#& then i will never colour this scene again

[f1girliefics]

Through His Lens

Zhou Guanyu x Reader

Summary: Zhou is passionate about photography. You’re camera-shy, always avoiding the spotlight.

You never liked being on camera.

There was something about having a lens pointed at you that made your skin crawl, like being studied, exposed.

You preferred your place behind the scenes. Low light. Soft voices. Spaces where no one looked too hard or asked too much.

That’s why you liked working for Stake.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours. Stable, quiet. Familiar.

And then there was Zhou.

Zhou Guanyu. The rising star.

Sharp jawline, polished charm, impossibly good in photos—of course, he was.

But he wasn’t just the face on the posters or the easy smile during press days.

He was kind. Patient. Gentle in a way that felt rare in the racing world.

He remembered things, your favourite tea, how you liked your notes colour-coded, the playlist you always played in the garage when things got too tense. He remembered you, even when you did your best to blend into the background.

You didn’t know he had a camera until much later.

It started small.

You’d catch him fiddling with something between media sessions or off-track events. A sleek little film camera, always slung over his shoulder or tucked into a side bag.

He never made a big deal out of it. Sometimes he asked his teammates if he could take a photo—mostly scenery, fans, and mechanics in motion. But you? You never asked.

And yet somehow, you kept seeing flashes of your reflection—too fast to be certain.

A click when you were tucking your hair behind your ear.

The soft whirr of the lens when you were laughing at something Bottas said. You never saw the photos, and you never asked.

Until one day, you found a print left behind in the hospitality tent.

A black-and-white image, beautifully composed.

A woman—you—standing with her back to the window, the light soft on your face as you looked down at a page of notes.

Candid. Honest. Beautiful.

Your heart stuttered.

You tucked it back before anyone could see.

You didn’t bring it up until weeks later, long after the photo had been burned into your memory.

It was late during the Monaco weekend.

A warm breeze rolled through the empty paddock, and the sea stretched out just beyond the fences, dark and shimmering.

Zhou was leaning against the pit wall, camera in hand, scrolling through shots under the overhead lights.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, hugging your arms across your chest.

He looked up, smiled easily, boyishly. “Of course.”

You hesitated. “Why me?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You take pictures. Of the team, the track, everything. But I feel like… I don’t know. I feel like I’m in more of them than I should be.”

He blinked, caught off guard.

And then—he didn’t look away.

“I like taking pictures of things I don’t want to forget,” he said, voice soft, almost reverent. “And you’re… always there. You look like peace.”

You swallowed hard. “Zhou…”

He handed you something.

A small, leather-bound photo album, warm from his hands.

You opened it slowly.

There you were, again and again, laughing at the back of the garage. Sleeping on the flight to Canada. Watching a sunset in Barcelona with a look in your eyes, even if you didn’t recognise it.

Every shot was careful.

Thoughtful. Intimate, in a way that made your breath catch.

“You didn’t even tell me,” you whispered, flipping through the pages.

“I was scared,” he said quietly. “You always flinch when someone pulls out a phone. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But I couldn’t help it. You just… You make things feel softer. Easier.”

There was silence between you. Heavy, but not unpleasant. A kind of waiting.

He exhaled. “I think I started falling for you the moment I took the first one.”

You looked up.

And there he was.

The same Zhou, just a little more vulnerable than usual. Just a little more real.

You stepped closer.

“I think I’ve been falling for you this whole time,” you said, placing your hand gently over the album. “Even when I was trying not to.”

He smiled, small and earnest, and you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, heart thudding.

The wind rustled the edges of the pages.

Neither of you moved to stop it.

[i-dont-even-know-anymore976]

my spine split from carrying us up the hill (i’m just getting colour back into my face)

a buddie relationship breakdown fic | 21.8k

tags: buck pov, buck centric, established relationship, break up, cheating, sad buck, emotional/psychological abuse, unhealthy relationship, eddie diaz bashing, 118 bashing, (tho i think it’s more critical but for the filters), season 7 au, in an au where buddie got together after the shooting, Relationship Breakdown, anti buddie, No Beta We Die Like Bobby Nash, (doesn’t in this fic)

It took Buck a moment to process what he saw before him.  Eddie — his arms wrapped around some woman. His face buried in her neck and his fingers brushing her skin.  The other man’s eyes widening, his face going pale as he realised they’d been caught.  Buck barely heard Eddie gasp Chris’s name — the boy motionless next to him as they stared at a ghost.  At Shannon.  At Chris’s mother — who Buck knew was dead.  Had been to the funeral and seen them both through the messy aftermath. Had helped this child mourn once and already knew he’d have to do it again.  Or: What if it was Buck instead of Marisol

in a surprise to everyone — and most of all me — i’ve actually written something ?? for the first time in like three years ?? wild

tbh i think that scene in 8.17 just reaffirmed everything i'd been slowly realising about buddie and why they could never work and it somehow manifested itself as this 😅

anyway - a lil excerpt for you all xx

He regretted it as soon as the dial tone sounded. Had let his thumb hover of the name — debating — for more than a few seconds before giving in to the urge to press call.

And yet — as soon as it actually started ringing — he knew he shouldn’t have done it.

That he was fine. That he was being dramatic, once again.

But he also knew he couldn’t just hang up. That it would create a panic — force them to call back — to ask questions.

“Doctor Copeland’s office,” it was a new receptionist. Her voice melodically neutral as she answered the phone, “May I ask who’s calling.”

Buck stumbled over his words for a second, before rushing to explain, “Uh — don’t worry. It was an accident.”

“Are you sure… Mr Buckley?” She drew out the question as if reading the name off a screen and Buck cursed whatever Caller ID system the psychologist’s office employed that still recognised his number.

Her tone more concerned as she asked again, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah — yeah, of course.” He felt almost breathless as the lies left his lips, “Just a wrong number. Pressed the wrong person by mistake. Sorry for any trouble.”

“Okay — then,” she sounded doubtful. “Well, we’re here if you ever need us, Mr Buckley. Don’t hesitate to ring back now. Okay? I know Doctor Copeland would be more than happy to fit you in.”

“Yeah—” he agreed half-heartedly. Desperate to get off the phone before he did something stupid like actually ask for an appointment.

Knowing it was pointless. That he was fine.

“Have a nice day then.”

He finally freed himself from the conversation. Heart racing like it usually only did when he’s had to run up six flights of stairs in full turn outs.

He forced himself to drop his phone onto the counter — hands shaking as he thought about reaching for it again — and made himself walk away instead.

Looked around the kitchen desperately for something to do and was relieved to spot the small stack of dishes from the night before.

They usually did them together. Buck drying as Eddie washed — accused of almost flooding the kitchen one too many times before Eddie had finally relegated him to the less dangerous of the tasks.

They’d been too tired the night before. Exhaustion dragging them towards bed and leaving the dishes to wait until the morning.

It had been happening more and more lately. Truthfully Buck couldn’t remember the last time they’d shared their little ritual. Meals eaten in a rush as they raced out the door to work — whoever drew the short straw and got home first left to do the tidy up.

At least if Buck didn’t end up eating alone. Eddie always out these days — the friendship he'd struck up with Tommy keeping him gone until late whenever they had the day off.

Chris, even more sociable than his father. Forever at a friend’s house, or out with the girl that he swore to Buck wasn’t a budding romance. Swindling invites for sleepovers through charm and good humour that a young Buck could never have dreamed of emulating.

Always clinging just a little too tight for people to ever really settle in his presence.

It left him alone most nights. At least the ones he didn’t spend at the firehouse, revelling in the thrum of activity. Instructions from Bobby as they cooked, Chim and Hen’s quiet rivalry as they wrestled for control of the TV remote.

Eddie sitting next to him in the engine — their legs brushing they were sat so close. Sometimes it felt like the most intimate they ever were anymore.

Never mind the way they’d clung to each other having rescued Bobby and Athena. Buck pressing into bruises to leave them there a little longer. To remind himself that Eddie had chosen him, that he loved him.

Not that he needed the reminder.

Buck knew that. Intrinsically. He did.

Read on AO3

[crooked-wasteland]

We were promised stolas accountability, but instead we got stolas doing a grand gesture and “heroic” act of sacrifice. Followed by scenes of, in the writers view; unjust persecution of this beautiful man, by the filthy ungrateful poors. Protected if not by a grown woman calling him a blameless “baby”, but by an army of literal white knights formerly known as a team of self driven assassins. I think vivziepop just cannot abide the idea of stolas being incorrect or unlikeable in any capacity. I think a lot of it, for whatever reason, has to do with his sloppily written marital victim status, and his sexual orientation.

Think of the dwinni animation. Vivzies good friend Dani Draws, the personification of Medranos unfiltered innermost thoughts, was enraged at the idea that stolas could die, because he is a queer victim of abuse. It’s as if queer people and victims are just that. Nothing more. Always put on this untouchable frankly dehumanising pedestal. Their flaws, harmful actions, and misdeeds, abuses, potential antagonism, are diminished and excused by this fandom, seemingly just because of queerness and past victimhood.

But then again, is the protagonist Blitzø not also a victim of abuse? By his father and others? Is he not also queer? Isn’t it strange then that he receives the full brunt of Vivziepops pent up frustrations and hatred in the bashing episode “Apology Tour”

I cannot understand the stolas double standard. He has taken lives by hiring assassins, has taken lives by his own hand, he has tortured humans, mistreated his child, he has sexually harassed someone, he has been violent to those too weak to stand up to him. Even by this shows moral standards he is actually one of the worst. But his status as a gentle soft spoken victim of circumstance, the ‘kindest character’ and the excuse of ‘upbringing’ to explain his faults, is for some reason unquestionable.

Is this simply the persuasive power of pretty crying and colourful music videos?

Spot on Anon

It's a bizarre dehumanization. I remember being a child and seeing my characters as whole people. They were like my friends. I wanted to get to know them and understand them intimately.

Nowadays, it feels like the relationship between audiences and fictional characters is one of distortion and hollow tokenism. It isn't about getting to know characters through their own stories and on their own terms anymore, but forcing one's own identity into the emaciated characterization in order to feel better about yourself.

I was also one of those fanfiction writers who would kill my favorite characters to experience the feelings. Torture them in all the ways to test the extent of my humanity. I remember several times I stopped writing and would cry into my hands over these characters I made, or loved. I was never concerned about the social groups surrounding them, whether they were social minorities or not didn't matter. Because, first and foremost, they were people.

I give the creators respect by not insanely devouring the actual work put into the show to give the characters some kind of characterization. The part people seem to not understand is that I don't disagree with who the characters are, I am just not on board with how the narrative has progressed. Not because I just don't like it, but because it fails in its function.

They never earned a single thing they have attempted to do, because they are too intent on tokenism or because they are the Creator's precious little dollies, I don't know. But they have never been narratively challenged in any meaningful way, instead it feels like they've been consistently hollowed out, more and more, by both the writers and the fans.

Cinema Therapy - Cars

[jukesjoint]

I don’t know man. I loved how tonight was emphasised throughout Sinners. It was so subtle, like going in blind to watch it and not realising it was only going to be the one night where they all live to feel free even just for a moment. How being free for Black people meant only having to experience that when no one else can really see.

And having the night to be able to experience that because a lot of us consider the night time to be a time, a place where you are not judged for anything. Not your mannerisms, your skin colour, how you talk because it’s still, slow. The emphasis on night (tonight) was, to me, foreshadowing how you are only ever going to get the chance to feel like nothing’s wrong. I also feel like it has to do with the fact that the night, that night in particular was hiding something they all didn’t know was going to happen.

I researched about it more and came across an excerpt from Freedom in the Night Antebellum Slave Life After Dark (Smith, 2017). There was a different way that slaves practised their nightly activities than during the day. There was a lot of rules, they could not really socialise with anyone else and, obviously, seen as less than so they don’t have the privilege to promenade, share stories, or laughter.

The ruling class, whites, made sure they didn’t get to experience a lot of goodness during the day. And how the day was a time where you couldn’t be how you wanted to be. So little things like Pearline getting eaten out, Mary being able to be in a space where integration was welcomed (in the dark), and her relationship with Stack. They blossomed into something that would’ve never happened if it was day time.

It also applies to the scene of Sammie singing I Lied to You, how every culture from past to present to future was pulled into one space. Being able to practise it without the watchful eye of the white man. The song also plays a role in how activities in the dark are essentially lies. It gave slaves a sense of serenity, but that wasn’t going to last long. The famous lyric that goes, “Somebody take me in your arms tonight,” (there’s that word again!); singing it at night, the atmosphere enveloping everyone who worked and had a fake persona during the day by force into its arms. It was basically telling them that you’re safe and free to do as you please tonight, but only tonight.

(I’m annoying, but I have so many theories these are just few) And fire being a huge part of how the night plays out. Fire was seen as a form of rebellion. I thought of it as a cleanse of being able to be a human being during the night, but also being able to experience some form of warmth (sunlight) and still feel free at the same time. “By perusing the available narratives of the formerly enslaved, I found many harnessed the natural light from fire as a mechanism for resistance or protection (song sequence with Miles character, Sammie). But it was also seen as a form of violence too. The play with fire in this movie is incredible because fire cleansed them of Remmick, of their souls finally being free and released to rest by the sun.

I just think Ryan Coogler is a visionary who understands how to symbolise something at the right time. He’s pretty much prompting us to read more, which I’m all for because I love it hence this terrifyingly long essay of word vomit that people won’t pay attention to, but the observation I did of it. It’s so stellar.

References

A Meditation on Natural Light and the Use of Fire in the United States Slavery

Freedom in the Night Antebellum Slave Life After Dark

[d-burnerphone]

heh… you guys can see my animation before tiktok does… 😼😼

[raayllum]

Callum and Rayla in 7x09, Nova

[vakariaan]

ultimate ships challenge - [4/10] she cleans up nicely scenes

[wkomd]

The Karate Kid (1984) dir. John G. Avildsen

[toadettely]

Something silly I thought about the spill & skill au is the idea of Sophist and Vern bonding and asking each other about their crushes. Sophist tells Vern embarrassing stuff about Nick from when they were kids and Vern tells Sophist silly anecdotes from their time working together in the cafe. And of course they use that to tease their respective crushes later on.

-🖋️

Ohh yess Pen that's wonderful! (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠) This concept will definitely be included into the Story!! I just have to think of fitting stuff, especially with Nick as a kiddo.

Have this very small thing as thanks ^-^

(tw for a slight burn from hot liquid. No big description but just in case! Just red n slightly swollen)

Eat up, Skill & Spill fans!! /hj

---

Nick picked Vernias up after his work at the King's Roast and walked him to the dance studio Vernias usually jogged to after his shifts.

"By the way, Nick, what happened to Catalina?"

"What?" Nick sipped on his favourite drink as they walked, keeping eye contact while doing so. "Who is that?"

"Oh you know, the stuffed dog plush you'd never leave the house without?"

Nick stopped in his tracks. "How do you even-" Nick groaned, annoyed and out of frustration. "Do I have to watch over Sophist whenever he talks to you?!" Vernias giggled.

"Why? I think it's cute you had your little dog protect you. I especially love the story about Hallowee-" "Vernias, I swear to God: do not finish that sentence." The pink-haired one only giggled some more, while Nick wanted to slam his head into the nearest wall or tree.

"Did Catalina watch little Nick when he was on the toilet~?" "I- VERNIAS."

Some passengers turned their heads towards them. Vernias laughed as he held his stomach.

Later that day in the evening, they hung out in Nick's apartment.

Nick looked through a big carton box that had "Old Stuff" written on its side with a black marker.

The taller man mumbled to himself as he searched the box and Vernias watched him from Nick's bed. He lay comfortably on his stomach between some cushions as he observed Nick, admiring him quietly.

"There she is!" Nick exclaimed, holding up a yellow plush dog that looked like it could tell stories from the war and had more life experience than Vernias.

"Oh my God, I forgot how cute she is! Look at the little Fella!" The older one wiggled the stuffed animal around and Vernias could only smile softly at the sight. Any teasing comment he could say to mock Nick vanished from Vernias' mind as he watched Nick beaming with the stuffed dog in his hands.

"... So that is the legendary Catalina?"

"The one and only!"

---

----Brent's day off, around lunchtime, at Brent's apartment---

Zelda respawned after Brent took the second stock of her life. Eevee muttered a curse, focused on the screen. Brent moved his leg a little bit, slightly touching Eevee's unconsciously, while trying to win another round of Smash Bros.

"Did it hurt?" Eevee asked softly but sounded almost too nonchalant as he dodged a combo from King K. Rool.

"What?" Brent's shoulders loosened slightly.

"Did it hurt when you burned yourself yesterday? The spilled cappuccino?" It was supposed to sound like a mock, an unexpected tease. The words came out like nothing close to that, at all.

King K. Rool lost his first stock. The question was thrown into the room out of the blue - like Zelda's deadly attack that sent him flying to the left side of the screen.

Vernias liked to talk too much. A chance to embarrass Brent? A chance Vernias loved to have and would always take.

"I'm fine-" "Not what I asked."

Silence. Nothing but the sound of their fingers pressing buttons.

"Goddamn it!" Zelda got knocked out again and Eevee threw his arms into the air while the younger one smirked slightly in triumph.

The screen showed King K. Rool striking his victory pose. Eevee turned to Brent.

"Did you cool it?"

Brent sighed.

"Yes. I'm fin-"

"Can I see?"

Brent sighed again.

Without a word, without trying to deflect or simply refuse Eevee's request, Brent put his controller down next to him on the couch and pulled his sleeve up.

The area where the hot and steaming cappuccino met his skin was visible; red and slightly swollen.

No one said a single word, neither of them made the smallest noise. Eevee took Brent's arm into both of his hands, careful not to touch the slightly burned areas of his skin.

Brent didn't flinch, withdraw his arm or pull away.

Eevee wanted to kiss Brent's arm.

He wanted to help the injury heal faster.

Just like Eevee always desired to make Brent smile instead of having him look so tired.

Not just sleep-deprived-tired. Tired of everything.

Eevee didn't.

The older one only looked at Brent's arm and the slight combustion like it was something interesting to study.

Brent was something interesting to study.

"Have you been too clumsy again or just too sleepy as always?" Eevee teased, but his tone was slightly off.

Brent pulled back gently and covered his arm with his sleeve again.

"Shut up, Eevee."

[goyurim]

i finally understand why there is so much yellow lighting in dark scenes in this drama. like, you'd expect at least one street lamp to be lit white at byeongmun high school, right?

undercover agent jeong hae seong: yes i know, but there was an emergency

[sircolinmorgan]

ENDEAVOUR | LAZARETTO.

[sakasakiii]

hi!!! how long does an average panel of one of your comics take??

i love your work so much!! it got me into silmblr hehe

HI NONNIE!!! thank u sooooso much for checking in and for ur lovely ask! it means a lot to hear that my silly ol scribbles were what introduced u to the glorious landscape that is the tolkien fandom! on tumblr no less!! i hope you stay a real long time, and have a blast while you're at it 💖💖

now onto your question! that's some good food for thought uhhhh i can try to estimate?? its been a while but i shld have some rough ideas abt each that i can share! the time frame each comic/panel takes is highly dependent on WHAT kind of comic it is. i hv two kinds of comics I usually do: 1) full-length, and 2) goofy/4koma.

i have a few full-length comics laying about in my archive, but my most recent one/best example is Ghosts which was around uh.... 7 pages excluding the bonus panels! in terms of the process, i usually divide it into 5 stages:

Drafting: this is either the fastest stage OR the slowest depending entirely whether i know what im doing LMAO,, if i have a set idea for what i want to happen, i might get drafts done in a few hours, but if i flounder, it can take a few days 🤔

Lineart: relatively simple enough once i hv the draft down, so id say anything ranging from an hour to half a day if theres nothing else going on irl

Block colouring (main actors): there are DEFINITELY easier and more professional ways to do this with mass-selection and the lasso fill/bucket tool, but idk how to do that on SAI (my art program) so i colour everything by hand HAHA which makes the process longer.... half a day to a day?

Shading: THE WORST!!! definintely my least favourite bc i find it tedious due to all the details/prettification of elves that i am legally obliged to pour into this stage 😭😭 as a result, it can take days!!!

Background + Lighting + Final Rendering: similar to the previous stage haha it just depends on how much effort i wanna put into the final product looking nice. roughly a few days? it kind of meshes with stage 4 anyways haha

just for fun, i hope this process gif for page 6 can illustrate that 👇

these are just rough estimates, bc all in all, the time it takes so finish a page is really dependent on how free I am hahaha. Also, I usually work on full-length comics like Ghost which have more than one page all at once, which means I drafted all 7 pages at once, then did the lineart for all 7 pages at once, coloured at once, shaded rendered bla bla bla 😚 iirc, i think it took me 11 days in total to finish Ghosts before the end of June last year!

For goofy/4-koma, its usually just one page with less detailed/more cartoonish/chibi character styles so it takes a day or two days at most! again, it all boils down to how free i am hehe

YEAH SORRY THIS ENDED UP BEING AN INFO DUMP but thank you so much again for asking and letting me ramble! <3 i ended up having a lot of fun looking back on my drafts n thinking back on my processes.... theres defininitely room for improvement, but thats another worry for another day heheh 😎

[reallytiredartstudent]

Can you tell that i love them?

(as always click for better quality :D)

[taegularities]

regarding: colour me in – HMMMMM okay pls talk to me about this 🎨🤍

[raayllum]

RAYLLUM S5 MEME:  4/7 little things — 5x09, infantis sanguine

Rayla, are you okay? I'll be fine. I just... I couldn't do it. I... I'm getting out. No.

[that-spider-fan-over-there]

So uh, do you guys ever think about how Tenko grew up with a man who had the capacity to take away his Quirk - the thing that ruined his life, took away his family - yet seemingly never once took his? That was probably a way to make him internalize he truly wished for destruction the moment he was born?

And Tenko probably questioned it but never dared ask because he was the one who accepted him, and sure he gives you a sinking feeling in your guts to the point you scratch your neck at the mere idea of talking to him (when was the last time you've had a doctor's consult? Or a simple ointment to relieve the pain? Isn't he friends with a doctor?), but he picked you up from the streets (because you don't deserve gentle touches when you're followed by the dust of death. your name is defined by it how do you know the name of that kid who wanted to be a hero) he gave you a place to stay (because your home was based on silent rejections and lies on the very ground you decayed), he accepted you even though you're only an individual born for destruction (and so is the crafted garden you're rooted on, but you could've thrived in another garden, another life.)

And maybe, you're just ungrateful. Your sensei is the only one who can understand the lonely traces of death that follows you, unnervingly so. Even though he's the one who can take that away from you with a mere touch.

(just like you can. just like you did. why can't you feel joy with that? you were born in from for destruction.)

(you could decay your allies with one single touch. they're irrelevant to your goals. why does your heart stop you from fulfilling that now? you had it in you back then. it never mattered before.)

(you tried to help someone ungrateful, once. he was killed by his your hand. they've helped him. why weren't you offered the same?)

(isn't this why you reject the hand that wants to save you? you could've killed him. and he still held your hands. the denied reality you had since you were a child.)

(do you still want to be a hero, shimura tenko?)

(... why can't you start now?)

But then again, how do you know you deserved better when you were nothing but a puppet- and now, with his goals destroyed, a very useless one?

Just thinking about Shimura Tenko.