#currently untitled

[ladysomething]

could we get a lestappen snippet please

this is worded so vaguely that I'm using the opportunity to hard launch a fic that I've been crazily writing for three days and that I'll be posting in the next 24-48 hours.

my apologies in advance to people not in the server, because this is going to seem insane.

Max is lying on his stomach on his lounge, face pressed into the cushions, trying to tempt Sassy over with treats, when there’s a fierce banging on the door. 

The noise scares off Sassy, and makes Max jump in fright, rising up onto his knees to look over the back of the lounge towards his door, wondering who it could possibly be at the door. 

There’s another knock, even louder than the last, and then his phone starts to ring. 

Max looks down to his coffee table, see’s Charles’ face, and swipes it off the table. 

“Hey,” Max greets, lifting himself off the lounge to start to walk towards the door. “What’s up? There’s someone at my door, so I can’t talk—” 

“Yes, I’m at your door,” Charles says, a little breathlessly. “Open it. I need to talk to you.” 

Max blinks at the back of his closed door, then opens it up, dropping his hand to end the call as Charles storms inside. 

“Thank God you’re home,” Charles says, sounding completely relieved. “I need to talk to you.” 

“You mentioned,” Max says, closing his door and following Charles slowly. “What’s wrong?” 

“Do you know what fanfiction is?” 

Max blinks. “Yeah?” 

“Oh, good,” Charles says, even more relieved. “Do you know people write about celebrities?” 

Max rolls his eyes. “I’ve been briefed by PR, yeah.” 

Charles flops down on the lounge, Sassy and Jimmy long gone, and props his feet up on the coffee table. Max rolls his eyes again, then sits down next to him. He and Charles are friends, closer now that they’ve ever been before, but he’s never really witnessed Charles having a PR-related meltdown before. They’re not that close. 

Oh, well. A first time for everything, he supposes. 

“Great!” Charles says cheerily, then unlocks his phone and shoves it in Max’s face. “Do you also know that we’re ranked second on Archive of Our Own?” 

Max can’t say he actually knows what Archive of Our Own is at all, let alone what we’re or ranked second means. 

He takes Charles’ phone from his hand carefully, holding it a little further away from his face so the screen isn’t blurry, and then see’s a little grey menu tab with a variety of drivers listed in pairing. 

What Charles said starts to make sense, because he can clearly see Max Verstappen/Daniel Riccardio (3897) ranked right above Max Verstappen/Charles Leclerc (3453). 

“Okay?” Max says, perplexed. “And?” 

Charles stares at him like he’s crazy, which is pretty much how Max feels right now. 

“And? Max, we’re second. We’re losers.” 

“Actually, I’m first and second. I’m a winner, twice.” 

“Max, this is serious!” Charles snaps, then snatches his phone back. “I can’t be a loser. I can’t.” 

Max has genuinely no idea why that’s his problem, or why Charles is trying to make it his problem. He really doesn’t think they’re close enough friends to try and help Charles through this—he’s not sure he knows Charles well enough to be well-equipped enough for it. 

“A loser at what?” Max asks, trying to be patient. Maybe if he realises the problem, he can help Charles by calling Pierre or something. 

“At fanfiction!” 

Max sighs deeply. “So you want us to be number one on this website? Why?” 

“Because—I—can—not—lose,” Charles says slowly, carefully, staring deeply in Max’s eyes while he does it. “You don’t want to lose either, do you, Max?” 

“Right, but I am first.” 

“With Daniel.” 

“Charles, I really—” 

“You barely even talk to him anymore!” Charles presses, resting his hands against the cushion between them to lean closer. Max leans backwards, a little terrified of the crazy look in his eye. “And what if he loses his seat? Then you’ll be number one, but with someone who’s not even a driver. That’s loser behaviour, Max.” 

“Oh my god,” Max murmurs, eyes wide. “You’re crazy.”

[madeofbees]

the most recent pages in my hannibal tab group:

two fics i have memorized ( wine of life and strangers with history (which inspired my current wip), both by @sourweather )

a recipe from better homes & gardens for roast duck with blackberry-orange sauce ( wip research )

google images search for hannibal lecter bedroom ( wip research )

the lyrics to tear in my heart by twenty one pilots because i mean ( sometimes you gotta bleed to know, oh, oh / that you’re alive and have a soul, oh, oh / but it takes someone to come around / to show you how / she’s the tear in my heart / i’m alive / she’s the tear in my heart / i’m on fire / she’s the tear in my heart / take me higher / than i’ve ever been / my heart is my armor / she’s the tear in my heart / she’s a carver / she’s a butcher with a smile / cut me farther / than i’ve ever been )

[dare-g]

Currently Untitled (2010)

[endocathexis]

[spenceralexdutton]

Well today while heading to work a scene wrote itself in my head so expect that later today because I can’t focus on anything else until after it’s out in the world!

Here me out …

Spencer as a bull rider.

And Alex as a corporate world princess turned barrel racer.

Of course he teaches her to barrel race…😏

[kiitoskiitos]

main characters of a comic I'm hoping to dedicate a lot of my time to this year

[targarrus]

proti toku

[theothermaidoftarth]

My new moodboard for my as-yet unnamed Nettles x Cregan Fire and Blood au oneshot. The premise of which is basically, what if Rhaenyra sent Nettles north to ensure Cregan Stark’s support. And get her away from a certain someone who is a little too intrigued by her. Two birds, one stone. Or even, two dragons, one (very lucky) scorpion-shot.

[caitwritesao3]

Edits happening this weekend, look for chapter one (of two?) late next week.

Insubordinate Piece Of… (part one)

[jaguarys]

The inherent eroticism of giving someone else your heart

[sometimesanalice]

Coming Soon!

I can’t wait for you to meet Killer ⚡️

Here’s a little sneak peek…

“How many eyes are on us right now,” you ask, not wanting to open your own to see just how many people had caught the spectacle.

There was nothing more these people loved than gossip, and you’d certainly given them a show.

“Only a couple,” the man behind you says lowly into your ear.

It might have been convincing had it not been for the length of his pause before giving you an answer, telling you everything you needed to know.

You sigh and straighten your spine as you move to pull away , not that your posture had slipped for even a moment during the exchange. After so many years in the public eye, you were made more of steel than bones.

“Wait. Have a dance with me,” the warm hand on your hip tightens, keeping you in place, “We might as well give them something to talk about.”

[jessicas-pi]

if i had a nickel for every time i came up with a star wars rebels AU based off a piece of literature published between 1900 and 1915, I would have four nickels. which is kind of a lot and it's REALLY weird that it happened four times

[dancingafterdark]

hark! what is this? an update? from yours truly? perish the thought!

i’ll give you a show chapt. 2 + 3 are coming along — with luck, i’ll have them done and ready within the next couple of months. i was originally aiming for having them wrapped up by june but then. Life Happened. and whoops, now it’s nearing the end of july—

i’ve also been working on what has been dubbed the “radiostatic child support AU” [see here], progress has just been slow because of school and my health. i’ve also been in the early drafting stages of not one, but TWO radiostatic fics of the. hm, spicy variety? @hiemaldesirae, u know the ones i’m talking about~ slutty newscaster vox and possessive freak al, anyone? wink wink

small life (TM) notice as well: i’ll try and be brief, but after a physical examination ordered for my SSI application a little over a week ago, i found there was a membrane in my retina that’s causing blindness in my right eye, likely caused by a previous vitreous hemorrhage in the same eye back in 2019. i’ll likely have to get surgery to have the membrane removed, which could impact my ability to do much of...well, anything involving my usual hobbies for a hot minute, so if i end up disappearing on here for a bit in the (hopefully) next couple of months...That’s why. alongside school ofc, but classes end for me next month and then it will be on to the September term.

T_T

send help /hj

[mstrota]

wip;

prologue

_

Marge was comfort.

A woman as good as Marge; Gale wondered how they were together.

As it stood, Marge was everything he wanted. Everything a man could want. Gale was reminded of the first time they kissed—and it had felt so long ago, that he had to stop and think about what exactly did he feel then. Nervous, yes. Unexpectedly able to keep his composure when Marge’s hand (gorgeous, dainty little hands) slide gently on his chest.

He had felt outright shy after to a chuckling Marge, whose smile shifted something real unnameable in him ever since she made a jar of lucky stars out of paper, with constellations’ name written in each folds in neat, familiar cursive. She made what seemed like a thousand of it, said that not all of the constellations’ name is in there, mind you, I don’t really know everything. But if you ever need to make a decision, open one of these and if you find a name, then consider yourself lucky… that the decision is made for you. Gale considered it a playful sentiment, but appreciated it nonetheless.

Years later he said that he was thinking about enlisting in the army to Marge. Marge was worried, naturally. Agreeable to the fact that war had spared no one, that Gale should be able to decide for himself, and it was a war that seemed unnecessary, but had felt justified in cause. Marge had it all reasoned within herself. Yet nothing truly dissuaded her turbulent thoughts until Gale made a promise of marriage, as soon as I came back, Marge.

Marge smiled uncertainly amidst the tears, pushing him in frustration before pulling him against her, and had quietly said, then write to me. Until I know for sure, until you’re here.

Gale hugged her tight, nodding. He didn’t say the reason why he wanted to enlist in the first place. He didn’t say that things at home had been bad that he was out walking almost every night to calm himself down, that he had to listen to bottles smashing against the wall, the stench of alcohol overpowering the rooms in his sad excuse of a home. That sometimes debt collectors came, spewing threats day by day Gale was certain he wouldn’t make it. That one day Marge would find him lifeless and—anyway.

He had a feeling Marge knew; perhaps she didn’t want to impose. He didn’t blame Marge for not saying anything about that part of his life.

That night he grabbed a handful of Marge’s paper stars, went out—after kicking a couple of bottles out of the way and a disdain stare at a knocked-out, useless figure on the sofa—and dropped it one by one to the ground where he sat on a nearby bench outside, until one remained in his palm. He had felt it like a gamble, remembered thinking, I am not my father.

Remembering that if the star he had in his palm had the name of a constellation, he’d leave and have his merry way (to a certain death, or at least, one that he wouldn’t mind with). He unfolded the star. He stared at the strip of paper long enough before he picked up the others he had thrown and discarded it all in the public trashcan.

All he had decided then was to move forward, reeled himself in by staying straight on his path for himself and Marge, despite the damning prospects of war and all it could entail, and despite Marge’s attempt to once more change his mind (he almost did).

In the month of February 1940, he found himself exchanging a handshake with a fellow enlist named John, and immediately christened with a new name, ‘Buck’.

You look like a Buck I knew, John (with the firm hand) grinned.

Everything then, Gale thought to himself, shifting to a comfortable position on the armchair, pulling at the soiled top sheet to hide his bare skin further while staring silently at the familiar lump resting on the bed, changed.

_

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