#(last time i got a bit carried away and was like 'i'm looking for compilation moments..... ah look this scene is very gifable')

[schnaf]

well done 🥰💥

[pickingupmymercedes]

Ways they show they love each other pt.1 - Lewis Hamilton

5 snippets of fluff - part 2 here

Also there's a bunch more just like these ones if you like them - Ways to say I love you p1 / p2 ; All these little things - p1 / p2 ; Small firsts

request : "i was thinking after reading the one shot you did about fans favorite moments and 5+5, and i got an ideia of a compilation of moments caught on cameras of Lewis and Y/n basically forgetting there’s people around" - anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +4k

a/n: Hi anon, your request made me realize how I was relying heavily on dialogues, so it took me a bit to get these done, but I hope you like it as much as I loved writing them❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

A stolen glance

The behind-the-scenes of any photoshoot was always a controlled chaos—a blend of soft chatter, click of cameras, the occasional bark of direction.

Bright lights bathed the studio in a cool, almost clinical glow, every corner meticulously curated for perfection. Lewis was the center of it all, effortlessly commanding the attention of everyone present.

And even in the midst of the frenetic energy, he had his calm, collected demeanor that made the whole affair seem easy.

He was, after all, no stranger to the spotlight.

Y/n stood off to the side, nestled in a corner of the studio where she could work without drawing attention. Her laptop perched on a small table, open to a report she had been poring over since they arrived.

She knew her place there—quiet, supportive, and out of the way. And the last thing she wanted was to be a distraction.

But as the photoshoot progressed, she found herself stealing more and more glances at Lewis, unable to resist the magnetic pull he had, specially on her.

He was dressed to a tee, as always, the tailored suit hugging his frame perfectly.

The photographer would call for a slight adjustment, and Lewis would respond with a slight tilt of his head or a shift in his posture, a model of effortless grace.

But it wasn’t just the way he looked that held Y/n’s attention; it was the way he carried himself, the way he seemed so completely in his element.

Lewis, ever attuned to the energy in the room, could feel her eyes on him even when he wasn’t looking. After all, it was a sensation he had come to know well—the warmth of her gaze, the quiet intensity of her presence.

He let a small smile play on his lips as he adjusted his cufflinks, the corners of his eyes crinkling just slightly. He didn’t need to look directly at her to confirm his suspicious.

But then, it happened.

The photographer called for a brief pause to adjust the lighting, and Lewis took the opportunity to glance over in Y/n’s direction.

She was no longer pretending to work, her focus entirely on him now. Their eyes met across the room and the rest of the studio seemed to fall away.

They didn’t need words to communicate; everything was said in that single, stolen glance.

To an outsider, it might have seemed like nothing more than a casual exchange of looks, but for those who paid close attention, there was a depth to the way they looked at each other, a silent conversation happening beneath the surface.

Her eyes softened as they met his, a small, almost imperceptible nod of understanding passing between them. His smile widened just a fraction, a quiet acknowledgment of her support.

The moment was fleeting—just a few seconds, really—but it was enough.

Enough for the photographer’s assistant, who had been adjusting a reflector nearby, to notice the subtle exchange. She glanced between Lewis and Y/n, a curious smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

As the photoshoot resumed, Y/n kept stealing glances at Lewis, and each time, she found him looking back. It was a dance they played often, the stolen glances—a way of staying connected even when they were surrounded by people.

Another crew member, tasked with holding up the boom mic, caught on as well. He nudged his colleague, nodding subtly in their direction. “You see that?” he whispered, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

His colleague followed his gaze, catching one of those silent exchanges. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice low with amusement. “They’re not exactly hiding it, are they?”

The shoot continued, but for those who were paying attention, the focus shifted slightly. It was no longer just about capturing the perfect shot of Lewis Hamilton; they were capturing the stolen glances, the unspoken words—a part of the narrative, an unexpected layer to the day’s work.

And when the shoot finally wrapped, Lewis walked over to Y/n. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached out to take her hand, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. She looked up at him, her expression soft, a silent question in her eyes.

“Ready to go?” he asked, his voice low, meant only for her.

She replied with a nod, the smile on her lips answering more than just his question.

As they walked out of the studio hand in hand, the photographer couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he should have captured those stolen glances on camera.

Because sometimes, the most beautiful moments aren’t the ones that are posed or staged—they’re the ones that happen when you think no one else is watching.

Except someone always is.

A playful nudge

The video started with a shaky view of the Malibu coastline, the sound of waves crashing faintly in the distance, and the rhythmic hum of cars passing by.

The camera panned over the scenic beach for a moment before a voice behind the camera blurted out “Oh my God, is that Lewis Hamilton?”

The camera zoomed in, focusing on a couple standing just before the crosswalk, both decked out in running gear.

Sure enough, it’s Lewis, slightly out of breath, hands resting on his hips as he waits for the signal to cross. Next to him, Y/n standing with a relaxed smile, glancing up and down the road.

“Are they out for a run smack in the middle of Malibu?” another voice chimed in from off-camera, clearly excited by the sighting.

The camera adjusted, capturing the full view of Lewis and Y/n as they stand side by side, the breeze lightly tousling Y/n’s hair.

She had her phone in hand, taking a quick peek at the screen before tucking it back into her shorts. The shot lingering on them for a few seconds, the fan behind the camera trying to stay as quiet as possible.

Y/n nudged Lewis gently with her shoulder, just enough to make him stumble a step to the side. The camera zoomed in at just the right time, catching Lewis’s amused reaction. He laughed, the sound carried by the breeze, and shakes his head, clearly enjoying the playful jab.

The fan behind the camera giggled softly and it was clear when a voice whispered “Did you see that?”

Lewis, grinning, turned toward Y/n, his expression full of that familiar warmth fans would seldom catch a glimpse of.

He nudged her back lightly, more of a gentle tap, like he doesn’t want to push too hard. The camera catching the playful spark in both of their eyes, the kind of silent exchange that speaks volumes.

The fan continued filming, capturing how Y/n laughs at his halfhearted nudge, rolling her eyes as if to say, Is that all you’ve got? She gave him a mock glare, but it’s softened by the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

There’s an ease between them, the kind that makes anyone watching feel like they’re intruding into something private, something special.

With the light finally turning green Lewis gestured toward the crosswalk, but Y/n made no move to start jogging again. Instead, she just stood there for a second, shaking her head with that mischievous look still on her face.

Lewis nudged her again, this time even lighter, before giving her a mock-serious look like he’s trying to get them back on track.

Y/n giggled, finally taking a step forward as they begin to cross the road, but not before throwing a playful glance over her shoulder at Lewis.

The camera zoomed in on the way he followed her with an amused smile, clearly enjoying the moment.

As they make their way across, Y/n’s pace picked up, and Lewis kept right alongside her, their matching strides making them effortlessly in sync.

The fan behind the camera sighed “Look at them. Relationship goals, for real.”

The video lingered for a few more seconds as Lewis and Y/n continued their run, their figures growing smaller against the backdrop of the coast.

Just before they disappear from view though, Lewis reached out, placing a hand on Y/n’s back for a split second as if to push her on, the two of them laughing as they ran off down the road.

The video cut out with the fan’s last words: “I swear, I don’t want it if it’s not like that.”

A stolen kiss

The celebration was electric, the kind of moment that would be burned into everyone’s memory for years to come.

Ferrari had finally done it. Lewis crossed the finish line in first place, the prancing horse charging ahead of the pack in what felt like destiny fulfilled.

The garage exploded into cheers, the pit wall erupted in a frenzy, and the grandstands painted a sea of red echoed the voices carried on the wind.

It wasn’t just another victory though. It was his first win with Ferrari—a culmination of months of hard work, adjustment, and even doubts.

The weight of expectation had been heavy, but now, standing in the aftermath of triumph, he felt lighter than air.

The team swarmed around him as he finally made his way back into the garage, hands clapping his back, smiles wide and infectious.

The sea of red uniforms buzzing with joy as they prepared for the post-race photo—Ferrari’s tradition to mark the moment with everyone who had a hand in their success.

Y/n was already there, waiting on the outskirts of the group, smiling at him with a look that carried every ounce of her pride.

He caught her eye, and for a second, the noise and chaos dimmed, leaving just the two of them locked in a gaze that said everything without needing to speak. She was beaming, a mixture of joy and awe in her eyes, and he knew that this win was as much hers as it was his.

As the photographers tried to position the team into position, Lewis found his way toward Y/n, weaving through the jubilant engineers, mechanics, and team staff, until he was beside her.

She was grinning, arms already outstretched as he pulled her into a tight hug, both of them laughing breathlessly in the whirlwind of it all.

“Your first win here” she whispered in his ear; her voice barely audible over the din of celebration. “You did it.”

“We did it” he corrected, voice low, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

Before either of them could say anything more, a team member called out for Lewis to join the front of the photo, waving him over to stand with the trophy.

He gave Y/n a quick look, something cheeky and playful dancing in his eyes. She smile in response.

“Go on” she nudged him, gesturing toward the growing mass of Ferrari crew.

But as Lewis moved toward the group, he didn’t go far.

Instead, in one swift, practiced motion, he spun around, grabbed Y/n by the wrist, and tugged her toward him. It was quick, almost too fast to catch amid the chaos, but then—there it was.

A stolen kiss.

His lips met hers in a flash of spontaneity, right in the middle of the noise and celebration, brief yet brimming with passion.

The kind of kiss that left a spark even in its brevity, enough to draw a few cheers and whistles from the surrounding team, though most were too busy being caught up in the victory to fully take notice.

Y/n’s eyes widened in surprise for a split second before she melted into it, a soft laugh escaping against his lips as her hand came up to the back of his neck. Lewis grinned against her mouth, the mischievous glint in his eyes unmistakable even in such a fleeting moment.

As quickly as it had happened, it was over. Lewis pulled away, his trademark smirk firmly in place as Y/n stood there, flushed and breathless, trying to suppress the giggle that bubbled up in her throat.

“Get in there!” someone from the team shouted shaking their head with amusement at the exchange - clearly a jab at his former team.

Lewis winked at Y/n before finally joining his team, stepping into the heart of the crowd where the Ferrari flag waved high, and the race trophy gleamed in the sunlight. He held it up, his teammates cheering louder than ever, the cameras snapping relentlessly to capture the moment in all its glory.

The celebration photo would show the entire team draped in victory, smiles wide and arms slung around each other. But if you looked close enough, tucked away in the background, you’d see it—Lewis with that telltale grin, Y/n just behind him, the traces of their stolen kiss still lingering in the soft curve of her smile.

It was a tiny moment in the grand scheme of things, almost imperceptible amid the fanfare and noise.

But for those who knew what to look for, it was impossible to miss.

Because even in the chaos of celebration, even in a moment as public as this, their love found a way to slip through the cracks—brief, stolen, but undeniable.

And that was the beauty of it.

A tender moment

The pit lane was quieter now, a contrast to the earlier chaos of the day.

Most of the crew had packed up, the cars were tucked away in the garage, and the hum of the engines had long since faded into memory. The track waiting the next day’s action, and only a few lingering souls wandered about, soaking in the calm before the storm.

Among those few, a fan stood by the barrier, camera slung around her neck, taking in the rare stillness of the circuit. She hadn’t expected to see anything interesting at this hour, not with the hustle and bustle already behind them.

But as her eyes drifted across the pit lane, she caught sight of something—a scene so simple that it stopped her in her tracks.

There, just outside the Mercedes garage, stood Lewis and Y/n. They weren’t hurried, weren’t caught up in the business of racing. No, this was different.

They were wrapped in their own little world, their bodies turned toward each other as if nothing else mattered.

Lewis had his hands loosely around Y/n’s waist, his thumbs gently rubbing circles against her sides, grounding her in their quiet corner of the pit lane. His head was tilted slightly, eyes focused entirely on her as she spoke softly to him, her words just for his ears.

There was a warmth in his expression, something tender and utterly unguarded.

He wasn’t the man under pressure, expected to perform at the highest-level day in and day out. Right now, he was simply Lewis, listening with all the care in the world to the woman he loved.

Y/n’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as she spoke to him. She was leaning in just a bit, her hands resting lightly on his chest, and from a distance, it almost looked like they were swaying slightly, as if caught in their own rhythm.

Whatever she was saying though didn’t seem urgent—it was the kind of conversation that unfolded naturally, without need for resolution.

The fan watched, unnoticed, her breath catching slightly as she witnessed the way they moved together, as if the rest of the world had faded away and left only them standing in the soft glow of the overhead lights.

There was something so private about it, and yet so visible in its simplicity—an everyday moment captured in the stillness of a place built on speed and intensity.

And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Lewis leaned in. His lips brushed her temple, soft and unhurried, lingering there for just a second longer than a simple kiss.

It wasn’t meant for anyone else but her, a quiet reassurance, a silent promise. Y/n’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, her body relaxing into him as his arms tightened around her waist, pulling her gently into a hug.

Her hands rested against his chest, and he bent slightly to accommodate her, his mouth grazing the top of her head as he left another kiss.

Lewis shifted slightly, tightening his hold on Y/n for just a second before loosening his grip, but not letting her go.

He said something then, his voice too low to carry, but whatever it was made her laugh softly, the sound like a ripple in the still night air. She tilted her head up to look at him, and the fan could see the way her eyes lit up in response to whatever Lewis had said.

Here, late at night on the pit lane, far from the roar of engines and the scrutiny of crowds, Lewis wasn’t the global superstar. He was just a man in love, holding onto the person who made everything else fall into place.

It wasn’t the flash and dazzle of a public relationship; it was something quieter, more personal. And yet, in its tenderness, it said so much more.

The fan’s camera captured it all. And in less than an hour everyone had witnessed their moment.

A moment that was meant to be quiet, meant to be just for them, but one that also showed so much to everyone lucky enough to watch the video.

A moment that proved love wasn’t always about grand gestures or declarations.

 Sometimes, it was as simple as a kiss on the temple and the way two people held each other in the stillness of the night, saying everything that needed to be said without a single word.

A playful tease

The fan video started with shaky footage as the camera panned across the crowded Vegas club, neon lights flashing to the beat of the music.

People were dancing, laughing, completely wrapped up in the energy of the night, but then the lens focused, and the camera zoomed in, capturing a familiar face standing at the edge of the VIP section.

It’s Lewis Hamilton, casually leaning against the rail, drink in hand.

He’s cool, relaxed, but there’s something else that catches the attention of the person filming. The camera shifting slightly to the right, catching a glimpse of Y/n moving through the crowd, dancing.

She’s not facing Lewis at first, but there’s no doubt she’s teasing him. The way she swayed, her body moving to the rhythm, full of that playful energy.

The camera zoomed in further, capturing the way Lewis watched her, a small smile playing on his lips. He stood there, arms crossed, amused, but anyone watching the video can tell he’s completely tuned in to her.

A few seconds into the video, Y/n spined closer, twirling just out of his reach before laughing and disappearing into the crowd again.

The fan holding the phone shifted slightly, following her movements as best they could while keeping Lewis in the shot. A few muffled voices could be heard in the background, someone saying, “That’s Hamilton, right?” and another voice chiming in, “Yeah, and that’s his girlfriend!”

Y/n circled back into view, closer to Lewis this time, brushing past him with a light touch, just enough to make him chuckle. The fan holding the camera catching the moment perfectly.

His smirk turning into a quiet laugh as he leaned down slightly, calling something out to her over the music. The camera didn’t pick up what he said, but the spark in Y/n’s eyes is clear when she looked back at him.

The person filming giggled quietly, clearly amused by the interaction, and the video cut to a new angle as the fan moved closer.

Y/n could be seen fully then, standing just in front of Lewis, dancing to the beat, a wide grin on her face. She didn’t say anything, just kept on teasing him with her moves.

Every now and then, she glanced over her shoulder, making sure he was watching – and of course, he was.

One of the fans nearby cheered her on, and the camera shook a little as the person holding it laughed, saying, “He’s down bad.”

The footage zoomed in again, focusing on the way Lewis watched Y/n with a look that was both amused and completely smitten.

Another cheer came from someone in the crowd as Y/n finally moved back toward Lewis, this time leaning her back against his chest for a second.

The scene caught perfectly—the way he smiled down at her, his hand brushing against her waist before she moved away again, still dancing.

The video blurred for a second as the fan tries to get a better shot, but when it cleared, it captures the way Y/n leaned in, her lips moving as she says something into Lewis’s ear.

The music is too loud for the camera to pick up her words, but Lewis’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with that playful light that only she could bring out of him.

“I’m so single, look at them.” someone off-camera said, and the video shook again, this time zooming out slightly to catch the whole scene—the lights, the crowd, the two of them standing in the middle of it all, lost in their own world.

At the end, Y/n spined one last time, landing in front of Lewis with a dramatic little twirl.

She laughed, throwing her arms up in the air, and Lewis taking his chance, reached out before she could escape again. His arm closing around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

Y/n let out a surprised laugh, her hands instinctively going to his arms. He leans into her, whispering something into her ear that made her smile as she tilted her head back to look at him.

The camera zoomed in once more, catching the way his fingers tighten around her waist, holding her close. It was just them—wrapped up in their moment, amid the noise of the club.

Y/n turned in his arms, facing him fully, their smiles softer as she placed her hands on his chest. The music pounding on.

The video ends as Lewis pulled her in closer, their foreheads almost touching, his lips moving as she looked into his eyes and a smirk rising up in her own lips.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

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@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[smusherina]

bridges burnt - chapter 3 [epilogue series] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: When an invitation to Gretchen Wieners' wedding ended up in your mailbox, you'd been sure it was a mistake. Only, it read your name in neat, swoopy calligraphy. It was addressed to you. And Regina George, whom you hadn't spoken to in years.

additional clarification: This is set in the universe of yard work, a series of mine that can be found on my page! Reading this one might be a bit challenging without the context of the series :)

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 4

You were leaning against the wall, an unlit cigarette in your mouth. Nicotine was the only substance you hadn't been able to cut off entirely. You smoked less now and were trying to quit, but it wasn't quite so easy. You had made a promise to smoke only once a day. This would be your third if you lit up.

"Need a light?" Janis rounded the corner, already inhaling. The scent of the smoke solved your dilemma. Fuck it. She exhaled as she extended her lighter to you. An old zippo. It was gold-ish in colour, engraved with shapes that were wearing away. You were pretty sure if she were to sell it, she'd get several hundred for it.

"Thanks." Maybe this was the universe telling you that it'd be okay. Just today. Just today, you could smoke all the goddamned cigarettes you wanted.

"When'd you and Regina get back together?" Janis leaned against the porch railing across from you. Behind her was a pretty hillside that led down into a thick forest. The sky was grey and not much light penetrated the dense clouds, making the woods look that much grimmer. You'd rather be there than here.

"A while ago." You might've not seen her in years but you knew when she was plotting something. That kiss out in the open like that was a clue, a wordless message she trusted you to get on your own. You were together. You didn't know what she was playing at or why you were going along with it. Probably old habits.

Janis snorted. "Romantic. Mia would kill me if I said we've been together for a while."

"Get off my dick, Janis," You snapped unnecessarily. You didn't want to be on the spot like this. You couldn't give many details and risk contradicting Regina.

(Why couldn't you? Why didn't you say, "Oh, hey, actually we're not together" instead of, once more, following her example like a good dog.)

"Jeez, I was just asking. Trouble in paradise? Sure didn't seem that way." She wiggled her eyebrows at you. You wished you hadn't lit up the cig so you could just walk away.

"We're fine. Why's your Mia not here?" You assumed that was her partner.

"I didn't get a plus one." She shrugged. "Besides, not sure she could've gotten out of work. They're doing a merger, or something."

"She's the breadwinner then and you're what? A tortured artist?"

"What you don't realize, my friend, is that I'm winning here. I have a beautiful wife who makes money like a printer, has a 401k and air-tight insurance, and works nine to five while I get to paint my little paintings all day." Janis took a drag. "And she fucks me good."

You groaned. "Janis, please."

"Meanwhile you act like you're better than me when, in fact, I'm happy and you're miserable." She finished off with a snarky smile.

Once upon a time, you'd fantasized about staying in the garage all day, fixing old cars as a hobby, and greeting Regina when she got home from her Real Adult Job, wearing a sexy pantsuit and carrying a mysterious briefcase.

Not anymore. You wore the suits, you carried the briefcase, and you did not fix old cars as a hobby.

"You should give motivational speeches. Think Northshore would love to have you back." You took a deep drag. Deflecting with sarcasm was cheap but effective.

"You think?" Her smile softens. "Seriously, though, how've you been?"

"It's been... Good." It had been good recently. You knew, though, that Janis was asking about the last ten years and not just your week. If you were to compile a list of all the good and bad things from that long a time period, one would be perhaps a page and the other a several-foot scroll. Respectively.

"Wow. I forgot how close-lipped you are." Janis said. You could tell she was disappointed. You'd never been friends, not really, not ever like her and Damian, but there was an understanding between you.

You let up.

"We got back together after college." You swallowed, trodding on eggshells, being as vague as possible. "I was cleaning up my act, trying to get away from it all. Moved back into town and met Regina coincidentally. Rest is history, I suppose." You eyed the hills. The view turned into misty nothingness before you could tell if it was the ocean there or more land.

"I heard your dad passed," Janis said, blunt but not mean. "Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, I guess." You rubbed your forehead. It wasn't tactful to tell a near-stranger that you weren't actually all that upset about it. "To be honest, it was a long time coming. He was in bad shape."

He'd gotten ill when you were in college. At first, all the business stuff was being handled by his team but as more and more time passed and he showed no signs of getting better, he started nagging you to do more for the company.

What the fuck you were gonna do? You didn't know shit about business and, besides, were high out of your mind half the time. You didn't want any of it, didn't want his blood money and shady practices. But you were gonna get it.

Now, you could say you had things under control. Somewhat. You sold some locations, passed them off to people better suited, and sure, lost some money in the process but you weren't ambitious like your dad had been.

If it was up to you, you'd keep the one shop you'd always worked at and make an honest, humble living the remainder of your days. Start a project you could work on for the next several years and be content.

"Sorry to hear that." Janis stumped her cigarette on the ground. You did the same, dropping the stub and snuffing it out with your shoe.

"Well." You sighed. "I'm not."

With that, you turned and walked back towards the doors leading into the hall. Janis followed behind you.

People were still mingling around the place, the bride and groom yet to make an entrance. Your table was somewhere in the middle, not one of the important ones but with a clear view of the stage and where the important people were meant to be sitting.

The mother of the bride was eyeing the room like a hawk scanning for prey. Her eyes didn't catch yours but you could tell she was keen on Janis. The all-black ensemble stood out almost as much as Regina's white stole.

Speaking of her. She was sitting and chatting with Shane, seeming cool and casual. Damian was there too, engaged and laughing at the right parts.

You approached deliberately slowly, trying to hear what they were talking about before you sat down.

"-came back to town after college and we hit it off." She turned her head slightly and made eye contact with you. "Baby," She greeted you.

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling warm. "Reg," You sat down and, as casually as you could, draped an arm over the back of her chair.

"I was just telling Shane how we met." Her sharp eyes met yours. "What'd you tell Janis?"

You needed to get your stories straight. Act natural. It was sheer luck you'd both set the same timeline.

"I was just telling her how we met up after college. If I remember correctly, wasn't it, uh, at uh..." You fumbled. "The grocery store?"

"Yes, mom saw you and I'm sure she didn't let you leave without a date set for when you'd come to dinner." Regina finished for you. Shane was buying it, slowly crawling out of his shell. You were quickly realizing that the gay people had all been shoved to one table. Hopefully, that didn't bode anything.

"That's Mrs George for you." You knew it was Ms now but old habits die hard.

Regina smiled at you, hand coming to rest on your knee. You shivered. It scared you how genuine she seemed. She could be awarded an Oscar for this shit.

You watched her, really looked at her. She was still so beautiful. She'd always been pretty beyond belief, gorgeous like a movie star, but the confidence she carried with herself now made it all a stunning, deadly combination.

Even so, you couldn't help feeling melancholy. You hadn't seen any of it, certainly were not the reason for it, and chances were this little scheme she was cooking up was at your expense. She had every right to seek vengeance against you.

You wondered if it was worth it to try and enjoy it. Would it hurt to dream a little? You could use a break from practicality.

You closed your eyes for a moment.

"Baby?" Your eyes fluttered open as her hand came to caress your cheek. You leaned into the touch.

"Yeah?" You asked and tilted forward, closer to her. Regina mirrored you, putting a hand on your knee and leaning some of her weight on it as her lips neared yours.

"Just focus on me," She grinned and you resisted the urge to steal a kiss. "Trust me."

"Always." You whispered, reverent in just the same way you used to be. You'd known it for a long time, the irresistible fate you'd sworn yourself to, that you'd go back to her every time.

"Ehem," Someone cleared their throat behind you. You went to look but Regina kept a hold on you. She placed a languid kiss on your lips, sending your mind into orbit, before turning towards the person so rudely invading your bubble.

"Yes?" She almost hissed, smiling in a way that was more like a threat. All teeth and sharp edges.

"The bride and groom are about to enter, so it would be really, really nice if you two could can it for a few moments, 'kay? Thanks!" The maid of honour chirped, voice so high pitched you had to wonder if she was inhaling helium on her off-time.

Regina watched her scurry away, eyes going up and down her retreating back in a manner that surely should've made you jealous. You knew, though, that for one, Regina didn't like girls that wore dresses and, secondly, that she was up to something. She wasn't checking out the maid of honour—she wished—but evaluating her.

"What a bitch, right?" Regina turned to the rest of the table with a sneer on her face.

You bit your cheek to hide a smile as everybody agreed. This was going to be utter shit. Total, absolute chaos with a side of heartbreak and, potentially, a ruined wedding.

You dreaded it. You anticipated it. Both could be true at once.

Notes: Hello all! Been some time! I've been in my summer groove, having a proper vacation. It's been liberating. Hopefully there's some interested readers for this series :) Taglist posted separately! If you want to be added, comment on that post please.

[marcsnuffy]

Categorizing Blue Lock videos on YouTube because I'm bored

1. Manga chapter recaps.

Usually over 2 minutes, under 10 minutes. They will usually include the word "analysis" in the title even if they're just summaries with casual commentary. More often than not, the thumbnails include a brightly colored manga panel with a lot of eye strain-y VFX.

The titles usually include an attention-grabbing phrase, such as: "[character] AWAKENS?!" (or "ENTERS FLOW STATE?!"), "[character, usually Isagi] DESTROYS [character]", or "[character, recently it's been Kaiser] IS A FRAUD?!"

2. Blue Lock as a source for life lessons

Basically, someone takes a philosophy from the story and applies it to real life. More often than not, they're related to the mere concept of egoism and how to use it to improve your life.

It's usually people who say they used to be in a situation in which they slowly let themselves get carried away by what others asked/wanted from them or by their fears, instead of doing what they really want to do until they watched Blue Lock. Which isn't that bad, however sometimes they say things in such a way that I worry that they're taking Ego's monologues a little bit too seriously.

Some videos focus on the lesson they got from the series in general, some focus on a specific character. The ones I've seen around are Isagi, Bachira, Barou and Noa focused, but there are way more. There's a Nagi one and I can't wait to watch that one because it's probably from an anime only who has No Idea what's happening to him now.

These have summaries in them too, but the commentary has more thought put into it at least. There's some motivational music in the background. The thumbnails include a character, text and maaaybe a graph or something. The titles are stuff like "How [character] does [whatever it is they do] and how you can do too" or "Becoming an Egoist Blue Lock Style"

3. People reacting to bllk for the first time

Around ten to almost thirty minutes. Half of them involve people who either love or hate football, the former usually find it (bllk) weird and point out the unrealistic bits and the latter will usually find it hype. The thumbnails will include the people reacting with surprised/shocked/appalled faces with some anime visual beside them.

The other half are people reacting to how unrealistic/corny/gay it is. The thumbnail will either include an anime picture of a character, usually Isagi. If it's about the manga 9/10 times Shidou (or something he said) will be on the thumbnail. The title is either something like "I read Blue lock and..." or a toned down version of "wtf is going on on blue lock". There are also summaries/recaps in these videos but they're done in a comedic way.

4. Powerscaling/shonenhead content

Rankings, values, hypothetical 1v1s, potential team combinantions, panels that look cool, building something using a filter that randomizes a character, the best trio/duo/goal/team/character/etc. Dramatically colored manga panels. Short, usually in the form of a youtube short. There's usually phonk music in the background. You'll know it when you see it.

5. Misc.

Compilations, be it dub compilations (must include the "THIS GUY IS BUILT DIFFERENT!" line) or character compilations OR gay moments compilations. Fun fact videos. Gacha Life videos. Those videos where Rin's english line is edited funny. Blue Lock with realistic timing (videos last less than a minute). Blue Lock tricks IRL (these are fun). Insane theories. and

[kermitbread]

because I'm evil, I'm making the ancestors(?) lore angst hehehehe

some violence is involved, just a heads-up

in regards to the previous ask about them, the last time there were yugi twins before the current generation were even born was in the taisho era, so quite a bit far back. twins born in the yugi clan didn't happen too often for them, even lasting for years, and as such if any were born they were considered good fortune. all the previous twins in the family always turned out to be skillful exorcists, elevating them in the same vein as the minamoto clan.

this era's twins were brothers. they were prodigies, and like every generation before them, they were passed down lighting swords. unlike the minamoto's sword, theirs had the guise of an ordinary sword, so no apparition would ever suspect it had exorcism properties.

yashiro's ancestor(?) is a human, but with the ability to see possible futures. this has made her an outcast from her family. she has an aunt who's pretty much her only family left that cares for her, though she lives far away from where she is, due to her job. she's left alone with a very cruel mother and two siblings. (you can probably guess where she got that eye injury from in this one)

and the moment she sees the older twin in her hometown, she knows trouble was about to start. though she can read futures, she only has vague, out of context visions of them. they're usually easy enough to understand, but in this case, it was strange. why did all the possible futures showed her at death's door, with that older twin next to her? it disturbed her, understandably. so she didn't want anything to do with him.

alas, their paths still crossed regardless of all the measures she's taken. the older twin had figured out her ability, and has self-proclaimed her to be his assistant in his exorcism jobs. she could help him get prepared for every possible scenario when dealing with supernaturals. first she was hesitant, but when she saw the opportunity to be free and come see her aunt, she joined him.

"I'm not your assistant! Don't call me that!"

"Ah, and yet you've compiled this list of possible futures when I go face that yokai in the woods for me. I'd say I'm not too far off the mark."

they grow closer as time goes on, but she hasn't told him about the vision she's being constantly haunted by, afraid it would ruin their bond. everyday she stays on edge, hoping that future wouldn't happen. hoping she was doing something to alter that singular fate.

well, it didn't work out like she hoped. in the heat of battle with a powerful yokai, and the older twin's badly wounded, she forgets about her vision and rushes out to protect him before he gets hurt even further. she's impaled in the stomach by huge claws, right in front of him. he's absolutely mortified at the sight of her dropping down on the ground like a ragdoll, coughing out blood.

"...tell me... you knew this would happen, right? Why didn't you say anything?! We could have... I could have..."

she dies in his arms. right even before they could even express their feelings to each other. they're left in that eternal longing that will never be satiated.

it's the pain that he carries to his grave.

and now, whenever amane looks at nene, he's left wondering why there's that hurting feeling in his chest that lingers for a second.

he'll probably never know.

[girlpornparadise]

Atop the Office

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader (Narcos)

Word Count: ~3000

Warnings: It gets smutty. Of course it gets smutty. It’s why you’re here. It’s why I’m here. It’s my raison d’etre. But it got softer. I can’t stop this man from being soft. 

Personal ramble: I didn’t intend to write a second chapter. I don’t intend to write a third. But this man got under my skin so who knows what will happen. 

You can read Part 1: At Your Doorstep. It’ll make a lot more sense that way.

You awaken later than intended to find yourself alone. You reach across the bed, but there's no warm body to touch or even residual warmth to feel. He's long gone.

You look around the room and there's no trace that he'd been there. Maybe it was just a dream. 

You look at the clock and realize you're running late for work, and in a panic start to get ready.

When you go to brush your teeth, you see the 2 towels strewn across the floor. You pick them up and they're both still damp. It reminds you it had been real, which somehow feels worse. You had opened yourself to him, wide and raw and vulnerable and he had abandoned you without a second thought.

You rush through your morning routine and leave for work.

You arrive a little late, but no one seems to notice. You decide you'll stay a bit late to make up the work. You find the notes from yesterday and begin to compile your report.

Halfway down the page you find it and it hits you like a bus. "Colonel Carrillo…" His name doesn't elicit the usual reaction of lip tapping smiles. This time it cuts like a knife. What felt like your deepest, most intimate encounter was merely a one night stand.

After you devour lunch, having skipped breakfast entirely, you return to your desk. The deflation you felt has made you exhausted, but the report can't wait. You write accurately and factually, but your hero feels like a villain to you now, and it takes the 3 dimensionality out of the work.

While you're typing away, you hear them coming. The commanding footsteps. You know the sound of those boots. Involuntarily your fingers feel the memory of unlacing them the night before. Your mind flashes to those soft eyes watching you do it and you feel sick.

Instead of your usual beaming, you are flushing with embarrassment. You're humiliated and you duck your head down pretending to concentrate on your work. Out of the corner of your eye, the green uniform passes and you picture it on your floor. No. You push away the memory with force. 

After half an hour of sighing into your papers and choking down the lump in your throat that precedes tears, you hear the footsteps again. They are approaching from the direction you are facing this time and you duck your head again, unable to face him. 

The footsteps pause at your desk and you feel him hovering over you. You try to steel yourself before looking up, but you can't conceal the pain and anger in your expression.

He stands tall and stone-faced, but something flickers in his eyes as he registers your expression.

He leans down slightly and drops a manilla folder in front of you. 

"Your boss wants this dealt with asap." He states and walks away.

You're confused. Why on earth would he be delivering a report to your desk. He doesn't even work here.

Looking around to see if anyone noticed this anomaly, you open the folder carefully, like it contains something confidential, suspecting it's for your eyes only.

In it you don't find a report, but instead there's a single piece of paper with neat handwriting in black ink.

"I'm sorry." Your heart sinks. You knew he thought you were a mistake. That this perfect man used you and regrets it. But you push on.

"I couldn't bring myself to wake a sleeping ángel." You gasp slightly and your heart jumps into your throat. 

"Let me make it up to you. Dinner tomorrow. Meet me at the same restaurant at 7pm.

Horacio" 

You silently whisper his name to yourself and the deep seeded intimacy of speaking it the night before floods you with longing.

You look behind you, but he once again is long gone.

You fold the paper and put it in your purse to protect it from prying eyes. But you also know you're saving it for later, so you can run your eyes over the words and linger on the word "ángel" like an enamoured school girl who had been passed a note in study hall.

***

The next day arrives and you show up to work glowing. You can't sit still all day and by the time the clock strikes 5 you're practically vibrating with anticipation.

You go home and change this time into a sundress that flatters your figure without giving too much away.

You make your way to the restaurant a bit earlier than you normally would. This man works on military time, you remind yourself, and punctuality isn't your strong suit.

You sit down and shortly after order yourself a drink. You should treat yourself. Feeling special will give you confidence, and after your first lukewarm date, you feel like you'll need it.

The drink disappears and the bowl of peanuts slowly empties.

8 o'clock rolls around and you realize you've been stood up. As you reach into your purse to get your wallet, your hand brushes by the folded paper with his name neatly scrawled across the bottom.

No.

No, you were not going to accept this. 

You go to the counter and order 2 meals and have them packed up to go.

You hail a cab. "Carlos Holguin School." The driver considers it an odd request at this hour, but takes you there all the same.

It's quiet as you walk to the gate. You pull out your embassy badge and flash it at the surprised guard. He notices you are carrying a large brown paper bag, but your tone is sharp when you tell him the files you're delivering are urgent. Unable to find a reason to deny someone so harmless looking entry, he lets you pass.

You approach the office and take a deep breath before you enter, unsure of what's on the other side. Unsure if your intrusion will be welcome.

You enter the dimly lit room to see Colonel Carrillo leaning over his desk, leaning on his elbow with his forehead pressing on his hand.

He stands abruptly, startled by your presence.

The office is otherwise empty and all of a sudden you feel very aware of how inappropriate it was for you to come here at this hour, or at all really.

"How did you get in here?" He asks with a tone you assume he uses for interrogation.

"The, uh, guard let me in." You stammer. "I told him I was delivering files from the embassy." 

You've misread the situation. This was a mistake.

He sighs. His posture and expression soften simultaneously as he realizes he put you on the spot.

"I'll have to have a talk with him." He says exasperated and a bit amused. "I'm sorry, it's been a long day." 

"Too long for a dinner date apparently." You say coldly.

His expression hardens, but is quickly replaced by regret.

"I owe you an apology, an important lead crossed my desk and I couldn't get away. I didn't even realize it was so late until you came in."

You arched your eyebrow at him.

"And I owe you another apology. I'm sorry I left your home so abruptly. I got a call that required my urgent attention and I had to practically run out of your apartment."

"You could have left a note." You were clearly angry and hurt.

"I didn't have time. I…" he trailed off. "There's no excuse."

"You could have called." You should have called your mind corrected you.

He smiles slightly. "I don't have your number."

Your eyes go wide at your own stupidity. You never gave it to him. His smile widens a little at the look on your face.

You glance around the office at the scads of surveillance equipment.

"You can track the phone calls of criminals on an international scale but you can't get a hold of my phone number?" You counter with a tinge of frustration overshadowed by your amusement.

He chuckles. "Fair point."

"So what's in the bag?" He asks, changing the subject. 

"As I told your guard, important files from the embassy." You smirk.

He lets out a laugh. You've never heard him laugh before and it makes your heart smile.

"Your files smell a lot like empanadas."

"I figured you hadn't had a chance to eat." You scan across his desk to the bottle next to the smoke curling from an ashtray. "And you can't subsist on alcohol and cigarettes alone."

"It does smell good." He concedes.

"You need to take better care of yourself." Your tone is more serious and laced with concern than you meant it to be.

"Then I'm lucky I have a guardian ángel looking out for me." 

When he hits the world "ángel" you smile. The wide, beaming, embarrassing smile you give him when he passes your desk.

He smiles back at you, realizing he's been forgiven.

You walk over to his desk and he grabs a chair from another part of the room. You sit down next to him and tuck into your meals.

You say very little to each other, but it's far better than the awkward first date the other night.

He's relaxed around you.

You finish the meal and clean up. He leans back in his chair a little and looking regretfully at you says "I should get back to work." 

Leaning on his desk you lay your hand gently over his. "Must you?" You ask softly.

Your hushed tone reminds him of last night. How tender you were when he needed you most. How you let him fall asleep in your embrace. How you are his ángel.

He stands up and you stand to meet him. He puts his hands on your waist and sits you down on the edge of his desk. His firm but gentle grip positioning you to his liking. He runs his hands up to your back and moves closer.

He kisses you softly, and you lean into his kiss. You spread your legs so he can move closer and you feel the warmth of him against your body.

You place your hands against his chest, feeling the scratchy fabric of his uniform. 

"Oh Horacio." You sigh.

That name is so seldom spoken in this place that it melts the room away. And it is only the two if you, two bodies and two heartbeats.

He runs his hand over your hair from your crown to the nape of your neck.

His lips ghost over yours, playfully teasing and a shudder runs through you. You can feel his breath hot against your face.

Your eyes closed, he presses his lips to yours and you murmur into his mouth. You feel him smile against you as your lips part, allowing his tongue to slip past and gently massage yours.

Your hand finds the nape of his neck and your fingers start swirling circles into the base of his hair.

You go to unbutton his shirt, when his hands move to stop you. The reality around him suddenly crashes against the desire welling inside. 

He looks at you, torn. He can't do this here, in his office, at his desk. But he can't bear to disappoint you again. He considers for a moment.

"I need you." You whisper.

Though he doesn't say it, he needs you just as much.

"Desperately." You whisper, almost a hiss.

The urgency settles in his chest and his resistance fades.

Your eyes pleading for his touch, you caress his face. "Please, let me take care of you, Horacio."

"No ángel, tonight I take care of you." His voice soft but still authoritative.

He unbuttons and removes the top of his uniform to reveal the green shirt underneath. You paw at it, much softer to your touch, tighter so it grants you a better feel of his muscular chest as you run your hands across it. It's slightly damp with his musky sweat.

His fingers run up the inside of your thigh to your panties and he feels you through the thin cotton. You moan.

"You're soaking wet." He muses.

"I've been thinking about you all day." You say breathily.

His eyes darken as he slides his fingers beneath the fabric and between your folds. Your hips roll at his touch.

He slides his fingers into you, pressing your walls with just enough force to make you tremble around him. You let him finger you with strong deliberate strokes and he watches your face as your lips tremble while you breathe heavily.

He cruelly pulls his fingers away. He then wipes them down his top lip, and into his mouth, smelling you, tasting you, imbibing your essence.

"Please Horacio." You whine.

Your desperation settling between your legs, you tighten your thighs to his hips and wrap your legs around him, which hikes up the hem of your dress.

He presses his erection against your practically dripping panties, and you feel the bulge rub against your clit. You moan at the contact.

He's becoming more frenzied now and stands you up by gripping your butt and pulling you forward. He reaches under your dress and hooks the waistband of your underwear. He swiftly jerks them down to the floor, and you step out of them. He pushes you lightly and you perch back stop the desk, legs wide.

He unbuckles his belt and leaves it hanging open at the front. After unbuttoning and unzipping his fly, he pushes his pants down to his knees. And his boxers quickly follow.

His erection is exposed and you lick your lips at its reveal. He grabs it firmly and directs his head through your slick folds, pressing harder at your clit. The pressure makes you moan.

His girth finds your opening and he glides it into you with more force than before. Your hips roll as he fills you fully and you cry out.

"Oh Horacio."

You are addicted to saying his Christian name. So few have the privilege and you let it tumble from your lips again and again. With each exclamation, he thrusts a bit harder, tries to feel you more deeply. 

You grip him tightly, his shirt bunching in your fists, your legs around his barely exposed ass.

As you squeeze your walls tightly around him and your pleasure crests, you throw your head back and let out a strained and broken cry. 

He buries his head in your neck and continues his rhythm. You feel him panting heavily on your collarbone and can hear him losing control.

The rhythm breaks, and with a few quick and uneven thrusts he spills into you, crying out. As he does, you push your hand into his hair and press his head into your neck. 

As he pulls back from and out of you, you shudder and sigh. He grabs a box of tissues from his desk and gently wipes up between your legs, wiping himself clean shortly after. 

You're surprised about how gentle he is, and he seems to read your mind. 

"I told you I'd take care of you." He says, kissing your forehead. 

He retrieves your panties from the floor and as he stands up, sniffs them. You smile at this quirk.

You both straighten your clothes so you're dressed but a bit dishevelled.

He takes your hands in his and looks at them once again like they could absolve him of his sins. He's so gentle despite how much larger his hands are than yours.

He pulls you towards him slightly and his eyes brighten indicating the spark of a new idea.

"Come, I want to show you something."

He disappears into a storage closet momentarily and he comes back holding a dark wool blanket.

He leads you out of the back of the small building and to a ladder on the side that leads to the rooftop. He indicates you should climb up and though you're not the most sure-footed person, you do so, with him following behind in case you slip.

As you reach the roof you look around. You're not very high up, but there's a gentle night breeze that takes your mind  out of the crowded city.

He spreads the scratchy blanket across the roof as if preparing for a picnic. Taking your hand in his, he sits you down on the blanket.

He sits beside you and putting your hand on his cheek, you gaze into his eyes. Soft, brown eyes, framed by perfect lashes and slight creases at the corners when he smiles.

He gazes back and puts his hand atop yours, holding it to his face. You sit like this for some time, hoping to better understand each other through this act of silent communication.

He runs your hand down to his jaw and swipes it across his lips, kissing your palm.

Still holding your hand, he lays you down on the blanket and lays down next to you. The wide open view of the sky lets you see the almost full moon and the few stronger stars that punctuate the city's haze.

You gaze at the sky, while he gazes at you, equally entranced.

"My ángel deserves the heavens." He whispers in your ear and you melt. You certainly did not expect to find a warrior poet beneath his khaki green armour.

You turn on your side and put your hand on his chest, over his heart. He wraps his muscular arm around your shoulder and pulls you tight to him. You close your eyes and breathe him in. You can't help but feel safe next to this man. This leader of armies and hunter of evil. A hard man who has grown soft for you.

You close your eyes.

The next thing you're aware of is the sun peeking over the skyline. Horacio is awake and helps you sit up to admire it.

"Good morning." He says quietly, his lips barely moving.

"It certainly is." You say, resting your head on his shoulder. 

He wraps his arm around you and you bask in each other's steady breathing.  

Suddenly it hits you, you have to get to work.

He goes to drop you at your apartment, but it's too late in the morning, so he lets you out a few blocks from the embassy. He squeezes your hand as you leave the car and you scurry to work.

He drives you off the base. As you pass the guard shack, Horacio - no, Colonel Carrillo, shoots the guard a stern look that says if you ask any questions you'll be doing pushups until you collapse. You're both waved through quickly.

[mytastessuck]

Gorillaz: Humanz

SHere it is, the comeback tour! I was so excited for this album, I sucked all the singles that came out before I could download the album. This album basically reminded me of the reasons I love Gorillaz. All of them. One particular reason a little too well...

Okay, let's get the elephant out of the room. This album is a bit controversial among the community for playing a little too hard to one of Gorillaz' strengths: showcasing cool artists. There are more than a few tracks where Damon doesn't even show up. Hell, my favorite track doesn't even have it on him. Me, I honestly don't care about that as long as I get to hear good music but for the rest of you die hard Gorillaz fans? Just think of this as a compilation album like NOW That's What I Call Alternative/Indie Hip-Hop/R&B/Electronica/Pop.

See? Rolls off the tongue. Now let's get started.

1. Intro: I Switched My Robot Off

Nice. Real ominous. Gorillaz really know how to build up a presentation. Feels like you're walking through the doors of the doors to the Shrine of the Silver Monkey. Anybody remember Legends of the Hidden Temple? Were there doors on that stage? Anyway, awesome.

10/10

2. Ascension

Holy hell, Vince really knocks it out of the park on this one. Different beat, nice flow, social commentary...He was not fucking around on this track. Damon's barely on the track but Vince makes up for it with his existential rhymes and chorus back-up. Man, Gorillaz has gotta take advantage of gospel more often.

9/10

3. Strobelite

That didn't take long, did it? Anyway, this is my favorite song on the album. Peven has an incredible voice, the music psychically compels you to dance and...that's it. Sometimes, well usually with me, you just need to go with Simple Yet Awesome. Have a good voice and a good beat. This song has both and I'm pretty sure that one day, a scientist will hear this song and will be inspired by it to cure diabetes.

100/10

4. Saturn Barz

Ah, the lead single from the album. Remember the 360 house, everyone? Yeah, you remember. Glad to have Gorillaz welcome back Reggae into their line-up with Popcaan manning the helms. He and Damon tag-team the eardrums with the power of dread as the instrumentation makes you feel like you're in a haunted house. Welcome back, guys.

25/10

5. Momentz

WELCOME BACK, GUYS! De La Soul returns to say some real shit about time and how you should, respect and stuff. Seriously, awesome track. Kicks so much ass and you can even dance to it as you wonder if this MOMENT will be one of the last times when you feel really happy. Nice...

9/10

6. Interlude: The Non-Conformist Oath

Hey, Steve Martin! I like to imagine a bunch of assholes listening to this and...just not getting it. Not us though. We get it. We're smart. Smarter than those guys...

10/10

7. Submission

This song had to grow on me but years after I got the album and after I learned to appreciate Danny Brown a little more like all humans should, this song became one of my favorites off the album. Don't worry Kelela, he doesn't carry the whole song. Her voice is so beautiful that it can calm a charging rhino or a coked-up Connor McGregor. These make the song a lot classier than it had any right being.

90/10

8. Charger

She's beauty, she's Grace...she's also Jones. Man, I haven't heard from this woman since Corporate Cannibal and she has clearly been keeping up practice. God, how can a woman's laughter both scare and arouse me? Damon's no slouch on this track either, singing about the monster that keeps us all tethered: the charger. I kid, I kid. Hey, did Damon really get a boner on stage when he sung this or are you guys messing with me? Message me if you know.

9/10

9. Interlude: Elevator Going Up

On a recent trip, I tried to go up the elevator but it was card-activated so a desk lady had to help me. That's it.

8/10

10. Andromeda

Damon has to do the heavy lifting here and his muscles have not completely wasted away from lack of use. He tells us to take in our heart and you know what? I did. I took this song directly in my heart...and my playlist.

50/10

11. Busted And Blue

Yeah, this song is a bummer. A good bummer. It's Broken's younger brother who joined the army to make his parents proud after he couldn't get into university like his older brother who managed to form a separate family with his squad and began to think that maybe he was good enough after all before his squad gets bombed and, as he lies legless dying painfully on the ground, a blue butterfly land directly on his outstretched busted hand...

Directed by Mervyn LeRoy

10/10

12. Interlude: Talk Radio

You ever wonder how we get voices in machines? I know you think it's a complicated process but I know a dude who picked up the radio in his electric fan once. Think about it.

8/10

13. Carnival

Again, this song had to grow on me but one day, while I was thinking about Gamzee for a godforsaken reason, I thought "Geez, he talks about the Dark Carnival and the Dark Carnival isn't even some of ICP's best days. What's a good song about a carnival?" Anyway, Anthony can spin a person's mind and mind around just by singing. He's wild.

80/10

14. Let Me Out

Hey, wouldn't it be funny if Mavis was Vince's mother? She's not but that would be funny as well as cool. Her and Pusha T bang on the walls of this track as they rant about the politics at the time of this song. Yeah, they're talking about Trump. That car horn can't protect you forever, you orange bastard.

9/10

15. Interlude: Penthouse

Dear Penthouse: Hi. Does anyone check in on you, just you? I'm here to say I think you're important and you provide a necessary outlet for men to brag about being perverts. At least before the Youtube comment section existed.

Thanks for everything,

mytastessuck

8/10

16. Sex Murder Party

Ooooo, this track puts me in a funky mood. Like, there's a part but there's sex there...and MURDER. So you know it's an awesome party. Kick-ass, right? I know it's kick-ass. Keep dancing, people.

11/10

17. She's My Collar

Pretty sexy song. Gotta love people vauging about being used in a song. That's why we love Offspring, that's why we love Damon on his knees onstage. Hey, there was a post that said Noodle wrote this song about her girlfriend. That was an excellent post. Well done.

9/10

18. Interlude: The Elephant

I SAID GET OUT OF HERE, YOU BASTARD!

8/10

19. Hallelujah Money

Ah, the technical first single. Remember when they said that they weren't going to put this song on the album? Anyway, this is exactly the song we needed after The Incident occurred. Benjamin manages to calm down an entire populace while Damon just fearfully wonders what our future will be like...and he's in the UK. This song is one long terrifying lullaby to an entire country...until the end, anyway.

75/10

20. We Got The Power

A great way to remind listeners that no matter what's happening, no matter who's in charge, we have the power change everything. An excellent message for people who were still recovering from The Incident.

10/10

21. Interlude: New World

Okay, the bonus tracks. Should be nothing special here, right? Just some B-sides and I've never shown favoritism towards B-sides, right?

8/10

22. The Apprentice

A nice song from the same Rag n' Bone Man who brought us "Human". Zebra manages to lay down some nice rhymes as Ray BLK backs them both up with the force of her voice. These guys should form a team with how well they work together. Oh, they should make a virtual band! All they need to do is find an artist...

9/10

23. Halfway To The Halfway House

A very nice song if a bit overshadowed by the others on the album. Still, Peven can't be beat when it comes to crooning and he raises a song from a solid C to a B.

8/10

24. Out of Body

This song had to grow on me also but when it did...lord, this song is weird. Hypnotic suggestions, telephone tones, the song starts then Zebra jumps in to help then who is this person?! Why are people applauding?! Who are you people?! Why are there so many crows gathering outside my house?!

60/10

25. Ticker Tape

Well well well, look who's back. Damon returns with his old friend Kali to join the accuser of the vain Carly Simon to beg us to stay on the album. Sorry Damon, but I got places to do and people to go. There's nothing you can do to convince me to stick around after how long this album already is.

9/10

26. Circle of Friendz

Huh. Seems like a riot is going on. Weird for Gorillaz to get this real. What, this guy is just going to keep saying Circle of Friendz again and again? Is this supposed to affect me? Get real. It'll take a lot more than a nice voice and implications to...

To...

...

...Maybe I should listen to the album again.

11/10

Album score: 25/10

Damn, that took a while. Shouldn't be the case next week when we cover The Now Now. See you then!

[conner-grace]

The Detective and his Little Assistant (part 7)

(Part Index)

Chapter 4 (part 2): Compiling the Evidence

"How can you hide it so much better than me?" I mutter angrily, taking the sunglasses, once again knowing better than to fight him.

"Cause I'm better at make-up than you, now try to get some sleep." He retorts, reminding me of his above average hearing, as I sigh annoyedly before putting on the sunglasses and leaning back, trying to get some rest, though wondering how much sleep he got, since he was rarely better than me on this count.

***

*After School*

***

To my only slight surprise, Kaito-kun actually had woken me up once we reached our stop, though the look on his face said that if we didn't have school, he would've just let me sleep and stayed on the train with me until I woke up on my own. I was headed to the auditorium to talk to Kaito-kun during his theatre club since I actually had a little free time before I had to head to work for once. I poked my head into the auditorium, smirking when I saw all the actors there, meaning Kaito-kun was most likely in the workshop finishing up certain props and such since he'd chosen not to act in this play. I head down to the workshop, which was actually just a classroom none of the teacher's wanted to teach in cause they could never get the heating and air conditioning to work. Thankfully the school had enough other classrooms, and some clubs wanted to use it for activities that may be a little messy, the only rule was that you had to clean up the room to spotless conditions after using it. I got to the room and what I heard made my blood freeze before it started to boil.

"Hey, Kaito-chin." Yuno smirks. I bite back a growl and pull out the recording pen, turning it on and slipping it into the crack in the door.

"Please don't call me that." Kaito-kun smiles, trying to be polite.

"What Kaito or chin?" She giggles, I clenched my jaw in an effort to stay quiet, the evidence I could obtain from this could be crucial.

"I'd prefer Sasaki-kun, but at least Sasaki would be would nice." He sighs, annoyance starting to bleed into his words.

"Awe, I thought we were closer than-"

"We're not, what do you want Takeya-senpai?" Kaito-kun deadpans, cutting her off, making me wonder what happened for his patience to run out so quickly, considering I'd seen him keep a smile on his face and stay polite and courteous with a classman even I could barely stand for far longer.

"It's rude to cut off those above you." She snaps irritably.

"And it's rude to knock out first years during dodgeball because you don't like them." He retorts ‘oh...that’s why his patience is thin’.

"You know, I could spread a rumor for one of your little secrets." She hisses

"And I could report to the guidance counselor how many underclassmen you've knocked out in dodgeball." He spat back.

"And I could tell Akechi-kun about your late night jobs." She taunts, I swear I could hear her smirking through her voice. I froze, unable to move 'what the hell is she talking about, and why is Kaito-kun too scared to tell me on his own'.

"Y-you wouldn't, I-I'm too useful." Kaito tries to counter, but it was obvious Yuno had played her trump card, and it worked.

"Not if you turn your back on me. I can just see it, with him being a detective, he couldn't stay close to you. With what you do, not that anyone would wanna be friends with a freak like you anyway." She smirks. It hurt to know I was part of the reason he was going through this.

"I don't have the time to do all your homework Takeya-senpai." He sighs in defeat. But, I hated the bit of joy that came knowing I was so important to him, even if he didn't trust me enough to tell me himself.

"Oh, I don't need all of it, I just need you to do my math and English, and take care of the dress Ana-sensei wanted me to patch up for the play." She smirks with a chuckle, then the rustling of paper, which I assumed was the work she wanted him to do. "It was nice talking to you Kaito-chin." She smirks

"Why does anyone with the slightest bit of power use it to trample on and use those without any?" He murmurs. Pain shot through me, cause I'd done the same, used my popularity and charisma to turn him into an informant. I thank whatever god, or very possibly demon, that's on my side he gave me a second chance.

"Because, that's just the way the world works, Kaito-chin." she chuckles, before heading to the door, making me quickly back up, turning off the pen and act as if I'd just been walking up to the room.

"Oh Akechi-kun, what are you doing here?" Yuno smiles sweetly, and as much as I wanted to punch her in the face and drag her to the principal's office with the evidence, I took a breath and put on one of my best TV smiles to greet her.

"I'm here to talk with Kaito-kun." I smile

"He's busy, maybe you could speak with me." She smiles, now leaning against the wall.

'Oh, I'll be talking with you tomorrow' I think, forcing my face to keep the Detective Prince smile. "He offered to help me with something." I say, trying to go around her.

"I'm sure I could do a better job." She smiles, stepping in my way

'Ha! Since you're getting lower classmen to do your homework, I doubt you have the intelligence to help me with even my easiest cases' I think with a sigh. "I also offered to help him with the bed prop for the play." I smile, remembering he said he might help with it a week ago while walking around Yuno and slipping in the room before she could stop me again. My TV smile fell to a snicker as I heard her make a somewhat quiet, but definitely frustrated noise. I heard another snicker behind me as I closed the door.

"She's a handful and an annoying one at that." I chuckle, looking to Kaito-kun, seeing he was standing by his bag, probably having just put Yuno's extra work in there.

"You have no idea." He mutters, shaking his head.

'You're right, I don't...' I think, deciding to confront him on this tomorrow as well and try to just cheer him up for now. "So, um, do need help with the bed, I remember that you said you might need a hand a while ago." I smile

Kaito-kun looked a bit shocked, probably not expecting me to remember. "Uh, yeah, actually I need help with the main canopy part. Can you grab the metal circle and the curtains and well, put the curtains on it while I screw in the supports?" He smiles. "Oh, warning, they're kinda heavy, especially the curtains." He adds in as I head over, and grabbed them, and then nearly fell over due to the still unexpected weight of the curtains.

"What the hell are these made of, fabric bricks?" I asked after nearly falling.

"I-pfft-tried to warn you." Kaito-kun smirks while trying, and failing, to hide his snickers.

"Quit laughing." I retort, which only made him fully bust out laughing, earning a glare from me.

"S-sorry, it's just that I almost fell when I first tried to move them too." He smirks, making me sigh annoyedly. "But, they're so heavy cause they're meant to replicate the curtains nobility and royalty had back before central heating was a thing, so they're heavy enough to keep out light, most sound, and keep in some heat." He smiles

"Oh, well that's interesting, but wouldn't cutting off sound possibly get in the way of the scenes?" I ask, a bit curious.

"Not for this play, this actually some scenes where it's important the main character can't hear what's being said." He explains as I get into a better position to lift and carry the supplies to a better spot.

"That's pretty cool actually." I smirk, setting the stuff down and starting to help.

Kaito-kun and I work quietly until I start helping him put the curtains up. The bed was a circular canopy bed, however, due to how it was built, the curtains wouldn't go over the top like normal. Instead, they just hung from supports in a band around the top, the bar the four curtains were on would hang from the spots the curtains separated. We were putting the bar on the last support when I moved my hand wrong and hit the bruise from last night, causing me to let go and making Kaito-kun to nearly drop it, but he caught it and seemed to have also caught his hand between the bar and the back of the band holding the supports.

"Did you hurt your hand?" He asks worriedly, rubbing his knuckles after wiggling his hand out of where it'd gotten wedged between the bar and the back of the band, though, I noticed he had band-aids over the knuckles of the hand that hadn't gotten caught.

"Not really I just moved my hand wrong, it's fine not." I kind of lied, while holding my still throbbing hand.

"If you're gonna lie while you're in pain, you should learn how to relax your jaw and shoulders better." He sighs annoyedly.

'For being somewhat easy to manipulate, he can spot a liar incredibly easy, maybe that's why he called me out so quickly' I think with a sigh. "Only if you tell me what those band-aids came from." I smirk.

"Fine." He sighs, looking away slightly. "I got mad and punched my locker."

He was probably lying, he probably got mad at the notes on his locker I heard about last night and tore them off, but I decided not to push it, for now at least. "I got mad at a case last night and slammed my hand on my desk, and managed to bruise my hand." I sigh, which was pretty much the truth, it just wasn't an official case.

"You're passion is going to get you seriously injured one of these days." Kaito-kun sighs, shaking his head.

[dandelion-tufts]

Can we please have a compilation of every time Woozi has cried at the thought of carats not liking what they do!?!? Like someone spread that to all of them right now!!!! YOU WILL BREAK THAT MAN IF YOU DO THIS!!!! WOOZI MIGHT STOP MAKING MUSIC ALL TOGETHER BECAUSE OF THIS!!!

Okay but seriously Woozi has this thing where he only does things if he knows that he is succeeding and doing well. Like we've all seen it. We know this is how he operates.

And now that I've got Woozi out of the way let's think about everyone else. (He was the first one I thought of because of those interviews that break my heart.)

Let's talk about their foreign line for a second. Jun, Joshua, and Minghao don't see their families because they're following a dream in a different country. Remember The8's birthday this year. Remember how long it had been since he'd seen his parents? When was the last time Jun saw his parents or little brother? When was the last time Joshua was home for a family holiday or just a small trip to see his family?

Let's talk about Hoshi and how he wants his choreography to be seen as amazing and he works himself to the point of exhaustion just to make carats proud. Hoshi will be devastated if you guys dislike it.

Let's talk about S. Coups doing his best as a leader and how he's ALWAYS tired. He is so tired but, he keeps going! He does his best for his fans and everyone around him.

What about DK, Seungkwan, and Dino? Those boys always put a smile on our faces no matter what they're feeling. They work hard and don't deserve the unhappiness that this would bring them. Let me remind you Dino is only 19 (internationally)! He is literally a teenager. His emotions are probably all over the place, and he's in one of the most stressful professions. Seokmin is a literal sweetheart that'll always cheer up others when they're upset even if he doesn't feel 100%. He doesn't have to keep a smile on his face, but he does for carats and his friends. Seungkwan worked so hard to get where he is now. He practiced his vocals so much, and he's a literal squish that deserves the world. Do you want to make him cry?

Last but not least Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Vernon. Jeonghan has worked hard for this and though he can be a bit of a prankster he loves his members and fans. Jeonghan would be disheartened by the dislikes and might decide it was his fault. He might overwork himself. Wonwoo has talked about how shy he was, and how his music helped him break out of that shyness. But in order to do that he had to have acceptance. Mingyu is not only an amazing rapper, actor, and incredibly beautiful. He's also a cutie that is really clumsy. But he takes his mistakes in beautiful stride. Vernon, might I remind you, is biracial. He has to deal with racists everyday. We all know that even though he rarely discusses it. So these dislikes might bring him down because of who he is, because of his ethnicity. He might think that that's why people don't like it.

Plus let's look at them as a whole. Their oldest member is 23 (international age), and their youngest member is 19 (international age). They are still very young people, and they've got a whole bunch of young adult figuring themselves out problems on top of idol problems. Their company doesn't treat them the best. They have to deal with crazy stalkers on their own. They have to set their own deadlines and create their own brand. On top of that, they have to keep up with things their company wants them to do.

So yes be mad at Pledis. Protest Pledis. But don't do it at the expense of the 13 men you love so much. I would be really sad if Seventeen disbanded as I'm sure many of you would be. So please don't give them a reason to. Don't make them feel like their hardwork isn't worth it.

(OP I'm sorry it's so long I just thought I would expand on what their actions could do to Seventeen and why we shouldn't do it. OP you said it less words and just as eloquently. OP I got carried away I just have a lot of feelings about Seventeen and this whole dislike thing.)

im really worried like the comeback is in 3 days and the amount of dislikes… y’all if this portrays seventeen in a bad way and they end up going downhill it’s gonna be cos of carats like instead of disliking!!!! stream on vlive or smthn like they worked so hard on this and if they see the amount of dislikes because of a whole different reason how do y’all think they’ll react? probably never go back to that concept…feel bad cos they always wanna give good content to their carats but then so many ‘dislike’ it…they might feel bad about themselves and it’s gonna be cos of carats like seriously stop

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN COMPANY

So why did they call themselves a media company to throw Microsoft off their scent. Do you want to be considered startups. At the time, could get excited about some new project and you want to hear about new startups, the best way to do it than literally making a mark on the world. They just can't do it; she just shuts down.1 Though really it might be better to describe iTunes as Web 1.2 Some will do everything, from finding tenants to fixing leaks. You'll find more interesting things by looking at the world than you could ever produce just by thinking. Why do good hackers have bad business ideas?

Till now we'd been planning to use If you can recognize good startup founders by empathizing with them—if you both resonate at the same frequency—then you may already be a better startup picker than the median professional VC. But startups aren't like that. The startup may have more long-term potential, but you'll always interrupt working on it. At our end, money is almost a negligible factor. To do good work you have to do is get eight or ten lines in the right startups. We started Viaweb with $10,000 in seed money from our friend Julian. Don't click on Back after following a link.3 A media company should be run by suits. VCs and corp dev guys are professional negotiators.

Not likely. Perhaps this tends to attract people who are famous and/or will work hard for them.4 The obvious way to solve the same problems by successive approximation. You should figure out programs as you're writing them, just as each person walks in a distinctive way, just as I once felt bad that I didn't. Most makers make things for a human audience. Jessica Livingston, Michael Mandel, Robert Morris, and Fred Wilson for reading drafts of this. But for the hackers this label is a problem. Microsoft still inspired in 1995.

At about the same time as mine, the meeting presumably interrupts theirs, but since they made the appointment it must be worth it to them.5 The reason Yahoo didn't care about targeting.6 Suppose another multiple of three. Kids know, without knowing they know, that they tend to sell early.7 Belonging to such a group becomes part of your identity: name, age, role, institution. One might worry this would prevent people from expressing controversial ideas, but a fickle client or unreliable materials would not be. We're in good company here. But something seems to come with practice.

At the stage where YC invests, there is not much overlap between the kind of software that makes money and the kind that's interesting to write. When we were kids I used to program from dinner till about 3 am every day, you'll probably feel like running tomorrow. They generally prefer to use time in units of an hour. Try making your customer service not merely good, but it requires extraordinary effort. In particular, I don't think we should discard plunging. Even Google probably doesn't think that.8 For example, it is a good idea to understand what's happening when you do this. In some cases you literally train your body. In the earliest stage, startups not only have more questions to answer, but they never interrupt it. It doesn't make a product.

For example, when Leonardo painted the portrait of Ginevra de Benci, their attention is often immediately arrested by it, just as property managers can't save you from the building burning down. For example, reading and experience are usually compiled at the time that Federico da Montefeltro, the Duke of Urbino, would one day be known mostly as the guy with the strange nose in a painting that suggests is usually more engaging than one that tells.9 Being profitable, for example. Nearly all of it falls short of Leonardo, for example. If the mean is 30x, the median is probably zero. I think the problem here is that people get used to how things are. By gradually chipping away at the abuse of credentials, you could probably make them more airtight.

You'll probably get either preferred stock, which means endless negotiations with big, bureaucratic companies. Four years later, pundits said the country had lurched to the right. 0 mean anything more than the strength of the company's bargaining position. It's kind of surprising that it even exists. You set up a still life I set up in about four minutes. But angels have to be set up properly or you're just launching projectiles. Many painters might have thought, this is true. It's also financially wiser, because selling allows you to diversify.10 Bad founders seem hapless. Investors were excited about the Internet.

Notes

Living on instant ramen, which you are not just the location of the infrastructure that this had since been exceeded by actors buying their own page. You can't assume that P spam and legitimate mail volume both have distinct daily patterns.

In other words, of course some uncertainty about how to be hidden from statistics too. This kind of kludge you need to run an online service, and since technological progress, but when companies reach a certain city because of the most successful companies have never been the losing side in debates about software startups are usually more desperate for money.

Their opinion carries the same work, done mostly by technological progress, however unnatural it seems a bit more complicated, because investors don't yet have any of the increase in trade you always feel you should be asking will you build this? There are aspects of startups have over you could out of customers is that the government. Download programs to run spreadsheets on it. Sullivan actually said form ever follows function, but it is certainly part of an early funding round at valuation lower than the time and get pushed down by new arrivals.

Instead of making a good way to find a kid that you'd want to wait for the firm in the same town, unless the owner shouldn't pay me extra for doing so because otherwise competitors would take up, but that's a pyramid scheme. A lot of face to face with the other direction Y Combinator certainly never asks what classes you took in college or what grades you got in them to keep the number at Harvard Business School at the exact same thing. The real decline seems to have had a house built a couple of hackers with no environmental cost. The markets seem to have the least VC-like.

One-click ordering, however. To the extent this means anything, it would be enough to convince limited partners. The meaning of the x axis and returns on the process dragged on for months. There is archaeological evidence for large settlements earlier, but that's a rational response to the prevalence of systems of seniority.

This wipes out the words we use for good and bad luck. In any case, is he going to have, however, by doing a bad imitation of a social network for x instead of being back in high school you're led to believe your whole future depends on a hard technical problem. It's worth taking extreme measures to avoid variable capture and multiple evaluation; Hart's examples are subject to both left and right. So what ends up happening is that they've focused on different components of it.

Or it may be to write an essay about it. What you're too early if it's the right way. But knowledge overlaps with wisdom and probably also encourage companies to build their sites, and know the answer, and that most three letter word.

They live in a journal. That's why the series AA paperwork aims at a critical period. A significant component of piracy is simply what they say.

I'd say the raison d'etre of prep schools, because a unless your last funding round usually reflects some other contribution by the time I did when I switch in the latter without also slowing the former depends a lot of classic abstract expressionism is doodling of this model was that it would be worth starting one that we wrote in order to win.

Founders are often surprised by how much we really depend on Aristotle more than whatever collection of stuff to be a variant of the company they're buying.

[sending-the-message]

I'm Hiding In A Mall Bathroom With A Fire Axe by molotok_c_518

I come out occasionally for food, but otherwise, I have been hiding in there fr several weeks.

The mall has been empty. No customers, no employees... everyone is outside, somewhere else, and that is what is keeping me mostly safe.

...and it's all thanks to some dumbass redneck who stole an experimental technology, and doomed us all.

I'm not sure if it has spread out beyond the city. For all I know, the National Guard has us quarantined to keep the violence contained. All I know is, I am hiding to keep myself alive and sane.

Let's back up, though. It's important that the world understand that I didn't do this to destroy us all. I did this to save lives, which makes this all the more tragic.

About 15 years ago, my sister died. Cancer... more specifically, an inoperable brain. We watched as she wasted away, in agony, while doctors tried first to save her life, then save her self, then "make her comfortable." It was like living in a horror movie.

It killed my father; the stress ruined his health, and he died of a heart attack while eating a bagel in his car. My mother took up drinking to cope with the double tragedy, and to this day she spends every waking moment in an alcoholic stupor.

I decided that I would dedicate my life to making sure this stopped happening.

I wasn't very good at biology, but I got good, and combined it with my abilities as a programmer. I threw myself into studying nanotechnology, and puzzling out how I would program nanobots (robots built on a microscopic scale) for complex surgery. I gathered like-minded individuals, and basically infected them with my vision of a troop of 'bots carrying out the kinds of life-saving surgery that was generally deemed too invasive and destructive to perform.

We set up shop on the campus of our local campus of the state university. After painstakingly applying for grants and donations to fund this research (which was hard, as no one wanted to put "real" surgeons out of work), we managed to get the money and time to begin.

It took 10 years, and numerous dead ends (examples: metal didn't work, and tended to degrade and poison the patient; ceramic was too dense to work properly, or so my materials guys said) to finally strike on the perfect solution:

We took a microorganism, and programmed it at the DNA level (creating a compiler that translated my proprietary language to "the machine language of the cells" took months) to repair damaged and infected tissue. A host of them was injected into the bloodstream, and they sought out tumors, nerve damage, torn intestinal sections, etc. The host would swarm these anomalies, and repair them by "eating" the non-viable tissue, replicating more of itself from the protein contained in it, then stimulating the natural regenerative properties of the body to replace the damaged tissue. If anomalies cropped up again (like cancerous tissue), it would sense them, "eat" a bit deeper until the cancer was gone, and try again. Once it stopped sensing cancer, and the area had healed, it would wait a set period of time (usually 8 hours), then "die" and be flushed from the body.

Testing, failing, recoding the DNA in the "meatbots" (as we affectinately referred to them), testing again... years passed, and we finally got consistent successful trials in rats.

In fact, we got miraculous results from rats: We were literally raising them from the dead.

We discovered it by accident, when we were trying to find the optimal time to inject after subjects were poisoned. Several of our test rats had ingested ricin, as a way of finding if the meatbots would save them (it worked). The ones we injected last had died... but then they popped back to life.

It was scary, actually.

The moral ramifications were immediately obvious to us: a world without death would rapidly become overpopulated, and the means to restrict access (by pricing the treatments higher, by restricting production, etc.) would get decried as unethical, or even tyrannical.

We decided, as a group, never to mention this side effect to anyone outside the organization. We instructed everyone to stay quiet about it, and if it did leak, we would terminate the employee and deny everything.

Since we had successful tests, we chose to move on the primate trials. It required a massive recoding of the meatbot programming, as they were set for rodent physiology and anatomy, and regrowing our stock.

As a result, an error crept in: The "killswitch" that was built into the original 'bots got commented out. They didn't become inert and get flushed; instead, they replicated using the "ambient" protein in the blood, and invaded the rest of the body.

I caught the error after one of our monkeys (test subject P1-1) started eating itself to replenish the protein in its blood stream. The wounds bled meatbots. I deleted that recording after we all agreed that no one should watch the poor thing destroy itself.

As I was frantically restoring the killswitch to the rest of the meatbot stock and making sure there were no repeats, our security chief discovered an anomaly in the security logs.

We had a security guard who was stalking a scientist in another department of the science facilities on campus. Somehow, his key card was still left active, and was used to access the "Lazarus Room" where we kept the meatbots. They were sort of clever, in that they put some protein mix into the storage tank to try and cover the depleted 'bots... but didn't think that we kept track of that protein.

It took us several weeks to find the culprit: A Kentucky-born guard named Bobby called in sick for an entire week, and then just stopped calling.

Our chief got together several of his guys to check up on him. An hour later...

"Hey, Dr. {Smith}, this is Chief Red. We need you here. Now. Something went horribly wrong."

"'Something', Chief?" I asked. "Be specific."

"Not on an open line. And definitely not if you have eaten." With that, he hung up.

The address was 15 minutes away. I took the time to stop at Taco Bell and have a burrito, because there was no way it could be as bad as he said.

It wasn't.

It was much, much worse.

The house itself was a tiny two-bedroom bungalow on the outskirts of the city. It was a bit beaten up around the edges, but you could tell it was well-cared for in better times.

Inside, in the living room, were the guard and his wife. They had been zip-tied back-to-back, with their arms tightly tied to their sides.

Those arms were chewed to shreds. Our meatbots were oozing from the gashes, which were rapidly healing themselves.

The two were struggling to get out of their bonds, and were trying to bite into anyone getting near them. "Hungry," the wife moaned. "We're so hungry..."

There was a spoiled-meat smell permeating the air, the result of hundreds of empty containers and plastic wrappings from grpund beef, fast food, and raw beef, as well as shreds of meat and flesh that were strewn along the floors and stuck to the walls.

One of the guards was limping. Bobby had taken a chunk out of his calf when he wandered too close, and the resulting wound was being bandaged by his buddy.

I really regretted that burrito.

Just when I thought it had gotten as bad as it could possibly get, though... it got worse.

See, they had also tried to eat several local animals. Those that had escaped had picked up meatbots, and had spread them to other animals.

Some of those animals had attacked humans. Those humans had picked up meatbots.

Within a week of discovering Bobby and his wife, we had an entire section of town infected with meatbots, which drove them to try and eat as much meat as they could get to feed the replication.

Within a month, no one in town was left unaffected. People ran through the streets trying to eat each other, or any animal they could get their hands on. Wounds would close immediately as chunks were torn from flesh, or gunshot wounds were inflicted.

Headshots? Healed in hours.

The only thing I saw that stopped them from coming back was full immolation. The poor fucker I saw do this screamed and laughed at the same time as he burned away to ash... and it was a close thing, as he was healing almost as fast as he was burning away.

I tried to cure some of them. I injected Bobby and his wife with the new meatbots, with the killswitch reinstated. The old 'bots ate them.

I ended up burning them both away. It was better than Bobby deserved, in my opinion, and I felt horrible about his wife... but she looked at me and thanked me was I poured kerosene over them both and lit the match.

...and so here I hide. I've seen Dawn of the Dead, and I locked the doors to the mall like the protagonists of every version of the movie did. I hide in the bathrooms, where I can hear the slightest whisper of sound in the doorways and be ready to defend myself.

I have stepped out on the roof, and watched an orgy of self-cannibalism play out in a parking lot before a horde of the infected moved on.

Hunger has overtaken logic and compassion. All that drives human and animal alike is the need to eat, and to feed the dreadful miracles that keep them whole.

People have semi-jokingly feared the Zombie Apocalypse. This is much, much worse.