#anyway again. go read this fic it is so good

[socksracoon10]

p2 where the argument turns into a makeout sesh yes or yes?

𝐇𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐧 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐)

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: (𝘠/𝘕) (𝘓/𝘕) 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯… 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩��𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴? Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x F!Reader, Charles Leclerc x F!Reader, Max Verstappen x F!Reader A/N: I AM SO HAPPY SOMEONE ASKED FOR A PART 2 BECAUSE THAT'S ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT SINCE I POSTED THE FIC YESTERDAY... anon thank you I was over here giggling and kicking my feet reading your ask... uh halfway through writing this I realized I got carried away it's MUCH longer than I intended LMFAO Read The First Part: Hit and Run

𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙤𝙨 𝙎𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙯 𝙅𝙧.

"Hey man, next time you race try not to kill the other drivers," (Y/N) (L/N) sunk down into the P3 chair next to Sainz, who had just won the race. He glanced over at her with a scowl, clearly wanting to say some nasty things if it wasn't for the million cameras in the cooldown room. She shifted in her seat, stretching her arms as she watched the race's highlights on the screen besides her. Carlos and her both had a spectacular race, considering they had started from the bottom of the grid more or less. She knew she had the skills to get to the podium, but she was surprised at the fact that Carlos had managed to somehow win the race from nowhere. It didn't seem like his normal self and she wondered what could've motivated him to actually drive good for once.

"Next time you race, try not to be cocky and drag other drivers down," Carlos grumbled, his voice was muffled due to the rag that was currently soaking up all of the sweat on his face. She glared at him, holding an accusatory finger to the air before Max had settled down in the P2 chair. He shook Carlos's hand, before waving at (L/N). The room was silent, spare Max rambling on about what he saw during the race. As Max continued to talk, (L/N)'s eyes flickered occasionally onto Carlos, wondering what was going through his mind. She was definitely in the wrong, but her ego wouldn't handle that and she needed to tear him a new one once they were done with all the celebrations. She always hated this circuit anyway.

"She's not supposed to be here, mate," Charles giggled, jerking his thumb towards the woman that was angrily storming into Ferrari's garage. Carlos looked up from where he sat with a groan escaping his lips.

"She isn't," Carlos stood up, taking the cap off his head to run a hand through his hair, "I suppose you've come to apologize for your behavior this weekend? Or last weekend? Or the many weekends before that?" "Apologize?" (L/N) snorted, rolling her eyes, "I've come to ask about what you said at the press pen!"

Charles, sensing the tension between the two, gently ushered the two into Carlos's driver's room before shutting the door. The last thing Ferrari needed after this lovely weekend was to deal with the drivers having to go through PR training once again, especially with the amount of times Carlos had been talking shit about (Y/N) (L/N). Carlos had stood by the door, arms crossed as he gestured with his hands for her to begin whatever stupid argument she had managed to pull out of her ass this time.

"You remember what you said?" She growled, and when she saw him shake his head, her nostrils flared, "You literally told the press, 'sometimes, I like to put people in the places they belong and that's precisely what I did with (L/N)', are you kidding me?"

"You should be happy," Carlos scoffed, "I could've said way worse. Besides, I was giving you a taste of your own medicine. You said after qualifying yesterday that even with a million practices, I'd still fumble."

"Yeah, because you do! You're inconsistent as hell and that's why-"

"And yet who won the race today starting behind you." Carlos interrupted her. She closed her mouth, chest heaving. Carlos could see the gears turn in her head, she was trying so hard to come up with something. He had a smug smile on his face and somehow this was more victorious than winning the Grand Prix.

"It doesn't matter if you win today or not, you won't be driving for Ferrari soon, anyway," She spat. She smirked at the way his face fell, her arms crossed with her head tilted upwards. That cocky look on her face that always drove him wild.

"You're such an asshole," Carlos seethed, and before she could respond with a snarky remark, his lips crashed onto her. His hands came to hold onto the sides of her face, pulling her as close to him as he could. He pulled away for a brief second to take a quick breath and noticed the way her eyes widened, "Did you just kiss me? Listen here buddy, I'll have you know that-" Her words died down when she noticed Carlos's eyes flicker to her lips. God, her absolute hatred for him made her forget how charming he truly was. She wouldn't admit to it, though. Not now nor ever. Right now, all they needed was to blow off this steam. She grabbed onto his neck, pulling him down to another searing kiss, eyes closed as their teeth crashed into one another. She tugged his hair and he squeezed her waist, both of them realizing that feelings may not exist at the moment, it was all about just shutting each other up.

"I hate you," She murmured before going in for another kiss.

"I hate you more," His lips attached to her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that were sure to bruise her.

"Well, I hate you the most, stop trying to be better than me." She snapped in a strained voice and he groaned out loud, pulling back to stare at her,

"How much money do I have to pay for you to shut up?"

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙘

Charles didn't win the next race, unfortunately. He was a bit happy that he didn't DNF, but the fact that the winner of the race was none other than his sworn enemy did little to comfort him. He glanced over to Max who was at P2, and looked around to the room to make sure that rat wasn't lurking nearby.

"W-What was the gap between you and her?" Charles asked. He knew asking would literally do him 0 help, but he couldn't stop himself from wanting to know.

"I want to say around a good 20 seconds or so? Maybe a bit more, I wasn't too sure," Max responded, watching Charles sink deeper in his seat with a look of despair. He gulped, staring aimlessly onto the wall in front of him. How was she that fast? What had she done with the car overnight?

"I'm sorry for (Y/N) for the next few races," He heard her, loud and clear, as she entered the cooldown room, mocking him for what he said last weekend. Charles instantly glared at her, not even bothering to hide his true intentions. No amount of PR training could hide his disgust for her. She settled into her seat, relishing in the feeling of being the race winner.

"You do anything with your car?" Charles grunted, and she shook her head,

"No, no. I just have more skill," She flashed him a smile, before getting up once again to grab a bottle of water. Max, for once in his life, decided to be quiet in the room and see the argument follow through. He'd heard Charles tell him multiple times about how (L/N) got on his nerves, but seeing it in person would be amazing.

"I doubt that. You used to place below me during the races," Charles took a sip of his water.

"What are you insinuating then?" She snarled, and Max glanced over to the camera crew, signaling for them to leave. While this would do numbers for the ratings and news headlines, they were promised some share of money if they got their asses out.

"Um guys, I don't think we should be fighting, we have to cooldown anyway..." Max began, but his words fell onto deaf ears as Charles stood up from his seat to stalk over to where she stood.

"Maybe you'd be more likeable if you were honest with yourself, sometimes cheaters-" Charles began, standing his ground when she yelled back,

"So you think I cheated in this race? Seriously? That's your argument?"

"Well, we do know that last weekend there was water in your tires," Charles snapped,

"That wasn't my fault? Stop being such a sore loser, Leclerc. Maybe this is why you haven't won a championship yet."

Max's jaw dropped as he watched the words fly out of her mouth. Charles, in the meantime, tossed his water bottle to the ground and stepped closer to her with his finger in her face,

"At least I raced clean without losing grip when I tried to overtake someone. You just got lucky today, that's it."

"Luck, really? Yeah, tell me about your luck when you're fighting more with your teammate than with the other drivers on the grid during the race." She hissed.

Was it the air? Was it the fact that the adrenaline was still high after the race, or was it the fact that despite not being able to stand each other they were only centimeters apart. It didn't take long before Charles's hand dug into her scalp, pulling her head back ever so slightly as he kissed her. Seeing this as another challenge, (L/N) brought Charles down to the ground, both of them fighting to be on top while still furiously kissing each other. His hands gripped her waist and she had her arms around his neck, dragging him towards her as they rolled off of each other on the ground, tongues practically in each other's mouths with the intention of wanting to ruin each other. She scratched him, he yanked her hair, she punched his chest and he twisted her arm and yet their lips never stopped wanting to consume the other. It wasn't until (L/N) pulled away to breathe again did they both realize that Max was still there with a very shocked expression.

"I'm... I'm just going to leave and make sure uh no one else enters this room but uh guys you might want to... put yourself together before we get on the podium," Max had one hand covering his eyes as he walked out of the room.

"Do you think he's gonna tell people we just made out?" She asked, propping herself onto her elbows.

"I doubt it," Charles responded with a roll of his eyes, "I mean, who would go and loudly state that Charles Leclerc was kissing you of all people? I wouldn't wish that upon my worst enemy."

He winced when her hand smacked the back of his head.

𝙈𝙖𝙭 𝙑𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣

Max never forgot. He never forgot anything. He had made a promise to himself that he would wipe that smirk off her face and he intended to keep it. Even with all the setbacks that he was facing this particular weekend. Back to back penalties, a grip drop and on top of all this, a very haughty (Y/N) (L/N) purposely bumping into him on the paddock with a bright smile,

"Have fun! I've always wondered how the view from the back would look like for you," She chirped, speeding past him on a scooter. Max's jaw went taut, and he did little to hide his anger for the rest of the day. He was going to make sure that the race tomorrow would haunt her for the rest of her life. She had chosen the wrong person to mess with and he was determined to prove it to her.

Max was on a different level during the race, he was unbelievably fast and it surprised everyone but mainly (Y/N) (L/N).

Her radio went off, and someone buzzed through, "Max is currently at P6, he's coming up behind you."

"What the hell?" Her voice was a bit quiet, still in disbelief at the fact that Max was now right behind her, "How does he do this?"

And before she can react further, she sees him overtake her as he flashed his middle finger at her before speeding off. That got her going, and despite the radio telling her to calm down and control her motions, she began to chase after Max. Her ego was bruised but surely she could redeem herself. Unfortunately, she lost grip and her car went spiraling out of control towards the barriers.

"A safety car will be deployed soon, Max," GP informed the driver.

"Who crashed?"

"(Y/N) (L/N)."

Max couldn't help the giggle that escaped his lips, and to quote Alonso he merely stated, "Karma..." before turning his radio off for the rest of the race.

By the time all the celebrations were done, Max walked past (L/N)'s garage and he noticed the way she was pouting, legs crossed as she was busy texting somebody. Her fingers flew across the screen, and it almost looked like she was about to cry. Max did feel a bit bad for her, he knew she had worked to get to where she was - she was after all the only female driver on the grid so she was talented. He walked over to her in the best hopes that he could try to make her feel better, I mean he wasn't a monster.

"Oh, look who's here, the ugly ass sloth who can't mind his own business," She sneered, crossing her arms as she looked up at him. Yeah, that was it. Max didn't want to comfort her anymore, he was going to stoop down to her level.

"You know, maybe if you learned to shut your mouth and admit your mistakes, you could've actually done well in the race today." He scoffed, towering over her. She stood up, going back to texting her friend with a scowl on her face.

"Texting your mechanics to help salvage what's left of the car?" Max snorted.

"No, I'm texting my friend about how some douchebag keeps talking to me like I even asked for him. Like why the hell are you even here? Go back to your own garage, asshole." She snapped, pocketing her phone. Max threw his backpack onto the ground besides her and took a step forward,

"You know I was going to be nice to you-"

"You said Karma over the radio, I heard that shit clearly," She hissed, stepping closer as well.

"I said it in the moment, but right now I was going to be nice. I was going to comfort you. You are talented, you're not a shit driver like I said you were, but God... your ego. Your stubbornness. Your... your absolute pathetic move to shift the blame onto someone else for your wrong doings. Get over yourself, you don't know shit about your own car and yet you always blame me for something during the race!"

"My car is completely fine before you wrecked it!"

"Oh, so that DNF last weekend was my fault? You rammed into me! Let's not forget that!" Max yelled, glancing over to the new shiny car that would be in use next weekend.

"Oi, eyes on me," She snapped her fingers in his face, grabbing his jaw to turn it to her, "Don't stare at my winning car."

Max yanked her hand from his jaw, glaring at her. Oh, he hated her. He hated her so much. Even when he wanted to be nice to her, she always found a way to ruin it. How was it possible for a woman as beautiful and genuinely talented as her to somehow always end up as the most annoying, stuck-up little piece of shit that he had ever seen? Within seconds, he had her against her "amazing" car with his lips onto her. She gasped in surprise, eyes darting to the corner of the garage to make sure all the mechanics had left, but considering the way Max was making her melt in his kiss, her worries soon faded away. Max had one hand pressing her down against the car, her back hit the edge of the halo and she groaned in pain, causing her to arch into him as he deepened the kiss. Her hands came to grip onto his shoulders as she bit down on his bottom lip, and she could feel him smiling against her.

"I wish you were like this every weekend," He whispered, delving into another kiss. She wrapped her hand in his hair, tugging him gently away from her,

"I hope you realize this is a one time occurrence. I have standards," She smirked.

"They must be pretty low then like your racing skills," Max snapped, kissing her once more as he felt her smirk fade against his lips. He really did mean it when he said he was going to wipe it off her face, he just never imagined it to be in this way.

"Shut up," She mumbled, "Just shut up."

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Read Me to Sleep, Let Me Drift Away

Kidnapper!König is a monster but I love him. I love how evil he is, I love how intelligent he is, I love I love I love. He's perfect. I adore him. Now, about this fic, I've read both Jane Eyre and Wide Sargasso Sea. If you've ever read Jane Eyre, read Wide Sargasso Sea with caution. It completely changes the novel.

Anyways, have fun with Kidnapper!König!

Tws: kidnapping, toxic relationships, stockholm syndrome

Wordcount: 1.6k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Read Me to Sleep, Let Me Drift Away

You’d never seen König so frantic before. Your calm, collected and menacing… fiance (?) was hurriedly puttering around the house, moving ornaments aside to dust under them before hurrying back to pick up the vacuum and go over the room again. If his anxiety weren’t so infectious, you might have thought the scene to be rather amusing.

“König, you already vacuumed this room three times,” you nervously whispered.

“But what if there’s still some left?” he muttered under his breath as he went over the persian carpet once more, “it needs to be clean.”

“Isn’t it clean enough?” you asked as you shifted from side to side, over and over as you watched him fret over nothing.

König turned off the vacuum and cracked his back with a good stretch, “It won’t ever be clean enough. Not for Mama…”

“Is your mom really going to be that upset?” you stepped aside to let him crouch down and dust the outlets.

König paused, considered your words for a moment, then turned back to cleaning and said, “She won’t. But I don’t want to be the messiest one of us. I want to at least be as good as Klara.”

“Klara?”

“My youngest sister,” König explained, “Friedrich is the eldest, than Stephen and Lisa. I was the fourth born, and Klara was the last.”

“Sounds like a full house,” you mused.

König laughed as he walked out to the kitchen, “It was! It was always busy. Stephen used to like doing ‘science experiments’ and Friedrich got into a heavy metal band. Mama used to say she’d go deaf before she hit menopause.”

“What did your dad think about it?” you leaned against the doorway.

König glanced at you briefly, “Papa’s opinions didn’t matter very much.”

You watched him silently. He wiped down the polished rosewood table again and again, ignoring the heavy questions that hung heavy on the tip of your tongue.

“So,” you grunted as you pushed off the doorway to step to König’s side, “are they coming soon?”

“Tomorrow,” König grunted as he worked a stubborn spot, “I’m cleaning today so I won’t have to do much tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to help?” you asked as you glanced over to the spotless kitchen.

König shook his head, “No, I can do this. You just relax. There’s some good books in the living room.”

You nodded and padded away. You walked through the sprawling manor before you managed to find the living room. The entire room was wallpapered in bookshelves, each one nearly scraping the top of the tall ceilings. You walked to the nearest shelf and looked at the ancient tomes. Books of old, some with spines cracked like white crested waves and others with leather bindings that had been peeled off through the ages. When you pulled some out as carefully as you could, you’d find their covers in different language.s You saw some in German, of course, but others were in Spanish, French, Italian too. You came across a couple that looked like they were written in latin. Some had strange writings in sitting curiously on the pages that looked like Cyrilic, others looking like kangi or hanzi, you couldn’t tell. You wondered if König could actually read all these books. By the plentiful appearances of bookmarks and dog ears, maybe he could. You might have suspected they were for show had you not seen the notes in German in the margins. They all had the same handwriting, all matching your König’s carefully crafted calligraphy.

You managed to find a book in English that you could take over to the window bench to curl up into the bohemian pillows and blankets. You managed to find a lightswitch overhead to provide a warm light to read by, a stark contrast to the cool, drizzly weather outside. You liked the rain sometimes, but you noted that your energy was always a bit low when it came by. You hated to admit it, but you’d missed the sun.

Lately, König had been lax about putting you in the basement. He’d only just let you have free reign of the home the other day, actually. You hoped it was because he was in a merciful mood, but knowing König everything was carefully crafted. It always was, wasn’t it? He always had plans, always carefully crafting his web to keep his puppets strung along to his desires. You were just another doll in his hands, carved from wood to his shape of perfection. You only hoped he saw to it that a smile was drawn on your face by the end.

You tucked a stray bookmark into the bindings of your book and looked out the window. You’d never actually seen the front of the house. You had seen the back, seen his sprawling gardens and his great shed on the back corner of the property, hidden behind some straggly pines like some perching cat. You’d asked to see it once, but König had refused you flatly. He said it was best to stay in the gardens, stay where it was comfortable and safe. What would you want with an old workshed, anyways? You had glanced over his shoulder at the dilapidated building. A part of you wondered if you stared long enough into the dark windows, would you see something staring back? You looked away as soon as the thought crossed your mind.

Sitting on the window bench, it was perfectly comfortable and warm inside. König kept the fireplace running now that autumn had crept over the land. You watched the yellow and orange leaves flutter in the light wind outside before flowing away in the wind. In the distance, a great red maple tree curled over one side of the driveway, hiding the rest of the route from view. You wondered how long it was, how far back it stretched. If you followed it, how long would it take until you found some other traveller? How long until you found another home? Something told you that anyone you came across out here would have different intentions than König. You suspected far, far worse.

You put the bok in your lap and sighed. It had been so long since you’d lived your old life. A part of you wondered if your parents ever called after you. Your friends certainly didn’t notice your absences. In fact, the person who cared most was probably your boss, furious that you’d up and left without a word. You could imagine her snapping and snarling into your voicemail only to slam down the phone and wonder what had happened to their faithful employee. You knew that despite how cruel and heartless your boss could seem, they approved of you and valued you in your position. You wondered if they ever hoped you were alright, wherever you went.

You heard heavy footsteps before you saw König turning around the doorway. He clucked his tongue as he swaggered over to your side.

“I told you to go to the living room, not the library,” König hummed.

“This isn’t the living room?” you asked.

“No,” König shook his head, “the living room is on the other side of the hall.”

“The one with the fireplace?” you asked.

König nodded and put a hand on your shoulder. He peered down at your lap and nodded approvingly, “I didn’t take you for much of a reader.”

“Well, there’s not much else to do,” you explained as you turned the cover from his sight.

“Why did you choose this book?” he asked as he plucked it from your reluctant fingers.

“I heard it’s a good sequel,” you said nervously.

König fluttered through the paperback pages with an amused chuff, “Not an official sequel. Charlotte Bronte was dead for over a hundred years before Jean Rhys published this.”

You watched him smile as he flicked through the book.

“I didn’t know it was that long,” you admitted.

“It’s an interesting book, this one,” König mused, “you got a decent ways in. What are your thoughts about the moths?”

“The moths?” you asked.

“The moths and the flame,” König repeated, “it’s a symbol that repeats throughout the novel.”

You rubbed your forefinger and thumb together over the hem of your sleeve, “I liked it. Two lovers fated to be, but by being together it ends in mutual destruction.”

“Is it mutual?” König raised an eyebrow behind his hood, “Mr. Rochester goes on to live a good life with Jane Eyre, doesn’t he?”

“I…” you thinned your lips to a line, “he did, didn’t he.”

“I’dHe was harmed, no doubt, but do you really think that Mr. Rochester was as ruined as his late wife? I’d argue otherwise,” König flicked the book shut, “fire is a prominent symbol in and of itself. Fitting considering her end, isn’t it?”

You shivered, “I try not to think about that too much.”

“But you must, my dear,” König crooned, “the end is what makes the novel a tragedy, don’t you think?”

You turned to look up into König’s eyes. He stared back, unwavering in his declarations towards you. He tilted his head to the side, glanced at the book one final time, the tossed it back into your lap.

“It’s a beautiful book,” he said as he turned to leave the room, “I think you’ll like it.”

“Do you?” you asked as he turned to leave.

He looked back at you. His eyes crinkled mirthfully briefly, “I think you will.”

When König left, you put the book to your side and shivered. You didn’t think you would be finishing this one.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[foundtherightwords]

🏛 👑⚔️"Gladiator II" thoughts 🏛 👑⚔️

Before I start, I have to say that (and please don't throw me into the Colosseum for this) I think the first "Gladiator" is just okay. A solid epic historical/action flick, sure, but to me it's no more than that. And... well, "Gladiator II" is more or less the same, but with a less tight script and therefore less emotional resonance.

It's my biggest issue with the movie. The spectacles are great and the action sequences are solid, but I'm not interested in any of the characters (with the exception of the emperors and Macrinus.) They're all very one-note. To be fair, Acacius doesn't require a lot of dimensions and Pedro did a good job with the character, but Lucius and Lucilla... meh. For a movie that is 148 minutes long, it feels oddly rushed; I felt like I never had the time to get to know the characters or become invested in their fates.

On to the good parts: like I said, the emperors and Macrinus. The review that says Denzel is acting on another level and Joe is the only one that comes close to matching him is spot-on. Out of all the characters, Geta and Macrinus are the only two with some depth. Denzel is amazing, affable and gregarious one minute and then chilling and menacing the next. As for Geta, maybe I'm just biased, but it's so easy to make him one-dimensional too, except Joe imbued the character with nuance and subtlety, so although we don't get to spend a lot of time with them, we understand these two emperors and their dynamic very well. Fred also did great with Caracalla - in fact, if his character wasn't so deranged and erratic and Fred didn't play that to perfection, Geta wouldn't stand out as the sane one as much as he did. They really were the perfect double act.

OK, so those are my spoiler-free thoughts. If you haven't seen the movie, click away now! It's going to be all spoilers from here! This is your last warning! (Oh and I'll start posting my Geta fic next Tuesday. Here's a preview; if you want to be tagged, drop me a comment!)

Now if you don't mind spoilers, read on...

When we found out that Ridley Scott had done a switcheroo and made Geta the elder brother (interestingly, the subtitle at my theater has Caracalla as the elder, which suggests the translator did more historical research than Sir Ridley and his writer!), I guessed that the movie would still follow a bit of historical facts with Macrinus manipulates Caracalla into killing Geta (OK, the bit about Macrinus manipulating Caracalla is not historical, but Caracalla killing Geta is), and then Macrinus would kill Caracalla to take the throne. Well...

And Geta's death is... my God. I gasped out loud in the theater. The head afterward was a bit goofy, but I can't say it's not effective. Poor Joe. Not only his characters always get killed, they often get killed in the gnarliest ways too.

I'm very annoyed at those early reports saying that the emperors have about 20-30 minutes of screen time though. It's more like 10! This video?

That's basically all of Joe's scenes! (Fred gets more, obviously, but not by much.)

And again, I wish they would stop using cut scenes as promo (like with AQPD1), because this still?

Never happens.

The final fight between Lucius and Macrinus is weirdly anti-climactic. Macrinus is never set up as a great fighter anyway, so there is no tension in Lucius facing him.

Also, I know I complain a lot about the lack of historical accuracies, but the ending particularly annoys me because it makes it seem like Rome is finally getting better, except it wasn't! After the terrible reign of Caracalla, we get the even worse reign of Elagabalus, and then Severus Alexander, which is basically the calm before the storm that is the Crisis of the Third Century. So if Sir Ridley is doing "Gladiator III", I'd like to see how he wriggles his way out of that!

[trans-jon-rights]

Heya. Here is some outline I wrote for a potential fic. It got out of hand.

Anyway, enjoy :3

It's 5PM. Elias asks for Jon in his office. He just got promoted. That's a good thing, right ?

Elias asks Jon which assistants he wants. He asks for Tim and Sasha from research. Both are competent, and he'll need them. Elias tells him that they'll be informed so he doesn't need to bother. They must be home already. He should go enjoy his weekend before starting the new job.

Then, Monday is here. Jon goes to work in the Archives, one entire hour early. It is better to make a good impression. It's around 10AM, and he realises his assistants aren't here. He tries to text or call them, but there's no cell service. It's fine. He'll just go up in Research. Perhaps they just didn't get the memo.

When he reaches the doors, they are locked. The heavy wooden panels won't budge an inch.

It's fine ! It's just- the building is just old, and he's never really been strong physically or whatever, but it's fine. Maybe he'll just wait a bit. It'll be okay.

12AM is there. Then 4PM. Then 7PM.

Still no signs of anyone. No one's checked on him, no Tim, no Sasha, no cleaner, no Elias- No one.

The doors are still locked, taunting him with their ornate brass plate reading "Archives" in a neat cursive.

Another day pass. Then another. Then a week.

Jon keeps reading Statements and organising the Archives. It's the only thing he can do, right ?

He found lots of Statements that wouldn't record on his laptop. Somehow, they work on the old tape recorder he's found.

He keeps going.

It takes him longer than it should have to realise that he didn't suffer from any side effects of the hunger he feels. It has been too long since he ate, yet he doesn't feel himself grow weaker. Just restless.

He is trapped alone under a building he can feel is bustling with life.

He keeps reading.

Again and again.

Statement after Statement after Statement.

He must have recorded at least over a dozen when he realised he didn't change the cassette even once. Yet, when he checks the files, there is always a new one with his voice reading the attached Statement. The handwriting on the label is his, but he doesn't remember writing it.

Statement after Statement after Statement.

Again and again.

Tim and Sasha are concerned. It's been months since they've heard of Jon. Sure, Elias said he'd gotten another job but- it doesn't sound like him, leaving without even a note.

The Archives are as locked as they've always been, ever since the death of old lady Robinson.

Then Elias calls both of them in his office. They've just gotten a promotion. They're now Archival Assistants.

He said not to worry about the Archivist. He'd found one suitable enough.

Standing in front of the doors leave them with an uneasy feeling of being watched. Still, they cross the threshold.

They refuse to believe the creature facing them was ever anything human.

[velvetwyrme]

DOG DRAGON?! // The Nebular Theory: Chapter 16

A sketchy comic for The Nebular Theory (@theundertalenebulartheory) which has been dominating my thoughts for the last while!!!

Please please PLEASE go read this fic. It's absolutely amazing and delves into some REALLY COOL exploration of timeline shenanigans and has a hella neat way of visualising that!!

I could sit and spout praises about this fic for hours but honestly just go read it, it's SO good.

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[ragescoff-reblogs]

This is going to be long but I feel like sharing LOL

So in high school my first girlfriend asked me if I knew what fanfiction was very early on in our relationship and I was clueless about it. She sent me a link to a fanfiction she wrote and I had a hard time reading it. It was your average slash story with a fairly common pairing but I was unprepared, confused, disgusted and felt like she cheated on me with these characters how vividly she described everything. I never told her, I was supportive. I knew I had to be happy because she was opening up about something that mattered to her so much.

A few days later her mom approached me, revealing that she knew about her fanfics and she was concerned. I protected my ex and told her mother it's something hundreds of people do and it is just a hobby. I also told her it's not drugs or alcohol so she should calm down, it was something constructive because it was helping her to become a better writer (it was my ex's goal to get into Uni and study Literature) and that she should talk to her instead of spying on her and going behind her back.

My ex kept sending me more fanfics, it was all slash but I got used to it. Apparently she wrote at least a hundred fics before I asked her out. As time went on the themes got progressively darker just like our conversations. It turned out she was into things that were not just fantasy for her. My role in our relationship started to change into something I was very much unhappy with. We had a horrible breakup because I did not feel safe around her anymore. I missed her, I felt sorry for her because I knew she was already kind of broken so I did not want to break her heart more but I was not okay with sacrificing myself. (If anybody reading this is in a similar dilemma chose self-preservation!!! do it for yourself!!!)

About a year later I met a friend online on a TV show's forum and it turned out she was writing fics too. I was like oh shit not again, but we were just friends and I was like okay let me read it. To my surprise it was a fun and engaging little action story! We started to search for and recommend fics to each other. With each story that matched my mood without making me feel sick my faith in fanfiction got restored a little. It took me a long time to learn again that (just as I imagined the first time before I got betrayed) not everybody who writes dark stories are psychos. It took me years to understand that I'm not against slash if I like the pairing.

And as for writing... I'm not a very good fanfiction writer myself, but I have a lot of stories in my head and about a dozen drafts. I still feel hesitant to post what I want to because it feels too personal, but I'm doing my best to leave my comfort zone more like I used to. I think it is more of a safety zone than comfort zone, but anyway, I think you get it.

I kind of want to hear people’s first experience with encountering/reading/writing fanfiction.

I found fanfic when I was 11, suffering badly from undiagnosed celiac disease, and hooked on ATLA and Megamind. Those are the first fics I remember reading.

And of course I found a Zutara one where Katara was captured and made to be Zuko’s consort. Wow, I’ve always had the same taste in fic. Enemies to lovers all the way!

I was reading on the cursed fanfiction.net, but apparently ao3 was being born while I explored.

[floweryotter]

Due to personal reasons, I have designated my own Three Big BKDK fics:

"In The Dark" by Jane_Harl0w

"The Time Between Our Lives" by Fitzrovia

"Broke Boys" by SamIsNotLegend

Hope that helps

[willow-lark]

lark's recently-read byler fic recs

thought people could use some uplifting 💕🫶 please remember to hype up your favorite fics and art and other creative work & remember there's always something new to enjoy!! browse the tag or ao3 page & give someone's work a some love!! xoxo

If Time Runs Out by @rainypebble07 (T, ongoing, 14k+) - BYLER PIRATE AU!!! 🏴‍☠️ i literally just discovered this one today and i'm actually obsessed. i have never seen any other pirate aus (🤨) n i just wanna say u guys are missing out on the concept and on this fic bc i'm so invested. i'm so excited to see where this fic goes. royal mike x pirate mike is SO GOOD.

how to get your crush to believe you love him: a guide by mike wheeler by @newlesbianprideflag (T, 3/4, 11k+) - mike goes across the country to visit will at college in an attempt to confess his feelings to him. will, who has a boyfriend already and would like to think himself very over mike, thank you, is not impressed. this one deconstructs a lot of popular/fanon tropes and is really great so far!!

california show your teeth by @fireflywitch (T, 8/19, 63k+) - ok this one mayyybe only has background byler but i'm reccing it anyway bc it's one of my FAVORITE regularly updating fics maybe EVER. in early 1985, chief hopper and his average, normal family move from lenora hills, california to hawkins, indiana--the latter of which has had multiple tragedies over the past few years, to which the new chief's family may or may not be linked. LIKE WHATTTT 👀 go read it RN. masterpiece

All Good Dogs by @hellfiremike (T, 1/1, 3.8k) - this one actually made me cry. featuring: an EXCELLENT character study of will byers, a heartfelt examination of canon and what comes after, and chester the dog getting the attention he deserves and never got in canon 😭

kiss me (try to fix it) by birthofv3nus (T, 1/1, 4k) - will has kissed every member of the party except for mike, who is, understandably, taking this news *SO* well and is not jealous about it at *ALL.* but maybe his situation is not quite as dire as he believes it to be....ugh this one was such a fun read, and you know i loveee party dynamics!!

drank my poison all alone by silverluminoqity (T, 1/1, 4k) - mike is going through it, and, though vecna seems to have been vanquished, maybe he's not so completely gone as everyone thinks.... this is an excellent exploration of both mike's guilt as well as his evolution as a character, and how he views himself. super in-character and super good!!

high tide came and brought you in (and i could go on and on) by silverluminoqity (T, 1/1, 8k) - MOTEL FIC MOTEL FIC MOTEL FIC 🥳 or, mike and will have yet another heart to heart, and some things are revealed. this fic is just so completely heartfelt and UGH i was MELTING the ENTIRE TIME, holy SHIT. probably in my top 3 motel fics EVER tbh.

Chasing Heartlines by @cherryisgone (T, 1/2, 6k+) - i was so excited to read the first chapter of the sequel to maybe one of the best byler fantasy aus ever!! knight mike pining after prince will is something that can actually be so personal to me. i love a good mike-won't-shut-up-about-will fic. the attention to detail in this fic is actually INSANE.

[nathaniacolver]

hey if any caitvi shippers also ship korrasami and need pit fighter realness after that bomb of a clip

you should totally read "roll with the punches" by GreatestChange on ao3 (IF you haven't yet already). just. guys. i SWEAR the arcane writers stole the idea, but like they didn't, but like. they did. the venn diagram is a circle.

[amelia-yap]

Is there any fanfic or comic of your Derg AU?

@powertaco wrote one! in which weiss has a grand ol' time stealing ruby's hoodies and yang suffers:

it's very silly and i love it

[menelaiad]

not now babe im crying over the stupid niche average historical fiction books i found in the bowels of my local library that have a band of characters i love more than my own soul and have grown so attached to that i ache

[starlooove]

No bc fuck tim but it really really bothers me how people ignore his growth like he used to be an asshole and I’ll give tim Stans one thing: now he’s so so so stale but what I disagree with is that this staleness is bc nobody likes him like it’s in fact the exact opposite where everyone likes him so much they dont want to do anything. Even when it’s him surface level challenging Bruce it’s when everyone else is doing it too; but he’s still the backbone of the fam! Etc. and it’s so irritating bc him gaining more compassion and empathy even for people he doesn’t fw is so fun to watch and that’s why the captain boomerang thing was so out of character! (Not in a from the author way but in a tim wouldn’t do that and he and Bruce both knew it which is why it went down like it did. Same way dick killing joker was ooc; not in fanon sense but in a he would hate himself forever for this sense) and speaking of that it’s such an interesting mirror to Bruce who genuinely believes that everyone can grow vs Tim’s it doesn’t matter if they grow it’s not my decision to make like it’s the same but it’s not AND WITH CASS’ IT DOESNT MATTER IF THEY CHOOSE NOT TO GROW I WONT DO IT! like ugh. And anyways even when people acknowledge it they boil it down to “Janet and Jack taught him that the capitalist pigs that they are” like no. This is who tim was. Tim was the kind of guy who’d blame a dead kid for dying. That’s ok. Also Janet and Jack? Please reread anything involving them that’s not a fic like Jack had anger issues and they were both aloof at worst like relax.

[sainz100]

upcoming Carlos x chess content soon ❤️♟️✨

[whore-tm]

moodboard for…

‘Good winter, I’ll be with you’

by @yabakuboi

fandom: Game of Thrones

pairing: Jon Snow/Tormund Giantsbane

word count: ~ 30k

rating: Explicit

tags: Post Series Finale, Spoilers, canon compliant, hurt/comfort, slow burn, (domestic) fluff, falling in love, depression, explicit sexual content, sexual exploration, internalised homophobia, suicidal ideation, past Jon/Daenerys, past Jon/Ygritte

summary: Jon follows the wildlings past the wall and into winter, never expecting to find anything more than a snowy grave and the quiet death of the North.

Read here on ao3!

[wulfhalls]

microdosing on killing myself by reading eruri fic exclusively for three days straight