, etc - More self explanatory tags.

#sourceposting - Posts about my sources--usually fandom related, but not always.

#leviafin real - Art of me specifically. Not source fanart, me as a fictive.

#oceanic - Ocean or water related posts, probably aesthetic.

#sebastian solace - Posts about Sebastian Solace, probably fandom related.

#the hunt - Tag for The Hunt, probably fandom or aesthetic related.

#the vast - Tag for The Vast, probably fandom or aesthetic related.

Other Tags:

#aesthetic - Pretty things.

#art - You know. Created stuff.

#creatureposting - Posts about our wonderful little critter companions that live inside our house.

#disability - Disability posting.

#queer - Queer stuff.

#terrorpunk - Terrorpunk stuff.

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mcytblr-archive · 7 months

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Early MCYTblr Interviews: wormweeb

our interviewee today is @wormweeb, author of the cowboy au, nominee in the 2020 MCYTblr election, and overall MCYTblr veteran. below is a transcript of the questions and answers!

Q: What do you remember most fondly about “Early MCYTblr”? (2020-2021)

A: I think early mcytblr had the perfect mix of being an insular, small community with enough people actually posting (whether it be shitposts, art, fix, etc.) to keep the community alive. Perfect reblogger-creator ratio, I think. I loved seeing the familiar notifications from blogs that frequently RBed my stuff and familiar Urls in the tags (which I probably checked daily lol). There was this infectious energy that made being in the fandom so fun, with all the inside jokes and interactions and inter-blog familiarity.

Q: Do you recall your experience in the first MCYTblr election? What was it like?

A: Honestly, there was a lot of anxiety. I didn’t have many friends in the fandom in the sense that I didn’t often DM with people or talk in discord servers. I was kind of reclusive, so having to reach out to find running mates was nerve-racking! And then being thrust into a huge discord server with a bunch of other people I didn’t really know at all… It was all bizarrely anxiety-inducing. I didn’t really care about the results that much, since it was kind just a popularity contest (no hate, just true). I think the elections were cute and fun, another sort of fandom activity that I think only could’ve worked in an insular but involved fandom.

Q: Building off the last question– in my time archiving, I’ve seen people both hold you in high regard and condemn your blog wholesale. Is it odd to be talked about as a pseudo-historical figure in MCYTblr culture?

A: It’s mind-boggling! When I did all my posting as wormweeb, roughly July 2020 to august 2021, I was 16/17 and literally never left my house due to quarantine. It’s bizarre to think I was influential in that microcosm of a fandom, because I was truthfully just Some Guy irl. It was weird to see the extremes of how people treated me, with some users (much younger than me, I should add) treating me like a cc, with other people acting like I was a toxic supervillain.

At the time, I was deeply concerned with my image in the fandom. I reveled in the shocked reactions to some of my more… avant guard posts… but I was also really bothered when people talked badly about me. I wanted to be liked and popular, but I also wanted to be shocking and critical. I had contradictory motivations behind my posting, which I probably lead to such polarized reactions to my presence in the fandom.

Ultimately, I think it’s super interesting to see how people talk about me — whether they remember me as ‘that one crazy truthing blog’ or the cowboy au author or a proto-critblr poster or a toxic bad takes poster, etc. I don’t take any of it too personally any more, thankfully.

Q: Do you think that MCYTblr’s cultural shift away from crit and ‘truthing’ has been an overall good or bad thing?

A: I can’t really say. I think it’s natural that as a fandom expands, the most palatable takes will become the dominant ones, and any unpopular criticism / trutherisms will be pushed to the fringe. I can see why some people thought criticism was toxic and truthing was intrusive, but truthfully, I don’t think it reflected any poster’s moral character. I’m not involved in mcytblr anymore, so I don’t know exactly what the state of the current fandom looks like.

Q: Do you ever find yourself missing 2020-2021 MCYTblr? If so, what do you miss the most?

A: I often do miss that era of my life. Truthfully, I miss the attention and (infinitesimally small, microcosmic) cultural import I had. There was an exciting thrill that came with getting notifications every second of the day — that’s not an exaggeration either. I liked having people leave deranged asks in my ask box, or ask my opinion on some random streamer micro controversy, or people asking me when the next chapter of my fanfic would come out (lol). I, of course, miss the other elements of being in an active fandom — the fanfics, the fan artists, the familiarity between blogs,

However… I also know I was mentally unhealthy during that time. I was isolated, so it was fun and exciting to be an ultra-micro celebrity, but at the same time, I took it way too seriously. Because I painted myself as some sort of moral guardian, the great Intellectual Critiquer of content creators, I was terrified to make any bad takes… which, ironically, I made a lot of. I had painted myself into a corner both being dteam critical and (unfortunately) a genuine dteam stan at the time.

Q: Several in-jokes have lost their context (jewge, ancap dream, tradwife george/dream, homophobic dream and sapnap, republican dream, mega milk sapnap/george, etc). Would you like to provide their context, for archival and media literacy purposes?

A: Here’s a rundown for all of them!

“Jewge” was actually sparked by warpedfungusonastick, which I helped popularized. There are a few old videos where George’s friends called him jewge, and that combined with his ashkenazi last name led me to speculate he was jewish — for what its worth, im also jewish. Unfortunately, I think those videos of baby jewge have been lost to time. But nonetheless, that spawned a mini-jewge fandom, which jewge fanart!

Tradwife George and dream… I don’t know even know. I think the idea of “male wives” was trending on general Tumblr at the time. There was already this fandom idea of Dream being a “needy top” and George being the sugar baby/bitchy/uninterested love interest, which I just transplanted onto the idea of tradwifery. Dream as the doting tradwife, George as the unloving tradwife, etc.

Republican/Anarcho-capitalist dream — Ah, this one is kind of embarrassing!! I was really into jreg, and I was, for the first time ever, exposed to political ideas outside of the generic democrat vs republican dichotomy. I was really fascinated by right-wing libertarian or “ancap” ideology, and I already saw dream as a kind of self-made capitalist success story. At least, that’s what he portrayed himself as. My critique of dream and calling him ancap/republican was kind of a baby’s first leftism moment for me… but I nonetheless think the jokes were mostly funny.

Homophobic dream / sapnap — They gave me republican vibes. Dream especially, with some of his older, unsavory tweets, reeked of edgy gamergate humor.

Megamilk sapnap — I didn’t really pioneer this one! I believe this was mostly a Tumblr user who I think was pandascanpvp, or it was Plates gayminecraftmen (or both).

I’ll use this opportunity to catalogue a few more obscure wormweeb-pioneered AUs.

Homestuck au! I think I imagined it as dream = dirk, George = Jake English. Colournotfound (rip gone but not forgotten) did so much of the sustaining of the au.

Scott Pilgrim au. Dream = Scott, George = Ramona. Fundy = envy. This one got fan art!

Q: What was your physical, mental, and emotional reaction when kaceytron pulled up your crit post on stream?

A: Baffled. Excited. God, I wish I had clipped it! I still have a screenshot. I desperately hoped she would read it to dream (who joined the stream later). That felt like I had peaked as a cc stan blog… having a C-list streamer pull up my post on stream. Literally google searching “dream queer baiting” because she didn’t even know what she was accusing him of, or how to support her argument.

Q: Is there anything else you particularly want to share or talk about?

A: I was just want to say that although I don’t watch or support any member of the dteam any more, I still am proud of the cowboy au. It’s kind of a relic of the time (especially the gnf and Maya mxmtoon stuff). The general response to the fanfiction was… wow!! Everyone who commented on that fanfiction was so exceedingly kind. People even drew fan art. I am still happy to have written something that, despite the inherent cringeness of it, positively affected so many people.

#early mcytblr interviews #Volume 9 #wormweeb

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selineram3421 · 2 years

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Headcanons for Dream Demon Reader

Alastor & Reader

Platonic

Living life was shit but your after life is something! I feel like this version of the reader is like a teen? Or at least mentally still a teen.

Friends with Alastor because of a "deal." Its pinkie promise logic, idk. You are also friends with his shadows.

Alastor can snap his fingers and you're there. Being able to talk telepathically, unless you or him block your minds. Sharing music just got easier. You can also summon him but you don't do it too often.

Figuring out that summon thing.

You don't meet Mimzy until later later.

She gives off bad vibes so... No. You steer clear of her.

Sleep is important! Even more so now for you. At least half of the day is just sleep. Husk is jealous lol.

You died in your favorite hoodie, so yay? Comfy clothes, woohoo!

And yes. You and Alastor do get a friendship item.

You choose through a vote I guess.

How you get to the hotel? Uh, I'll have to figure that out.

"Who the fuck are you?", Angel Dust asks.

"God.", you say with a blank stare.

Random shit in all honesty.

When you and Alastor are bored, its the most random of random. Like putting a bunch of pins in the couch. Just because.

You and Husk hang out sometimes. Why? He doesn't find you annoying, not as much as Alastor at least.

No energy to keep up with Niffty but the little demon is cool. Sometimes she'll surprise you with a pastry.

Rosie is the best. Gives you snacks and let's you sleep on the couch in her office. It's like going to your favorite grandma's house. Good vibes.

Vaggie used to be suspicious of you but after seeing you mostly just nap she doesn't consider you a threat.

Charlie is confused about your sleeping habits but it clears up once you clarify what demon you are.

Angel doesn't hang around with you much, but both of you are chill. Fat Nuggets sometimes sneaks into your room for sleepy snuggles and Angel has to get the little piggy out.

"Who the fuck is Bill?", you mumble after checking your hellphone and seeing a yellow dorito.

Your humor is broken but eh, whatever. At least it makes you laugh. Sometimes Alastor too when he gets the joke.

You look like a floating ghost when visible out of your body. Disappear and reappear. Oooo~

Your eyes glow when light hits them, like animal eyes do. The first time you found that out you were messing around with a flashlight. "Hehe cool."

Boop boop.

You don't get nightmares, it rarely happens.

The hatred for Vox is mutual. You understand why Alastor thinks less of him. Fat headed piece of shit.

The t.v. in your hotel room is tossed out the window after the kidnapping and brainwashing. Basically a big fuck you to Vox.

Glow in the dark stars on your ceiling in your hotel room.

A bunch of plushies, stuffed animals, pillows are on your bed. Peak comfort. They watch for intruders.

You also have a mini fridge in your room because you store water bottles in there and feel too lazy to get some from the kitchen.

Alien lava lamp with a little cow inside and a ufo on top.

You love dreamcatchers but you can't be near them, you'll get tangled up. Good thing you have special scissors! Snip snip bitches!

You gotta carry them all the time but you forget to. A lot.

I might update this with more stuff later.

~Seline, the person.

Art: Here

ML for Alastor🎙

#x reader #gn reader #platonic #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon alastor #the radio demon #radio demon #dream demon reader #dream demon #alastor & reader

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zarchomp · 3 months

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saw a post on tiktok joking about riley from inside out discovering Wattpad in the first movie and AO3 in the second movie which like,,,,, relatable middle school experience.

a bunch of the comments were saying stuff like "and just WAIT until she discovers chai". i didn't know what chai was, but i DO know that ao3 isn't as popular in a lot of fandom spaces these days so i checked it out, wondering if it was something new, but turns out it's character ai?

which is SO interesting to me because like,,,, the whole thing that i've always LOVED about fandom spaces is the act of mutual creation.

i feel like the thing that is so amazing about fandom isn't just that it's a continuation of the canon stories, but that it's an entirely different way to create relationships with stories. exploring your relationship to a character, as a consumer, and using that to become a creator. taking what resonates to you from the canon and further exploring that tiny facet of it.

i remember that post on here from about ten years ago that argued that canon which tends to be dark has a lot of fanwork that's more lighthearted (college aus, post-war slice of life stuff) whereas lighter canon material gives way to darker fanwork. that sort of relationship with the text, a willingness to explore it on all fronts, is what makes fandom kinda amazing.

the way that popular fanfictions completely recontexualize fanon as a whole. how popular pieces of fanart can affect the way the fandom interprets characters and their relationships to each other. fandom has ALWAYS been interesting because it's constantly building on itself. it's like one giant mass that's influenced by thousands of people and each of the individual ways that they resonate with the text.

to me, fandom was never a passive experience. growing up with a lot of mental illness, relating to people in real life wasn't easy. but in an online space where the only thing i needed to enter a thriving community was opinions on different characters and relationships, i could find a space for myself. i know a lot of fanartists and fic writers and general fandom people feel the same way.

and i was kinda shocked at the amount of people who go to ai for fandom. i know back when chatGPT first got big, a lot of people were using it to write fanfiction. and i just think is totally misses the fundamental joy of fandom. because like, i want to read something written by someone who cried while learning about sasuke's backstory.

i want to see art by someone who's stayed up all night scrolling ship tags on tumblr. the whole point of fandom, to me, isn't just that my brain latches onto *thing* and so i want more *thing* (which it does). but i want that more *thing* to be created by someone who has thoughts on the text. someone who watched voltron and said "yeah this is kinda cool but i have ideas about keith's characterization in season three that i think was underexplored in the show and i want to try my hand at it".

anyways, i am so appreciative towards anyone who's ever drawn characters in their styles, had them wearing silly costumes, put them in an pokemon au, started conversation about which college major u think the dungeon meshi characters would choose.

everyone who writes and creates original stories about ur faves suffering, bleeding, owning a pet store, celebrating their birthdays, having sex for the first time.

the act of mutual creation which defines fandom is incredible. the fact that there's a whole community of people who have different takes on characters, who hotly debate whether it makes more sense if the character with the canonically horrific backstory would still have that backstory in the modern day. it's what makes these communities alive, active places that you can explore. it's incredible.

the ability to see a text, and to create such a personal relationship with it that it sparks more creation. that's what it's about.

#fandom #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad #fanwork #fanart #fandom things #fandom meta #fandom culture #fandom talk

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bigfan-fanfic · 2 years

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A Fire Burning Quiet (Male!Reader x Bucky Barnes)

Requested by @thenlookatyourphones for Can I request a scenario/headcanons of sorts for bucky and his boyfriend for old times sake? I was wondering if you could do one where Bucky is super stoic and serious when he’s out in public and a man of very few words and kind of stand-offish, but behind closed doors, he’s super dorky and always trying to make his boyfriend laugh and he’s super cuddly with his boyfriend

There's so much going on with Bucky.

He just tends to keep it to himself.

With his PTSD, Bucky tends to close up around unfamiliar people, which makes it hard to bond with others.

But you are one of those others. You wormed your way into his circle, and then into his heart.

And you just realize that there's a whole other person locked inside a tough shell, just for you to see.

Bucky tends to respond in one word answers and short vocalizations, at least, outside of his small friend group.

He doesn't smile, and he takes things very seriously, finding it difficult to recognize humor in modern speech patterns.

He is always on high alert, scanning surroundings and people for threat analysis, and he hates crowds.

But when you close the doors, batten down the hatches, build him a fortress where he finally feels safe... Bucky emerges.

He's a dork. A huge dork.

He geeks out over scientific discoveries, despite finding it difficult to pronounce a lot of jargon. He's way more intellectual than people might give him credit for, and he learns very quickly. Bucky likes technology a lot. He thinks it's incredible to see how people have made their lives easier and safer, although he also recognizes downsides, and he absolutely doesn't trust unnecessarily smart devices.

He's decorated his own space and picked out furnishings - he generally goes for state-of-the-art appliances, but just a step away from fully-smart. He refuses to have anything connect to the internet without him knowing why. Sam gave him an Alexa as a joke and Bucky lobbed it out of the window.

Bucky really likes video games and web shows. He likes seeing how creative people can be. He gets invested in stories and loves watching them with you. More than once you've seen him taking notes - Bucky has a knack for analysis and the time to do research on symbolism and references.

He's silly. Not just funny, but silly. He has a biting wit and sarcasm, but you've come to recognize that as another wall, a defense mechanism. Bucky loves jokes that are so terrible they're funny - he likes puns and creative riddles and he smiles so much around you that you wonder why it's just here, just with you and friends.

And the other thing - Bucky is touch starved and not afraid of physical contact. In public, he's too tightly wound to hug or cuddle, but once all his defenses are down, you struggle to find a time he's not somehow pressed against you. Even when you sit at your computer desk, he sometimes likes to just sit against your chair and do his own thing. Bucky's got a lot of room to multitask, and he enjoys just having parallel time with you, yet still connecting.

He'll cuddle you without warning, make stupid faces at you across the dinner table to make you laugh, and be so wonderfully animated and expressive around you.

It makes you a little sad that no one else gets to see this beautiful man you love so much, but you feel such a sense of honor and privilege that you're the one who does.

You love the Bucky that playfully makes little puppy whines while you braid his long hair.

The Bucky that pins you down on the couch and peppers kisses across your skin when you seem sad.

The Bucky that looks so absorbed in a YouTube video analyzing the music in some game that he's played that you feel bad disturbing him.

The Bucky that strings up fairy lights around the rooms, who orders a bunch of fuzzy blankets and demands you try them out with him, who learns to cook and bake just for you, and who pretends to die at the slightest injury so you'll baby him.

And you know what? You love the Bucky he is outside, too. Because even when he grunts at someone out in public, even when he misses a question because he's surveying the area, it's still the same guy. And maybe someday you can help him feel safe enough to not have to lift up his walls every time you're not alone, but maybe not. And that's okay too.

You love him, all the same.

And he loves you.

#male reader #bucky barnes x male reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel x male reader #marvel headcanons #headcanons

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statisticallymorelikely · 5 months

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AHHHH!!! Hello hi I’m back and I absolutely adore all of your Old guard x 00q crossover ideas!!! Thank you for indulging in my brainworms lol. Nicky calling Q bambino absolutely undoes me ahhhh 🥺🥺 and Q being the baby of the group is so funny!! When I was first thinking about it I headcannoned that Q was older than booker by a couple decades but honestly I think that just makes Q being solidly the kid of the group even funnier. Q, hasn’t been the newest member of the guard for 250+ years, dead eye staring as Booker (50 years younger than him) and Nile (literal 20-something-year-old), both skip mostly past baby treatment while Andy still calls him kiddo all the time.

Broooo and Bond seeing Q killed in front of him?? Maybe as a result of his actions??? Like. The guilt!! The angst!! The pain!! *chefs kiss* lovely absolutely lovely. And him being left alone to stew with the body?!?? Just him struggling to compartmentalize enough to do his job, kind of going into shock, wondering why the hell Q dying hurts as much as it does. Just Bond having his “oh” moment only after Q dies. Realizing he loved the snarky little bugger that kept him alive and guided him and helped him hide from medical and M. And then realizing that he can’t do anything about those feelings because Q is dead and it’s his fault. Only to have Q come back to life in front of his eyes.

I have this one scene in my head right now where MI6 has to work with the CIA for some reason and Copley is there as a favor for one of his former coworkers or smthn. And the entire time the man is completely unsubtle like. The opposite of subtlety, keeps glancing over at Q with wide eyes and Q’s dying inside. He’s developing an eye twitch and every time Copley looks at him M and R look at Q like “what’s going on rn” and Q’s like “I never should’ve okayed working with this man”. The two double O agents of your choice guarding the door are simultaneously staring a hole in the side of Q’s head and texting the double O groupchat about the situation.

Also you’re so right about Nile and Q bonding over art!! Ahhh I’m just imagining she takes a day trip to come visit him in London and they go to a bunch of museums and just chat. She calls him old man as a joke and he’s so used to being babied that he secretly loves it. And ik London is MI5 jurisdiction but I think it would be so funny if Nile, Q, and Bond get caught up in some kind of plot and have to save the day. Even better if this is Bond’s first time meeting any of the old guard members in person. Just Nile meeting Bond for the first time, giving him a once over and looking at Q and calling him a cradle robber. And Q is standing there having flashbacks to Bond saying that exact same thing while James is keeled over, laughing so hard he’s crying for the first time in decades. Nile just crosses her arms and is like “I said what I said”. NILE AND MONEYPENNY BONDING HDNDNDNDNDN. The two of them bonding 100 percent gives Q a headache.

And just. Q’s stuck in the UK because of his job, but he’s still part of the guard! Andy and him face timing to give updates, Joe and Nicky constantly texting him everyday, Nile calling him to tell him about whatever stupid shit is going on at the moment. When everything with Quynh gets sorted out I bet she and him constantly call too!! And him and Booker being tech bros!! And ofc they visit him pretty often, popping in and out of the country sometimes all together sometimes one at a time. Just being family y’know?

oop welcome back!

yesss it doesn't matter how old you headcanon Q as (personally i'm thinking after booker, think robert frobisher vibes), he is still baby. he used to scoff at it but he has to admit he misses it whenever he has to go back to london. eve's teasing makes up for it a little bit.

oh after bond finally finds out and they're Talking About It, he kind of feels relieved. at least he doesn't have to worry about Q dying anymore, right? but then bond learns about quynh, and then about merrick (Q deeply regrets not being able to fish them out of that one, he did clean up after them though), and about things worse than death

and then Q tells him oh so gently that no, he could still die. one day he will stop healing and it will be his time, and it's going to be okay, james, we all have to make peace with our mortality. and maybe the reminder of Q's mortality again is what finally kicks bond into Doing Something about this thing he has for Q

after the whole merrick debacle, Q not being in on the punishment to exclude booker offers him comfort and a place to stay. booker rejects the former but accepts the latter. Q always has a hand out and simply waits for booker to reach back.

Q maintaining a separate network of safehouses for his fam because he is still 50-50 on trusting copley. nile asks him if he has a stash similar to andy's cave. the next time they're in america, Q directs them to stay at his little townhouse in boston where she finds a couple of lost rembrandts and vermeers casually hanging in the bedrooms.

the second time bond witnesses Q die is when they're all drunk off their asses and joe dares him to jump into a pool from the third floor balcony. it's a large pool. Q misses. he revives laughing.

#00Q #james bond #quartermaster #the old guard #old guard #anonymous #hello!! sorry it took so long #got swamped at work then sick then addicted to dead boy detectives #thank you for riffing with me lovely human #always makes my day

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